I'm a community journalist based in Emporia, Kansas. I write creatively, shoot photos and videos, and play guitar and violin. Oh, and I am an expert french-fry chef.
It’s Thanksgiving in Emporia. That means everything is closed. Everything. Store owners hung cute signs saying “We’re closed Thursday, Friday and Saturday to give our employees time with their families” because they value family over extra profits. The holiday wreaths are lining Commercial Street lampposts, and I feel a nip in the air.
Here’s a cool song by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes: “One love to another”
I’ll make this short so you can go back to eating that turkey leg.
I’m thankful for:
The warm dog by my side (who lived through the night, thank you)
Patient, loving family
The poached egg on my plate
My cozy apartment (first place I’ve had to myself)
The friends coming to spend Thanksgiving with me (Tai and Bill!)
A workplace that celebrates the hallowed Bacon Day
Why oh why was I sick on Bacon Day?
Creativity I can grow through music and writing
Living in a cool country
British accents
Harry Potter
Yer a wizard, Harry!
Chocolate pie
Cute clothes
Telling people’s stories every day through my job
The feeling of confidence and comfort in my own skin
A town that’s sweet and traditional, yet growing each day
Perfect for a small-town noir film….
My stellar taste in music
My guitar
My camera
The TV without cable for which I will one day buy a DVD player
Netflix on my laptop!
Modern medicine
The fact that I’m not a Scottish barbarian who has to kill Longshanks to survive
I know, Mel. I know.
Friends who live in other cities, other states and other countries, yet still keep a relationship with me alive
Native Americans
Trees
Being barefoot
The ability to put myself in someone else’s shoes
When I step into someone else’s shoes, sometimes they’re really cute and I don’t give them back.
A candle that smells like leather, tobacco and woods
Lord of the Rings
Forgiveness and stuff
Good food
The ability to love
The fact that most problems eventually turn into something good
Like this lamppost…symbolism and stuff!
Comment here or on Facebook: What are you thankful for?
I’m not only a serial pet-killer. I’m also a shopping addict. Emporia has very few clothing stores, which for someone vain as me is basically a death sentence. Thank goodness I’m not a pioneer and don’t share my WiFi with anyone. However, my online shopping habits put a real dent in my wallet.
Upside? I look damn good (well I think so). But if I’m not careful, I’ll end up suffocating beneath a mountain of discount bunny slippers. Or just plain bunnies.
A whole new meaning to the “chubby bunny” game.
Useless things I have bought online:
A ukulele
1920s deco-style earrings
A dinosaur-shaped desk-organizer
24 used tennis balls
A graphic sloth T-shirt featuring a glasses-wearing sloth
An skeleton-hand print oven mitt
An octopus necklace
Shoutout to modcloth.com for providing five out of seven of those items!
So worth the $12!
I know, I know. They aren’t useless. But could I live without the crap? Possibly. But I mostly buy clothes, which seems practical since my newsroom doesn’t look too kindly on nudity. Although nudity is legal in Emporia!
Sidebar to seem less horrible
This would probably be a good time to mention that although I waste money on clothes and crap I don’t need, I do some good. For $30 a month, I sponsor a child in Guatamala through Children International and have a rolling Kiva microloan for business startups in developing countries. I’m not completely awful. Just a little. But hey, it’s Christmas, which is all about materialism alongside the warm and fuzzy! God bless us, every one!
This kid has stellar balance.
My credit card begs to differ
It’s easy to play a game between me and the wallet. “When I have $X in the bank account, I can buy that cute dress with pockets.” I’ve been looking at that one for months. Never going to happen. But after two weeks or so of playing, I say “To hell with it!” and buy it anyway. Everybody wins!
One day I’ll learn self control and patience. One day. Or I’ll go broke.
Why I don’t stop buying
I like to think that if Laura Ingalls had access to eBay, she might have upgraded from the dirt floors and bought some fly discount bonnets. Really, materialism is nothing new. Heck, the Egyptian pharoahs asked to be buried with piles of possessions. But now, unlike Egyptian slaves, a few extra bucks means you can buy a discount wedding dress on our old friend, eBay!
True confessions, I am in a lower income bracket. Most journalists are and always will be. Poorish people such as myself have an entirely different philosophy on money.
You see, when rich people have extra funds, they invest. It could be stocks, a famous painting or rare horses to breed and sell. They already have most of the material things they want.
Are rich people too classy for bouncy houses? I’m not.
If you live paycheck to paycheck like I sometimes do, you never have extra money. When you do, you’re so happy to see it you kiss it all over and think of where you can take it. The mall? A nice meal? Towards a new DVD player? Everyone has that one luxury they’ve been dreaming of since last payday. For me, it’s a tie between a new phone and a selfie toaster. Truly food for thought.
And the point is…
I like shopping online. I love coming home to find a cardboard box with my name on it. I love pining away over some gorgeous dress to finally give in and buy the sucker. I love trying things on for the first time, looking in the mirror and saying, “Damn I look good.” Am I shallow, vain and broke? Probably. But will I continue surfing for web coupons and deals? Absolutely.
CAUTION: This post is not meant for my mother, current (or future) employers, or former alcoholics. It is written in jest, so don’t blame me if you end up with your stomach pumped. I’d also like to remind everyone that Gazette employees don’t drink on the job.
Rightly so, I am writing this in Mulready’s Pub on a Friday night, Brambleberry Martini in hand. I was reviewing my bank statements last month while pretending to be an adult with a budget and financial planning stuff, and I noticed I spend a high portion of my income on alcohol.
We all drink for different reasons: to socialize, out of boredom, to hunt for slutty people, because we’re lonely, to forget, etc. I drink to relax, be with friends, feel silly, and because I genuinely enjoy the taste of a good brewsky. (But my favorite drink is a whiskey gingerale.)
I decided that if I continue to spend money on booze, I should know why I’m doing it and have a game plan. So here it goes: my guide to drinking like a small-town journalist. (Please don’t die of alcohol poisoning. Or judge me. Actually it’d be great if you don’t do either.)
Kindly allow Billy Joel to get you in the mood for the rest of this post. It’s a classic.
SMALL TOWN JOURNALIST DRINKING GAMES
Small-town style: Take a shot every time:
A sweet old lady calls to tell you about what she watched on CBS
The store down the street puts 15 “5% off” signs on the front door
Nothing happens outside
Animals in the headlines: Drink whenever you write a story about:
An opossum-bite
An escaped ostrich
The hot-button chicken issue
The squirrel caused a blackout
Another runaway dog
All these things have made the headlines of The Emporia Gazette, which is why I love my job.
I know I’ve used this one already. But how often can you say “Cock-a-doodle do or don’t?” and get away with it?
Pure journalism: (I don’t drink at work) Take two sips each time:
The power goes out right before deadline
A source takes something off the record after an interview
Someone gives you a blank look in the middle of an interview
You’re stressed/sleep deprived/both and therefore slap-happy.
(Does the hospital still have discounts for group stomach pumping?)
TOASTING THE MEDIA MASTERS
Option 1: The Don Draper
Yeah, I know Don Draper isn’t real. A girl can drink and dream though, can’t she? Don Draper doesn’t take it on the rocks. Don Draper drinks in the middle of a day. Don Draper drinks with his boss at the beginning, middle and end of every day. Don Draper should’ve had his stomach pumped by Season 4 of “Mad Men.” Actually, let’s scratch Don Draper from our list of heroes. He’s just a pretty face and an Old Fashioned.
Apparently no one actually knows why William Allen White is famous outside of Emporia. Suffice it to say, he was sincere, kind, courageous, and one hell of a writer. If he had a drink, I think it would include three shots awesome and one shot of rum. I’m proud to work at his old newspaper. Let’s all raise a glass.
Option 3: The Walter Cronkite
I actually don’t know too much about Walter Cronkite. I’m not a huge fan of televised news. But he was cool! Hmm…that Brambleberry Martini is kicking in. Better Google “Walter Cronkite” for ya…
Here’s Walt on wine: “I was so concerned with illness I had acquired that I went to see a doctor. He asked about my habits and so forth, and I told him. I didn’t include my diet at all. And he said, “Do you drink alcohol?” And I said, “Well sure, doesn’t everybody?” So he asked, “Do you have alcohol in the evening, at lunch, when?” “Lunch,” I answered. “What do you have?” “White wine,” I said. And he said, “How much white wine do you have?” “Oh maybe a bottle.” The doctor looke at me, sort of gasped and told me, “And you wonder why you’re going to sleep in the afternoon?” From then on I became a more intelligent wine drinker..”
Well I can’t leave you on a better cautionary tale than that. Thank you Walt, my new hero!
Good night and good luck! Whoops, wrong guy.
Here’s the rest of the Brambleberry Martini: “TO EDWARD MURROW!”
The winner of every journalism drinking game! I don’t know how he does it!
I am a serial pet-killer. It’s all accidental. I loved every creature I brought home, but our relationships always end in tears. The pet graveyard at my parents’ house is like Arlington.
I was at the animal shelter last week looking at puppies and kittens, wondering why my landlord won’t let me have a pet. I decided it’s because I’m a notorious pet-killer. If you don’t believe me, let’s take a tour of my furry (and finned) victims.
Case A: The cartwheeling hamster
Her name was Jenny, and I was the last person to hold her alive. Jenny belonged to my sister, Michelle, and as a 4-year old I helped Jenny with her “gymnastics,” or tossing Jenny in the air as she “did flips” for us. It was incredibly entertainment for a toddler. But we loved Jenny and never knew how she much she probably hated us.
This is probably what Jenny felt like as she held on for dear life.
One day I had the urge to take up rodent dentistry. Being the prodigy I was, I diagnosed her with a painful toothache. To examine her, I had to open her mouth by tilting her head back. Then she went limp and wouldn’t wake up. My mom quietly put Jenny in the cage and hours later told us she died of old age. Years later, she told me the truth: I accidentally broke Jenny’s neck. I’m still not over the shock of discovering I’m a pet-killer.
I’m so sorry, Jenny.
Case B: The killer, snuggly guinea pig
Teddy was the first pet I owned by myself. He was the sweetest guinea pig our family had ever seen, and only wanted to snuggle. How lucky that my brother Bill’s older guinea pig, Sarge was large, furry, maternal and loved to cuddle. Naturally, we let them share a cage.
Teddy looked something like this. What a cutie. Sniff.
I came home from school one day and found Teddy’s lifeless body next to Sarge. He suffocated under Sarge’s massive coat of fur, and all because I let them share a cage.
But really, Sarge put the “smother” in “mother.”
Case C: The mice and the eyedropper
After Teddy died, my parents decided a smaller animal would be more manageable, and we bought mice. Since one was black and the other was white, we named them Sugar and Spice. How original. The mice had little personality, but ran in circles very charmingly.
Now that I’m older, I don’t get why mice were so cute to 8-year-old me.
Sugar and Spice quickly became sick, like mice do if they outlive being snake food. My dad fed them medication daily through an eye dropper and I ran downstairs and checked their cage each morning for two weeks, hoping this would be the day Sugar and Spice recovered.
They never did. I’m sure it was my fault, maybe just for being disappointed two tiny mice would live forever.
Case D: Big, slimy nightmare fish
How do we scale back from mice? “I know,” my parents probably said. “Let’s buy her fish! Even Kathleen can’t screw this up!”
I walked downstairs on Christmas morning to find my name on a bright red tag taped to a large glass rectangle in the living room.
What. The Hell. (Sorry, Mom and Dad.) I like fish cooked on a plate with some cayenne pepper and lemon juice, not swimming in circles yards from where I eat.
I dreamed that night fish took over the living room. Big slimy fish with big slimy eyes. But my parents were excited, so I went along with it.
My nightmare fish looked kinda like this.
None survived. The water was wrong, or I fed them too much or not enough, because the weird things don’t tell you crap. I think a few even drowned. The tank eventually filled with algae, so we bought an algae eating fish. I am convinced he ate carcasses of many other fish that forever vanished under the plastic treasure chest.
Once he had eaten all the fish, we threw away the tank. My parents did not complain.
But I still think I can take care of a cat
My future cat will look exactly like this.
Despite my track record, I would absolutely take a chance on a cat. My ideal cat is orange, squashy faced, excessively furry but never sheds. Maybe we’ll bake pie together.
My cat and me, from the future.
I don’t mind living alone, but sometimes I wish something fuzzy would cuddle with me while I eat French Fries. Maybe I’ll make a yarn ball, buy some catnip or something. Maybe I’ll buy 10 cats, save every newspaper and take up knitting. Cats are sturdier than guinea pigs, and much cuter than fish. One day, my friends. One day.
In any case, I think it’s good to take care of another living thing, even if you end up killing it. (I’m so sorry, Jenny.)
For the lucky few people who are thrilled by uncertainty, come back Wednesday.
I struggled whether to keep this blog strictly comedic — lists of how to drink like a small-town journalist (ooh that’s a good idea), diner recipes, etc. Or, I could write sincere posts. The truth is, I love being funny, but you know how spicy variety is for life and stuff.
First sincere topic: The in-between
Life in between is like a swinging pendulum, suspended in space without control. It’s why the middles of movies are the most suspenseful, uncomfortable and terrifying. But it’s also what makes the scene before credits the sweetest.
Ask anyone about the scariest moments in their life. They’ll say it’s losing a job, when the house burned down, the death of a best friend, basically when the walls of certainty began to collapse inward.
Philip Seymour Hoffman was just the best.
As the late Philip Seymour Hoffman said in “Doubt”: “Doubt can be as powerful and sustaining a bond as certainty.”
A large chunk of our lives are in between things. We’re between careers, between coffee and a lunch break, between cigarettes, between relationships. We’re waiting for the next thing that will give us a quick break, fill us up before it knocks us on our ass all over again.
When I moved to Emporia, I found myself once again in a new city where I knew no one. I moved into an apartment, where I would live alone for the first time. It was almost as frightening as moving to Bulgaria for a semester — but this was more permanent. I could grow roots.
Thankfully, Emporia is also between Wichita and Kansas City, where I have good friends and family. I found more friends and connections here, in a welcoming new home.
The only way to get through the uncertainty is to accept it. The truth is that nothing worthwhile is about the prologues or chapter endings. The best stuff is in between. Unless you’re talking about Powerpoint slide transitions. Don’t use those. No one likes words to spiral upside down.
Case A: Oreos
Case B: Seven-layer cake
Case C: Pastrami sandwiches
Case D: Bookends (I’m out of foods.)
In between is when the good stuff happens. We figure out why we can still stand straight. It’s when we discover that we never really needed the thing we lost to survive (although life was good because it was there). Until the next thing comes along, we’ll be OK. We’ll spend some time with ourselves.
So enjoy the transitions. Real ones are even better than Powerpoint or Oreos.
This post goes out to Cat Hummel, who asked me if living in a small town is anything like the Stars Hollow of “Gilmore Girls.” You know the one — where kooky characters roam the streets (see Sunday’s post). Where you can see your house from the local diner. Why yes they are alike, Cat! And at the same time, not so much.
1. Luke Danes isn’t around
Oh, that backwards baseball cap and grumpy face! What I wouldn’t give to see him serve me pancakes. Unfortunately, I have yet to meet a Luke Danes, Jess Mariano or Dean Forester. It might be because they aren’t real. Sniff.
2. Our festivals aren’t so kooky
Not that we shouldn’t have a Festival of Living Art (Casey Woods, you dig?), in which we all dress as painting figures and pose still for a full minute. Or historical re-enactors who stand all night in the snow to commemorate the night when soldiers waited all night for a battle that never happened.
We have:
The Dirty Kanza, a gravel-grinding 200-mile bike ride
The Glass Blown Open, a frisbee-golf tournament
The Great American Market, with street vendors spanning 10 blocks
3. Everything is within walking distance
This is Stars Hollow, not Emporia.
Rory and Lorelai can walk to Luke’s, Kim’s Antiques, Weston’s and the Red, White and Black.
I am in walking distance from Orange Leaf (just below my loft), RuYi’s Asian Food, Willard’s Donuts, Mulready’s Pub and Little Caesar’s.
I have gained so much weight, even though I can also walk to Genesis Fitness Center.
4. Places here also close way too early
Feel like Sunday shopping? Forget it. Late-night coffee? Not after 8 p.m. If it’s not on a 60-year-old’s sleeping schedule, don’t bother. However, this forces creativity when spending extra free time.
5. Our buildings also go pretty far back — way, way back
“Thomas Jefferson blew his nose all over this town.” — Lorelai Gilmore
The Emporia Gazette was built in the 1870s (I think), and many say it’s haunted. It’s still heated by boilers. My bank, Capitol Federal, has marble counters and a 50-foot ceiling. There was a time when people rode horses through town. One man ran into The Gazette with a pistol, threatening William Allen White unless he retracted an article and ended up in hand-to-hand scuffle. Talk about the Wild, Wild Midwest, eh?
6. Small news anywhere else is big news here
“Well now I know what the front page of the Stars Hollow Gazette will be.” — Jess Mariano
I have covered swimming puppies, a flood sale, why that traffic light won’t stop blinking, everything down to your leaky faucet. Oh, and the chickens! Who knew the issue of chicken-raising-legality within city limits was such a divisive, hot-button topic. Because of this, a kind man visited the newsroom the other week to school me in chicken-raising. But I love these stories, and I guess our readers do, too.
7. But we’re keeping up with the outside
Emporia wants to grow. It’s like we want to be Lawrence’s younger brother. Every year we have more community events, more quirky stores and more love for our city. I, for one, am a big fan.
By definition, this post categorizes and stereotypes people. But let’s be honest — they are all based in truth. I love everyone in Emporia. That doesn’t mean I’d like to split rent with them, but I’m glad they’re around. These people are everywhere, but they are more noticeable the fewer total people are around.
1. The town nutjob(s)
I’m thinking of an individual who will remain nameless, but owns a collared shirt with a print of wild turkeys. He spends half his days on The Emporia Gazette website, commenting with 500-word rants links to bizarre, radical right-wing YouTube videos. But if you meet him on the street, he seems more or less normal. Tricky to spot.
2. The sweet and elderly
Smaller towns are full of retirees. Ottawa, Kansas, has the slogan: “Live, Explore, Retire.” Yep — it’s one of their selling points. I enjoy the stories they tell, and our businesses are glad they’re around to shop during daylight hours.
3. The modern cowboy
He isn’t herding cows, but might own an antique tractor or combine. Like all of Kansas, we have our fair share of pick-ups. These are frequenters at the local diner, who live a few miles outside city limits and come back for a hot meal out.
4. University kids
I’ve only been out of college for half a year, but when a herd of skinny-jean, circle-scarf, freshly straightened hair university kids come into the bar, I feel like I should own a walker. The girls only order drinks with blueberries and vodka ingredients. If you’re bored, play “All About Dat Bass” on the jukebox and watch them go nuts like fat kids in a candy store.
5. The outliers
Easier to identify than #1. This is the man with a Duck Dynasty beard who rides a bike down the main street of town. Last week, I saw a man walking down the street with brass knuckles, carrying a parakeet on his shoulder. These are the people I wish I had the courage to talk to, because I know they have great stories and insights. But I’m also afraid of getting mugged by those steel knuckles. You do not see that in a suburb.
6. The rest
OK, so most people are pretty normal and basically the same as anyone else in any city anywhere. To everyone I may have offended, let me buy you a beer at Mulready’s Pub. Especially if you have a parakeet — just leave the brass knuckles at home.
I’ve been in Emporia for almost exactly five months. I now see myself staying here for at least a few years, but not without the help of a few trusted items in my metaphorical toolbox:
1. The Daily Route
Angie, barista/coffee shop owner, can tell you about my morning walk. On my way to the Police Department for the crime blotter, I chat and buy coffee at her coffee shop, Java Cat, then head out via my favorite adjoining vintage boutique, Studio 11. I’ve gotten to know many Emporia business owners, who know practically everyone and everything happening in town. By association, I have coffee with the entire city each morning.
Commercial Street in Emporia, Kansas
2. Subscription to the local paper
What a shameless plug for community journalism! No, I don’t subscribe to a newspaper I work for that I read for free. But if I didn’t work here, I’d sure as heck subscribe. All the town happenings, the characters, the important issues are in those pages. It’s way better than CBS (no offense, Walter Cronkite).
517 Merchant Street, Emporia
3. Wine and accepting occasional solitude
In a new city, it takes time to build a social network (even the Mark Zuckerberg kind). Now, I have about four good friends plus drinking buddies. Until you get your girls-night-movie-marathon buddies, enjoy your own company. To do so, I uncork a pink Moscato, watch a favorite show, write and jam on solo acoustic guitar. Don’t be an alcoholic. Do develop your hobbies.
Here’s a very sweet video on solitude:
4. Two wheels are better than four
I call her “The Paddywagon.” She’s a 1975ish KHS bike, repaired by Revolve in Kansas City. With my bike, I can ride to The Gazette, the grocery store, the local pub, Java Cat … any place that matters. Any small townie can tell you the city looks best from a bicycle. We move at slower speeds.
Taken at Revolve in Kansas City
5. Boots and spurs (kidding)
My only country roots are down in Texas, where I only travel to eat turkey every Thanksgiving. I’m from Johnson County, a more urban area near Kansas City. I absolutely do not pass judgement on a country lifestyle, or make fun of country music (out loud). There are three stores who sell cowboy boots – pretend to blend in.
Courtesy photo
6. Guitar strumming (or insert hobby here)
This one pairs well with #3, but it’s worth mentioning.
Remember when I said I drink Moscato and jam on my acoustic? It’s another Sunday afternoon thing. I always wanted to learn, and I finally have the time. An accordion is on the way. The best part about moving was extra time to get in touch with myself and my creativity.
We unloaded the move-in truck four months ago, and I was left in a strange town. It was a Saturday, and on Monday I would have my first day as a real-life journalist at The Emporia Gazette, formerly owned by journalism legend William Allen White.
Emporia’s population is roughly 25,000. I don’t remember living anywhere smaller than Overland Park, which has 181,000 people and still felt small enough.
Since that day, I’ve learned how to survive in a small town. Daily lessons include
Making friends with the local barista (a vital contributor to my existence)
Learning to drive slowly enough to not accidentally kill all the pedestrians
Saying “hello” to people I don’t know on the streets
Accepting a drive through the Flint Hills, a hot bath and bottle of wine as a beautiful night in
Realizing how lucky I am to live in a city where I am within walking distance from Chinese, donuts, pizza, frozen yogurt, a liquor store and (after consuming the above) a gym
Living in a real community that knows and (usually) cares for one another
So here we go — a how-to guide for surviving small-town life (and even loving it). Even if you’re young, single and urban-grown. Welcome.
Small Town Field Guide 