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Public art isn’t something I expected to see much of in rural Missouri, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the number of murals I’ve seen in towns I’ve explored since relocated here earlier this year.
Through the window, photo by smalltowngirl
Ste. Genevieve, Missouri is among the small towns I’ve explored that has a few murals to brag about. The close-up of the guy in the window is great. Check out his missing eye and bubble gum nose…
Bubble gum nose, photo by smalltowngirl
I like think that if this little girl could talk, she’d be saying, ”Ugggh, PLEASE dude. Get the gum out of your nose and put your eyeball back in. SEEEriously, dude, uggggh.”
Annoyed and Disgusted, photo by smalltowngirl
And this guy was like, totally inspired by me, trekking around rural Missouri with my camera. Only he’s tall and I’m short, and he’s a dude and I’m not, and he’s got dude hair and I’ve got girl hair. Oh, and I’m pretty sure this mural has been around since before I trekked about Missouri with my camera.
But otherwise, totally and completely inspired by me.
Inspired by smalltowngirl, photo by smalltowngirl
My favorite Ste. Genevieve mural though is this one. I love how it isn’t clearly framed at the edges, creating a real sense of three dimensions.
Ste. Gen Mural, photo by smalltowngirl
New York City still takes the cake where art is concerned, but I think Ste. Genevieve’s murals are evidence of the valiant effort rural Missouri is making to stay on the cultural maps. Nice work, home state. Nice work.
NYC=1, MO=0.5 (Yes, I’m now scoring in half-points. You got something to say about that?)
I didn’t live in NYC in 2001, so it didn’t occur to me that I could have seen the World Trade Towers from my apartment until I saw these spotlights last year from my bedroom window.
From my Bedroom Window, photo by smalltowngirl
In the Midwest, we see 9/11 as a large scale event. We’re compassionate, but we still it through the lens that the news crews shared it; not from the eyes of someone living in the community directly affected. Living in New York changed that for me. My friends would occassionally remember that day quietly and in detail.
Walking through Park Slope with my friend Michael, he refleced out loud about where he and his girlfriend each were that day. He told me that they’d not lived in New York City for very long, and that for all the fear they both felt, living through 9/11 is also one of the things that made them feel like New York City was their city and Park Slope was their community. They sat on a rooftop in Brooklyn, watching the Manhattan skyline burn. I watched it all on television.
Separately, another friend described the dust-covered Brooklyn streets. Like a light snow, he said, all of the neighborhood’s cars, streets, and buildings were covered in grey ash and dust.
I didn’t live in New York City in 2001, but I’ve felt the absense of steel and breath and life at Ground Zero. It’s a place were people commuted to work just like the rest of us commute to our own offices or schools or job sites. At one time, Ground Zero was an office not unlike yours or mine to the people who worked inside of it.
New York City is a city of greatness. Its power and achievement are unrivaled by any other city in the United States, but New York City is also a city made up of real, normal people.
No matter how significant keywords like “national security” or “terrorism” or “patriotism” are, 9/11 is about individual people going about their daily work; heading to the office, dropping the kids off at school, or sipping their morning coffee.
In the Midwest we say “Never Forget”, and we remind ourselves once a year that today is the eleventh of September. Many of the individual people who I hold close to my heart experience 9/11 in unexpected flashbacks and daily reminders of what happened in their community.
To my friends here in the Midwest, I hope that you’ll continue to show respect for the individuals and their families who lived through 9/11 in New York City. 9/11 is not a symbol to them of one specific day in history; it’s a lens through which many of my friends now see their daily lives. We say “never forget”, but after living in New York City, I wonder how you ever can.
The Tour de Missouri is finally here.
My excitement about the race stems not from my love for the sport, but from my love for small town, Missouri. Small towns along the race route will be the recipients of a lot of press and a temporary boom in commerce.
Last night, Tour de Missouri was featured on Fox Sports Midwest. My friends and I sat watching footage of world-class bicylcists riding down state highways in Ste. Genevieve County. It was awesome. Today’s footage will include my small Missouri downtown as Stage 3 kicks off here, in Farminton.
I snagged a couple of behind-the-scenes shots of Tour de Missouri folks painting a mural on Main Street last night with my Blackberry.
Before Dinner:
Tour de Missouri mural, photo by smalltowngirl
After Dinner:
nighttime street painters, photo by smalltowngirl
Here’s to small town street art and big time bike racing. Good luck to today’s racers, and for those of you lucky enough to get off work to go downtown to watch the start this morning, have fun!
Six months ago, my commute conisisted of a ten minute walk from my apartment to the DeKalb Ave. Q/B stop, where I’d board the subway, travel a few stops south, and walk another ten minutes through Brooklyn Botanic Garden and to my office there.
My current commute is approximately 45 miles each direction, 30 of which are on two lane state highway. The image of my week this week was this photo (taken with my blackberry storm) of a trailor full of portapoddies, traveling at 50 or so miles per hour (in a 55 mph zone, much to my lead foot’s lament) up MO Highway 21.
I thought that this trailer only had two or three portapoddies onboard, but when it finally turned off the highway, a profile view of the trailer’s load revealed not just two or three, but nearly a dozen portapoddies onboard. Here’s to small town, missouri life, and all the absurdities of my small town Missouri daily commute.
At long last, I’ve stopped procrastinating, and updated my URL.
You can still find me at www.smalltowngirlsguide.wordpress.com.
Now you can also find me at www.smalltowngirlsguide.com. If you have my site bookmarked or blogrolled, please updated the URL. Thanks!
I’ve never been a handbag kind of girl – I much prefer jewelry, shoes, and music, if music counts as an accessory.
I have to admit though that I worried, if only momentarily, that immediately following my departure from NYC I’d develop a compulsive need to buy knock-off handbags.
Much to my delight, the local (and by local, I mean really local, i.e. one-ninth of a mile away) antique mall has an entire row of knock-off Coach and Dulce & Gabanna’s.
Watch out Chinatown, small town Missouri has it’s own little Canal Street, hidden away in an unasuming rural antique mall.
In the realm of the things MO has to offer, please consider the cost of dry cleaning, and the friendliness of the people at stores here.
Cases in point:
1. I took one suit, one blouse, four pair of pants, two skirts, and a blazer for dry cleaning yesterday. Not only was my bill less than $40.00, the woman at the counter was exceedingly friendly.
Melissa: Thanks, I’ll see you on Monday evening!
Lady: Thank you! We’ll see you on Monday! Have a great day! Thank you!
Melissa: Thanks, take care.
Lady: Thank you! We’ll see you soon. Take care now! Thanks!!
So the dry cleaning lady either doesn’t usually get business from someone with that much dry cleaning, or she’s just really, really friendly.
Judging by the kittens playing with a ball of yarn depicted on her sweatshirt, I think she’s probably a very nice lady. What one’s sweatshirt depicts tells a lot about one’s character, don’t you think?
2. I took my cowboy boots (see blog titled “I Like Your Boots”) for repair. After a long sigh and a sincerely sad and empathetic look, the woman at the counter informed me that it was possible that my boots were beyond repair.
The woman in the boot shop was nearly as friendly as the woman at the dry cleaner, but she was wearing a plaid shirt on which no kittens were depicted. Unsure of whether I could trust her with my beloved boots (can you trust anyone without kitten pictures on their clothes with a pair of boots as unique and lovely as mine?), I realized that I had no other choice.
Despite her racist comment (racist is not okay) about the manufacturer of said lovely red and black boots, and despite her plaid, sans-kittens shirt, this is the only cobbler in town. It seemed I had no choice, if I actually wanted to wear the awesome boots again someday.
Expecting a hefty bill for the cost of repairing four holes in the boots, I braced myself. When she announced hesitantly that the repairwork would cost $24.00 (I guess this is an expensive boot repair job by local standards?) I was gleeful.
The cost of living here makes me feel like I felt when I was traveling in Asia – my dollar goes 30% further in MO than in NY, and much like so many of the Asian colleagues and friends I met along the way, people here are overwhelmingly friendly and helpful.
Today’s battle of NY vs. MO:
Friendliness MO = 1; NY = 0
Racism MO = -1; NY = 1
COL MO = 1; NY = 0
TOTAL MO = 1; NY =1
Note to Missouri: I’m trying damned hard to make you look good here, and you’re so close. Stay away from the racist side-comments, and you’ll fare much better moving forward.
Laundry in New York…
How do you do laundry in New York City?
Since most apartments don’t have washers and dryers in the building, you can take your laundry to the laundromat yourself, you can drop it off for pick-up service at the laundromat, or you can pay to have someone pick up and drop off your laundry at your apartment.
I happen to be among the tiny school of fish in the sea of (former?) New Yorkers who prefers to do their own laundry.
This is not because of some sick joy I find in doing laundry, mind you. It’s for one reason, and one reason only; I like my laundry to smell really good.
My experience with drop off service is that my clothes come back smelling much the same as YMCA towels do. (Nothing against the Y. I love the Y, in fact, especially since they started paying my salary. The Y rocks.)
The thing about doing laundry in New York though, is that just like everything else in New York, it’s hard, especially if you live in a 4th-floor walk-up, 2.5 blocks from the laundromat. The four flights of steps are the hardest part.
Once you get to the entry way from the fourth floor, you can use your trusty New Yorker-cart. The cart is used to roll your laundry 2.5 blocks away to the laundromat.
The cart:
In preparation for the trip to the laundrymat, you can’t forget your quarters and/or small bills for the quarter machine…
Because laundry in New York starts to get expensive after a while…
***
Laundry in Missouri…
Laundry in Missouri, on the other hand, is not hard at all.
You have to sort your laundry and carry it to the utility room, where your own personal washer and dryer await you.
Witness washer and dryer…
And notice that there is no slot for quarters in this particluar model…
In the battle of the laundry, the score is clear:
MO = 1; NY = 0
I had never walked up Broadway to 23rd street from Union Square, so I felt like I was on a mini-adventure, not sure what sat between 18th and 23rd along Broadway.
As I reached the southern edge of the park, I realized that I was less than a block away from the bar where the St. Louis Cardinals Fan Club in New York City meets to watch games.
Somewhat serendipitously, I had been reading an article on the train written for New York Magazine by Will Leitch (check out my other blog for thoughts on Will’s article), who I met months ago for the first time during a Cards game that the fan club watched together at that same bar, across the street.
A gust of wind nearly knocked me down, but I persevered. As I made my way to the edge of the park, I saw the infamous Shake Shack, the holy grail of New York walk-up hamburger stands, sitting humbly beneath the barren winter trees.
Shake Shack, Washington Square ParkPhoto by smalltowngirl
The unusually warm weather had brought a handful of other people out to eat a burger in the park. As I waited in line, I checked out the menu, which consisted of burgers, fries, shakes, sodas, concretes, beer and wine.
I ordered a Shake Burger (single patty, lettuce, cheese, and tomato), fries, and a black and white shake. (My days of having black and white anything are numbered).
I fought the wind as I ate my burger, resenting the cruelty of the woman who ran laps around the park and past the Shake Shack with her little white dog in shoes (red ones, with velcro. They were disgustingly cute). As if I didn’t already feel guilty about eating a burger, fries and shake for lunch…
Continuing with the ongoing MO vs. NY theme, I think it’s important to rate Shake Shack against Missouri drive-in burger joints. Here’s the verdict:
1. The burger was good, but the Shake Shack rage is totally New York-centric. If I brought a friend visiting from the midwest to Shake Shake, I’m almost positive they’d be disappointed.
MO = 1; NY = 0
2. The black and white shake made me happy, and is flavor that’s easy to find in the Bible Belt.
MO = 0; NY = 1
3. The fries left something to be desired.
MO = 1; NY = 0
In Summary: NY burger + Shake stand doesn’t hold up to my farm girl standards for what ground beef, dairy, and fried potatoes are capable of. Missouri wins this match 2 to 1.
***
Continuing my adventure, I made my way back downtown for a stop off at one of my favorite stores, Fishs Eddy.
Fishs Eddy carries some of the most affordable, quirky and clever dishes in the city. My stop off there today was further evidence of New York’s downward turning retail landscape. Fishes Eddy is going out of business.
On the bright side, this is one less thing I’ll have to miss about New York City. I also have to admit that the going out of business signs outside the store were just as clever as the great finds inside the store:
Finally, Fishs Eddy’s loss is my gain, because I….
scored these snazzy new…
Brooklyn glasses for my future kitchen…
I picked up eight of them, and am debating the purchase of four more. I heart Brooklyn, and I’ll miss Brooklyn.
***
The last stop on my adventure was at the Strand bookstore. The Strand is quite possibly the best bookstore in New York, and with it’s cozily cramped aisles, low prices, and great selection of new, used, and reviewer copy books, I have to give New York some credit. I’ll miss this place.
***
Finally, and then I’m going to crawl into my bed and fall fast asleep, I’d like to pay homage to the man who made my adventures possible today, one former US President, Mr. Abraham Lincoln. I stopped by his statue in Union Square to give him a moment of respect. Happy birthday, Abe.
***
Addendum: while I said I was going to sleep after the Lincoln homage, I have to document the hacking cough of my downstairs neighbor. May it please be noted that sick, noisy neighbors don’t help New York City’s score in this ongoing debate of states:
MO = 1; NY 0
It’s Lincoln’s birthday, which means that it’s a floating office holiday. I had to work for a few hours, but now it’s time to enjoy a gorgeous day outside by stealing my own Shake Shack virginity, and taking a walk in Manhattan with my camera.
Countless people have asked me two questions over the last few days. The first of which is, “Why are you leaving New York?”
The people who ask this question are bewildered at the prospect of leaving The City (i.e. the only city, in their New York-centric perspective) for the rural midwest.
The second question is, “How are feeling about your move?”
I’ve answered the first question in my other blog.
The second question is actually the more interesting one.
I feel:
Numb
Nervous
Exhausted
I cannot:
Seem to get enough sleep
Take in enough of New York before I leave
Imagine not coming back
I can:
Live without hard goodbyes
Manage change in my life
Find the positive in any location, position, or situation
I’ve got a lot of stuff going on in my heart and my head. I have so many things to do in the next week that my feelings and thoughts are dominated largely by necessities like transition plans at work, logistics of moving 1030 miles away, and finding someone to take over my lease.
Following my afternoon adventure today, I think I should have photos and better stories to tell. For now though, I thought I needed to document the moment.
Speaking of the moment, it’s 1:28 p.m.
1/28 is my birthday, 1:28 is my personal moment of the day, and though I don’t generally subscribe to the concept of luck, 128 does seem to be the luckiest number I know.
On that note, it’s off to Madison Avenue to have a burger and shake!
