Takin' Da Bus Part II
Jun 14th, 2003, 09:00 PM
#1
Original Poster
Join Date: Jan 2003
Posts: 245
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Takin' Da Bus Part II
(In which I refuse to set foot on a bus)
There is an awful lot of Arkansas between Memphis and Little Rock, just as there's an awful lot of Tennessee between North Carolina and Arkansas. Frankly, by the time the bus left Memphis, I was just hoping it would hurry up and get there already, so I didn't pay attention to the towns where Greyhound stops between Memphis and Little Rock -- although it was a nice change of pace to be allowed to stay in one's seat whenever the bus stopped. Perhaps this was because it was past midnight, or perhaps not. Maybe it was just because the driver knew that if everyone was going to be roused from a sound sleep and made to stand around a bus station in the middle of nowhere, mutiny would result and the passengers would hog-tie the driver, take over the bus, and become the stuff of legend, forever touring the country, eluding the law at a leisurely 65 miles per hour.
At any rate, by the time Little Rock emerged from the dark Arkansas night, the driver had worked up courage enough to order everyone to wake up and step lively, though for me this was my last stop anyway and I sort of fondly bid Greyhound goodbye, secure in the knowledge that the friends I was going to visit would take me home in style in a week's time.
Now, it turns out that Little Rock is a large city. On a river. With bridges. And skyscrapers. And beyond that in telling the story, this is the part where silence sets in, punctuated only by the sound of the occasional cricket chirp in the night. Why? Because Little Rock failed to make any sort of impression on me whatsoever.
That's odd, because I'm the sort of person who can visit a place and immediately perceive whether or not I'll like it, love it, want some more of it, or want to hide under my bed until it's time to leave. Some examples from my previous examples include Gwinnett County, Georgia, one of many suburban areas surrounding Atlanta (motto: Coming Soon to a County Near You!). I got a definite impression from Gwinnett County when I visited there to attend an anime convention.
And that definite impression is that if there's ever some sort of wacky afterlife mix-up that sends me to hell instead of heaven, I'll be unceremoniously dumped on the side of Pleasant Hill Road in Gwinnett County while suffering for eternity from a rash. It was that bad. So, for that matter, were Greenville and Spartanburg, SC, and Cookeville, Crossville, and Jackson, TN.
Meanwhile, Winston-Salem was the kind of burg I could really get into, as was Philadelphia. Then I remember I live in Asheville, the place where one responds to the question of why one rarely travels by saying, "Why? I'm already here." And I laugh a carefree laugh, consider the folly of moving, and get back to the serious business of walking the Asheville Urban Trail, or lurking in a suspicious manner in the stacks at Malaprop's Bookstore, or wearing an expression of horror much like those on the faces of the citizens of Tokyo in all those Godzilla movies who only had to worry about a big rubbery dinosaur smashing their commuter trains, whereas I and every other Asheville-area denizen have to worry about Winnebagos the size of aircraft carriers hurtling the wrong way up a one-way street, driven by oblivious Floridians.
Now where was I? Oh, yes... Little Rock. Yep, that's a city, alright. That's about all I can conclude.
And the weird thing is, it's obvious that great pains were taken to make Little Rock's suburbs, such as Jacksonville and Cabot, where my friends live, as ugly as possible! Hard work went into all those featureless strip malls and boring tract houses. All the local business owners must have agonized for hours before deciding to let the only landscaping in the parking lot be those dead weeds pushing up through the cracks in the asphalt. Local congregations must have diligently voted down many an attractive design for their new houses of worship, holding out for the ghastly little bunkers they finally were awared -- something truly hideous that everyone could be proud of.
Despite all their best efforts, I couldn't bring myself to hate Little Rock. I saw barren parking lots and tree-lined streets. Skyscrapers and suburbs. The River Market and the Old Mill. A downtown that can't hold a candle to Asheville's and a river and a riverfront park that's far grander than anything in Asheville -- despite the fact that the Arkansas River is a uniformly brownish color similar to what might result of one were to throw up chocolate milk. I saw turtles swimming in the river and at the mill, and crossing roads in the suburbs. I saw a roadkilled armadillo in Jacksonville, which just thrilled me to no end because we don't have such exotic critters up here. I saw a Presbyterian Church so grand that it almost made up for all the other ugly little churches in the area. I saw Central High School. I saw the "little rock" itself, in Riverfront Park, although someone had stolen the commemorative plaque.
But all in all, Little Rock is just there. It made no lasting impression, and was really quite a bit like something seen in a dream, and immediately forgotten upon waking. I just can't feel strongly about the city. Maybe if someone had mugged me there I could rouse some emotion for Little Rock. Maybe not. It's just there. A city. On a river. With bridges...
Whew -- I've just gotten all kinds of carried away there! You'll just have to wait til tomorrow for me to dish the dirt on Hot Springs!
There is an awful lot of Arkansas between Memphis and Little Rock, just as there's an awful lot of Tennessee between North Carolina and Arkansas. Frankly, by the time the bus left Memphis, I was just hoping it would hurry up and get there already, so I didn't pay attention to the towns where Greyhound stops between Memphis and Little Rock -- although it was a nice change of pace to be allowed to stay in one's seat whenever the bus stopped. Perhaps this was because it was past midnight, or perhaps not. Maybe it was just because the driver knew that if everyone was going to be roused from a sound sleep and made to stand around a bus station in the middle of nowhere, mutiny would result and the passengers would hog-tie the driver, take over the bus, and become the stuff of legend, forever touring the country, eluding the law at a leisurely 65 miles per hour.
At any rate, by the time Little Rock emerged from the dark Arkansas night, the driver had worked up courage enough to order everyone to wake up and step lively, though for me this was my last stop anyway and I sort of fondly bid Greyhound goodbye, secure in the knowledge that the friends I was going to visit would take me home in style in a week's time.
Now, it turns out that Little Rock is a large city. On a river. With bridges. And skyscrapers. And beyond that in telling the story, this is the part where silence sets in, punctuated only by the sound of the occasional cricket chirp in the night. Why? Because Little Rock failed to make any sort of impression on me whatsoever.
That's odd, because I'm the sort of person who can visit a place and immediately perceive whether or not I'll like it, love it, want some more of it, or want to hide under my bed until it's time to leave. Some examples from my previous examples include Gwinnett County, Georgia, one of many suburban areas surrounding Atlanta (motto: Coming Soon to a County Near You!). I got a definite impression from Gwinnett County when I visited there to attend an anime convention.
And that definite impression is that if there's ever some sort of wacky afterlife mix-up that sends me to hell instead of heaven, I'll be unceremoniously dumped on the side of Pleasant Hill Road in Gwinnett County while suffering for eternity from a rash. It was that bad. So, for that matter, were Greenville and Spartanburg, SC, and Cookeville, Crossville, and Jackson, TN.
Meanwhile, Winston-Salem was the kind of burg I could really get into, as was Philadelphia. Then I remember I live in Asheville, the place where one responds to the question of why one rarely travels by saying, "Why? I'm already here." And I laugh a carefree laugh, consider the folly of moving, and get back to the serious business of walking the Asheville Urban Trail, or lurking in a suspicious manner in the stacks at Malaprop's Bookstore, or wearing an expression of horror much like those on the faces of the citizens of Tokyo in all those Godzilla movies who only had to worry about a big rubbery dinosaur smashing their commuter trains, whereas I and every other Asheville-area denizen have to worry about Winnebagos the size of aircraft carriers hurtling the wrong way up a one-way street, driven by oblivious Floridians.
Now where was I? Oh, yes... Little Rock. Yep, that's a city, alright. That's about all I can conclude.
And the weird thing is, it's obvious that great pains were taken to make Little Rock's suburbs, such as Jacksonville and Cabot, where my friends live, as ugly as possible! Hard work went into all those featureless strip malls and boring tract houses. All the local business owners must have agonized for hours before deciding to let the only landscaping in the parking lot be those dead weeds pushing up through the cracks in the asphalt. Local congregations must have diligently voted down many an attractive design for their new houses of worship, holding out for the ghastly little bunkers they finally were awared -- something truly hideous that everyone could be proud of.
Despite all their best efforts, I couldn't bring myself to hate Little Rock. I saw barren parking lots and tree-lined streets. Skyscrapers and suburbs. The River Market and the Old Mill. A downtown that can't hold a candle to Asheville's and a river and a riverfront park that's far grander than anything in Asheville -- despite the fact that the Arkansas River is a uniformly brownish color similar to what might result of one were to throw up chocolate milk. I saw turtles swimming in the river and at the mill, and crossing roads in the suburbs. I saw a roadkilled armadillo in Jacksonville, which just thrilled me to no end because we don't have such exotic critters up here. I saw a Presbyterian Church so grand that it almost made up for all the other ugly little churches in the area. I saw Central High School. I saw the "little rock" itself, in Riverfront Park, although someone had stolen the commemorative plaque.
But all in all, Little Rock is just there. It made no lasting impression, and was really quite a bit like something seen in a dream, and immediately forgotten upon waking. I just can't feel strongly about the city. Maybe if someone had mugged me there I could rouse some emotion for Little Rock. Maybe not. It's just there. A city. On a river. With bridges...
Whew -- I've just gotten all kinds of carried away there! You'll just have to wait til tomorrow for me to dish the dirt on Hot Springs!
Jun 15th, 2003, 03:36 AM
#3
Join Date: Jan 2003
Posts: 2,558
Likes: 0
Received 0 Likes
on
0 Posts
Slow night in the motel business - no drunken wedding receptions tonight, huh? What an ideal job for an aspiring writer. (Hey, you're already there.)As always, enjoyed reading your post. Especially like the chocolate milk and armadillo bits...
