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- Cooch, on how Kansas could be made better. |
 Amber, Boring, Waves of Grain There is one place that makes one realize, more than anything else, the sheer work making a drive like this can be. It's the home of places like Ellis, "The Antique City of the High Plains"; Colby, "Oasis of the Plains"; and Hays, a city urging motorists, in slutty type I might add, to "Take Advantage of" it. It's Kansas, 500 odd miles of hell on corn, wheat, sunflowers or whatever else they grow there. Kansas is the friend you have not because you like them, but beacuse they can get you things. They're the nerd who does the cheerleader's math homework just so she'll talk to him. They give the nation grains. The breadbasket of America! They should just do it locked in a closet where no one has to watch. The morning began early, because today's plans of Denver and Kansas City in the same day necessitated it. All that stood in the way was 600 miles, most of it Kansan. The spectre of driving headlong across the most boring state without the word 'Dakota' attached to it must have sparked Meg into wanting to drive the majority of the day, the only time that happened the whole trip. She's strange like that, collects postcards and magnets and shit. I don't get it either. The worst part about Kansas, I think, is that its flat plainitude has infested areas that just are near the state's borders. The last 75 miles of Colorado, the most beautiful state on the trip, have been heavily infected from the east. I assume litigation currently being undertaken, because from the views in Colorado Springs to the stuff going on all along US-24, there ought to be some beatings ordered. The trip to Denver had to be jettisonned, as we would have had to plow through rush hour traffic to get into the city, and getting to KC was already a long shot. Besides, the Rockies were out of town, and as Meg put it, "There's no way the Hard Rock Cafe will be open at 9 a.m." 70 miles is as close as I'll get for now. As I said, Colorado Springs is a gorgeous city. I spent much of the trip looking around at places in the "would I take a job out here if offered" sense, and Colorado has definitely made a strong case. I can say that now, just like how I thought I could go to school in South Carolina and not be fazed... Now, I know I've already ripped on Kansas considerably and we're not even into the state yet. But to quote Margaret, "Dude. Seriously." Kansas fucking blows. The first town you hit on the way in is "Kanorado" and the last you leave is "Kansas City." Get some originality, you morons. I understand on the southern border there's an Arkansas City... 2. Kansas doesn't even border Arkansas. What the fuck. Where we crossed into Kansas on I-70, the state had posted a lovely sign welcoming you, something that could not be said for New Mexico (and later on, Indiana). Had a sunflower on it. I'm sorry, I'm stretching here for upsides. Not surprising, a storm kicked up soon after we entered hell. Sky turned black, pouring rain... straight out of The Wizard of Oz. Thus came my wishing for the flying cows, once Meg surmised my lack of knowhow would get me killed in a tornado. Rather than try to string together a narrative of bitching, out come the bullets: • Colby, the aforementioned "Oasis of the High Plains," turned out to be little more than a strip mall. Not just a strip mall, a strip mall featuring a plus-sized clothing show and, believe it or not, a London Fog factory outlet. Maybe if I needed some galoshes... • Midstate, there is a Denny's that is proudly open from 5 a.m. to 4 p.m. Apparently Kansans don't get to go out for dinner. • The state is the home of many, many Stuckey's, a kitschy-style gift shop / roadside eatery, and America's only Prairie Dog Town, home to a six-legged live steer and other genetic anomalies. Sadly, rushing to the ballgame prevented me from seeing the cripples. • The state's "blanditudiousness" broke the jovial atmosphere in the CRV, as Kansas was the first state where Meg threatened to make me "get out and walk." • Topeka, the state's capital, has no actual skyline, much like Worcester, a city not to be emulated under any circumstance. It's here I-70 becomes a toll road, which seems damn unbelievable. People pay money to be in Kansas. Punctuating my feelings about the state was the Kansas City's. KC, Kansas, is utterly listless. I'm not even really sure it exists, as I saw no buildings or people in it. KC, Missouri, however, is vibrant. Nice skyline, congested roads I almost rear-ended a guy on (NOT my fault), major sports teams, all of it. Leaving Kansas was just spiritually uplifting, much like yoga or smoking the marijuana cigarettes, I'd imagine. Hell, it always made former roomies Jet and Brecken pleased with themselves. Thursday 8/23/01 - White Sox vs. Royals @ Kauffman Stadium, K.C. - Kauffman sits right off I-70 past the heart of Kansas City, and safely away from those fucks in Kansas, in a complex it shares with Arrowhead Stadium and the Chiefs. It's a very nice setup; you come around a short bend in the highway and you can look down into the park dead on your right. We got there as the anthem was being sung, yet were still able to park no more than a long field goal from the stadium. Though I'd been deeming it baseball hell all the way up the road, I'd have done a full 180 by the end of the night. As we waited in line to buy the cheapest tickets we could get, one of those things happened that usually only happens to those who aren't me. An affable guy with a sheet full of season tickets looking to be unused comes walking up. Did we need tickets? Yes. Did we want these seats in the second row? Gee, I think we do. How much did he want for them? He said $10 for the pair. They were $20 face value, so I gave him double his asking price and went happily on my way. A pair in the second row behind first base, for the price of a Fenway bleacher seat. So finally, after years of fascinated childhood watching, and days after seeing pretender to the throne Edison, I was at the stadium that originated fountains in the outfield. For being so old, its held up well over the years. Granted it was empty -- a shade under 14,000 came to see a team 20+ under .500 face a Chicago team that's just now scratching to the break even mark -- but the people that were there all legitimately came to watch the baseball game, because they actually love their baseball team. I once read an article in Sports Illustrated about the strange life of the Kansas City sports fan, the consistent losing seasons, lack of hope and blown opportunities are met by one of the nation's strongest team-fan bonds. The Royals slogan for this season is "You Gotta Love These Guys!," and despite a team that really has trouble getting out of its own way, they do. While Meg and I sat in absolute wonderment that we were sitting in the second row, three high school kids came down and slid in the empty seats in front of us. Throughout the night, everyone remotely connected to Kauffman or the Royals -- ushers, the numerous snack vendors, staff, security, even some of the players -- knew these three and stopped to say hello. One inning they're dogging Mark Quinn for not hustling after a fly ball, the next he's tossing them a ball. It's the kind of stuff the John Feinsteins and Rick Reillys of the world write mushy columns about. Come to think it, they probably have. Never mind the fact that the game came down to the final at-bat, with Quinn (who'd hit two home runs to get the Royals back into a game they trailed 5-0 thanks to former BoSox Jeff Suppan) flying out with a man on to lose 7-6. Never mind the sheer humor and idiocy of seeing Major League players outright dropping a half dozen balls over the course of a ballgame. Why do I now feel a special connection to the Kansas City sports teams? Because I saw Sluggerrr, the Royals' lion mascot, use a hot dog-shaped bazooka shoot the treats into the crowd from the upper deck. That is the single greatest ballpark promotion I've ever seen. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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AOL IM: JonCoochBU |
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