As Seen in Kansas: The Western Home

One of the truths that I hold to be self-evident is that places aren't boring, people are.

As a life-long Kansan maybe that's just some kind of defense mechanism. But I've traveled a fair bit both domestically and abroad, and I find that no place it boring as long as you're curious.

Take, for example, the middle of nowhere.

It would be tempting to look at a flat, mostly blank spot on the map, such as Smith County, Kansas, (the entire population of which numbers fewer than the available parking spaces where I work) and conclude that there can't possibly be anything of interest there.

But with a good guide and sincere curiosity, I've found that even such places as these have interesting nuggets to yield. And, to steal a line from Bill Cosby, if you're not careful, you might learn something.

One of the nuggets of interest we checked out on our recent visit there was a small, ancient cabin in the woods.

The cabin, of basic construction and even more basic amenity, is notable for it's original occupant, Dr. Brewster Higley, né Brewster Martin Higley VI, a homesteader originally from Ohio.

Higley's primary claim to fame is a poem he wrote in 1873 after moving to the Kansas prairie and building cabin by a small creek. The poem was called The Western Home, and it so captured life on a pioneer homestead that it was set to music and became a popular folk song.


The Kansas Legislature adopted it as the official state song in 1947.


The cabin, as it stands today, in the midst of a wild cannabis grove near a wooded creek, has been reinforced with stone, cement and angle iron. There is also a gigantic circular saw blade that I'm pretty sure wasn't part of the original structure.


But much of the original log structure is still there. You can see axe marks in the wood and the rusty square nails from the era.


It's difficult to imagine being the original occupant of this house. Indeed, most people these day's have nicer garden sheds. I'm fairly certain that nobody today would be inspired to think of "home" given a life in these accommodations. The interior has barely room for a single mattress, let alone a queen sized bed. The "kitchen" consisted of a small, camp-sized wood-burning stove and the air conditioning was provided by half-inch gaps between the logs (though I assume these were patched when people were actually living here).

I guess it's possible that Dr. Higley's poem may have been more aspirational than inspirational — not so much an ode to his little hovel, more of a longing for something nicer. Still, it's impressive to consider the hardy folk like Dr. Higley (and perhaps more impressively, Mrs. Dr. Higley) who chose this lonely, primitive lifestyle in pursuit of their American dream.

tagged: Kansas, Smith County, Brewster Higley, cabin, Home on the Range, pioneer

My next million dollar idea: Continental Golf

A few weeks ago I posted a few random items from my fictional bucket list. Some of those things I've already done. Some I'm still working on.

One in particular, I'm completing today.

I had this idea of creating a sport, in part, to gain a small measure of immortality (perhaps due to an aforementioned existential dilemma) . Consider James Naismith, who invented basketball while working in New England. Sure, you'll hear KU fans say he invented basketball at KU, but I think it's pretty well established how delusional KU fans are.

Anyway, to back to the story, the working name for my new sport is Continental Golf. Let me esplain...

You see, there's a sport played all over the country called golf. Essentially, you hit a small ball with a long club in an effort to make it land in a hole some distance away. Score is kept by tallying the number of hits — or strokes — it takes a player get the ball into the hole. The goal being to get as low a score as possible over the course of 18 holes.

My adaptation of this is similar, except that instead of 90 to 500 yards separating the start and finish of a hole, it could be 100 to 600 miles or more.

You see, I envision each hole taking the length of an entire state. One would tee off, for example, in Leavenworth, Kan., and play west to finish by putting into a hole near Horace, Kan.


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So you would end your first hole, then continue into Colorado, teeing off in, say, Cheyenne Wells, and finishing in, maybe, Dove Creek. You would continue, so on and so forth, until you had played the entire course, which obviously would be composed of up to 18 different states.

Obviously, this is a more extreme version of traditional golf. But hey, I enjoy the challenge.

As with conventional golf, we'd have to establish a "par" for each hole, and I'm thinking we might rely on the sport's pioneering players to help with this. We might find it necessary to count every 10 hits as a stoke, and then use a decimal system for scoring. Kansas, for example, might have a par of 440.0 which would be roughly 4,400 in conventional golf strokes (if you're a big hitter).

Colorado, though shorter, has a pretty big bunker in the form of the Rocky Mountains, so you'd need to account for that in the par rating. But you get the idea.

As for equipment, I see us using pretty much the same items as regular golf as far as balls, clubs, gloves etc. Although we should consider trading in the battery powered golf cart for a diesel powered Hummer. Or maybe a good quarter horse if you're a sport purist.

Now, the beauty of this sport is that while it may not be practical for your average Joe to take a few weeks off every year to go play a hole of Continental Golf, I'm thinking ahead to the digital spin off.

Imagine the appeal of taking my new game, putting it on an Xbox or even a Wii, juicing it up with some Google Earth mojo and launching an online Continental Golf league. You get to multiply the appeal of golf by the joy of travel and tourism, and I get to take a tasty little cut out of every purchase.

So, who wants to be in my first foursome. I'm thinking we tee off in late April?

tagged: Sports, golf, tourism, travel, James Naismith, Kansas, Colorado

Clear out

You guys remember back in the day, like in April of 2008, when a company called Clear was trying to get me to turn over a bunch of my personal information in exchange for quick passage through airport security?

You remember that?

I basically said no thanks to paying $130 bucks a year for the privilege of having some company I know nothing about collect my SocSec number, finger prints, retinal scan and DNA sample (although that last one sounds intriguing).

My point was, who knows what they're doing with that info. It can't be good.

Well if you did sign up for that service, it looks like you might be doubly screwed now. According to The Associated Press, Clear is going out of business, and they're taking your money and personally identifiable information with them.

The [parent] company, Verified Identity Pass, said it pulled the plug on the Clear program because it couldn't negotiate a deal with its creditors. It could file for bankruptcy.

Some customers received e-mails with the news, while others found out when they discovered Clear lanes at the airport were cordoned off.

Many Clear customers who paid up to three years in advance are, as they say in the travel industry, shit out of luck.

Not to mention, all of that personal information about them is floating around out there. Of course the Transportation Security Administration has it, and that means the entire federal government has it.

And, FYI, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, more than 1.8 million civilians work for the Federal Government (excluding the Post Office).

Look people it should go without saying especially in this day and age -- you need to do everything in your power to stay off of these special government lists.

If not, you'll be one of the first to be put up against the wall when the revolution comes.

tagged: Clear, travel, privacy, bankruptcy, TSA, revolution, retinal scan

Irony

One of the pleasant surprises about our vacation to Branson a few weeks ago was Silver Dollar City.

I was expecting a sort of redneck version of the already-kind-of-rednecky Worlds of Fun. But instead, it was more like a fun version of the Renaissance Festival. There were enough kid rides to keep our fiver-year-old entertained, but also enough artisanal displays to keep the adults occupied.

We watched a glass blowing demonstration right after shooting bad guys in the Flooded Mine. A big hit for my dad was the blacksmith's shop. A craftsman was at work turning iron into useful tools and works of art.

Pops struck up a conversation with the gentleman and learned that, by working at Silver Dollar City for 12 weeks, he makes enough contacts that he gets jobs lined up for the entire year. Not a bad way to make a living doing something you think is fun.

The blacksmith's shop is where my dad got me this kickass birthday present:

I know you guys know what it is, so I won't waste time explaining its use. But I do want to point out a few details.

First, here's the business end of this useful little gadget...

But the coolest part is this...
That's right, rather than just the typical loop, dad had the blacksmith put in a monogram 'A' for me. This thing is a family heirloom now.

Sweet.
tagged: vacation, Branson, Missouri, Silver Dollar City, iron, blacksmith

Vacation Plan B

We were excited about our planned Hawaiian vacation this year, looking forward to beaches, waves, exotic food and luaus and getting leied.

Yep, it was going to be the summer of fun.

Then gas started getting super expensive. Airfares followed. Airlines started sticking it to customers, then started going out of business. So, we opted to go with Vacation Plan B - Branson, Mo.

I couldn't help but be a underwhelmed. I mean, I'd never been to Branson, so I didn't want to completely write it off. But the shift in expectations was a little disappointing.

But when you only get one real vacation a year, you gotta make it count. So I determined to go "Las Vegas, if it were fun by Ned Flanders” with a positive attitude.

So how'd it go? Oh, thanks for asking. Here are a few thoughts...

Overall, it's a pretty good family destination. There's plenty to do. My daughter especially liked the dinosaur-themed minigolf course where we saw actual, live dinosaurs (well, okay, they were tiny little collared lizards, but a reptile is a reptile, right?).


Another big hit was the bumper boats. It's fun for parents and kids alike. We went back a couple of times to ride the boats and soak each other with the water cannons. I can't believe KC doesn't have something like this downtown or maybe out at the Speedway. Note to self, this is a possible franchise opportunity.

So there was plenty to do. Unfortunately much of it was pretty expensive. Any show you go to is going to set you back $50 bucks a head or more. Same with any of the boat tours, and Silver Dollar City (although, in the case of Silver Dollar City, I'd say it's worth the price of admission).

But it was kind of sad to see the random development that has taken place in the hills around Branson. At one time, this area had a lot of natural beauty (it still does in some areas).

But it was clear driving around the area that the developers and entertainment syndicates have run roughshod over whatever development and zoning regulations may have been in place. The area gets more than six million tourists a year, and it’s clear that the 6,000 residents of Branson had no chance against that much money.

Sadly, Missouri's love of tacky billboards spewed a full-on ad-gasm all over the Ozarks.

That said, there are still areas where you can still see the appeal of living in the more pristine areas of the Ozark hills. We spent one evening on a dinner cruise on Lake Taneycomo, floating by houses up on the bluffs overlooking the White River and imagining what the view must be like from up there.

So, in the final analysis, I'd say that although I probably wouldn't make Branson a future vacation destination, it wasn't horrible. It wasn't Hawaii, but it was better than I expected.

tagged: Iran, Europe, nuclear, Wall Street Journal, EU, Bush, environmentalist

Seat neighbor lotto

After a half hour delay in the terminal while US Airways replaced the duct tape on engine #2 of the San Francisco-bound A320 out of Phoenix, I was sitting in my window seat waiting for the other passengers to board.

A middle-aged woman was seated in the aisle seat in my row, with the middle seat still unoccupied. As I was enjoying a "carry-on cocktail" that I was able to sneak down the jetway, a voice came over the cabin intercom telling my fellow travelers and I that “we have a full flight today, so please place small carry-on items under the seat in front of you.”

Oy! Full flight, and me with the window seat. The only thing that could be worse is if I had the middle seat.

As passengers kept filing on, filling up the overhead bins and moving to seats in the rear of the plane, I began playing the seat neighbor lottery game with myself. You know how this goes, you take a look at each person that comes through the four “first class” rows, quickly sizing them up and mentally calculating how pleasant it would (or wouldn’t) be to have them sitting uncomfortably close to you for the next two hours.

The criteria are obvious. The smaller the better. You don’t want a huge person illegally crossing the armrest boarder and invading the sovereign territory of your seat. Don't get me wrong. God knows I'm no delicate flower myself. I'm reasonable, but COME ON PEOPLE!

Younger is better, too. I don’t need a hacking geriatric sitting next to me, devouring my soul with excruciatingly tedious stories about the olden days, coughing up a lung and generally harshing my mellow.

If you’re a dude, you’re hoping for a passenger of the female persuasion, because who wants to sit next to a guy smelling of cheap cologne. In fact, I suspect that if you’re a chick, you’re hoping to avoid sitting next to dudes as well. Let’s face it people, women are just a lot more pleasant to be around that guys.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt if they’re easy on the eyes. It may sound shallow (because it is), but nobody wants to sit next to Quasimodo through two time zones. Although, taking all factors into account, I’d rather sit next to a small ugly chick than a big, good-looking guy.

Anyway, knowing my luck, I was expecting a John Candy look-alike to win the lottery for the seat next to me. Each time a petite fox (do people still use that word?) came through, I would watch her continue to the back of the cabin or take a seat a few rows forward. Then a large ogre would saunter through with two gigantic carry-ons and I just knew he was coming for my row.

Then the line of passengers started to slow down. The saccharine sweet voice of the gate agent announced over the intercom “Passenger boarding is complete. Flight attendants, please secure the cabin for takeoff.”

“What’s this?” I thought to myself.

I began to feel a sense of what passes for excitement in the livestock shipping world of business travel. Could it be that I have a chance at winning the biggest prize in the seat-neighbor lottery? No, I dare not even hope that it might be the case. I dare not put my faith in fate only to have my hopes dashed at the last second.

But as the minutes passed, and fewer and fewer passengers were left to take their seats, I started to hope against all odds.

Finally, only one person remained. He was a smallish, athletic looking middle-aged man wearing casual khakis and a knit shirt. He stopped a few rows in front of me to jam his oversized carry on bag into not enough room in the overhead bin. Forcing the door of bin shut, he looked down into the cabin.

He walked closer, closer. I knew at that point he would sit next to me. It’s a full flight, after all. There’s one passenger left and hence, only one seat.

But NO! He kept walking! Turns out his seat was in the very back next to the twin lavatories (worst seats on the plane, my friends).

And now there was no doubt about it, I would spend the next two hours with room to stretch out my legs into the center seat. I would have plenty of elbow room, a place to put my magazines, room to pull out my laptop and get some work done.

I had won the jackpot in the seat neighbor lottery.


tagged: travel, US Airways, Phoenix, William Shatner, Airplane