swifty

I’d hate to slag a state without having a real experience in it (where’s the “I don’t know if this is worth visiting” option?), but I was not mugged or knifed while sleeping at the Woodrow Wilson rest area, and I figure that’s a good sign.

This is where I drank beer from Ben Brown’s crotch.

I was in town for three days, and in that time I played about seventeen games of Canasta and went to Powell’s. I don’t know about the rest of the state, but that’s good enough for me.

From the tiny rural burgh of Holland, to sprawling Boston, I’m almost convinced I’ve been through every part of this state. And you know what? 23 years later, I keep not hating it. That’s got to say something.

(Also, a hilarious Massachusetts in-joke: Where? Ware! Where? Ware! [repeat ad nauseum])

I guess it’s sort of cheating for me to base the whole state’s appeal on Seattle, Anacortes, and Puget Sound, but god, do I ever love this state. I wish I had a secret daughter in Tacoma so I had an excuse to keep coming back.

I mean, not that I saw a lot of it, and not that I had a good time, either, but I’ve heard a lot of good things about it. It’s probably worth visiting. There’s got to be something.

Dire portent of the Quebecois aside, I love the hell out of this province.

I dunno about Chicago or anything - been there, but couldn’t discuss thing one about it with any sure footing - but Urbana and Champaign have got some champion people in them. A surprisingly busy music scene, Parasol Records, and - if you’re lucky - a whole mess of good people. Also, you can smoke in diners, which I know is not amazing to Midwesterners, but it blew my fucking mind.