My second day in Omaha was spent mostly alone. I ate lunch alone at McFosters 1. Alone I walked to Scott and Michael’s home, past the church Scott pastors. I sat alone on their porch for a couple of hours since nobody was home and I had no key.
I’ve made a rookie mistake on this vacation. I somehow neglected to bring headphones.
Perhaps I suffered some sort of stroke while packing. 2
You see, anytime I take a trip of any sort I anticipate time spent alone, usually in public. Headphones are a must. Without them I'm left only to my thoughts. My thoughts are scattered and ugly. I need the music playing to slow them down, maybe.
But there I sat on a porch in Omaha watching bearded weirdoes cycle by with no music.
I cheated myself out of a soundtrack. Like an idiot.
In spite of- or perhaps because of- my contempt for it, the hideous Counting Crows song “Omaha” started repeating in my brain. It’s a song that so fetishises the “Midwestern-ness” of the city as to suggest that its writer has never in fact been to Omaha.
Adam Duritz- sporting the largest messianic complex in popular music since Jim Morrison- sings,
“Omaha, somewhere in middle America.
We get right to the heart of matters,
It’s the heart that matters more.”
What could that possibly mean? How could it possibly reflect the city of Omaha?
He may as well somberly croon “Old MacDonald”.
Sigh. There’s no explaining what appealed to me in the nineties.
In the evening I was no longer alone. After dinner with Scott and Michael, Travis and Linda came over for a bit. The five of us sat on the porch, enjoying the breeze and the company. We had a lovely, laid-back time.
My day spent alone lingered with me, though. And after Travis and Linda left I chose to kill the upbeat mood we had fostered by playing three very sad songs I had written about loss.
And then I went to bed.
This is how a real rock star vacations, I guess?
1 McFosters is a weirdly political diner with excellent and surprising- if expensive- vegetarian options. I had a seitan Rueben with raw milk cheddar and kimchee instead of sauerkraut, sautéed Brussels sprouts on the side.I’ve made a rookie mistake on this vacation. I somehow neglected to bring headphones.
Perhaps I suffered some sort of stroke while packing. 2
You see, anytime I take a trip of any sort I anticipate time spent alone, usually in public. Headphones are a must. Without them I'm left only to my thoughts. My thoughts are scattered and ugly. I need the music playing to slow them down, maybe.
But there I sat on a porch in Omaha watching bearded weirdoes cycle by with no music.
I cheated myself out of a soundtrack. Like an idiot.
In spite of- or perhaps because of- my contempt for it, the hideous Counting Crows song “Omaha” started repeating in my brain. It’s a song that so fetishises the “Midwestern-ness” of the city as to suggest that its writer has never in fact been to Omaha.
Adam Duritz- sporting the largest messianic complex in popular music since Jim Morrison- sings,
“Omaha, somewhere in middle America.
We get right to the heart of matters,
It’s the heart that matters more.”
What could that possibly mean? How could it possibly reflect the city of Omaha?
He may as well somberly croon “Old MacDonald”.
Sigh. There’s no explaining what appealed to me in the nineties.
In the evening I was no longer alone. After dinner with Scott and Michael, Travis and Linda came over for a bit. The five of us sat on the porch, enjoying the breeze and the company. We had a lovely, laid-back time.
My day spent alone lingered with me, though. And after Travis and Linda left I chose to kill the upbeat mood we had fostered by playing three very sad songs I had written about loss.
And then I went to bed.
This is how a real rock star vacations, I guess?
This in the shadow of Warren Buffett’s office building.
It’s a mad world.↩
2 An obvious joke. I don’t pack. I shove pairs of socks equal to the number of days I’ll be travelling plus two into a shopping bag and grab whatever pants and shirts happen to be nearby.
I buy a new toothbrush on every trip I take.
I am as lost as a child.↩
Your blog STILL has not figured out that I'm not a robot.
ReplyDeleteAlso, I wonder if you're waiting for these now since you know I'm commenting on them. If your little heart is pitter-pattering in anticipation for the next comment.
I always get really anxious when I know someone is reading my blog. Like I'll go through & read the posts before & after to make sure I don't sound like an idiot or have a bunch of typos.
Anyway.
I've never eaten at a restaurant alone. Fun fact.
& I hope you weren't anxiously awaiting this comment because I'm reading/writing in between rounds of Phase 10. Laker & I are old ladies. I'm also losing horribly & I half-heartedly blame you. I always win this game.