...or, for that matter, most other places. (I'm not going to Arizona. I promise.)
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| I've spent a lot of the last week yelling "BUILDIIINGS!" |
As this winter vacation wraps up and I have to ship myself back to what I am refusing to call home (we're going with "base camp" instead), I've learned that I have a lot to learn about human nature. When I moved to Indiana from Berkeley via Finland four months ago, I looked at it as a time to observe people I didn't know, and I did that. I've met people who are honestly content in the Midwest, who don't like the idea of a city, who say "howdy" to passers-by. Naturally, these people are not all the same, or whatever. But there's still a lot I don't understand, and maybe this time, I can dig a little deeper.
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| Dear beach, stop being prettier than me. |
The first thing of note that we did when we got to San Francisco two Thursdays ago was take buses, which was exceptional. The next morning, we did Cool Thing #2: stand in a freezing cold ocean until our skins had absorbed all the saltwater they were missing from the Midwest's lack of sea breezes. (Is this already a medical condition? If not, may I suggest "Adriane Syndrome?" I googled it. It's not a thing yet.) This brings me to my first question:
how do people survive away from an ocean? And I know I've asked that before, and it's been all over my photo albums on Facebook, but I still don't understand. Why would you build something away from a substantial body of water? Would you do so voluntarily? I remember watching the episode of
Arthur where the Read family goes to the beach as a small, obnoxious child, and not quite understanding what the fuss was. Clearly, the beach was about four blocks away, and not really worth a stressful road trip with an inflatable shark stuck to the roof.
That, though, is something I have been forced to understand. I just traced a path on Google Maps from our base camp in Bloomington to what I think is the nearest beach, in... I don't know, it looks like Maryland. It would take 12 hours and 53 minutes to drive all 719 miles, and you still would be on the Chesapeake Bay rather than on the proper ocean. I have no idea what that all means, except that I can't walk down a hill and stick my feet in the foamsplosion.
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| We almost decided to live in the rocks but no. |
My legs are acting like they've completely atrophied since leaving hill country for the flatlands. I used to use "flatlander" as an insult, completely unrelated to people who don't live in places with hills and mountains and things and, instead, as a reference to some video on Youtube that has nothing to do with cats. Now, I understand that this has nothing to do with coasts and everything to do with the fact that San Francisco is annoying and can't pick an altitude. But I feel like there's actually blood moving through my head right now, and it's kind of exhilarating. Like I have a circulatory system. And lungs. And all that nice stuff. So
how do flatlanders keep their blood from coagulating in their veins? I have no idea.
Anyway. Was there something else? Oh yes.
Why would you live somewhere without ostentatious landmarks and Robin Williams' house? Granted, Meg Cabot has a barn in Bloomington. That's kind of cool. I didn't read the last buttload of Princess Diaries books, but I liked the first three, at least.
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| And why isn't anything painted International Orange? |
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| And how do you properly celebrate holidays without a balloon menorah on every corner? |
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| And how much time did I spend on this, anyway? |
