omaha is my home-aha

Every return to the city of my childhood, I feel like I've been gone forever but also like I never left.

Samantha P. and I explored downtown. The weather changes, but that skyline's been the same since circa 2004.

One of the benefits of city living is diversification in cuisine, competition in business and if one store doesn't carry what you want, another is a mile down the road. The problem was, every Office Max, Office Depot, Staples and Bed Bath and Beyond was out of "over-the-cubicle coat racks." And every mom-and-pop cafe was closed for Labor Day breakfast.

One dining destination, however, remained open.

Alpine Inn: better than Nascar and Natty Light. Together.

Oma-holla back

When I return to Omaha, one of the first meals I consume will be at Alpine Inn, a bar-atmosphered restaurant in the north part of town where the loan entree on the menu is fried chicken.

There, dinner comes in a cardboard carton and napkins are dispensed from paper towel rolls. Coke comes in cans, checks are hand-written and patrons seat themselves.

"It's red neck heaven," as Jim D. put it. "Better than Nascar and Natural Light put together."

At Alpine Inn, people eat the chicken and feral cats eat the bones. Diners catch the action from the windows and even take pictures when the raccoons arrive.

This is why you can't take country people there. It seems like a a country person's city refuge, but be ye not so naive.

Country people wouldn't shoot the raccoons with their cameras, they'd straight up shoot them with their rifles.

window war

My house faces a four-lane highway. And across the street, I can watch travelers fill their tanks for $2.44 a gallon.

So the other night when Cowboy asked me to close the window, I bawked.

It’s 75 and summer, I said. Perfect window-opening weather.

Didn’t you hear those people out there, he said.

Out where? On a public street?

True. Two innocent path-walkers had sauntered along the sidewalk. And they were... conversing.

Oh my gawd, I said. Call the cops.

Seriously, he said. Doesn’t that noise keep you up at night?

I couldn’t lie. Sometimes the 6 a.m. motorcycle revs or the midnight drunken-gas-station-slushie speak startles my slumber. But it’s not enough to outweigh the benefits of a night of fresh air, free from artificial climate control.

See, where Cowboy comes from, all is silent save for a crowing meadowlark or a closing car door when visitors arrive.

But where I come from, (Kiewit Hall) I could throw a rock onto six lanes of interstate. I could step out my door and into a freshmen’s vomit. And every other Friday, I heard a helicopter lift off and later land, over and over again. The hospital's roof from which it flew, see, served as the city’s trauma unit... you know, for stabbings and stuff.

Well, Cowboy said, can I close it or not?

Keep it open, I said. Or go back to the boonies where you came from.