There is something about being from the Midwest that I appreciate the farther I get from the Midwest. Years 0-18, in Cincinnati, OH, I was depressed that I wasn't hip and chic and from Manhattan or San Francisco or London or hell, even Toronto. No, I was from a city that realized raw fish was tasty roughly around 2002 and found jumping back on the leg warmer bandwagon easy because they'd never jumped off. Then I went to college in Chicago which is like Midwest for Dummies. Sure, we're friendly and enjoy a big hunk of cheese, but we eat salads and wear Burberry trench coats. As I encountered more non-Midwesterners, I suddenly found myself grateful for what is construed elsewhere as being overly polite and for the random colloquialisms that peppered my speech. And then Los Angeles. Oh Los Angeles. Perhaps as a reaction to the tan people with faces younger than my car, I have embraced my Midwestern roots full on. I can pontificate about the beauty of the Ohio River, happily ignoring the fact that I can still smell the stench from performing on a riverboat for two summers. I can ramble about the friendliness of the people, even though this means the line at Starbucks is out the door with people chatting it up as they order their mochas. My glasses are always rose colored when pointed towards the Midwest, because when you leave the Midwest, everybody's are. On either coast, it is considered a magical land where people talk to their farm animals and nobody has a door because we're all just so darned trustworthy. Whereas when you're there, it's just as boring and stupid as I thought it was when I was 16. Somehow, Lorrie Moore has captured all of this in one book taking place in Illinois and for that, I love her and I love this book. I also love Tassie, our heroine, and I would gladly follow her on another meandering journey again, were she not fictional.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Okee Dokee Artichokee
There is something about being from the Midwest that I appreciate the farther I get from the Midwest. Years 0-18, in Cincinnati, OH, I was depressed that I wasn't hip and chic and from Manhattan or San Francisco or London or hell, even Toronto. No, I was from a city that realized raw fish was tasty roughly around 2002 and found jumping back on the leg warmer bandwagon easy because they'd never jumped off. Then I went to college in Chicago which is like Midwest for Dummies. Sure, we're friendly and enjoy a big hunk of cheese, but we eat salads and wear Burberry trench coats. As I encountered more non-Midwesterners, I suddenly found myself grateful for what is construed elsewhere as being overly polite and for the random colloquialisms that peppered my speech. And then Los Angeles. Oh Los Angeles. Perhaps as a reaction to the tan people with faces younger than my car, I have embraced my Midwestern roots full on. I can pontificate about the beauty of the Ohio River, happily ignoring the fact that I can still smell the stench from performing on a riverboat for two summers. I can ramble about the friendliness of the people, even though this means the line at Starbucks is out the door with people chatting it up as they order their mochas. My glasses are always rose colored when pointed towards the Midwest, because when you leave the Midwest, everybody's are. On either coast, it is considered a magical land where people talk to their farm animals and nobody has a door because we're all just so darned trustworthy. Whereas when you're there, it's just as boring and stupid as I thought it was when I was 16. Somehow, Lorrie Moore has captured all of this in one book taking place in Illinois and for that, I love her and I love this book. I also love Tassie, our heroine, and I would gladly follow her on another meandering journey again, were she not fictional.
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"On either coast, it is considered a magical land where people talk to their farm animals and nobody has a door because we're all just so darned trustworthy. "
ReplyDeleteLove that.