I know I could get a giant snowball lobbed directly at my head for saying this, but I don’t really mind the snow. In fact, I kind of like it.
This IS Iowa, after all, and it IS winter. We have become so accustomed to not having a real winter in recent years that when one finally does strike, we’re flabbergasted. In fact, we’re downright paralyzed.
I do like winter, and I do like snow, but even the most die-hard fans realize there comes a time to say, “Enough is enough.”
Granted, I’ve been one of the fortunate ones who even as a commuter haven’t put a car in the ditch, in a snow bank or into the side of another vehicle. I’ve not fallen on the ice or pulled a muscle shoveling my driveway (thanks to generous friends I’ve only had to do that once, and that was only because I got out early enough to beat the plow).
When the weather (and by that I mean temperature) is right I enjoy going sledding, taking the dogs for a walk or even just walking down the streets of downtown Cedar Rapids to pick up something for lunch – an admission some of my co-workers question. Cooler air gets your blood pumping and your heart moving, and a brisk walk just feels good.
So when it comes to beating the winter doldrums I guess I’m at a loss. I encourage my kids to go out and do something in the snow. We aren’t stymied by the flakes that fall, only when they accumulate to make the roads treacherous. Even then we travel within our small town to visit friends or pick something up from our local grocery store.
I do have to admit, though, that I’m ready for spring. I prefer the warmer temperatures, safer driving conditions and variety of colors – and no, the whites, grays and browns of city snow does not count as “variety of colors.” So when it came time for me to fly to Phoenix for a long weekend, and the kids to go stay with family and go to an indoor water park, we were more than ready.
So now I guess I’m saying it. Enough is enough.
A stretch hummer passed me as I was walking to my assignment at the U.S. Cellular Center Friday night. Where was it going, you ask? Why, where else would a stretch hummer be going on a Friday night in Cedar Rapids-- to the World's Toughest Bulls & Broncs, of course. An event that was being held at the same place, incidentally, where I was heading.
It was my first rodeo, and although initially there was a moment of culture shock to see fresh dirt on the entrance steps and cowboy hats on every other individual, it soon became clear that rodeo operates on the same basic principals that make all popular sports so successful-- people doing strange, physically daunting things while other people watch them and consume as much meat and alcohol as possible.
Following a brief introduction period, where the cowboys were described and homage was paid to America (and vague threats, in song form, were made against enemies of freedom) the first rider was soon launched into the arena. The best way to describe what this looked like is to imagine a pinball machine, except instead of pin ball in motion, there is a human being with incredibly elastic joints attached to a giant bucking animal darting about in random directions. This lasted about 8 seconds, which apparently was a good ride. The crowd seemed nonplussed, except when they gasped in concern (excitement?) when the rider had difficulty getting off the animal. I think this reaction is somewhat like Nascar and its potential for fatal crashes.
The arena smelled variably of horses, dirt, beer, grilling, leather, people and the salty, unmistakable aroma of stadium hotdogs. The arena was dimly lit, and the building’s sound system blared with an eclectic mix of disco standards, eighties hits, late nineties hip-hop, and of course, out of nowhere, Britney Spears.
The songs were played in 5 to 10 second increments, before being changed to another song. This makes me wonder whether all rodeos work this way, or if the U.S. Cellular Center’s song board was being implemented. In either case, I would find it disconcerting as a cowboy to have to face death while "The Power of Love," by Huey Lewis was playing at 100 decibels.
I’m just saying.
Because the actual "action portion" of the show lasted only a few seconds at a time, it was necessary for the announcers-- who sounded suspiciously similar to professional wrestling announcers-- to keep up a constant chatter along with the incessantly changing soundtrack. There were even skits, including one involving a chicken, but I couldn't quite follow it and then they started playing "Cotton-Eye Joe" over the loud speaker.
It was all so confusing.
But I forgot to mention why I was sent to the event in the first place. I was supposed to ask people how long they thought they could last on a bucking bronco, a question that became a lot easier to get responses for once people had consumed a sufficient amount of alcohol.
The format of this blog makes it incumbent upon me to answer this question as well, and in my mind, there are two schools of thought of how to answer it. There is the honest way, and there is the fantastical, and hopefully humorous, dishonest way. The honest answer to this question is that if I tried to ride a bucking bronco, it would throw me off like a dandelion seed in around two seconds, and then I would end up smashing into the side of the arena, probably with blood running down my face and dislocations in multiple areas of my body that I don’t want to spend time contemplating. The humorous answer to the question is that I would ride the horse so long that it recognize me as its master, and later that day I would use it to go fox hunting along with my genteel friends.
Tally ho!
(Sadly enough, I don't really have any genteel friends.)
In closing, I would like to recall a conversation a girl I worked with at a grocery store once had with one of her girlfriends. Mind you, this was a long time ago, so this is likely not exactly how it went.
Girl One: I’m going to go to the rodeo tonight.
Girl Two: Why are you going there?
Girl One: To pick up guys. They’re so hot!
Girl Two: They are?
Girl One: Mmmhmmm…especially the bronco riders. I’d never date a bull rider, though, they’re crazy.
The conversation then degenerated (or elevated, depending on your perspective) into describing the praiseworthy parts of cowboy anatomy, and I excused myself to go stock the milk. I could never quite understand why it was somehow a mark of sanity to ride a giant angry bronco instead of a larger, angrier bull, but I suppose if you had to choose between the two...
Incidentally, I saw a picture of Girl One in the paper the other day. The man she married was wearing a cowboy hat.
I’m glad that worked out for her.
When I stopped to ask the University of Iowa students bowling at Colonial Lanes in Iowa City on Martin Luther King Jr.’s Birthday what they thought was one of the most important human rights crises of our day, I knew I’d be writing this blog to coincide with the question. Still, that didn’t help determine my own thoughts on the question. It did make me realize how difficult it can sometimes be to answer something like this on the spur of the moment.
There are so many variables involved in that question, it’s pretty difficult to come up with an answer. Domestic or global? Physical or emotional? Government or private? All of those things can make a big difference in how someone would answer the question.
If we’re talking domestic human rights crises, the answers of those I spoke with stand out: racism; gay marriage; gay rights; religious bigotry; child abuse and neglect; elder abuse and neglect; the list goes on.
Globally the list gets even longer: genocide in any number of locations; political imprisonment; discrimination and bigotry even wider than we see in the United States.
What I’ve come to realize, I guess, is that it’s not my place to rank one violation as worse than another. Who am I to say one person’s pain is worse than another’s? I’ve been very fortunate to not have fallen victim to any of these. I had a wonderful childhood, was never beaten or tormented by anyone, I have always had a roof over my head and food in my refrigerator. While I’ve been outraged at seeing racial or other discrimination occur around me, I have not felt the blow of that discrimination upon myself.
That doesn't mean, however, that I am blind to the atrocities that occur, or that I am willing to tolerate them. I do find it disturbing that such things still take place. Some people still look at their neighbors and co-workers through tinted glasses, so to speak, ever-ready to cast that first stone. Others, while not casting the stone, sometimes find themselves stepping out of the line of fire rather than coaxing the offender to drop the weapon.
Then there’s the other group, the one whose members do what they can to raise awareness, promote tolerance and understanding, close gaps and build bridges.
Maybe one of the biggest crises is that there aren’t more in that group.