Simon and Garfunkel may have had it right when they wrote “Sounds of Silence” almost 50 years ago. Nowadays, you find pearls of wisdom in chat rooms and on blogs. Take the on-line contest the Star’s own blog sponsored a few years back when New York Governor Eliot Spitzer was revealed to have been a frequent client of a Washington D.C. escort service. Inspired by the disclosure that the Guv (“Client No. 9”) had spent $4,300 in one evening for the companionship of an Ashley Dupré, the Star asked its readership for their suggestions on how they would spend that amount on an evening out in Kansas City. The following are a few of the more amusing responses:
(This was from “The 60’s Will Never Die,” No. 145)
“I would buy Sprint!” (from “Bill Esrey,” No. 142)
“I’d spend it the same way he (Spitzer?) did, but I’d go to the Boats because the whores are cheaper there!” (No. 150)
“I’d buy a big Ole board (note the Mo-Kan patois) and give it to Silda (Spitzer’s wife) and tell her to beat his sorry ass to a pulp.” (No. 156)
“Hookers! Did you see that girl Ashley?” (No. 167)
“Buy a plane ticket as far from this overgrown cowtown as possible.” (No. 181)
“Find a nice lady on Independence Avenue and put the other $4,295 in savings!”
(“Rick James” No. 164)
“Give the Kay Barnes hoar (sic) some more TIF money to hand out!” (No. 178)
“With $4,300 I would spend $1,000 on TNT and blow up Camaro-Head stadium!”
(“Get a Clue” No. 131)
“I would buy a top hat, a unicycle, and a banana hammock and cycle around downtown, all the while flying my Mizzou tiger flag high in the air. Then skirt on over to Missy B’s!” (“Proud Tiger” No. 135)
This representative sample of replies has it all—derision of the local ruling class (well deserved), defensiveness about our town’s provincialism (undeserved), the innocent fun of a drunken hook-up in Westport—what more could anyone ask of life?
Actually there was a very long post that took the readers on a harrowing tour of the Kansas City underworld; starting on the East Side, eating (exclusively trans-fats) and drinking your way over to WyCo (a.k.a. “The Dot”), ending up in Quindaro. The scribe closes with the assurance that even if you’re shot for your newly-acquired bling, you’ll have enough cash left to cover your co-pay at KU Med. The description is reminiscent of the “Night-Town” sequence in Joyce’s Ulysses.
Who says that we’re just a “cowtown”?