Things you could find in a drug store…

….on your trip to pick up some Colgate Dental Cream.

httpvh://youtu.be/-Q7cf0z0fG8

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When the Garmin-Chipotle bicycling team was being formed I was not invited. Maybe it was my penchant to ride wearing Hawaiian shirts, or my refusal to purchase a helmet, or maybe it was the fact that I weigh as much as Lance Armstrong together with his bike, something must have prevented them from accepting me into their team. I wasn’t surprised, Garmin ignores two or three of my job applications every year.

I was not discouraged by the lack of sponsorship (sponsors are welcome to contact me with proposals) and participated in my own Tour De La Crique Indienne or as you Americans would call it – Tour of the Indian Creek Trail. I discussed the pleasures of recreational biking before so I will not repeat myself. Today the weather was nice and I rode about 37 kilometers (23 miles) round-trip from my house to 103rd st. and Metcalf. I wasn’t in a hurry and had plenty of time to stop and take some photos. So there, I can ride a bike and photograph.Take that, Garmin!

Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.

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Continuing further East past California,MO U.S.Route 50 enters Missouri State Capital – Jefferson City. Only a lazy Missourian hasn’t visited Jefferson City or at least looked at its photos so I am not going to wear you out with my own.

Missouri State Capitol is similar to its sisters in Topeka,KS and Springfield,IL, but, unlike more hospitable Kansas, one cannot get to the top of the dome without a State Representative.

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May, you may want to skip this one.

Sunday’s weather cooperated and, as I as was anticipating, we were on the way to Lawrence to attend Kansas State Fiddling and Picking Championships. Last year we attended this festival just looking for something to do (for free) and we liked it so much that this year we were actually planning on going. There was a pretty good-sized crowd, unlike the other notable music event, proving again that location matters. The festival had two stages where competitors and performers such as O’Shea Sisters and DeLancey Trio took turns entertaining the public. We spent around 3 hours listening to the music, wandering around and taking some photos and videos. Most of these have heads and other parts of people who decided to park their fat obnoxious asses in front of me, so I forever have memories of these inconsiderate morons. Click on the cover to see the rest of the photos.

Another unexpected and pleasant surprise was waiting for us in downtown Lawrence where The Lawrence Busker Festival was taking place. My daughter and I are big fans of buskers, although until yesterday I didn’t know that they were referring to themselves as “buskers”. I always thought it was “street performers” or whatever. There were quite a few of them – magicians, jugglers, musicians – and downtown Lawrence was alive with crowds. We didn’t leave Lawrence until after 5, after eating at Rudy’s Pizza and finishing with Ben and Jerry’s Ice cream.
And that, May, is what I did this weekend.

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A little worm asks his father:
-Daddy, why do some worms get to live in apples and oranges and we live in a pile of shit?
-Because it’s our Motherland, son…
Old Soviet Joke

When I was boarding a plane to Los Angeles last Wednesday I knew all about my destination.
It was full of aging hippies…

…who wear Birkenstocks year round…

…overrun with crime (I am pretty proud of this shot right in front of the Grauman’s Chinese Theatre)…

…chronic diseases…

…about to be washed out by a tsunami…

…infested with illegal tax preparers…

…where fat people are discriminated against while being taunted with snacks…

…and skinny people are being put on a pedestal.

But somewhere during my five days in LA, my American dream got kicked in the groin. For years I was arguing with my friends on both coasts that I live in a better place, full of parking and almost devoid of traffic, safe and with good schools, reasonable and affordable, while still having a chance to see recent Broadway shows and dine at ethnic restaurants. After every trip I returned home complaining about the crowding, overpriced real estate and horrible traffic everywhere I went, feeling good about the rush hour slowdown on the highway we refer to as “traffic” and my relatively minuscule mortgage payment.

LA made me realize how badly I was mistaken. My friends were right, I live in a Podunk town, in a boring provincial backwater where the foodies are taking turns revisiting the same 10 restaurants and 3 markets; where the same 6 women (and probably men) are at the top of all dating sites (albeit under different handles); where finding a date with at least two degrees of separation from your previous one is almost impossible; where any chain restaurant opening is an event worthy of TV news coverage and traffic congestion; where the only bragging rights are “at least we are not Tulsa or Omaha”. Indeed we are not.

At the same time there are wonderful magical places where it’s almost always warm and sunny but you can look up in the mountains and see the snow; where at any given time more women are dressed in heels and bikinis than the whole statistical female population of the KC Metro Area; where the people are always in a sunny mood and free of depression or PMS and are happily smiling even while being arrested; where the 52-week donut project would take 52 years and still will not be able to eat a donut at every one of them; where the restaurants from all over the world are open even in the areas that are not scary without bars on the windows; where the oranges and lemons grow in people’s backyards instead of the allergy-inducing trees that are planted here for some mystical reasons; where the produce is not an imitation food sold here; where fat people are magically drawn outside to ride bikes or walk or run so even their over-consumption of donuts or cakes from a Cuban bakery around the corner is not detrimental to their health; where driving up and down the mountain roads makes one feel like James Bond; where you “can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile”.

So I told my daughter to pick a college in California, the only place where my American dream can make another run for it.

Maybe I can take a ride on the “Possibility bus”…

…or just mount my Focus on top of a school bus…

…I can trow down my magical money blanket on the sand…

…or pour my lifetime savings into a yacht…

…just so I can see this…

…or this…

…and this…

…and I will wait as long as I have to.

httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4J0HD_82hw

P.S. I don’t need to know why it’s so great to live here and why it sucks in California. Trust me – I know. And learn about hyperbole.

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