Some folks like to get away from it all. Not me. I like to immerse myself in as much chaos and grit as possible.
We're talking vacation theory here. My favorite leisure destination is a city. I've always liked living in the middle of cities, and when I have a little free time, I like to venture off and see what others have to offer. In the last two years, my wife Barbara and I have spent large amounts of time in San Francisco, Cleveland, Detroit, New York, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and D.C. We sucked in the smog and bathed in the grime.
Last week, we wandered over to Chicago to visit a passel of friends. Our specific goal for this week of relaxation was to visit a different bar each evening. As I quickly discovered that most establishments in the area purveyed Bell's Amber Ale (Kalamazoo's finest), I was more than ready to visit as many watering holes as possible. I'm proud to say we averaged more than one taproom a night.
Apart from the nightly fermented malt beverage excursions, we managed to take in a few sights. Like Sammy Sosa's 56th home run (as seen from the upper deck at the Friendly Confines). The Chicago skyline (as seen from a boat in the Chicago River and Lake Michigan). The multi-talented David Grubbs (as seen from the bar at the Empty Bottle). Good things, indeed.
In fact, the only person I know who likes cities more than me is Barbara. She likes to see as much of them as possible while pounding her feet to the pavement. Chewing up the concrete is one of her true loves. But while her drill sergeant walking routine (five miles? we can do ten) is fine for folks with average knees, mine are well beneath that standard, and by Thursday they didn't want to bend. So I sat home during the day and read Contact. Better than the movie, but the movie was pretty damned good. That evening, of course, I pounded the brewskis.
In fact, during this citified, active vacation I managed to put away six books (alright, one on each of the plane jaunts, but still). During our week on the Outer Banks, I finished one book that I had started some time earlier and then plowed my way through Underworld. A great book, but a very long book. I guess I read more when half blitzed and plugged in to the city beat.
I just feel better in a big city. And I don't even particularly like Chicago. It's real flat, and the mass transit system isn't well thought out at all. Traffic is hell. But the music scene is second to none (well, maybe New York can rival; maybe) and it does that have diverse, vibrant worldly feel. I like walking around and deciding between Mexican turnovers and Polish turnover. Between the Korean grocery store and the Lebanese grocery store. Between Old Style and Special Export (um, okay, so I'm reaching there). Even with all it's city charm, Chicago isn't one of my favorite places. Like San Francisco, New York or D.C. Those are my most desired destinations. Chicago is something like Philly. A great city, but not a world-beater.
All that doesn't matter. Given the choice of living in the burbs and living in the city, I'll take the city every time. Given a choice between a college town and a city, well, it depends on the college town and how close it is to a real city. Ann Arbor and Boulder give you all the benefits of college towns with the convenience of major cities just down the road. In fact, I'd give my left nut to live in Boulder. Problem is, Barbara's got a hold of that nut and we're not moving to Colorado.
All joking aside (as part of our pre-nup, I retain control of my testicles except in case of an emergency), as we look around for places to live (or, more accurately, potential future employers), we are looking for a larger metro area in which to nest. A place where English is not necessarily the predominant language. Where exotic foodstuffs can be appropriated at all hours of the early morning (Domino's at 2 a.m. doesn't count). Where the local 12-screen theater doesn't have Saving Private Ryan on six screens and Blade on the other six. A place, in other words, which appreciates more than one sort of culture.
Culture's the real key. St. Petersburg, Fla., a nice city which even has a Major League Baseball team these days, is a place devoid of culture. Tampa has some, but not enough to flavor the entire Tampa Bar area. Three million people and the best they can do is Hooters and Outback Steakhouse? There is a reason we skipped town.
When you think of New York, you think of a million things happening at once. When you think of D.C., you think of a million things doing what they shouldn't. When you think of San Francisco, you think of a million things doing what Trent Lott thinks they shouldn't. All good reasons to live in those places. Those cities.
Get away from it all? I'm already too far away as it is.
Jon Worley resides in York, Pa., the high water mark of Baltimore's white flight brigades.