The Goodlands

Our friend, Joel, wrote this and emailed it out to a few friends. I really liked it, and asked him if I could post it here. He said yes. He titled the email: "The Goodlands."

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I remember several friends claiming years ago that I could develop a taste for Diet Coke if I would quit drinking all soft drinks for a while and then return with Diet Coke. They held that the time off would make it easier to like Diet, and after drinking that a while, regular Coke would not taste good anymore. Sure enough – it worked.

As recent proof, a couple days ago I accidentally sipped Coke at a restaurant, and it's no good – way too sugary and syrupy. I have long since made that transition. (I should go ahead and move to juice and water, but that's another story.)

Similarly, I recently gave up all cable and broadcast TV. The web, podcasts, and the occasional rental provide my info and entertainment. I also watch much less across the board. I've even let go of Netflix / Blockbuster memberships. I don't need them; I don't want them.

Nowadays, just as Coke became unpalatable after some time off, I can no longer relate to TV when I am at a friend's or my folks' place. It's obnoxious. I always knew it was bad, but I did not know how bad until I removed myself from it for a while. I was not aware of how far its subtleties had encroached into my consciousness.

I still follow certain sports, though that, too, has waned a lot, and I find it a chore to watch them on TV due to the ridiculous commercials and the loudness of the whole thing. Watching TV for a while feels like engorging on a double with cheese, a giant Coke, fries, and shake. I can't get through the burger or make it to commercial without regretting having started.

Last weekend in Nebraska strikes me as also somehow similar. A longtime friend named Fred and I drove there and back to catch USC against Nebraska Saturday night. We stayed Friday evening through Sunday morning.

That part of the country really is mile after mile after mile after mile of cornfields as far as the eye can see. The entire state holds 1.7 million people. According to Wikipedia, eighty-nine percent of Nebraska's cities have fewer than 3,000 people. 225,000 live in Lincoln, and 25,000 attend the University of Nebraska there.

We stayed 45 minutes west of Lincoln in York, population 8,000, in a Super 8 at a small highway-junction of motels, fast food, convenience stores, and the only Starbucks for hundreds of miles. Fortunately, the hotel's little Xerox-copy "guide book" let us know that a downtown existed off this commercial strip. We enjoyed an excellent dinner in a family-run steakhouse that has been there since the 30's. Many tables had eight to twelve folks spanning three and four generations. The pace was different. The atmosphere was different. Familiar, but different.

It was great.

I have never experienced a sporting-event crowd like the one we saw watch the USC Trojans trounce the home-team Cornhuskers. At one hour before kickoff, fans occupied 85% of the seats. I bet they reached 99% full with about a half hour to go before kick. That's unusual.

The Nebraska squad held tough for a quarter and a half, then got walloped by a superior team. The majority of the fans remained in their seats till the end of the game. These folks know their football and love their team. When everyone cheered, it was just awesomely loud – a classic place to see a game.

I never heard one snide remark. We experienced no belligerence. In fact, folks struck up conversations, reached out, were kind, even polite.

In addition, when the announcer and the big-screens brought attention to soldiers being honored down on the field, everyone shut up and listened and then applauded. It was simple, and it was right.

We sat across the aisle from two older women, one of them elderly. They of course sported bright red sweaters. On the way to their seats, one of them good-naturedly chided Fred with a wink as she said, "Oh, I hope you don't have the best time tonight." He was wearing USC stuff. During the game, Fred would ask the younger woman questions about the stadium, cheers, and things like that. We engaged the men around us in conversation about players, other games and teams, the history of the sport. It's an old stadium, so you're packed in like sardines, but everyone was cool. On their way out, one of the women across from us tapped Fred several times on his shoulders with both hands and said, "Enjoy the rest of your stay. And have a safe trip home." There was no trace of football or rivalry in that moment -- only a nice woman expressing kindness to a stranger.

It was just great.

I am not saying Austin is a terrible big city or that America is screwed. I am saying, though, that the culture now feels a lot like bad TV and syrupy gunk. I hadn't appreciated how immersed I've become in this junk until I got out and away from it, even for a short time and to see a place like that.

The entire sports world is imploding non-stop in scandals of every kind. The political environment is a travesty. The currency is being flushed down the drain. The US economy has a major reckoning coming.

Springsteen has that great, stark, eerie title track "Nebraska" that begins in Lincoln and follows a blank-minded murderer through the Wyoming badlands, ten killings, and the chair. I suddenly find the song and much of the whole record quite ironic.

Nebraska isn't empty. Those aren't the badlands.

I am grateful for that road trip. It will likely take a while for the effects to roll all the way through me. I know I now want to give up my next Coke, my next TV. I guess let patience have her perfect work.