Stars Hollow

I'm sitting in a coffee shop in Midtown-ish Omaha (or Dundee) called 'Espresso Yourself'. It's about a ten minute walk east of the place I'm staying at. The entire walk here I felt like I should have been listening to Aimee Mann or the Decemberists. I fell somewhere to the right of either option with The Sea and Cake. It's not a town for Weezer--or rather--Pinkerton. In L.A., I find myself asking "Wow...where does everyone live?" and here I ask "Wow, where does everyone work?" It's a fluke of SimCity design that all of these residential zones have blossomed into such a well-rooted and beautiful comminuty. I feel like Rage couldn't grow here, who would water such a thing?

The first thing that blew my gourd was the neverending sound of insects. There's a constant chirp that pulls me back almost two decades, and I'm plunged into a past that's chock-full of Baltimore firefly catching and Nintendo in the basement. Oh yeah, there are basements here. The Big Bad Wolf would have a hell of a time blowing down these houses, which I guess is the point. Not like some wood and wallboard affair, these places were built in the 20s and made to remain. Things just feel solid.

A week here has (aside from the worry about the show, which has subsided) been extremely calming. I know for a fact that I'm going to miss it when I leave, and not just because I won't have my own room to walk around pantsless. It'll be the grey skies, sporradic rains, and muggy air who's facebook pages I'll keep checking when I'm lonely.

Ugh....what an INTERNET thing to say.

Love!
Dakotah

EDIT: Nothing to do with Nebraska, but here's some nostalgia for ya'.