A friend claims you’re never truly happy until you live in the time zone of your birth.
He also believes the ’20 election was stolen – the 1820 election – and that James Monroe was an illegitimate president, an agent of Lichtenstein.
I was able to test his first theory this week when My Captor and I returned to Omaha for my sister’s 75th birthday celebration, a lovely excuse for a family reunion.
I’ve always referred to Omaha as a “great place to be from”, the source of my Midwestern affability.
The Midwest is much more fascinating than ‘the Coasters’ believe, and the locals don’t much care that 90+% of Americans can’t place most of the states on a map, and mistakenly believe Ohio is a member state.
Midwesterners are a friendly lot, but tight lipped about their personal details.
My friend’s explanation: Because the early settlers lived in remote, isolated circumstances they were excited to see strangers, greeting them in friendly fashion.
But fearing the visitors might be ‘from the Government’, they were very careful with their personal details.
Midwesterners invented ‘Fear your Government’ and ‘poor mouthing’.
If I have to explain the first thing to you, then you probably live on one of the coasts. The second thing is all about making people believe you have less than you do.
Farmers were the earliest practitioners, in a poor mouthing combination of “If it don’t rain, we’re screwed”, and “Things are just terrible for farmers. Let me tell you how terrible.”
They’d dodge questions like “With all this rain, it must be a great harvest?”, by launching into explanations of corn yields, aphid infestations, and knee high to a grasshopper, and when eyes would glaze over, they’d move on to more exciting topics like the farm inheritance tax.
I had a friend who even poor mouthed his new Mercedes, as a “small one”.
And many locals wanted the Huskers to be called ‘Medium Red’.
They even poor mouth their Instagram posts:
Friends at a Chicago Cub game were sitting behind home plate, and posted: Pretty good seats, but there was a screen in front of us;
On vacation in Hawaii, complaining the temps were ‘terribly monotonous’, the same 82 degrees and sunny every day;
Kids on the first day of school: Sure hope little Johnny can get straight Bs again this year!
It was our first visit since Covid – a farmer talked about how much corn had died from Covid, and long Covid even worse for the hogs – but everything seemed much the same as when last there.
But returning home, I’m in a weird time warp:
The roads seem vaguely familiar, like my high school classmates.
Most of my old restaurant and bar haunts are closed, and I feel somewhat responsible for the latter.
Family and friends seem like they’ve aged.
The family get-togethers were fun, great to connect again.
But there were some definite, anticipated highlights:
Runzas – Indigenous to Omaha, a German-Russian yeast dough bread pocket with beef, cabbage or sauerkraut, onions, and seasonings. While delicious, they are quite filling – a lunch you amortize.
PORK – The other white meat! Available in every form imaginable – even as a porkshake. And my new “I dig Pig!” tramp stamp looks great!
A return to the Nifty!
A major part of family lore, a beacon drawing us, much like the Tom Osborne Corn Palace.
But I can’t write about what hasn’t yet happened – OK, maybe occasionally – and we’re headed there today.
So, a subject for another post.
Still researching the time zone sleep thing, though.
For 178 more posts like this –each with a wish for a fresh Runza – go to beersatthenifty.com. Your phone will display every post, and you can waste an hour or two.
Or send me an email to the site, and I’ll add you to my Sunday distribution.
TO ENHANCE YOUR ENJOYMENT OF THIS POST, PAIR IT WITH THE FOLLOWING SONGS (FIND YOUR OWN DAMN LYRICS!):
There are some great songs about Nebraska, including Springsteen’s “Nebraska” (a fine album about a young couple on a murder spree); “There is No Place like Nebraska” (Where the girls are the fairest, The guys are the squarest); “Beautiful Nebraska (our official state song)”; “Omaha Stylee: by 311, an Omaha band; and “Omaha” by Counting Crows, not an Omaha band; and “Omaha, Nebraska” by Groucho Marx, which has nothing much to do with Omaha, but is pretty funny.
But check out “Omaha” a 9:00 musical by Stan Freberg – quite bizarre – originally a commercial for Butter Nut Coffee, which was based in Omaha, and employed Don Keough (Johnny Carson’s roommate at one point), who became a Coke employee when BN was acquired by Coke Foods, and later became President of the Coca-Cola Co.
Freberg is a comedy legend, who owned an ad agency (hence the Butter Nut ad) and contributed to movies and TV. Incredible voice talent. Worth checking out. But not from Omaha.
Add me to the distribution list.