chive
No story postage today as I'm currently in Springfield, Mizzou-rah for a one-day gig in what's probably as close to a home state as I'll ever have. I've missed the Show Me State, having been away for 7 years. When I lived here, I was a total farm boy (I realize the phrase 'total farm boy' probably undercuts that argument, but still). I used to run through the hills by myself, fishing, hunting, passing out in small towns. I could probably sing all the country hits between the years 1988 and 1994, starting with The Cowboy Rides Away by George Strait. I thought I would live in Missouri forever.
Anyway, did I mention PDX has free WiFi? What's up Salt Lake? What the hell is Laptop Lane, anyway? Ever hear of truth in advertising? When I enter a private booth in a place called Laptop Lane, I expect a dance, not a chance to check my email for $15.
But the view from above is magnificent. The Salt Lake produces colors like you've never seen. And looking down upon the neighborhoods from 20,000 feet offers its own kind of education. I now know there is at least one block in Salt Lake City with more trampolines than in all of Sub-Saharan Africa combined. I would feel perfectly safe should the airplane break apart, launching me into the atmosphere. I would bounce 80 feet back into the air. Then 40. Then 10. And a family of 8 children would all cheer. And I'd give them each a tiny packet of honey roasted peanuts.
'They're really legumes,' I'd say.
'They're mostly sugar,' the mom would answer.
And we'd all have a hearty Mormon laugh, and I'd kiss her on what is surely the softest and fairest cheek in all the land. And she'd let me, cause I'd tell her I was Joseph Smith, come down from the heavens to try out her trampoline.
And Alex, if you're reading this, I just want to assure you that I haven't groped any women, unlike Saturday. I'm so sorry. I wish you hadn't told me about it. I thought that was the whole point in blacking out.
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