Hearne’s been sending me ideas all week for things to write about.
He wants me to write about Gloria again. But I can’t upload vomit.
He wants me to write about Tony’s Kansas City. But it’s the same thing with diarrhea.
He wants the “top reasons why Kansas City will never truly make it to the Big Time.” But that would be pretty stupid coming from me because there are a lot more reasons why I won’t.
He wants me to write a “road map for KC to mend its small town mentality ways.” But I don’t really think KC has a “small town” mentality. I think it has a suburban mentality, which is worse. So my road map is this: Remember that Kansas City is a fucking city.
But that’s not really enough for a column.
And not just any column. My last column. The swan song of a shooting star who burned ever so brightly. History. Right before your eyes. On the Internets.
I told a friend yesterday that writing this marathon series of posts has had me feeling like I’m the schmuck who’s trying to make his girlfriend break up with him. But now that I think about it, I realize that’s ridiculous because Kansas City barely even knows I’m alive, much less sees me as relationship material.
I’m thinking it’s more like I hate saying goodbye. So this narcissistic purging online has been an effective way to rouse a small but noisy Greek chorus of boos to encourage me on my way.
When I haven’t been writing leftist screeds for Hearne, I’ve been hitting some of my favorite spots.
I dropped a hundred bucks at Love Garden on Friday. Had an order of short ends at Bryant’s today. Been walking the dogs at Berkley Riverfront Park everyday.
On Saturday, my wife and I relived our first date, or what she believes to be our first date. We spent the afternoon hopping from gallery to gallery.
When we got to the H&R Block Art Space near the Kansas City Art Institute we saw the amazing exhibition of brilliant performance/video pieces by John Wood and Paul Harrison.
And I understood then what I was trying to get at with my first installment in this series, the post about how I’d ruined this town for myself.
The upshot in that post was that I’d made an ass of myself in politics and I’d done a lot of people wrong and now I can’t go anywhere in the city without fear of an awkward interaction with somebody.
Which is true.
But it’s more that I came here for reasons that pretty much negated my ability to build a real, lasting relationship with this place.
When I came to work for the Pitch, my charge was to find shit that’s wrong with this place, and put it all out there, with my name on top.
Finding fault, and getting attention. Not the best motives for a healthy, long-term relationship.
Now I’m going some place new and maybe I’ve learned enough to do it right this time. When people ask me how I feel about moving, I say I’m looking forward to living in a place where I can just enjoy the sausage and not know or worry about how it’s made, where I can live in an anonymity more befitting of my name.
Am I going to miss it?
Some things. I’ll definitely miss Love Garden. Fucking amazing record store. Earwaxx, too, for the old stuff. Boulevard Beer. Bryants. The new bike path by Berkley Park. Cliff Drive. City Market. Elbow Chocolate. Charles Feruzza’s writing. The Pitch. The Brick. The KC Library. Fall. Spring. Ice storms. Broadway Café. The Franz Klein and Mike Rothko pieces at the Nelson. The Nelson, especially the new addition. Charlotte Street. Cellar Rat. Frevere bread. El Torito Taqueria y Carneceria. Some people.
Short list, really.
Makes me kind of feel as though I never even lived here.