So before I get too far along into the Empire Strikes Back of will become my "getting to colorado" trilogy, I should offer background. Before my trip out west (long long ago...) I talked with Ms. Stuntz and she asked me to find her a notable Nebraskan. Someone who was eager about politics and just a "go-getter." I told her it seemed highly unlikely that I'd find any such person, given that at most I was going to spend 13 hours in a hotel room in Nebraska.
When I left off I was cruising into Nebraska. I passed Co-Blu (Council Bluffs) and sailed on to Omaha. Driving near Omaha always sort of depresses me. Not just because of its status as a city, but because the act of driving by the Woodman building evokes such strong images of "About Schmidt" that I'm left with this longing for deeper meaning. It's like watching the "Graduate," generally not a real pick me up. So, I sped by Omaha, and for a while pondered if I was really "going anywhere." And I realized I was. Lincoln. I'd never been to Lincoln (I'd never been west of Omaha). Uncharted territory to be sure.
Nebraska has a few surpsises up her sleeve. First the speed limit is 75 mph. This seems only fair, because the state itself is a long as forever. And as boring as an Andy Warhol conceptual film.
Also Nebraska radio is fairly good. I find this to be a solid trend. Areas that have something of an urban core (at least 100K) but are dominantly white and semi-rural tend to have great classic rock stations. Witness: Dayton, and now Omaha. Sadly Des Moines failed to fit into this trend.
Among the standard classic rock stations (one that plays Pink Floyd and AC/DC another that plays Dire Straits and Boston) was at least one hip hop station which played exactly the same songs I heard in Grand Rapids in January. It was amazing. "The Top Hits of Today," were apparently slow to move across the great expanse of the midwest. So the pseudo-nostalagia for 4 months ago felt creepy and oddly soothing. There is something about being raised in the era of VH-1 that induces mild pleasure at the idea of musical nostalgia...even if it's only for a period that ended 30 minutes ago.
The other radio station I heard was I think 103.5, which played "the hits of today, with no hard stuff, and none of that RAP!" The disdain for hip hop music and I surmise by extension black culture was strange enough. Even odder was that the next song after the promo was "Hey Ya." So I guess rap doesn't include OutKast. Strange. I began to think about it and came to the conclusion that "hey ya" is the rap equivalent of "The Cosby Show." Black enough to be credible, but palatable to those who want puffy silly sweaters, or homages Sly and the Family Stone.
But all this is but a prelude to "the" story from the trip. I was making very good time as I pulled into Lincoln. My car clock showed it to be 7:30, though the locals would have told me it was 6:30pm. I hadn't made reservations, and wasn't terribly concerned with price, so I pulled into the first available hotel. In this case, the "Settle Inn." I certainly felt like I was settlin' for this place. It was down a very very long access road and just felt strange. For instance it had a castle theme, replete with a knight in front (sadly, it was statuary, and not performance art). I stretched my legs and went inside. I asked if they had a single room. They did. King bed, no smoking. 62 plus tax. Fine.
I noticed on the sheet at the front desk that they had themed rooms. You (and your partner...well at this place spouse) could get a room with a jacuzzi/hot tub that had various themes: jungle, medievel, Astronaut, and the Fabulous 50s. I say spouse, because I was asked immediately if I needed another key for my wife. I said nope. Just me. Got strange look. Went on my merry way.
I dropped my things in the room, and laid down to watch some TV (Good Eats on FoodNetwork). Twenty minutes later I saw a cheap campaign commericial for Jeff Fortenberry. He was running for Congress. This got me thinking, it was a monday.
I then ventured out for a bite to eat (I'd not eaten all day, I don't stop when I am on trips except for gas). Fortunately the McDonalds was far away. It gave me enough time to notice the many yard signs along the median. I thought, I bet tomorrow is election day here. So I pulled out my cell phone dialed 411 and asked for the Nebraska Democratic Party HQ. I was going to help with Nebraska GOTV calls. I got some guy at the party and explained that I was staying in Lincoln for the night, but that I was driving through to Fort Collins to manage a state senate race, and could I help with GOTV phone calls tonight for an hour or two. I was met with shocked silence. I repeated the story. Finally I was instructed to call "Chris." Chris worked for, well actually, manages the Matt Connealy for Congress campaign (pronounced Ka-Nealy). I re-told my story and was asked to venture into the basement of this random office near campus. There I met Ian. Ian it turns out worked with Hurm and Nate in region 5. He was a Dean supporter and looked awfully familiar (because he came to DSM for the "party"). I retold the story again. And then another time when other people came by.
And then it was down to work. I was there to make calls for some guy I'd never met, in a city that I'd spent all of 45 minutes in, after driving for 12.5 hours straight without eating. Yup. I'm not a smart man, but it makes for a good story.
Midway through the calls, the candidate stopped by. I retold my story. He and I chatted for a while (the rest of the staff left so it was just the two of us). I talked about robo calls in Iowa, and we shot the shit. Good stuff. Just checked today, turns out he won.
To recap--I got to do GOTV in Lincoln, met a Dean staffer I didn't know, and in teh process found a nifty nebraskan for Allie. I then retired back to my hotel. I found on the bed a notice I'd not noticed before. It confirmed my sense that this hotel was strange. The notice said: "We hope that God will grant you peace and rest while under our roof. We want you to be happy and comfortable as you would be in your own home. May the business that brought you our way prosper. May every call you make and every message you receive add to your joy." I was not on home turf. Not even a little. Seemed strange then that there would be these freaky marital sex fantasy rooms at a place like this, but why not...not hurting anyone.
Thus concluded day one of Aaron's cross country journey. 860 miles. about 60 GOTV calls. 12.5 hours on the road. 5 states. Not a bad day's work.
No comments:
Post a Comment