Am I Becoming Jaded with the NBA?

There’s nothing worse than a bunch of jaded old farts, and that’s a fact.

For the first time in nearly three years, I didn’t renew my NBA League Pass.

It wasn’t an easy decision to do.

I got the automatic re-payment this September on my credit card. Almost 200 dollars. Usually, I would be okay, almost excited with the payment. The start of the NBA season has been traditionally one of the more upbeat parts of the year for me: late October, Fall still in bloom, baseball winding down, and the promise of NBA games every night on my laptop thanks to NBA League Pass. Hell, this year I even had a TV with Bluetooth capability. If there was any year to enjoy the 2016-2017 NBA season, this was it.

But I couldn’t be okay with the 200 bucks this time around. Something in me just couldn’t pull the trigger. I put in my cancellation notice, got my refund and just like that my NBA League Pass was gone.

How could this happen? How could someone like me, who loves professional basketball (both NBA and Euroleague) as much as me not subscribe to one of the greatest online services in the history of the internet? How could I pass on Grant Napear Sacramento Kings broadcasts and random Charlotte Hornets-Milwaukee Bucks February contests on a weekday night? What would it be like not falling asleep to West Coast games that wouldn’t start until 9-10 p.m. in Kansas City?

The short answer: perhaps I have become a little jaded with the NBA after this off-season.

Now let me get into the long answer.

This NBA off-season broke me. I was excited for the increase in salary cap, hoping that either middle-level teams would be able to make that key off-season acquisition that would put them over the top, or teams would be able to keep their star-cores intact and build on a run to challenge the Golden State Warriors or Cleveland Cavaliers, who had faced off against each-other in back-to-back finals.

And then Kevin Durant signed with the Warriors.


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This move brought up a bunch of mixed feelings. As stated on this blog before, I did not grow up a Kings fan. I grew up masochistically rooting for the Warriors.

Run TMC. Joe Smith. Chris Mills. Bob Sura. Adonal Foyle. Erick Dampier. Gilbert Arenas. J-Rich. Troy Murphy and Mike Dunleavy as “thunder and lightning”. Andris Biedrins. Don Nelson leading the helm. Monta Ellis. “We Believe.” The weird superhero mascot. The orange jerseys. Mikki Moore playing way more than he should. Eric Musselman getting one crazy good year and shitting the bed  the next. Dave Cowens looking frazzled every night. Keith Smart acting as head coach while Nelson nearly fell asleep in his plush chair. Former owner Chris Cohen screwing the team over every chance he got.

Hell. I loved the Warriors. But then the team changed. It started with the change in ownership and then the uniforms. Then Mark Jackson and his uber-conservative social comments. And then people started to jump on the bandwagon. And then they made the playoffs and started winning consistently. Steph Curry won back-to-back MVPs. Draymond Green became a ball-punching and small-ball 5 savant. They launched a ton of 3’s and pushed the pace under Steve Kerr. Bandwagon fans not only came on in droves, but became more insufferable each and every game.

I have always had a soft spot for the Warriors. My mother still considers herself a devout fan, following every game possible on TV or radio even though my parents still live in Sacramento and get mostly Kings broadcasts on CSN California (I tried giving her my League Pass password, but she is terrible with technology and gave up after she couldn’t figure out what app to download). I cheered for them hard throughout the past two seasons, even though I had turned to the Kings, changing my allegiance from the Blue and Gold to the Purple and Black (or white…or gray…whatever the hell their color scheme is nowadays). The last NBA Finals was crushing. I remember all the elation I felt after they made that 3-1 comeback against the OKC Thunder only to see those feelings sink to low depths I didn’t think possible after they lost Game 7 at home to LeBron and Kyrie and Kevin Love (unlike most, I am  not a big fan of Love; it mostly stems from following him in his high school days while I was a sophomore at Gonzaga where he was treated as the Pope of the State of Oregon during his high school years, only to result in him and his pompous father dumping on the Ducks in the recruiting process and going to UCLA…screw the Love’s). I couldn’t even talk about the Finals for weeks. The loss felt like a girlfriend I was about to ask to marry suddenly dumping me the day after I bought an engagement ring.

Yes, I didn’t consider myself a Warriors fans technically. But that Finals hurt.It hurt fucking bad because of my prior history cheering on the Warriors during their lowest of lows, only to see what should be one of their crowning moments in NBA history (setting the regular season win record and get a second-straight championship) get absolutely stomped on.

God I hate Cleveland. I hope the Cubs obliterate the Indians.

But my feeling should have faded eventually over the summer. There would be next season. Their core would come back stronger and motivated, and though I still would primarily cheer for the train wreck that was the Sacramento Kings, the Warriors would still garner my interest and my secondary League Pass watching (it was common for me to have a split screen when the Kings and Warriors played at the same time; god I loved that).

And then the Warriors pompous owner, who was busy talking to the media about how he and his organization “changed basketball” (he didn’t; people were taking three’s and running and gunning way before him; check Paul Westhead and Nelson), stepped in. He got rid of Harrison Barnes and Andrew Bogut and Festus Ezeli and Leandro Barbosa and Marreese “God he’s so weird looking and he can’t rebound for a big man, but I love him as a heat check dude” Speights.

And the Warriors somehow signed Kevin Durant.

Yeah I should have been happy for the Warriors. But I wasn’t.

The bandwagon won out. It was like how the Tea Party won with Donald Trump as the Republican nominee. The “old” Warriors were gone. The Warriors had now evolved into the Lakers and Heat in terms of they could get whoever they wanted now. The days of Arenas not wanting to sign in Golden State because they didn’t have money and he didn’t think they could win were a thing of the past. They no longer were the charming, plucky, underdogs represented by Curry and Klay Thompson and Green, guys who got passed over in the draft in favor of “sexier” prospects in the draft (sexy being Jonny Flynn).

The Warriors were able to acquire and pay for a former MVP, one of the Top 5 players in the league.

I can’t back a Warriors team like that. That’s not why I cheered for them, fell in love with them in the first place.

I can’t bare to watch a team with Durant in a Warriors uniform. It feels dirty, sacrilegious and traitorous to everything I invested in and experienced as a Warriors fan from 1997-2013.

Cheering the current version of the Warriors, who are now the new “Boston Three Party”, the “Decision” Heat and “Dwight-Nash-Kobe” Lakers (oh wait… they sucked…never mind) just feels like voting for Trump this November. And if I lost my second-favorite current NBA team, the team that made me get made fun of at Hunter’s Barbershop in Roseville throughout my high school years, then what’s the point of keeping my League Pass?

But losing one team isn’t that big a deal, right? I still got Boogie and the Kings. And they got the new arena. I’m sure those alone would be worth the annual 200 dollar fee.

Well…not exactly.


NBA: Atlanta Hawks at Sacramento Kings

I have pretty much cheered for the Kings since they changed ownership from the Maloofs to Vivek Ranadive. For starters, the Kings fans’ fight to keep the Kings from being pried by Chris Hansen and his Seattle group inspired me. It made me proud to be from Sacramento, which isn’t easy to do considering are just above Fresno and Bakersfield in terms of California city popularity. Sacramento doesn’t have much beyond the Kings and the Capital. So for Sacramento to fight the NBA and keep their team from being another Seattle or Vancouver was refreshing to see.

For a while, I loved what Ranadive aimed to do when he took over. He wanted to make the Kings a thinking-tank when it came to innovating the team on and off the court. He hired Pete D’Alessandro, a more business-type who seemed to be more concerned with manipulating the salary cap in creative ways than buying Raising Cane’s and playing pea-knuckle with free agents. Petey D did all kinds of cool, out-of-the-box thinking when it came to roster compilation and the draft (the Kings Grantland short documentary on them crowd-sourcing for the draft really solidified my allegiance to the Kings franchise). And him and Vivek seemed prime to be different. For a small-market team like the Kings, it was what they needed to do. The way I saw it, the Kings were on their way to becoming the Bill Beane “Moneyball” Oakland A’s of the NBA.

Unfortunately, the honeymoon didn’t last long with Kings fans. The city of Sacramento, unable to be satisfied after shit fell apart once Rick Adelman left town, grew impatient and quickly frustrated with the Kings’ “process.”

First, he fired Mike Malone, which in retrospect was a poor choice. Yes, maybe Malone didn’t want to play the breakneck pace that Vivek wanted, but Malone was a good coach. He has proven that in Denver, making the Nuggets the “Denver Internationals” with a fun, balanced-style that features all kinds of entertaining foreign players such as Nikola Jokic and Jusuf Nurkic and Danilo Gallinari. It would have been interesting if Malone was still the coach in Sacramento. I guarantee you they probably would have been in the playoff hunt longer last season.

But Malone really was the tip of the iceberg. Cousins failed to get along with coaches post-Malone, through a combination of his and the coaches’ fault. Vivek, unable to let go of his micro-managing ways and harboring the desire to compete with Joe Lacob and Robert Pera of the Grizzlies for title of “most obnoxious” owner, continued to meddle to the Kings’ detriment. He hired and fired or (didn’t fire sooner, as was the case with George Karl) coaches without reason. He brought in guys in the organization who were unprepared to work in a NBA front office (sorry Vlade). He let his biases negatively affect the Kings when it came to player acquisition, putting them back development wise year after year. (Stauskas!) Vivek basically represented all the negative collateral damage of the “new  brand” of NBA owner who had arrived in the league post 2010: meddlesome, wanting to be in the spotlight more than necessary.

And in that process, with the combination of Vivek’s inability to balance ego and appeasing fans, the Kings started to fade from the neat little “Moneyball” franchise to the typical, shitty, in no-man’s land NBA team. Petey D left. After setting scoring records in the D-League the past two years thanks to head coach David Arsenault Jr’s experimental system from Grinnell College, the Big Horns let go of Arsenault this off-season and seem to be content to revert to traditional, not to mention joyless, minor-league basketball. Speaking of up-tempo, Karl and his push-the-pace preference (the Kings led the league in pace last year) were kicked out of town for a more typical, grind-it-out style under new coach Dave Joerger. And that’s no offense to Joerger. He’s an excellent coach and I think he has the chance to do good things in Sacramento. It’s just that…he’s a typical NBA coach who will play a typical NBA style…and that’s disappointing considering I thought the Kings were going to be more than that with Vivek took over in 2013.

I know that’s weird to be disappointed about. But in all honesty, I loved the Kings last year. Yes, the chemistry was awful. Rajon Rondo and Rudy Gay needed to go. Cousins needed a new coach with less baggage. But holy fuck. The way they played. The way they scored (and gave up) points proved to be fun to watch night after night. For all the lackluster matador defense of Rondo and Cousins, you had Omri Casspi catching fire from beyond the arc and Quincy Acy going beast mode on the boards. The Kings weren’t good. They weren’t a playoff team. But they looked to be developing something special. Just a tweak from a coach who advocated that similar style, and perhaps they could be the Warriors-lite, with worse defense, but still as effective when it comes to getting buckets.

However, that seems to be gone. The Kings have resorted to aging and retread vets like Aaron Afflalo and Matt Barnes and Ty Lawson to build around Cousins. It sucks. This team reeks of a Brooklyn Nets team during the Paul Pierce and Kevin Garnett years. It feels boring. It feels unlikable. (seriously, how can anyone like Barnes?) And it still feels like it’s going to suck. At least the last couple of years, the Kings were fun as they sucked.

So why pay to watch that? Why pay to watch Barnes bitch at other players in his typical “Respect me! I’m Matt Barnes! I don’t care if my wife left me for Derek Fisher!” way? Why watch a Kings team that feels like the late 2000’s/early 2010’s ones that appeared to be “dead men walking” when it came to staying in Sacramento?

200 bucks isn’t worth that. And that’s hard because I love Boogie. I love what he did this summer with the Olympic team. I still want to see him as a King for life.

Yet the rest of the Kings roster, organization and future? I just can’t back that.


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I pretty much ordered League Pass to indulge in not only my passion for the NBA, but my two favorite teams: the Warriors and Kings. And do so from afar here in Kansas City, where there is no NBA team within driving distance. For a couple of years, I was able to happily enjoy those two franchises, albeit in different ways. However, this summer and off-season has just been miserable for me. I don’t feel optimistic about the future of either team, and in that pessimism, I have grown distant from not just the Warriors and Kings, but the NBA.

My twitter, which is pretty much a NBA news source, remains relatively unchecked and unused for days at a time, sometimes weeks.

I rarely listen to my NBA Ringer or Lowe Post podcasts. They were required listening for me on my daily commute to work not just during the season, but all year long.

I felt more unprepared and apathetic for my NBA Fantasy draft in comparison to years past. I am depending on Mirza Teletovic and Doug McDermott for threes.

In one summer, thanks to my two favorite teams’ off-seasons, I have not just grown more apathetic to the NBA, but perhaps cynical and jaded. I don’t believe I will be able to enjoy this year as much as I have the previous years post-2009, when I graduated from Gonzaga and switched from primarily following college basketball to the NBA.

NBA League Pass was the greatest thing to happen for me leisurely the past few years and now I will be without it. And I don’t feel bad or sad or frustrated or anything. I am just in “meh” mode, fuckified from a NBA off-season from hell for me personally and spiritually as a NBA fan.

Who knows though.

Maybe my jadedness will fade and I will rekindle my passion for drinking Miller High Life and watching multiple NBA games during the week by December.

League Pass goes down by fifty bucks around Christmas time.

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Residency at Park Central

Although I grew up in London, I spent summers in Missouri, where my dad lived. It’s quite a liberal town, Kansas City. You’d be surprised…

I’m getting to about four years of living here in Kansas City. This will be my second year living in Midtown, at the Park Central apartments off of Armour and Broadway. Four years sounds like a lot of time to me in Kansas City, especially considering I lived in the Northwest and California most of my life, and nearly moved from Kansas City twice in this time span.

I chose to live in Park Central primarily due to its location. After graduating from Rockhurst in 2015 in May, I had decided to stay in Kansas City rather than move back for a teaching job in Pine Ridge, South Dakota (on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation at an old school I used to work). However, I was living up in the Northland, Gladstone to be specific, with an older divorced co-worker, and I didn’t necessarily enjoy living in a Suburban area as a single guy. After all, at the time I was in my late 20’s, finished with school, and looking to have more of a social and urban experience after living on the outskirts in my first couple of years (first in Kansas City, Kansas and then in the Northland).

My two options were Park Central and the Bellerive off of Armour Blvd. They were both former major hotels in the Kansas City area that had been revitalized into apartments thanks to the gentrification going on in the Midtown area of Kansas City over the past decade. Though the Bellerive had nice amenities, I chose to live in Park Central, as it was nearly 100 dollars cheaper and literally the same distance from my job (about a 10 minute walk from the school I taught at).

I no longer work at the same school, but I still live in Park Central (even though my new school is in Kansas City, Kansas). Over the past couple of years, living in Park Central has helped me swoon for and grow more and more fascinated with Kansas City, from the people to the bars to the neighborhoods to the history that has deeper peaks and valleys than I ever thought possible when I moved here from southwestern South Dakota nearly four years ago.

For me, Kansas City and Park Central go hand-in-hand, spiritually connected at the hip.


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Park Central is located right outside of Hyde and Gillham Park. The Hyde Park area is something of an old-money neighborhood, classic in the old sense, with houses designed in a way that resemble ones straight out of a F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. Hyde Park, originally one of the first golf courses of Kansas City, is a product of the Tom Pendergast era: its beautifully maintained houses consist of generational residents who lean primarily on the liberal and democratic side, hailing from old European-American ancestry, with their children avoiding the public school system (a reason for the beautiful old Westport High and Middle Schools buildings being currently closed today) for nearby private institutions like Notre Dame de Sion, Pembroke Hill, St. Theresa Academy and Rockhurst (high school, not university).

Mixed in with these old homeowners are newer renting residents: hipster families who have bought cheap housing close to Troost, and recently out-of-college or still-in-school young adults who rent out of the many different apartments mostly owned by Mac Properties, and other smaller property management firms. Park Central is located in this area, and thus, I fall into one of these categories, though only marginally (I am recently out of graduate school, not undergraduate like most).

Park Central is an eclectic mix of residents. Yes, there are young grad students and young professionals, as expected. That being said, the eight floors of the apartment complex also consist of older retirees, most likely widows, who are living out their remaining years in the heart of the city, in much smaller accommodations. Being a pet-free environment, nearly everyone has a dog, and it’s common to see people go in and out of the elevator with their dogs in leashes, ready to take morning and evening walks with their pets before and after work, respectively. There are a surprising amount of young couples who live together in the apartments, some from the Kansas City area, some from abroad, including India and Palestine and China, just to name a few, as well as same-sex couples who are within close distance to many of the gay bars down Broadway and Main.

All in all, Park Central is the quintessential urban apartment, no different in many ways than an apartment you would perhaps find in Brooklyn, San Francisco or Boston (albeit much, much cheaper).

But there is more to Park Central than it just being the modern apartment. It’s more than the kind of complex that one would see on sitcoms such as Seinfeld, The Big Bang Theory, and Master of None. Park Central is also a microcosm of Kansas City, a capsule that has undergone an exterior, and perhaps spiritual, change to help newer potential residents to forget or be unaware of the history of the building as well as the area.

One of the most famous stories of Park Central is the fact that in 1934, mob boss Johnny Lazia was gunned down at the then hotel by rival gangster associates. The fact that a mob boss like Lazia stayed in the Park Central makes sense, as it is central to most establishments in Kansas City, and was in close proximity to Downtown and the Jazz District back then (and even to this day). For some, the history is neat tidbit that displays the history of Kansas City: as a free-wheeling Las Vegas of the Midwest in 1920’s-1940’s.

Kansas City used to be something one would likely see in a Martin Scorsese film or James Ellroy novel: jazz, gangster, gambling, call girls, murder, political corruption, you name it. During the prohibition, alcohol laws were not only ignored, but almost mocked, thanks to Pendergast and his Jackson Democratic Club political machine, as well as the Italian Mafia that ran things in the Northeast. Even up to the 1970’s, Kansas City was the midway point of criminal activity, connecting the East Coast to lucrative laundering deals going on in the West Coast in Las Vegas, as profiled in the movie Casino.

It made sense that Kansas City had this reputation because of it being a center of the railroad system across the country, which aren’t as active today, but it’s remnants still ever present. Kansas City never had the population or glitz of a New York, Chicago or Los Angeles, but you could argue that Kansas City was every bit as fascinating as those cities, and deserved as much, perhaps even more profiles than those other three bigger “noir” meccas. There was no Elliot Ness-Al Capone or William Parker-Mickey Cohen rivalry. The criminals pretty much ran the town (thanks to Pendergast), and that’s what made Kansas City a magnet for seediness that went uncovered for decades. Nobody wants to cover the bad guys if there are no good guys to defeat them, and unlike a Chicago or LA, Kansas City never got that “White Knight” that came in and cleaned up Kansas City for good.

The clean up just came with years of convictions of criminals in court and strong municipal policies.

In other words, boring. Kansas City deserved so much better.


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So what does this have to do with me? How does this affect my own experience with Kansas City?

Well, I live in Midtown because it is close to everything. It is close to the characters. It is close to the nightlife. It is right on the border of that Troost wall where the injustice of rich and poor, and black and white segregation still exists today as it did decades ago. It is in a blue part of the Midwest that is normally as deep red as old, caked blood.

For somebody that has craved the city experience for so long, since my teenage years, I can’t imagine going anywhere else. Where I am is perfect. I am inspired by new stories every day, whether it’s from the past or present. Whether it’s the stories of elections being fixed by the Pendergast machine, near riots outside of the Donald Trump rally outside of the Midland Theater, or the sight of soaring-high vagrants punching air on the streets of Broadway past midnight right outside of Westport. As somebody who is trying to make his way as a writer, trying to find the right stories to journal, Park Central is the perfect holding spot personally, a DMZ of sorts of the Kansas City urban experience.

This living experience has come with its share of problems of course. Maintaining or finding relationships has been difficult. I have had countless dates that have constantly gone south due to my inability to part with my current home and the stories that flutter around it. I dated a girl for four months, and we struggled to go deeper in the relationship due to her desire to be more settled. She wanted to be out in Leawood or South Kansas City or somewhere perhaps more rural. I told her that I continued to want the city. I wanted to help people in the city. I wanted to help make the city better and deep down, though I never told her, I wanted to be able to write stories about the city that don’t get told or profiled in the KC Star or evening news. She wanted that “White Picket Fence Midwest” experience. I wanted the Jazz Era one. She couldn’t fathom that I was content with living in a studio apartment and sleeping on a futon.

And the same story has been true with various other dates. One girl couldn’t understand my democratic leanings. I struggled recently with another who had kids who wanted to live the rest of her life in Kansas City Kansas around her family and the friends she grew up with for decades. It seems like young adults in the Midwest generally want the same thing: marriage, kids, stability and all rather early in life. I have struggled with those concepts, because even though I want it or think I want that kind of life (my parents certainly want me to), I fall back into my Park Central apartment, sink into its presence, and realize that though I am 29 and single and without any romantic or prospects of long-term stability on the horizon, I am happy or at the very least content with it all. And I think I’m content because I still have the city. The stories. The people. The night. The parks. The runs through Gilham and Hyde Park where I think about what to write on next. The hookah lounges where I smoke and socialize and sometimes write. The coffee places where I can just stare out on the streets for hours. The bars where I can just people watch and eavesdrop and find amusement in some of the stories I hear and so on.

Some might think of all that as the product of a lonely life. And sometimes it feels that way. But I grew up a bit of a loner. I didn’t have many close friends growing up. It’s a reason why I have never had the desire to go back to Sacramento. I don’t need familiar. I don’t need “safe”. I don’t need “it’s time to settle down.” Writing and blogging keep me stable and sane. It’s cheap therapy, and writing about the city, much like therapy, helps give me the ideas and tools to not only help my own life and progress in it, but also help me understand how I can help my own community, this city, the surrounding area of Park Central also known as Midtown Kansas City.

Because cities are wonderful things. Nothing is more fascinating than the American city. They are decaying in ways because people have their biases. They don’t think their children should go into schools in the cities or they think the crime is too much. I don’t have to worry about those things (because I don’t have kids or nice shit), and thus, I can do what I need to help, and learn about the day to day, night to night of what goes in Kansas City, a city with its own history of sordidness that it battles with each and every day. Kansas City is really a perfect city for me. Small enough to get wrapped up in, but big enough to still find new places, circles and issues to discover.

And I am able to do that from the central of it all in my current apartment, which has its own sordid history which it’s trying to get rid of, like the city itself.

When I first moved to Kansas City, I thought I was on my way to settling into the Midwest experience. I had plans for marriage within a couple of years. I thought about living in a house, and having my own self-built smoker. I pictured barbeques and hanging out at the community pools with my neighbors over cans of Bud Light. I thought about sending my kids to Catholic School, much like my parents did for me.

I remember one night I spent with my ex at the time. We were in St. John’s park, looking out on the Kansas City skyline from Strawberry Hill, which is a beautiful damn thing at night. I knew we were going to break up, but I made one last pitch to her to convince her to stay together.

You know. When I was young, I pictured myself living in a big city. I pictured myself living paycheck to paycheck as a writer. I would be living in a small apartment and writing freelance or for a newspaper living pretty simply with the idea that I would make it big. I pictured myself living like a Charles Bukowski or John Fante and that’s what I wanted more than anything when I was growing up in middle and high school.”

“What happened?”

“Well, now I don’t want that anymore. I realized that was just a stupid fantasy. I want to settle down. I want to have kids. I want to have a house and raise a family now.

We broke up a week later. And though it’s not exact, I’m closer to that former dream than the latter nearly three years later.

I wonder if I really wanted the latter or I was just saying it because I scared rejection or was scared of being in and taking on Kansas City alone.

I know what they mean now by certain events being blessings in disguise.

My blessing comes in an Eight-story former hotel called the Park Central.

So how do you find yourself in the Midwest?

I have a strange fascination with the Midwest… -Jason Reitman

 

Unlike many people who reminisce or get nostalgic about the Midwest, I am not from this part of the country. I was born and raised in California, and spent most of my life in a part of the country where snow was rare-to-non-existent, and a trip to the beach was a three-hour drive, not a three-hour flight.

But here I am…now a Midwest transplant for at least a little bit longer.  (Kansas City transplant to be specific; Missouri side for now, though I have lived in Kansas and may move back since I work in Kansas again.)

So, how did a West Coast guy get here?

To those who don’t know me (which probably is about 80-90 percent of people who come across this blog), for about a year and a half I was studying to be a Jesuit priest. I had just graduated from a small Catholic college in Washington state, and the August after my grduated I joined the California Province for the Society of Jesus and entered their novitiate (like a seminary, but less focus on “studying” and more focus on “living the life”) in Culver City, California, which is in the heart of Los Angeles. Typically how the process works, after a two year tenure in the novitiate, the next step in  the Jesuit formation to become a priest is to attend a university (of their choosing, though you have options) for philosophy studies and earn a master’s degree in philosophy in a 3-4 year timetable (again, I will probably talk more about the whole process of being a priest, and what separates a “Jesuit” priest from a “regular” priest in some subsequent posts). At about the one-year-point in my Jesuit novice tenure, I sat down with the person responsible for “study” assignments, which basically meant I told him what my educational and personal interests and goals were going to be during this important time in religious formation. (Did I just want to study philosophy or was I thinking about getting additional studies in another area? And how would this help me contribute to the Society and Catholic community and well…world? So yeah, no pressure, right? )

We basically had three choices: Saint Louis University in St. Louis, Missouri, Loyola University in Chicago, and Fordham University in the Bronx.

Fordham was my overwhelming favorite followed by Loyola Chicago. I didn’t even consider St. Louis, because to be perfectly honest, I didn’t see myself in a small city in the Midwest in my future. (And I know there are those saying right now “But Chicago is in the Midwest!” I get it. But let’s face it, Chicago is technically the mecca of the Midwest, and closer in spirit to an East Coast city; it just happens to geographically be in the Midwest and get a lot of Midwest transplants.)

Almost 30 years old, I have been in the Midwest for six years. I spent two years in South Dakota, living and working on an Indian Reservation in South Dakota near the South Dakota-Nebraska border (Pine Ridge for those that needed clarification), and have resided for about four years in Kansas City (two years on the Kansas side and coming on two years on the Missouri side).

In all honesty, that is six more years in the Midwest than I ever would have thought when I was fresh out of college or even still in novitiate. But now as I enter the third decade of my life, I am finding it harder and harder to think I will ever leave.

It’s amazing how a certain place, a geographical area, can change one’s perspective over time.

I had the chance to move back to California last year, in the Spring for the upcoming Fall. I had a teaching job offer in California, San Jose, to be specific. The idea of moving back to the South Bay was intriguing to me (I worked in San Jose for about a semester in the Spring after leaving the Jesuits). I would be paid handsomely salary-wise (though in retrospect, while the figure was high, I wonder if it would have been much more than my current circumstances here in the Midwest).I would have been closer to my parents, who are getting older in years, and moved into a cozy house in the Midtown area of Sacramento. I would have been around the sports teams I cheered for in my youth (the San Francisco Giants, 49ers, Golden State Warriors, San Jose Sharks, and California Golden Bears). I would have been out of snow, and around good public rail transportation. Years ago, San Jose was a bit of a dream destination, not the absolute dream like San Francisco (I have always had a profound fondness for that city), but a good, comfortable second I would have been satisfied with.

Though I initially made a commitment months before I had to report to my job, I ended up not going. I had to arrive  in August, and from the time I accepted the job in early April, my excitement in the job started to slowly fade. Over a month’s time, I realized that though job was a tremendous offer and opportunity, I couldn’t take it.

To be cut and dry about it, well…I was not ready to leave Kansas City and the Midwest.

It’s amazing to think to someone who hasn’t lived here or visited here much my reasons for wanting to stay in Middle America over the West Coast (or East Coast for that matter). I had college and high school friends ask me if I “was making the right decision?” I had family that questioned my desire to not be closer to home (though more extended family, not parents). Even Midwest natives wondered why I wouldn’t want to be back in California after spending so much time away, as the decision to leave the Midwest for sunny Northern California was a no-brainer to them. (This is not necessarily Native Americans, but people who grew up in the Midwest…though ironically, this personal circle also included some Native Americans).

And I get it. It bothers me at times as well, the idea that a place with a reputation for flat, endless farmland; hot, muggy, and story, summers; and cold and icy winters, would be a more enticing place to live.

And yet, there is something about the Midwest that keep me here. Something that prevents me from leaving, even when I think I would be better served personally and professionally back in an an area of the United States where I grew up, and possessed more familiar roots and connections.

If there is a reason to explain my stay in the Midwest despite opportunities elsewhere, I guess I would have to say the “lifestyle” of the Midwest is what attracts me the most here. And not just my personal lifestyle on it’s own, but how my own lifestyle meshes into the predominant lifestyle of the diversity of people here in Kansas City as well as in the Midwest. Because though people don’t like to think about it, there is a diversity here in the Midwest. Yes, some ethnic groups are under-represented in comparison to other areas of the country. And yes, this area of the country tends to be more Christian, Conservative and Republican, something I am not quite used to being from the West Coast.

However, to say that represents ALL the Midwest would be silly and misinforming. In my six years, I have discovered so much about the Kansas City and the Midwest:

  • The Latino and Chicano culture and communities in the Midwest who are growing and developing rapidly over the past couple of decades, and differ a bit in values and feel from the Latino cultures of major communities on the coasts.
  • The Middle-Eastern influence that is growing in many of the Midwestern cities thanks to foreign exchange students growing accustomed to the Midwest life as well as opportunistic businessmen who are trying to make a better living for their families here and abroad, as I have learned from my frequent visits to hookah lounges, something I never did until I came to the Midwest. (Yes, I lived in California and Washington and it wasn’t until I moved to Kansas City that I started using Hookah.)
  • The African-American communities, which despite years of injustice and discrimination in this part of the country, who continue to push forward for change in their communities and schools, while still maintaining their proud heritage and contributions in the Midwest, including their influence on the media (The weekly newspaper “The Call” is one of the oldest African-American-run newspapers in the United States), Jazz as a musical art form, as well as baseball, including the Negro Leagues (the Midwest was where it really shone; Kansas City being the mecca for it) and the many former NL players who broke the color barrier in Major League Baseball in the late 40’s.
  • The BBQ culture known nationally that spans from the “mom and pop” shacks in rural areas of Kansas and Missouri to the urban center of Kansas City where African-American owned BBQ restaurants helped Kansas City become the BBQ capital of the USA in comparison to their brethren in the Carolina’s and Memphis.
  • The Catholic community who credit their roots in the Midwest from strong and proud immigrants from Croatia, Slovenia, Ireland, Italy, and Poland (just to name a few), and has a closer, more familial feel in comparison to their Coastal counterparts, as evidenced by their emphasis on putting on frequent church socials, high priority in sending their children to Catholic schools, and financial and spiritual contributions to their local parishes.

I could go on and on, and I know I will go into more depth onto these topics and more in the future. There is so much to write about on the Midwest, and not just Kansas City, either (though I know I will go on plenty about Kansas City considering that is my home and where a majority of my life in the Midwest has taken place). The people. The issues. The history. The traditions. The culture. The future.

Perhaps that’s why I stayed in Kansas City and the Midwest. This part of the area inspires me, almost serves as my muse, and I still feel like I have only scratched the surface, have yet to go deep into what really makes the Midwest Life what it is, not to mention different from life on the East or West Coast. I have invested a lot in my six years in the Midwest. I have invested in my job and my students, sure. But, I also have invested in my communities, whether it has been on the reservation, in Wyandotte County, or in Jackson County. And despite that investment, I still know I can do more, and more importantly, I want to do more.

And that’s why I have created this blog. To chronicle my experience as I continue to dig deeper and deeper into my experiences with “This Midwest Life.” Furthermore, I also intend to tell stories of and about the people here in Kansas City and the Midwest. (Though to be honest, my stories will probably be more predominant; sorry, I am not a professional journalist, just an amateur one at this point). Some stories will be short memoirs. Some stories might be fictional. Some stories might be simple reviews or reflections. And some stories might blur all those genres together in some weird, chaotic fashion that I can’t even begin to describe.

Just like I have learned from my own experiences, the Midwest is a surprising fusion of all kinds: transplants and homebodies; old and new; traditional and modern; conservative and liberal; backward and forward thinking; slow and… less-slow (well, I guess that is one thing I can say about the Midwest: life is a little bit slower here than on the Coasts; though I hear it is faster than in the Deep South).

I hope that’s what “This Midwest Life” will try to portray: a glance into the life and culture and diversity and mystery that is in the middle of the country, i.e. the glorious Midwest.

What six years in this part of the country can do to a person.