This post is dedicated to the recent change in Kansas liquor regulations.

Brought to you by the Kansas City Beer Blog – “Where Beer Spills On The Keyboard”

Until recently many Kansans could relate to this predicament photographed in 1946:

While some Kansans were busy parading against the alcohol…

…the others were not convinced.

Getting drunk in Kansas wasn’t so easy. If you didn’t feel like going to a liquore store that looked like this…

…you had to smuggle the contraband in a secret compartment of your car.

Then in a shady-looking roadhouse…

…you could finally imbibe with people you’ve never met….

…while the less fortunate citizens had to listen to boring speeches while sober.

Frank W.Carlson who is mentioned in the last photo was the Governor of Kansas in the late 40’s.

While governor, Carlson presided over the removal of prohibition in Kansas. “I’m a teetotaler,” claimed Carlson. “I don’t smoke or drink, but I have no quarrel with those who do. I’m a great believer in letting the people decide.”

Some of the modern-day politicians could learn a lesson from Mr. Carlson.

Read more about the alcohol laws in Kansas.

Continue reading →

Reader Tracy asks in reference to one of my previous posts:

what we really wanna know is that dance!

We answer: Tracy, what you see is a traditional Russian folk dance. Although I personally never observed anyone dance that way at home without beforehand consuming “mass quantities” , it doesn’t mean it never happened. Maybe the fact that all of my relatives and most of my friends were Jewish explains my lack of personal encounters with the Russian folk dancing, but the fact remains.

It doesn’t mean that I was immune to some folksy dance moves. The photograph below depicts me in a Russian-style shirt ( I am the one next to a girl, if you have trouble locating me) at some kindergarten event. Of course you may wonder what was a Jewish kid doing wearing a Russian folk shirt. Well, that makes two of us, but on the other hand what does a Jewish shirt look like? I don’t know either. So much for multiculturalism…

Old joke: A Jewish girl comes home and tells her parents she needs to wear a national outfit to school the next day. Her Mom says to her Dad: “You hear? She wants a fur coat already!”

But I digress, if you want to find out more about Russian and Eastern European Folk Dancing, there are plenty of photos and videos on this website.

Continue reading →

Nineteen years ago today an otherwise routine TWA flight landed in the Kansas City International Airport with me, my family and all of our possessions on board. We walked out into a 70F day wearing winter jackets and fur hats to start our lives in this country with a few hundred dollars and our broken English.

To mark this date I will answer the question I’ve been asked the most during these years – How do you say “fuck” in Russian? What part of Russia is Ukraine? Do you miss the old country?

Do I miss the old country? The short answer is no. I really don’t. I don’t long for the streets and the beaches; don’t miss the sound of a familiar language; don’t care to mingle with the people; don’t feel like I belong there.

There is a long answer though, to a slightly different question: do I miss the old country between 1969 and 1992? Yes, I do.

I had plenty of time to think about nostalgia and even test it out by going back several times. I think that places don’t mean much without the memories. Memories is the difference between the place that means something in one’s life  and just another tourist attraction. You walk down the streets and remember a place where you first walked next to a girl; or a spot where you stood on your first day of school with a giant bouquet of flowers; a storefront that used to sell the best ice cream in the city; a toy store where you wandered in without any money; a street where you got punched in the nose (and still have a crooked nose as a reminder); a park you used to go to with your parents; a place where you learned to ride a bike; a building where you first love used to live; a street where you walked wearing a gas mask to win a bet; many other things, probably not that important in the big picture but still somehow stored in your head all these years. These things I miss, but they are no longer there, they were just a brief moments of my life and there is no way to go back and relive them. Maybe it’s better that way; that’s what makes these memories unique and a huge part of who I am.

I don’t have to go back to a specific place to reminisce. The place since moved on anyway – rebuilt, reinvented, repainted, renamed, refurbished, re-branded, repopulated, recycled and replaced. I no longer feel like I am a part of it. I feel like I am going back to the old country when I talk with my childhood friend in Argentina, or call my old neighbor in Boston, or catch up with my army buddy in New York. Old country is us. Old country is our memories. Old country is these photographs. Fuzzy and oddly vivid, just like I remember.

Continue reading →

I interrupt slow vacation coverage and other musings to report on my recent archaeological trip to the Missouri Valley Special Collections to waste a day off photograph some artifacts from the Republican National Convention, hosted in Kansas City’s Kemper Arena in 1976.

Continue reading →

Continuing with some photos I take during my walks around downtown Kansas City.

Continue reading →