I am not, by and large, impressed with the beauty of the Midwest. It's too familiar, being almost all the landscape I've seen in thirty eight years.
And I detest extremes of climate, and we get both: 25 below and 110 in the shade. Usually note quite that extreme, granted, but we get snot-freezing winters and summers like a big, sweaty sex offender's hug.
And as far off as the possibility of a move to Portland or Seattle seem, I often find myself actively hating the Midwest for its climatological shortcomings, and the unrelenting monotony that day after day, it's still the same place.
I think to myself, I might have shitty extremes in weather in New York City, but at least I'd be in New York. The Village Vanguard, the Met, MoMA, the great food, the amphetamine nature of that city. Never mind that I wouldn't be able to afford to bask in those glorious cultural assets while trying to come up with the rent on a coffin-sized apartment. It's New York.
There are worse places, I'll give you that. Phoenix. Houston. Florida. More extreme variations, such as Alaska.
Still, I find myself impressed with the sunsets by the Purple Park. Got this one at the end of Saturday's launching festivities. It's almost enough to make you want to live in Kansas.
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