wagon wheel college town.

It's been almost a month since I last posted a blog. The main reason for this was I had a jury duty summons at the beginning of February and was selected for an extensive, high-profile trial in Des Moines. During the voir dire (the attorney questioning process which precedes actual selection) the defense attorney told us we'd likely be Googled and researched, and selected accordingly. I wanted to be selected just for the experience, so I took a self-imposed hiatus from anything online that I don't have on lock down (such as Facebook and Twitter). The trial has since ended (she took a guilty plea after making us sit through 8 days of testimony and evidence, which for a white-collar crime is absurdly boring), so I am back with a vengance. Sort of.

As I type this, I am one of the hipsters at the Java House in Iowa City. I am using my trendy MacBook, wearing my blue scarf and Toms shoes, and am drinking the Organic fair-trade coffee option they have brewing today (but that isn't even true since the Java House adheres to the most pretentious of coffee processes by doing individual pours). In other words, I'm back in a college town and I look like everyone else. I lived in Iowa City for five years, and yet I somehow managed to forget what the town is even like in the year or so I've been gone. Let me see if I can explain.

I rolled into town with the smile on my face that only Iowa City can produce. The river is high, as usual, the Cambus drivers are assholes, as usual, and the streets are not plowed despite getting about 4 inches of snow last night, as usual. I drive up Dubuque Street purposely listening to Z102.9, in all its Top-40s glory and come to that terrible intersection of Dubuque and Church St. If you're familar with Iowa City, you're well aware that this intersection marks the beginning of the most obnoxious, unorganized cluster of street intersections this side of China. Iowa City is old; it was the original state capitol of Iowa back in the formation of the state in 1846. The streets are narrow, there are no turn lanes, and the houses are all up in everyone's business as they are nearly flush with the curbs. Iowa City is also a college town (thank you, Captain Obvious), so there are literally cars everywhere. What, you don't think a Toyota Corolla can parallel park in a space about 5 feet wide? Allow the law of physics to be disproved as only they can in a college town. Where there aren't cars, there are people. Everywhere (yes, I know I am overusing italics in this post; there are just too many things to emphasize). People jumping off buses, people running to catch buses, people darting across traffic, people texting on their iPhones while looking down as they cross Clinton Street, people jaywalking (I guess they have since stopped ticketing people for this), and of course my personal favorite, people walking en masse across the street despite having a "no walk" sign. Safety in numbers, right?

I finally give up on finding a free parking spot (I have mad parallel parking skills, but not quite like that Corolla driver) and jump from parking garage to parking garage, all of which are full. I end up parking at the edge of campus, and become one of the thousands of people walking around campus in the 28 degree weather. I honestly forgot what it's like to walk everywhere; I make a concerted effort to walk places around my house in Des Moines, but it's not nearly to the extent of the walking you do in college. So as I'm leaping over puddles and trying to avoid the Chicago sorostitutes talking about, like, OMG what happened last night?! on their iPhone 5Gs (didn't even know those existed yet, did you?!), my feet are freezing because I am wearing Toms, which are made of canvas. Simply brilliant, Kelli.

My first stop is Which Wich, a sandwich shop descended from heaven and one of the things I miss most about this city. I walk in and immediately see boob. Yes, boob. Some lady is breastfeeding her infant at the front table of Which Wich. She's wearing a Bohemian tie-dye skirt and a "Free Tibet" shirt (which I couldn't see at first, given that she had her shirt pulled up to her neck), and I have the urge to tell her that Tibet doesn't want to be free. But instead I simply shake my head at the open liberalness of Iowa City and go to order my sandwich. After Which Wich I make my way over to the Java House for a Nutty Irish Coffee (non-alcoholic, counter to logical belief by the name) and settle into one of the warm chairs to study for the test I have in a few hours. All is well until a twitchy man comes up to me, addresses me as 'little lady,' and asks if I will move chairs to he can set up a UITV camera to tape the weekly Java Blends show. I inwardly groan as I realize that it is Friday, and there are some who actually believe people watch the University television station, in particular a show with hairy, hemp-wearing dudes playing harmonica in a coffee house.

Let me just say, I have nothing against any of this. Wear your hemp, sport your beard proudly, hell, play the harmonica as it is a dying instrument that has a major place in American history. But why - WHY - must you take up half of the Java House, kick me out of my seat because you need the space to set up a camera, do a sound check for 30 minutes, and then glare at me when I put my headphones in? For goodness' sake - this isn't cultural, it's annoying.

I love Iowa City, I really do. I had a wonderful college experience and this town has a lot of opportunities and unique traits that encourage conversation, learning, and understanding among different types of people. If anything, we need more of that in today's world (see the recent situation in Wisconsin, which is really a display of immature stubbornness and a refusal to even seek compromise). But I'll be damned with the pretentiousness of the place. I am even guilty of it, as evidence by my previous sarcastically stereotyped description of the female students from the Chicago area.

But another thing about college towns is that you are continually challenged in your beliefs and made to re-evaluate your previously held conceptions. Case in point: Mr. Harmonica has since left the stage and a bluegrass band has taken over, leading with "Wagon Wheel," one of my favorite bluegrass songs. My Toms-clad feet are suddenly bouncing, and I'm shaking my head with the appreciation of the culture I've stumbled across in this college town coffee house. I'm also faced with the realization that I made a premature judgment, and now feel a little bit hypocritical. Fortunately, college towns are a mecca of self-improvement (although in some cases, self-destruction, but luckily not always), so I know it is a short-lived shame that will dissipate in favor of cultural appreciation and acceptance.

Parking, people, pretention, and all... I miss this place.