Why I Love Kansas City: Oversized Toys

“I can’t believe they are building a parking garage next to the Nelson” I remember thinking this, and thinking how the project was taking a loooooonnnnngggg time. I love the huge shuttlecocks that dotted the yard, as if this were the back yard of a family of GIANTS, and the Nelson was just an obstacle to get over. But what terrible judgment on the curators part.

Sadly, I admit that my parking garage is another example of my inability to recognize beauty at first glance. And I soon uncovered that my parking garage was the Bloch addition to the Nelson, you know the building that was declared the #1 archtiectural marvel in 2007.

If you haven’t seen it you need to, if you have, go back. This building, and the artwork that surround it are enchanting. The building elegantly weaves through the sloping grounds next to the original museum. Walking through the sculptures, and shade trees on a Sunday afternoon is incredible. I’m fairly certain the lawn in front of the Nelson is perfect. You can lay on it, play football, do odd karate moves, or just sit and take in the day, and it’s wonderful.

And once you have experienced all that. Night falls.

I love this place.

ben

I'll Tumble For You

Yesterday, I fell down the stairs.

We were at a friends house painting the hallway and the stairwell, and I was wearing my socks. I took off down the stairs to get a paper towel, hit the landing, and started the slide. There's always that moment when you're falling when you think that you can catch yourself and keep your balance. But no. I didn't catch myself, and my tailbone hit the hardwood floor.

It was so funny.

Watching someone fall always makes me laugh. In fact, I often say that one of my favorite things in the whole world is watching people fall. I love the guy at the baseball game that eats it going up the stairs while carrying two full cardboard drink holders with nachos stacked on top of the cups and a bag of peanuts under his chin. And I love the "walking down a slippery hill when it's raining" fall that I fell victim to last year. The skateboard fall is always a classic, especially when the spectator is partially to blame. The more stuff that spills, the harder the fall, and the more serious the person tries to be in recovery, the better.

Now, you may be thinking to yourself: "Who is this guy? What a jerk, laughing at someone else's misfortune!" But I'm convinced that watching people fall is one of your favorite past times, too. Why else has America's Funniest Home Videos been on television for 20 years now? It sure wasn't Bob Saget's cunning jokes that kept it running. It's funny things happening to ordinary people. There's something so simple about falling, especially for an adult. I've spent the better part of my 25 years walking around on two legs, but every once in a while, I find myself on the ground.

So, keep your eyes peeled. You never know when you might catch the funniest three seconds of your week.

Here's something to get you started:

dave

Why I Love Kansas City: My Morning Drive

Every weekday, I get in my car, back out of the driveway, head north on Walnut, take a left on 38th, and then turn right on Main. I'm trying to enjoy my last five minutes of freedom before work. On the radio, 90.9 is playing some relaxed americana/folk song I've never heard before, and unless it's terribly hot, terribly cold, or raining, my windows are open. That's especially nice this time of year. As I head north on Main Street, I watch the street signs tick off: 37th, 36th, 35th. I see the same people every day at the bus stop next to Burger King. They have names, but I don't know them. So there's "The Guy With the Skateboard, "The Guy With the Cane", and "The Lady With the Baby".

And then I get to the intersection of Main and Linwood, and I can smell it. It's the smell of Kansas City. It's Barbeque - Kansas City BBQ. Gates BBQ, to be exact. The sweet smoky smells pouring out of the building are unmistakable and mouth-watering, even at 9 in the morning.

Gates is just one of many fantastic BBQ joints in KC. There's Jack Stack, Smokehouse, Bryant's, Okie Joe's, and so many others that I haven't even tried yet. I like to think about how all over the city there are people who are driving past these BBQ restaurants, breathing deep, and thinking the same thing that I am: "mmmm...".

Gates isn't open for business at 9 in the morning, but if it were, you can bet that I'd leave for work a few minutes early. And you'd find me there, standing in line, listening for my "Hi May I Help You?!".

"One Beef Breakfast on Bun and a coffee, please!"

Dave

Whenever I See..

For a guy who doesn't have the greatest taste in music, and/or lacks the desire to put the time and effort into discoverying the next great thing, I hold on to one man, one shining star.


James Taylor.


I don't know how it happened, but he found his way into my cd player in high school. And he never left. His rythm is soothing, melodies grooving, and his words move the soul.


There was one song that grabbed me from first listen. Now I don't know how most people experience music, but for me, it transends my mind. By that I mean, I usually don't cognitively grasp most of the words of a song, but somewhere inside my soul I connect with what is being said, played, and experienced through the music. The song that entered me was Smiling Face.

Whenever I see your smiling face

I have to smile myself,

because I love you

It became the song I sang along to, the song I listened to when I was happy, and the song I wanted to listen to when I was down.


And then I started dating this girl. And she had the most amazing smile, and an even more joyful laugh. And the words of the song started to become clearer.


What James was singing about I was beginning to experience. And I entered into the song. I entered into the story we had been singing about for the past 7 years.


Whenever I saw her, I couldn't stop smiling.


Whenever I heard her laugh, I saw a joy eternal, and I tasted it.


To see my love smile, could only create joy in my soul.


The words become clearer as we enter into the story. The song is always inside. We move to the beat. We make up the words. We push repeat.


And then we sing. The song of Love is beautiful.


benjamin

There's No "I" in A-L-A-S-K-A

I read an article today. It was about the church's different views on the Trinity and how those views determine much of the leadership structure and relational dynamic of a church (think static/hierarchical/patriarchal vs. dynamic/egalitarian). A bit nerdy, I know, but I thought it was fascinating (you can read it here). Anyway, there was this quote that really struck me:

I think that we are witnessing a fundamental shift in what society values as ‘real’, with a heavy emphasis on relationality as the answer. The philosophers used to say that ‘the real is rational’. Now they say that ‘the real is relational’. In fact, Deleuze has pointed out that ‘even the rational is relational’. Modern science has shown us that particles exist not as absolute entities but as entities defined solely by their relationships to other particles. People deeply want genuine connection and relationship to ground them and to give them life.

We are defined by our relationships (or lack of them): relationships with one another, with the earth, with our culture and society, and (listen, fellow consumers!) with our possessions.

Have you ever seen the movie "Into the Wild"? It's this compelling story about a young man who tries and tries and tries to cut himself off from a society that he deems insufficient and superficial (and there is some nobility and truth to his quest). But what happens when he finally does create that separation through a VW Van in the Alaskan wilderness and a pile of books? Christopher McCandless writes these haunting words as he is dying. In an old van. In the middle of nowhere. Alone.

"Happiness is real when shared".

We can't escape each other, no matter how hard we might try. And really, I think, most of us don't want to. At least not in the same way that Chris McCandless did. But it is our choice which relationships we allow to define us.

OK, stepping off my soap-box now.

Self-Help Yourself

The other day I was talking with my brother on the phone. He had started Steinbeck's East of Eden that week, and I was asking him how it was going. He said, "Well, I think I'm going to finish it today." I was stunned. This is not a quick read kind of book. This is a thick, involving, 600-plus page journey.

I asked Chris where he found the time to get through this novel so quickly, and he told me that he learned how to speed read. So, a few days ago when I was in Columbia visiting, I had Chris show me how to do it. He pointed me here.

I'm not a huge fan of self-help trends, so I was a little skeptical at first. I tried it anyway, and about 20 minutes later I was reading fast. Really fast.

And it is awesome.

The basic principle behind speed reading is that you re-train your eyes to read more quickly than you thought possible. Your brain at some point will catch up.

I've never read the Harry Potter books. At first it was a pride thing, but now it's more of a time thing. In my mind, to start The Sorcerer's Stone means to finish The Deathly Hallows (yes, I had to look up the names). And that's a big commitment. Now, though, it doesn't seem so intimidating.

Speed reading might change my life.

Hello, Neighbor!

A few nights ago, my roommates and I were sitting out on our front porch enjoying the unusually cool August weather. We quietly watched as a large white conversion van attempted to maneuver out of a driveway across the street and scraped up against a car parked in the road. It was one of those situations when in order to get out of the already bad situation you're in, you have to do even more damage first. So we listened to the sound of metal on metal as the van inched forwards, then inched backwards, and then came clear on the third try. It was painful to watch. We waited for the driver to hop out, assess the damage, and leave a note.

...Nothing.

We decided to give the benefit of the doubt, hopeful that the van driver's conscience would eventually get the best of him.

That was before Saturday night, when we watched the same van back out of the same driveway and ram into another helpless victim parked on the street during our friend's bachelor party dinner. This time, a couple of my roommates decided to take some action. They calmly walked across the street to confront the driver: 350-plus pounds of African American man.

I'll spare you the details of what was said (yelled, really) by our neighbor, but it was not pleasant. Cooler heads prevailed, the police were called (still waiting for them to show up...) and my roommates walked back across the street to rejoin the BBQ. There was another failed attempt to communicate about 15 minutes later. Finally, we all retreated to the back yard, convinced that this was going nowhere. Besides, we were here to celebrate with our friend, not argue with our neighbor.

Another 15 minutes went by, and we all stood at arms as our neighbor-turned-nemesis hustled across the street and made his way up the driveway into our back yard. By this time, there could only be one reason for this bold move. This guy was big, but we had numbers.

Then it happened.

He stopped, looked at us, and said "Guys, I'm sorry. I'm having a really rough day. I know you were just trying to help, and I don't want to cause any trouble." He shook our hands, specifically pointed out one friend with whom he had had most of his exchange with and said "I'm sorry for what I said to you".

We were floored. Here was a real man. Yes, things were tense. Yes, we were angry and ready to dismiss this foolish man who didn't want to have a civilized interaction or own up to his mistakes. And then, against all odds, he apologized. And this was a REAL apology. It was not the kind where someone says "I'm sorry you feel that way", but the kind where someone says "I was wrong. I hurt you." We spent the next few minutes in sheer admiration of this neighbor-turned-nemesis-turned-neighbor.

I love moments like Saturday night: moments when against all odds, when things seem totally hopeless, a new reality breaks through. There is something so raw about those moments, like our hearts are not used to experiencing something so good and right. After all, why should any of us expect someone to apologize? What is it that can bring a proud, large-and-in-charge man to walk across that street and into a group of 12 young men and take ownership for his actions and words?

Perhaps more importantly, why don't I recognize these moments more often?