Reflections on Some Certain Midwestern Towns
I made a whirlwind tour of Missouri and Iowa last week, saying bye to lots of relatives before I go to Bombay for the summer.
Fayette
My Great Uncle Bob is a 78-year-old retired farmer, still living in his same farm house outside of that small, small town, Fayette, Iowa. He's growing asparagus and rhubarb this summer. He's got bad knees. One of my aunts said to him, "Why don't you pick us some asparagus?" and he said, "You can pick it your god damn self. I 'bout killed myself yesterday out picking some for myself." He wasn't mad. He's just not a delicate man.
When there's a lull in conversation, he says "Yup," and then repeats part of what he just said. For instance, had there been a lull in conversation after the asparagus request, he probably would have said something like, "Yup. 'bout killed my back."
He's also fond of the mysterious word used by the elderly in Iowa, "pretnear." I think it's a contraction for pretty near. "I pretnear killed my back yesterday."
Bob said he likes to drink vodka and orange juice. He asked my sister, "You like that vodki?" Rachel laughed and said she does.
Bob has ladies all over Fayette County who do him favors: bake him pies, serve him beers, etc. His weeks are spent driving around calling on these favors, and then when he gets there he complains about gas prices.
He spends his winters in Texas, and he says to be careful of them Mexican women because if one moves in with you, she brings her whole family. He said there was a lady asking him if he lived alone. He said, "Hell yes I live alone. You think I'd be giving you all my wife's clothes if she still lived here. Now listen here sister, there's no future here for you and me." He said within a few weeks she had moved in with a man down the street, and a few weeks after that, her sister and her nieces and nephews had all moved in too.
Please don't consider this to be a disparagement of Fayette. I've got mad love for my ancestoral home, and even though I was bored sometimes when I lived there with my Grandma, the relaxation was much needed at the time, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. Plus, I think my Grandma and I had a lot of fun together, especially on our road trips -- burittos in Postville, Norwegian-American Museum in Decorah, the hookies in Hazleton.
Cedar Rapids
And I got mad love for CR. Rachel and I had some delicious Italian beef sandwiches with provolone cheese, freshly prepared by Chef Martha Jensen, and multiple bottles of delicious wine, carefully chosen by Sommelier Bill Jensen. Good times as always. The sommelier told me to never trust a Democrat.
Wayland, Mo.
On the ride to Iowa, Rachel felt like celebrating. She had just finished her last final that morning. She said she wanted a tall boy. We stopped at a gas station in a poor, hick town in north, northeastern Missouri. She came out of the gas station and said, "Man, they didn't have any imports." "Are you serious? People in this town aren't even going to buy an imported car. They're not going to buy imported beer. And they don't make tall boys of imports. Tall boys are for good old-fashioned all-American beer." "I thought they would at least have Corona or Heineken. Heineken has keg cans." She got a 24oz Nascar Budweiser bottle. Picture tk.
Mt. Vernon, Iowa
All you pretentious folk probably didn't know there's a Cornell university in Iowa. Well, there is, and the co-eds don't take too well to out-of-towners. My cousin Scott and I went to a party in an upstairs apartment in Mt. Vernon. Scott's sister, Laura, goes to school at Cornell.
The party smelled, and the beer was warm. The girls were generally frumpy and overweight, although some were frumpy and of average to thin build. I said to myself, "I wish I wasn't here. I'm going to have to get drunk to enjoy this." So I drank the warm beer from the kegerator.
Laura later told me that the girls weren't into me because they figured I was a townie since I didn't go to Cornell. I laid down some ridiculous lines like, after spilling beer on my pants: "This is how we do it in Europe." I also told numerous girls I go to school on the east coast, which isn't true. I go to school in Pittsburgh. One girl said, "Am I supposed to be impressed?" I thought, "No, but you're boring, and I'm desperate to get anyone to talk to me at all."
O'Fallon, Mo.
Lingestock '07 was a night full of drunken mayhem as promised. The highlight of the night was either Lindsay falling asleep and falling out of her chair and no one helping her. Or Josh berating the girl he invited, right after she arrived at the party, and had come into a room full of strangers. "Did you bring Red Bull?" "I didn't know I was supposed to." "Are you fucking serious!" Poor girl. Then Josh used her cell phone to ask her roommate to sleep with him. Then he tried to throw the phone in the pool but missed.
The night ended with me swimming, wearing only my boxer briefs. Parties often are nearly over when I take off my clothes. This was about 5am, and my mom came downstairs twice to yell. The second time she yelled, "Lingestock is over!" And I yelled, from the pool, "Christ!" There were a lot of beer bottles and cans to clean up. And three empty Jaeger bottles.
Fayette
My Great Uncle Bob is a 78-year-old retired farmer, still living in his same farm house outside of that small, small town, Fayette, Iowa. He's growing asparagus and rhubarb this summer. He's got bad knees. One of my aunts said to him, "Why don't you pick us some asparagus?" and he said, "You can pick it your god damn self. I 'bout killed myself yesterday out picking some for myself." He wasn't mad. He's just not a delicate man.
When there's a lull in conversation, he says "Yup," and then repeats part of what he just said. For instance, had there been a lull in conversation after the asparagus request, he probably would have said something like, "Yup. 'bout killed my back."
He's also fond of the mysterious word used by the elderly in Iowa, "pretnear." I think it's a contraction for pretty near. "I pretnear killed my back yesterday."
Bob said he likes to drink vodka and orange juice. He asked my sister, "You like that vodki?" Rachel laughed and said she does.
Bob has ladies all over Fayette County who do him favors: bake him pies, serve him beers, etc. His weeks are spent driving around calling on these favors, and then when he gets there he complains about gas prices.
He spends his winters in Texas, and he says to be careful of them Mexican women because if one moves in with you, she brings her whole family. He said there was a lady asking him if he lived alone. He said, "Hell yes I live alone. You think I'd be giving you all my wife's clothes if she still lived here. Now listen here sister, there's no future here for you and me." He said within a few weeks she had moved in with a man down the street, and a few weeks after that, her sister and her nieces and nephews had all moved in too.
Please don't consider this to be a disparagement of Fayette. I've got mad love for my ancestoral home, and even though I was bored sometimes when I lived there with my Grandma, the relaxation was much needed at the time, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. Plus, I think my Grandma and I had a lot of fun together, especially on our road trips -- burittos in Postville, Norwegian-American Museum in Decorah, the hookies in Hazleton.
Cedar Rapids
And I got mad love for CR. Rachel and I had some delicious Italian beef sandwiches with provolone cheese, freshly prepared by Chef Martha Jensen, and multiple bottles of delicious wine, carefully chosen by Sommelier Bill Jensen. Good times as always. The sommelier told me to never trust a Democrat.
Wayland, Mo.
On the ride to Iowa, Rachel felt like celebrating. She had just finished her last final that morning. She said she wanted a tall boy. We stopped at a gas station in a poor, hick town in north, northeastern Missouri. She came out of the gas station and said, "Man, they didn't have any imports." "Are you serious? People in this town aren't even going to buy an imported car. They're not going to buy imported beer. And they don't make tall boys of imports. Tall boys are for good old-fashioned all-American beer." "I thought they would at least have Corona or Heineken. Heineken has keg cans." She got a 24oz Nascar Budweiser bottle. Picture tk.
Mt. Vernon, Iowa
All you pretentious folk probably didn't know there's a Cornell university in Iowa. Well, there is, and the co-eds don't take too well to out-of-towners. My cousin Scott and I went to a party in an upstairs apartment in Mt. Vernon. Scott's sister, Laura, goes to school at Cornell.
The party smelled, and the beer was warm. The girls were generally frumpy and overweight, although some were frumpy and of average to thin build. I said to myself, "I wish I wasn't here. I'm going to have to get drunk to enjoy this." So I drank the warm beer from the kegerator.
Laura later told me that the girls weren't into me because they figured I was a townie since I didn't go to Cornell. I laid down some ridiculous lines like, after spilling beer on my pants: "This is how we do it in Europe." I also told numerous girls I go to school on the east coast, which isn't true. I go to school in Pittsburgh. One girl said, "Am I supposed to be impressed?" I thought, "No, but you're boring, and I'm desperate to get anyone to talk to me at all."
O'Fallon, Mo.
Lingestock '07 was a night full of drunken mayhem as promised. The highlight of the night was either Lindsay falling asleep and falling out of her chair and no one helping her. Or Josh berating the girl he invited, right after she arrived at the party, and had come into a room full of strangers. "Did you bring Red Bull?" "I didn't know I was supposed to." "Are you fucking serious!" Poor girl. Then Josh used her cell phone to ask her roommate to sleep with him. Then he tried to throw the phone in the pool but missed.
The night ended with me swimming, wearing only my boxer briefs. Parties often are nearly over when I take off my clothes. This was about 5am, and my mom came downstairs twice to yell. The second time she yelled, "Lingestock is over!" And I yelled, from the pool, "Christ!" There were a lot of beer bottles and cans to clean up. And three empty Jaeger bottles.
Comments
Granted, I've been to Wayland and would only live there if I was dead and didn't know any better. But mon cher, to ridicule Fayette-Nam? Your mother is correct - only those of us with the scars can make light.
Seriously, am THOROUGHLY enjoying your "blog thing" and would encourage you to keep it up and preserve it. This is the stuff books are made of!
Yup, pretnear, it'll disappear altogether.
I concur with Aunt Mawti, this is the stuff books are made of! In fact, your sister is shopping it around right now.