When I go outside and turn in a circle, I can find no mountains. Instead, I see buildings that sit heavily on the dead ground like enormous landlocked ships. When I look for color, I most often find beige. Beige houses, beige houses, beige grass. Worst. Color. Ever. Where am I? Minneapolis, Minnesota. I guess if I had grown up here, I wouldn't notice it, but since I live in under the big sky, the contrast is a stark one. As we drive around, my gramma tells us what cities we are in. How can one tell? There is NO space between towns; they all just run together like a big cluttery mess of malls and cars and "Business Centers." It's completely overwhelming. Luckily, I have the relative peace of Gramma's house to retreat to. Gramma's house is an oasis of food and boredom, where I have my own little room furnished with the senior high pictures of my mom and all her siblings. Tonight for dinner we ate Chicken Delight, a true midwestern dish, the main ingredients of which are: Velveeta cheese, broccoli, stuffing, chicken, and french fried onions from a tin. It was absolutely delicious; a big cheesy casserole of comfort. Tomorrow the girl cousins and I are taking on MOA. Mall. Of. America. On the front page of yesterdays newspaper there was an article announcing that a 200 person fight/riot/brawl/shoplifting spree had broken out at that very place just the day before, and here I am, going there voluntarily. What is this madness? All for jeans that make my rear end look fabulous. Well, maybe. I might get trampled to death before I can do anything about it. Being here makes me realize even more how amazing home is. Suburbia isn't my kind of place. I can't wait to breath in some fresh mountain air and look at the horses and cows as I drive the back roads.
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