What is it that sets Missouri and Pennsylvania apart? No, no, not just all the states and the hundreds of miles. There’s something else. How is it that I can tolerate – even enjoy – the vast, rolling nothingness of Missouri and bristle at the thought of having to traverse even a few miles of the Keystone State? I mean no offense to the residents and boosters of either state. It’s a mystery to me, sort of.
Of course, there’s the deeper meaning of both states. Pennsylvania is still The East. Missouri? Gateway to The West. Pennsylvania, for all its veins of jagged ridges and ironic conical mountains, is a claustrophobic place. Missouri is open, flat, and basking under a big, warm sky. Still, shouldn’t there be charms in Pennsylvania where there are feelings of animosity toward Missouri?
The week after H. and I got engaged, I left my bride-to-be to spend two weeks working in southern Missouri. The work required hours and hours of travel around the southern half of the state, stopping at the very least in every county’s courthouse, and more places besides. I was alone. I was bored. I spent a lot of time in a stinky Ford Taurus without any decent music. Nights and days of bad food eaten alone in fetid motel rooms. Then a weekend alone, with little to do, in St. Louis (where I encountered a new low in Hollywood moviemaking: The Flinstone’s movie). Bo-ring! So I shouldn’t like Missouri, I should associate with negative things, like, um, Dumpster Diving. And chicken fried steak at Ponderosa Steak House.
But. I still enjoy my travels in Missouri. The Show-Me State still seems to have a lot of highway and byway to show me. And I appreciate it.
Pennsylvania? Eh. Zilch.
No comments:
Post a Comment