Library Legs, Spring and Fall 2017, A Terrible, Terrible Visual Representation

First of all, I apologize. 

I had to share it. It sat there looking at me from my desktop, daring me to do it, for nine-ish months. There's no denying I've been distracted in 2021, but you could understand my hesitation in sharing it at all. Look at it. 

Such meaningful shenanigans corner me into one particular existential corner: Am I or am I not a Serious Person? 

Or am I but a Dancing Monkey? A Cop from Keystone? A Gibbering Foole?

Finally, in this year of our lord 2021, can I not be all? The truth of the matter is that I had great, dissociative fun making this insane map. And if you've clicked the link to get this far, I've made you look. That's good enough for me.

It started semi-seriously. I just wanted to see a visual representation of my travels. After all, I'd trekked some 13,000 miles (not including in-town back and forth from lodging to libraries to dinner to tourist sites, etc.). It was worth seeing the whole picture. 

Any endeavor to "make" a map from scratch was immediately out the door. A quick Google search reminded me of ye olde publishing days, when more than one author asked, miffed: Can't you just make a map? As though we had cartography interns on call, ready to scratch out a detailed rendering of 1756 South America, denoting cultural shifts, death tolls, political upheavals and in all the eye-friendly colors of the world. If Google Maps served me so well on the road, it could do it once more, by way of entering all the destinations up and taking a screenshot* of whatever came up at the end. 

It was more challenging than expected. For one, there are limits to the number of destinations you can add to one trip in Google Maps. It would have made my life much simpler if Google had allowed them all, but I was happy to at least get the general outline of the trip, regardless. 

The lucky break to the whole, messy undertaking was the fact that I'd saved links to every single destination in the spreadsheet I made to plan the trips back in 2017. Every city, place I stayed, every site I visited. It should surprise no one that I had the whole adventure planned with very little room for spontaneity. Not to say I was never spontaneous, especially when I had no choice, like when I got elevation sickness in Colorado followed closely by the flu in California. There were times I could not bear the idea of sleeping in the car, whether I was jonesing for a bed, a bathroom, and privacy or just getting a bad vibe from a rest stop, so made a reservation at a hotel instead. This may not be so much "spontaneous" (which suggests positive attributes like courage, fun, outgoing, and so on) as it is just "less rigid," but being able to roll with the changes was still a significant departure from the person I'd become in New York: sequestered, heart-sick, and deeply anxious. It still shakes me up that I did any of this at all.

So, the map.

Hearts mark cities and sites I visited, though they do not represent every single place I went (impossible in this format); lizard eyes mark where I bunkered down, sick as hell; places in gray are Google; places in purple and orange are mine; dark blue line is leg one; light blue line is leg two. Note the directional arrows! I visited every state in the Western United States, with the starting point in Wichita noted with the giant smiley star. Why stop there? I added clips of photos I took on my journeys (which rendered crazy) and then, for reasons known only to my 2020-sequestered-psychologically-addled mind, I added pictures of my cats, too. WHY NOT. After all, it was during one of the first car-sleeps during leg two that I realized how completely I loved them as I laid there in the dark of my Rogue feeling blue and keening for their little fur-faces, followed immediately by snorting in derision at what a marshmallow peep I'd become. But if you find maps boring...well, that's weird, but if you do, the cats really add a level of zip and zing most maps could never offer. Look at those little faces. A few twerpy cats would have certainly spiced up some of our scholarly monograph maps. This is a fact.

Why the giant yellow eye icon at Loveland Pass? Why the rainbow sticker at Jackson, Wyoming? Follow the links and relive my library tour of the western United States! I'm doing a bit of that myself over on my new Instagram page, created primarily to supplement my new freelancing website, though it has been a blast revisiting these travels. Even more so after the grim, anxiety-ridden wake of 2020. 

So does my fever dream of a Library Trip 2017 Map make me less of a Serious Person? More of a Giant Doof? Does it matter? And that's what made me finally post it. It's stupid and I love it. And it shows just how far I went...and how far I've come. Liberation from constant panic is next door to one's best conception of heaven. Next up: liberation from self-consciousness. That would take care of the serious/not question for EVER.

Actually, I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry at all.

*fair use, look it up, bay-be

AirBNB

A couple of years ago, I would never have even considered taking advantage of AirBNB. The thought of staying in someone else's home would have been deeply upsetting, akin to suggesting we brunch with the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family or similar. It's bad enough enduring strangers, but staying in their homes? Their private abodes? Just the thought would have set me into a panic. Unthinkable.

But when you take away the main source of stress in a person's life, well gosh. You just never know how much can change for the better. Suddenly, all things might seem possible. And in one of many, even sleeping under a stranger's roof could almost (not quite!) seem pedestrian.

The fact that my sister had started hosting for AirBNB and I could therefore grill her about it was also a huge help. Probably more than she knows, now that I think of it. Thanks, shi shi.

Some Quick Stats: As of this date (11/14/17), I have stayed at 18 different AirBNB locations, starting with my trip from NYC to Wichita, then over the course of two legs of the library trip through all Midwest to western states of the US. I have stayed in AirBNB accommodations 44 nights total, averaging $38.00/night (including all taxes and fees). By comparison, over the course of the library trips, I spent 17 nights in 2-3 star hotels, averaging $90/night (also including taxes and fees).

I think at this stage I can say I'm an AirBNB veteran, at least in the US, and feel emboldened to share some of my insights with you.

My objectives/specs. Before launching into my assessment of the AirBNB experience, it is probably best to understand exactly where I am coming from as a prospective tenant. I am extremely fussy and not at all comfortable staying with family or friends, let alone strangers. Staying overnight in other people's homes is hard for me. But I try to put the weight of that responsibility on me as much as I am able rather than expecting my host to accommodate my every whim, need, or lapse into hysteria. I am painfully self aware and desperately wish to leave no mark behind. I will go above and beyond to be a good guest.

Well before the trip, when I am formulating all of my plans, I use the AirBNB website to review every possible property in each prospective destination repeatedly. I create wish lists and spreadsheets, then narrow my choices down to the last candidates, usually based on star ratings, cost per night, private bathrooms, and weekly discounts (based on need). Many, many people make plans on the fly...I find this horrifying, but the website and app make any style of planning very easy.

Do note! I don’t demand a private bathroom, but if I can get one for a good price, I will go that route every time. I hate sharing bathrooms with people, but if I have to, I’d much rather share with other AirBNB guests only. I think it is amazing that so many hosts don’t mind sharing a bathroom with their guests. But this seems crazy to me. As does hosting for AirBNB, but people make good money doing it.

One thing to know about the AirBNB community is just how disproportionately positive the reviews tend to be, both in the star rating system and the comments section. The overall vibe appears to be live and let live, don't rock the boat, etc. A host really has to mess up to take a hit on his or her star ratings. Almost everyone has at least four stars if not 4.5 to 5. This is problematic when places get great reviews but in reality cannot compare to the better properties. I think a lot of hosts bending over backwards to provide excellent accommodations would be disappointed if not downright mad to know how common it is to find the same glowing reviews and high star ratings at much nastier AirBNB locations.

If a place has less than four stars but you are strapped for cash or options (or are a big softy that believes in second chances), you might check the comments section to see if you can figure out why the property received a lower star rating, but usually there are plenty of other, better rated places to choose from. For me, it is a nonstarter. Though I have delved into the comments sections to see why certain properties got dinged just out of curiosity (e.g. the pics look great so what's the dealio), only to find that more often than not, a host's inability to handle criticism informed my decision about the place just as much as any complaint might have. Word of advice in AirBNB hosting and life: Better to take the high, neutral road (I am sorry to hear you did not enjoy your experience, here is how we are addressing it going forward) than the low, screeching, defensive road (FIRST OF ALL MA'AM...)--it's only going to drag your reputation down into the gutter. Perhaps where it belongs? I don't know? But from a prospective guest's POV, you look like trouble on the horizon. Better to go elsewhere!

So I suppose it should go without saying, but when initially reviewing properties and narrowing down my list, a hectoring tone in the host’s description of the place also earns a hard PASS. A lot of ALL CAPS and admonishments about house rules scream "high maintenance" which is unnerving and anxiety inducing from the start. If it already seems like too much work just reading the description, why bother? All AirBNB accommodations have house rules, by the way, but if the hosts are already shouting and semi-hysterical, maybe just run away.

I will also avoid places where the host’s tone implies that they are doing you a big favor by letting you stay with them. Like, bite me? This is a mutually beneficial arrangement, I'm not kissing your ring. Again, there are usually plenty of other options, and this kind of behavior just suggests that the hosts are difficult, rigid, meddlesome, and too much work. What’s sad is that I’m sure a lot of these terse, cranky listings are from hosts that probably went through a crap situation with a previous guest, thus making them feel the need to overprotect themselves and their property. But to shy renters like me, it just reads as DRAMA, which I do not want in any way, shape, or form. My primary objectives are clean environment, good wifi, safe parking, and to be left the hell alone. In return, I’m quiet, respectful of the furniture/linens/space, and leave a pretty tidy room when I check out. I don’t make the bed, which seems fair to me since sheets should cleaned after every guest, but I actually saw one listing that demanded (with attitude) that beds be made before checking out to which I said why the hell? Grossssss. 

Unless you are a fly by the seat of your pants desperado just looking to spend the bare minimum (which you should stop reading now since none of this applies to you), remember what Maya Angelou said, "When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time." You can learn a lot about your future hosts by paying close attention to the way they word their listings.

My experiences. For the most part, they have been very positive.
Favorite AirBNB places:

• basement room with a private bath in Pinedale, Wyoming, 
• basement room with private bath in Fargo, North Dakota
• master bedroom with private luxury bath in Loveland, Colorado, 
• super, extra clean room and private bath in Austin, Texas,
• and of course, above and beyond all, the gorgeous casita in Magdelena, New Mexico. 

And while these were the places I loved, I must stress that most of the rest were places I really, really liked. I never assumed every place would be spotless with all new linens and no problems whatsoever. It was a leap for me to believe werewolves wouldn't be crouching under the bed, trembling and slobbering, waiting until I was fully asleep to crawl out and maybe chew off my feet or something equally terrible. So spare and no nonsense were just fine with me; luxuries were seen as just that: luxurious. Like I said, AirBNB has been a very positive overall!

The places I found problematic had cleanliness issues, and it was more often than not based on the fact that people are immune to their own stank. Two of the three places with smell issues had multiple pets, but one had none—all had the same issue: Old pillows, old mattresses, old carpets, old linens—all of which soak in pet smells and human skin smells, or what my friend Yasmin likes to call, “Scalpicin.” The smell of dirty, dirty scalps. This is a term she coined after many rides on the subway with the infrequently washed. Funny thing: people always talk about the homeless and those that never, ever bathe, but there are plenty of workaday people on those subway cars that shower every three to four days or so and really build up a thick, oily lather of dead skin. Scalpicin.

I’ve also stayed at AirBNBs where the room was mostly okay (still scalpicin, but bearable) but other parts of the house were horrendous (e.g. gross kitchens). It’s weird because this is someone else’s house, so you expect them to live in it, breathe in it, cook in it and all that...but you also expect it to be in good shape if guests are coming over, even if they are strangers. And this is doubly so if the ad offers use of the common spaces like the kitchen or laundry room. Why would I ever want to cook in your sticky kitchen on your filthy cookware and dishes? But it also made me doubly grateful for places that were kept spotless...oh that place in Austin. She let me do laundry there in her new machines and they where so nice and everything was so cleeeeean. Also the first time I learned that new dryers no longer shriek ROONNNNNK once they've stopped. They do a nice tinkly winkly song. So NICE.

And of course I’ve spoken of the terrible Bismarck experience, with the passive aggressive arrival plans, dirty house, no locks on the doors, misinformation in the ad about the bathroom, and the creepy guy stalking around day and night. This circles back to the star rating problem--did I mention that they have almost 50 reviews averaging out to 5 stars? They sure do. And there's no way of avoiding this--the reviews of the place make it seem like a beautiful, clean oasis, but this just was not true. Something to keep in mind!

The website. It is extremely easy to sign up and verify your identity with AirBNB. I verified through my Facebook account, but there are other methods. They just want to know you are a real person. Creating a profile is easy, as well. You don’t have to give a lot of personal information if you don’t want to—they ask you about favorite shows, movies, hobbies, etc., but I found that most hosts don’t go past the main description of your reasons for traveling and using AirBNB.

I use my laptop and the direct website for perusing potential places during the initial planning stages--it's a lot easier than doing it via smartphone, in my opinion, especially when you have a ton of tabs open to cross reference and compare. I also use the laptop/direct website if I plan on writing a longer review.

The App. Extremely easy to use. AirBNB does a lot of the work for you via the app, like reminding you to review the places you’ve stayed and telling you when it is time to check into the next place, including quick links to maps and the basics you’ll need when you get there (like wifi passwords). If details about the place are needed, it is easy to look up the original listing or the itinerary to get the full picture. Most places are very similar in offerings and expectations, but it is always good to double check the house rules and other specs before checking in.

You don't have to worry about dealing with charges on the go, either, unless you make a last minute book. The room is charged once you’ve stayed—after you book, you won’t have to think about this part of the process again unless you end up having to cancel for whatever reason. FYI: Most hosts offer flexible cancellation policies, though policies can also be moderate or strict. Each level determines the amount of time you have to cancel and how much money will be refunded. No matter what, the service fee is nonrefundable.

The app is best used after reservations are made and while "on the go." Aside from some glitches at first, it has otherwise been an outstanding help during my travels.

Availability. If you have to stay somewhere central due to commuting needs (i.e. you don’t have a car, need to stay close to a certain area), then disregard, but in my case I was able to book rooms outside the city centers because I didn’t mind driving around the cities themselves (including surrounding suburbs). In fact, it was part of my objective to get a real sense of the neighborhoods and the personality of each town I visited. In big cities like Dallas or Los Angeles, there are always going to be plenty of options near the city center, but they will be more expensive, and they can be sketchitty sketchballs. My $38/night average was based on my ability to drive anywhere and everywhere.

Most big cities have dozens and dozens of choices…so much so that AirBNB will filter findings only by Instant Book listings unless you uncheck that option. Instant Book is for hosts who will allow you to book immediately—I’d say about 75% of listings are Instant Book, while the rest need to approve your stay before you can officially book. I know if it was me, I’d want to review people first, so it’s cool that hosts opt for Instant Book at all. Don't take it as a sign of either a particularly good or bad place to stay--there has been no discernible difference in quality in my experience. I think some single women or all-female households prefer to review people first for obvious reasons. Some outright state that only women are allowed.

In smaller areas, the pickings are slimmer, and in very small towns, there is often either nothing or just one or two places to choose from. It can get very, very pricey if you absolutely must stay in a specific place and have no easy means of transportation (or flexibility on where you stay). These are the only times when a hotel might be just as easy an option as AirBNB, cost wise.

The savings. My AirBNB nightly average was $38, 2-3 star hotels $90. Awesome savings! If you are staying for longer, like a week or even a month, a lot of places offer discounts.

Things to expect.

• You’re staying in someone else’s house, so be cool. This is not a hotel. 
• Read the house rules and try to follow them—they’re almost never unreasonable or inconvenient. Leaving your shoes off at the front door, not letting pets escape, or making sure to put used towels in the hamper is about as far as it usually goes. Some places will even have binders made up with all rules laid out including maps and pamphlets to local tourist spots. 
• Most places have quiet hours and do not allow parties or unapproved extra guests. In my opinion, this seems like it should go without saying, but my sister, an AirBNB host, recently experienced a horrific unapproved guest/wild party situation where furniture was damaged and all levels of inappropriateness was unleashed. People can be Giant Assholes. Don’t be an asshole, not even a mini asshole. 
• I repeat, this is not a hotel! In a hotel you can come and go as you please, but that’s true of all 85 other people staying at the hotel, slamming doors, cackling, screaming, and stomping around at all hours of the night. You can pretty much come and go as you please at the AirBNB, too, but you must be considerate of the homeowners and their families. And quiet hours most definitely apply. I never had a problem with this (headphones) but if you are a screaming meemie, maybe stay at a hotel. 
• Always tip your hotel maid, but tipping is not necessary at AirBNB locations. In fact, many hosts charge a cleaning fee, which is included in the total per night costs. You can see the breakdown of each cost (usually the main rental feel, service fees to AirBNB, sometimes cleaning fees, sometimes occupancy taxes) once you've clicked to see a specific property's availability on specific dates.
• Every hotel with a pool smells like chlorine and every hotel carpet is permanently filthy. Maybe four+ star hotels can shampoo their carpets regularly, but the usual hotels just don’t. AirBNB’s smell like nothing (paint and carpet, maybe), to nice (mild fragrance), to desperate (Glade plug-ins), to stinkity (animal smells, human smells, scalpacin). Most of the time they smell pretty neutral. 
• Hotel staff is paid to help you—sometimes they can be great, but often it’s nothing special. I’ve experienced AirBNB hosts that invited me to dinner, wanted to have long talks, and were bound and determined to accommodate every possible need I might have. Every one of them has respected my privacy and there have been a few I never even saw for the duration of my stay. AirBNB hosts offer a more personal, friendly kind of service, in general, than hotel staff.
• Be ready for a variety of different key/door situations. Some people have keypads to get in and out of the house, so you can use a key or just the keypad. Some have lockboxes and will send you the codes before you arrive. Others greet you at the door with old fashioned keys in hand and advise you of the different idiosyncrasies of the doors and locks. The place in Fontana (near LA) in the ever spiraling cul-de-sac, was primarily set up for AirBNB hosting on the first floor, with four guest rooms and one shared bathroom available, all spic and span, new Ikea furniture and bedding, and locks with keys for each door. The main house door was a keypad, which we were advised to always lock behind us, but one of the other guests had a hard time following that rule and I found the place unlocked at least twice. Luckily it was a nice neighborhood, but they're not all like that. Being able to lock the door to my room also helped. 
• Some AirBNB accommodations have alarm systems you have to learn, others have pets you have to herd whenever you escape the house. In Fargo, I couldn't leave until the Sunday- disheveled host came downstairs to forcibly remove the cat from my ankles. She was hellbent on escaping that house and I was her key to freedom. Not so fast, criminal element! I felt bad for inconveniencing the host, but it goes like that sometimes, and hosts are almost always in good spirits about minor changes to the format.
• And a note about pets: People love sharing their fur friends with guests, almost universally, and so far I've never encountered a host that misrepresented pets in the house or what to expect. There are often rules laid out either on the website or in the house binder on how to interact with the resident furfaces--sometimes in adorable detail--so you should never have to worry about that aspect of the stay. One of my favorite themes is Dog Whose Eyes Plead Starvation but Whose Curves Say Otherwise. There are a lot of AirBNB pets who know how to work a crowd.
• Some AirBNB accommodations offer the bare minimum: a towel, a bed with linens, family sized shampoos and body washes (if that); others roll out the red carpet, with hand soaps, lotions, Kleenex, razors, varieties of bath soaps and shampoos/conditioners, coffee machines, snacks, water, sleep number beds, heated blankets. The works! But don’t expect the works, just be grateful for it when it happens. More than once I had to bring my own Kleenex and set out my own bar of soap for simple hand washing. 
• Most hosts are very social, very kind, and genuinely good people. I think it comes with the territory—people who open their homes to the world have to have some level of extroversion. A few were awkward, so when I added my own awkwardness it just made things triple, extra spicy awkward.  This is the human experience and we must go with the flow, even if the flow goes against our hyper vigilant squirrel mind.
• Most hosts will text you ahead of time to ask when you will arrive. Do not take umbrage at this—it’s very common and to be expected. Many hosts are turning over rooms night after night and need to have some sense of when you will arrive. They have busy lives with kids and appointments and work--unlike hotels who live and breathe to serve only you (or so they'd like you to believe wink wink). 
• Many hosts also require that you arrive between a range of times (e.g. 5 to 9). A surprising number of hosts say you can arrive "whenever" but I'd take that with a grain of salt. If you have a private entrance with a keycode or lockbox (thus not requiring any interaction) that's probably true, but more likely than not you will have to meet the host to gain first entry into the house. Texting and planning will save a lot of aggravation! 
• Some hosts will even make you breakfast, and not just a breakfast bar on the run but actual, complete breakfast, something to factor into the cost savings. My very first AirBNB experience, a basement room in a huge, newly built house in the Pennsylvania woods, came with a full breakfast delivered to my door while I was in the shower. I never saw the hosts, but they were amazing cooks!
• I’ve never had a hotel overbook and some hotels have even bent over backwards to rebook rooms while I was sick, getting me the same low rates as before. But I did have one AirBNB host cancel on me the day before I was going to check in due to complaints they received from their neighbors (which filtered down to the landlord and led to a ban on AirBNB guests). I was still sick in Galt, so none too happy to go through the process of finding a new place, especially one I intended to stay in for a whole week. Lesson? AirBNB might cancel on you out of the blue, but hotels rarely do (and if they did, you could probably get all kinds of yummy vouchers for free nights in the future and just book at a similarly priced hotel elsewhere).
• You are not obligated to socialize with hosts if you do not want to. Usually the house rules and description of the place will give you a sense of what to expect (we have two rowdy dogs and a 2 year old with questions vs. I'm never home and you probably won't see me but text me if you need anything). My hosts in Pinedale invited me up to socialize but I politely passed. After driving all day I was very tired and not in the mood to talk to anyone. I just wanted to watch my Blue Bloods and trip the light fantastic down Candy Crush lane. But that didn't stop me from partaking of their hospitality the next morning as I wandered upstairs to fetch some banana bread and a banana (yes, I ate double banana breakfast what of it). It feels weird trundling around a stranger's home when they are not there, but the more experience I acquired with AirBNB, the easier it got. 

Postscript. If I can do it, you can, too. I would highly recommend AirBNB. It is a safe, inexpensive alternative to staying in hotels. Just do your research and take your time--really pour over those pictures, the descriptions, house rules, and the comments sections. If people are generalizing or noncommittal, take note of that. If the listing is new and no one has reviewed it, proceed with caution. Fraud can happen. Use your best judgement and trust that inner alarm that goes off when something doesn't seem quite right. No amount of cost savings is worth your well being and safety! But be brave, too. There's a whole world to see, and this community-based hosting service really does work.

Milton R. Abrahams Branch, Omaha, Nebraska

The one and only picture I took of South Dakota: Glacial Lakes
Rest Area, near Rosholt, northeast corner of SD.

Unfortunately, South Dakota was just a pass through state for this trip. Earlier in my planning, before the altitude sickness and headcold extravaganzas, I'd wanted to visit Deadwood and Mount Rushmore, but I ended up cutting both to save time and anxiety. Alas, I only got to see South Dakota as it whizzed by at 75 mph. Pretty. Rainy. Also flat.

The main highway from Fargo to Omaha, Nebraska (I-29 South), also took me into Iowa, which I had not expected, thus causing a minor mental commotion until I was able to pull over and double check my route. It was a very nice drive, but as this trip was winding down to a close, my single minded ambition turned from exploration to hibernation. I was ready for a break.

I can't breathe it's so much good.

But one last library for the road, shall we? And this was a real humdinger, a wild child, the squid in a family of cats. A library to remember.

The Milton R. Abrahams Branch of the Omaha library system was built in 2688 in honor of the Great Ones, William "Bill" S. Preston and Theodore "Ted" Logan. You can easily identify the building's point of origin in both time and space by the glass pyramid skylights that festoon this broad, shining ship of learning and most excellence. Not one single inch of its cool lines and sharp corners is bogus.

"Sunburst," 1988, Harry Bertoia, steel, gold & malevolence.

To further prove its righteousness, you only need enter the main foyer, where a massive, spiked dandelion floats precariously above your head. I stood there agape. There were no words. None. This thing is just. Just. I don't know what? Insane? Magnificent? Perilously pointy? Extremely dangerous?? I imagined it suddenly coming undone to drop with murderous speed on the unsuspecting heads standing below it. A terrible, gruesome, wildly absurd way to die, I'd surmise, by golden dandelion. A one in a billion death.

Once past the grand and terrifying foyer, patrons enter a wide and plentiful space, generously outfitted with floating Circles of Mystery, a clear nod to the space alien contractors who constructed this 27th century ode to the wyldest of stallyons. As road tired as I was, I could not have felt happier. This stunning structure, this phenomenal freak.

Just to the left of the circulation desk/main bridge was a display in honor of the upcoming Day of the Dead, with astronaut John Glenn prominently featured. If this place wasn't a lost spaceship, it certainly was a portal. I mean. What more evidence do you need?

Library Gerbil!

I had very little time to spare in the Milton R. Abrahams branch library, but I made the most of it. I grabbed a desk near the back and worked on a future entry, typing like mad to catch up to the forever lagging timeline. After less than an hour, library staff announced the closing countdown, so I packed up and headed toward the door. On my way out I visited the gerbils on display (science experiment? harmless pets? the aliens?) and gave the Deadly Dandelion the widest berth possible. I really do wish I had more time to spend in this library—not only did it have nonsensical ovals and circles abound around the entire interior, the back window walls were curved, my most favorite extraneous flair.

But time was out and I was on my way back to Wichita the very next day. I still had one seriously sad dinner (O! Boston Market, what hath become of you?), a good night's rest at my last AirBNB, and 330 miles to go.

Some postmortems to come in the very near future, dudes.

Curvy.

Nebraska!

Fargo Public Library, Fargo, North Dakota

There are places I know I'll never have to go to again—at least not by choice, and I would hope never by necessity, though I suppose you can't control everything (not that I will stop trying). Amarillo is one place. An ugly, racist, completely hostile and upsetting pass through was all I needed to secure that deal, but the place also had that scalped soulless feel to it that left me feeling grimy, heavy, and teeming with swirling unease. As I documented earlier in this blog, Barstow is definitely on the list. And now I can include Bismarck, though truth be told I'd probably find my way back just to record that creepy clock for posterity. But otherwise, bad vibes abound, so on the list it goes.

O! How I love a skybridge!

Fargo was a far better match for me—a nice mix of old and new with lots of charm in between. I was very hungry by the time I rolled into town in the early afternoon, so pulled over to check Google for "food near me." I was at my limit with the fast food and wanted something of substance that was truly local. By luck I was parked nearby a place called Luna, which touts itself as a "neighborhood kitchen." Having lived in NYC for 15+ years, I was familiar with its hype, hip to its jive, etc. etc. They have wine and cheese and a menu that changes daily—you get the drift. It was also located in a dilapidated strip mall, which upped the hipster ante to 11.

On this fine day I ordered soup—they had a fabulous chicken, bacon, and broccoli soup that was out of this world yummy. I even posted a pic via Instagram and Facebook to which my nearest and dearest commented ahem was this before or after u chucked it up. Everybody's a comedian! But I stand by the dish. The service was also wonderful, and the place was decorated with efficient simplicity. I felt comfortable dining there in my hoodie and exerpants.

The new Fargo Public Library is located in the downtown area amidst old brick behemoths and some fantastically ooogly bank buildings. The library itself, born in 2008, is a chic, modern, welcoming space with lots of natural light and bright color on the walls, upholstery, and fixtures. Once you are up in the main part of the library, it feels very open and airy, almost like a rooftop library, protected from the elements but open to the surrounding city.

The way into the main space is a bit odd, but I suppose someone thought it was a cool idea and who am I to judge. When patrons walk in the front door, they must go down a long hallway to get to the central stairway. There is a coffee and treat shop on this level, as well as a main circulation desk, art gallery, and other spaces I did not explore but did not seem to be open to the library main (e.g. meeting rooms, staff rooms, etc.).

On either side of the main interior doorway are brilliantly colored, tiled murals of sunflowers. I tried my best to capture them, but you really have to see them as you move through them, the way the tiles gleam and the colors glow. I would bet every kid who goes to this library is absolutely in love with these murals, and that their memories when looking back on the Fargo Public Library will be warm and happy, with mega sunflowers spilling upward and over every neuronal flash.

Upon ascending to the second floor, the library, too, unfolds like a flower, a chrysanthemum of different rooms, stacks, open spaces, lounge areas, and a long, deliriously abundant bank of desks up against the far wall. A glorious find. I spent two very productive days at this library, forgoing exploring any other branches since I knew I would pine for this one and all its lovely petals.

Main foyer and circulation, first floor.

Central staircase. You can see the gallery in the background.

I was criminally remiss in documenting the space I am describing, by the way. You'll just have to trust me (or check out online galleries) to get a sense of the Fargo Public Library's overall loveliness. It was, for me, a working library, where electricity and consistent wifi was easily available and I was able to concentrate with little to no distractions.

I think one of the things that helped was how they parsed up the main sections of the library so that they were not all intermixed and stepping on each other's vibes. The circulation room, computer room, and meeting rooms were along one wall, all glassed in and separated. while the study desks were on the opposite side of the floor. The stacks serve as a natural separator between the main thoroughfares and places where people require quiet. The children's section, easily always the noisiest part of every library, was sequestered to the first floor. In this arrangement everybody gets windows and nobody feels encroached upon.

You would be surprised at how many libraries do not do this. Many, many libraries instead embrace a free love approach to library design, where desks and lounge areas co-mingle unprotected with noisy, rambunctious computer bays and all in front of the kids section where screeching monkeys are hanging from the ceiling and clanging cymbals in a cacophonous orgy of "Community." A lot of libraries have few choices; being retrofitted to embrace new technologies, you have to make do. But newer libraries that forget their patrons needs (or God Help Them, think "open plan" is a fab idea we should all embrace in every space ever no matter what the industry) quite honestly have NO EXCUSE. Think of your patrons, dumdums. All of them.

Anyway, since I was in the same general area for something like 12-14 hours total, here are some shots of my views over those two blissful days at the Fargo Public Library.

Other impressions of Fargo:

Notice the hook haaaannnnnnd, aahhh runnnn

Not sure if this is something everyone does everywhere, but this is where I saw my first "Construction Man" made out of traffic barrels and cones and other construction materials. At first I found it weird but charming, but it gets creepier every time I look at the picture. I think it's because you are only supposed to recognize what it is in passing and you are never, ever meant to notice details. Do not stare too long at Construction Man. 

I also had the worst pizza of this journey while in Fargo. Though I am loathe to name names (Rhombus Guys), I am torn (Rhombus Guys) since it feels wrong not to warn others of the terribleness I experienced (Rhombus Guys). Here's what: sticking to my theme, I had the 8-inch margherita--a fairly simple pizza that should not be impossible to pull off. The place is known for its weirder selections, such as "Tater Tot," "The Angry Dragon," and something called "Blue Heaven," which consists of "bleu cheese cream sauce, steak, bacon, tomato, red peppers, bleu cheese, cheddar and mozzarella," a combination so rich and stinky I would have likely hurled had I dared to try it...so I know a simple margherita probably isn't in their wheelhouse. However. My pizza had nothing much on it: unremarkable mozz, dried husks of basil, and some oil (tomato what? I saw little to none of that). But somehow the whole middle of the crust was soaking wet. I ripped off the wet, doughy sections and ate what was left. The sad thing is that the bread was actually the best part, so it was akin to eating fairly good breadsticks once I managed to piece it back together. Not a good margherita, though, and it begs the question: If my simple pizza got soaked in the middle, what happens to all those overloaded monstrosities on the menu? Completely uncooked dough holding up a center filled with stinky grease? I guess we'll never know. But for this visit, I give (Rhombus Guys) two stars and big, fat "Yikes."

The accent. You know what I mean. We all enjoyed Frances McDormand in the movie. Including all restaurants I visited, my AirBNB hosts (great!), library staff and patrons, and convenience stores I patronized, I heard the accent exactly ZERO TIMES. Seriously. My conspiracy theory is that North Dakota—and especially Fargoans—got super self conscious about the accent after the movie came out and the rest of the country started mimicking it (how ya doin MaARRGe?) and they just forced themselves to stop talking like that. Which is a damn shame. Either that or the movie is a damn LIE, which just can't be true (if so? rude). I was genuinely bummed. I wanted to hear the accent. And don't play. People always want to hear the New York accent, the Boston accent, the Kentucky Fried Chicken accent. We all do it so don't even. [Postscript: I am ablush. After watching all available seasons of the TV show Fargo—checked out from my local library HUZZAH!—I now know that those accents were 100% Minnesotan, since that is where most of the movie's characters are actually from! Incidental research led me to the truth as we made our way through the show—great freakin show—so I seriously apologize to Fargo and North Dakotans in general. Hugs.]

Finally, North Dakota. It's a lot like Kansas, a whole lotta flat. But just like Kansas, those gleaming fields can be damn beautiful. A couple more shots, then on to the next...

Bismarck Veterans Memorial Public Library, Bismarck, North Dakota

My plan was to visit the aesthetically pretty pretty State Library in Bismarck, but weather that had been in the low 60s the day before had turned bitter and mean, with a hard frost across the city and a steady, biting wind blowing snow all day. I decided that my brief visit to the Bismarck Veterans Memorial Public Library the previous day could extend to a full day of work, pretty pretty libraries be danged.

It would be hard to miss the facade of Bismarck's main library. It not only shouts LIBRARY, it features a public signage peep in the act of reading, just in case it was unclear in any way.

Just inside the front doors there is a collection of photos showing the past and present main libraries of Bismarck--I can't begin to guess why the city decided to go from classic to wildly pedestrian, but that's their jam and to each his own.

The interior has this cool, streamlined, open feel that I found comfortable and conducive to long spells of plugging in and disconnecting from this tactile earth. When I resurfaced to the land of the moving, I went to the cafe for more coffee and a snack. Said snack was a seriously delicious chocolate chip cookie that I wolfed before I ever thought to document it.

The basement.

On the brief first day, I spent my time down in the basement, a cold collection of stacks under bright, white light. What I will never stop kicking myself over is not recording the grandfather clock positioned nonchalantly by the elevator. It was one of those more recent brass and glass types, not the old wooden classic, and it would do the usual chiming on the hour and half hour to note the passage of time, but the subsequent BONG-ing was extra special. It didn't just do a stern but melodious GONG. Oh no no no. Now, imagine being down in the basement, vast white light, almost completely alone, and the clock to your left starts tinkly winkling. You've heard it before from a hundred other grandfather clocks, it's nothing special. Then the GONG starts banging, wretched and off key, a shattering, hellscreech of a gong, Gong, GONNNNNG, that jolts you straight out of your train of thought and jettisons you to a cold, airless planet. It honestly scared me at first, it was so out of place and creepy, then the absurdity hit me and I cackled, alone in the basement of the library. Then I was creeped out again. Luckily it was time to go.

I was pleased to see that this library lends art, as well, so the weirdo Wichita Main doesn't stand alone in that offering. A staff member of another library mentioned that they used to lend art, but that it had passed out of vogue years before. I suppose some libraries just don't give up. If you ever need a fancy blue boy, they've got just the blue boy for ya.

I liked this library--it was calm and quiet, and while fairly busy, it was easy to concentrate and get some work done. It had a quirky side, and while clinging to some outmoded practices (and haunted clocks), it also embraced newer trends (cafes, whimsical kids sections). I don't think I missed much skipping that state library, after all.

Billings Public Library (Main Library), Billings, Montana

Billings is an odd town that refuses to follow a consistent grid system and throws one way streets into the mix like a sweaty, chunky, ant-burning 7-year-old gorilla boy with a tiny ax to grind and nothing to lose but dessert. The wild and twisty shape of the city is due to its geographical locale between the Yellowstone river and Rimrocks (long cliffs). Wichitans all know the wearisome whimsy of a town laid out over a river, but the cliffs were a new and interesting complication. I actually got to see how the city was divided while trying to get back to the Applebee's I had so foolishly passed, thinking I could turn right eventually only to find a massive barrier in my way. Luckily the road eventually leads back around and up onto the cliffs, where you get a view of a smoking industrial complex down the valley to the right, and a view of the airport to the left.

Downtown was much better, and reminded me so much of Wichita I could have almost sworn parts of it were the same. I cruised in at sunset, finding the library with some complications. Google Map Woman doesn't understand parking lots, but rather Here is the Structure, You are Here Now, which left me to circle back (one way streets!) to finally get to the lot. Another fun thing Google Map Woman does is U-turns. She lives for U-turns. Never mind that you can make a left from the street directly into the place you wanted to go. She would much rather you go to the next crossstreet and Make A U-turn. Make a U-Turn. Why don't you make a U-Turn, Dave?

What a phenomenal time to roll up on the Billings Public Library (Main Branch). It was sunset, and a good one at that, so a perfect time to photograph the exterior. The library was one of the recipients of the 2016 AIA/ALA Library Building Awards, a huge and well-deserved honor that was evident even before I stepped foot in the building.

While it harkens back to early aughts Mac Desktop aesthetics with its silver, meshed facade, the building is aggressively beautiful because it understands and embraces the power of color and light. Some of the windows in the first floor are a hot, sweet turquoise; that dash of something that draws the eye, then the body, closer and closer still. The whole library has little tricks like this tucked high and low and around various unexpected bends. It was a delight to explore.

Before entering the library, I happened upon an annoyed bunny cavorting in the garden, so snapped as many photos as I could as she made her escape.

The lobby was a wood paneled dream. There are tree stumps fashioned into stools all over the library, an obvious nod to the bountiful country surrounding Billings and representative of all of Montana. I mention it not because it is particularly clever or twee, and especially not because they are a comfortable option, but because so many modern libraries knock themselves out to look like Minority Report that it's nice when they pull a little bit of nature into the space. It's one of the reasons I love libraries with insane house plant fixations. Yes, it looks like your lunatic Aunt Zeeba's hippy dippy love shack, but it's also homey and calming. I love a good clean line, but throw and ficus into the corner and revel in the glory of chaos.

As I passed through the lobby and into the library proper, I was immediately drawn to the middle of the room, where a seating area resided under a vast oval of open space leading all the way up to an egg shaped skylight, glowing deep blue in the fading daylight.

Elevator doors.

When I came back the next day, I found that the skylight is already a blue hue, and the very simple  use of primary colors at the heart of the library was both clever and appealing. I could read all sorts of things into the interior design of the place, how the wood paneled areas and turquoise glass room are nearer the exterior, while the primary colors are central to the structure; e.g. nature (the woods, the river) surrounds and is still a part of the human world (primary colors, the first chapter of art, one of the cornerstones of civilization). I bet the concept meetings had all sorts of metaphorical connections between nature, humanity, and civilization coexisting.

I absolutely loved the stairway, which featured a lightbox rendering of the surrounding Rimrocks and a wishing well just below it. It isn't a fountain, but a still pool, so you could almost miss the fact that there is a water feature inside the library if you passed by it too quick. The fact that it remains odorless is a big plus—all of the places I've visited with water features either smell like bleach or mildew. Nothing too excessive, mind you, but I'm sensitive to smells so I can't help but notice. If I say Billings Public Library has no smell, you can take that to the olfactory bank.

Stairway, still pool, and lightbox.

And to the left, more "woods" and the kids section.

One of the trends in the newer libraries (and some of the old ones unafraid to adapt and make some coin) is to feature coffee shops with simple food offerings. Some libraries require that you stay within the confines of the cafe to both eat and drink, some are fine with allowing patrons to bring drinks into the library, and some are just like do whatever, man. Billings allows drinks in the main parts of the library, but food is forbidden. There are signs posted everywhere. When I was there the next day, after a morning of writing I packed up and headed out to get a snack from my car (peanut butter crackers). Before I made it to the doors, I stopped and considered the cafe...save money? Blow money? Save...time? Every naughty thing can be negotiated. So I stayed and got a coffee and treat that I do not even remember anymore. The cost was around $5, but it ended up costing me $15 in the long run.

Second floor computers and stacks.

A view of the skylight from the second floor.

Dainty little meeting rooms with darling furniture. 

Color coordinated for your business pleasure.

When I got to the second floor, there were about two and a half hours left on the clock before the library would close for the night. The Billings Public Library has abundant space not only for lounging readers, but worker bees like me, who bring their own laptops (or pads, pencils, rulers, etc.) and need a desk (with electricity) to spread out and settle in for the long haul. There were desks all down the sides of the building, with little lounge areas and chairs set up in some sections, mostly in the corners. And in the stacks there was at least one very long row of tables turned into single desks, each with its own electical outlet. Tons and tons of workspace. A dream!

The Teen Scene!

Lounge area.

That first night, I left at nine and headed over to the Love's Truck Stop to sleep. The next day I was excited to get back to the Billings Public Library to put in a full day's work. I got there shortly after it opened and stayed until about six o'clock when I'd decided I'd had enough, wanted some dinner, and would make my way back to Love's for one more night of truck stop sleep.

View of the interior from my desk.

Did you know I have Road Rage? I do. I really would prefer it if y'all would get off of my road. Did you know you are in the way? You are. And that I hate you and want to destroy all that you love? Yeppers. Sad! As the Orange Tyrant would say. But it is true. When I'm driving, I morph from an overly considerate, extra nice midwestern lady into Sarris from Galaxy Quest.

One of the benefits of living in New York is not having to drive everywhere—you can take the subway to almost any part of the city...and where they don't go, a taxi might, and a ferry must. As I've stated before, this worked for me for years, until it didn't. Panic attacks aside, the subway is no place for a civilized people to be, what with its ancient snot globs on the windows, sticky floors, and every variety of germ in existence doing the electric boogaloo all over the poles. Whenever I was home, I started to really appreciate the freedom of driving, steering your own ship, existing in the space alone, or at least only with people of your choosing.

When I started these trips I told my mother I was going to be a defensive driver only. No speeding up to beat someone else to an open lane, slowing to let others pass, and keeping to the speed limit. And despite my misanthropic world view behind the wheel, I'd only ever gotten two tickets in my life. One was just after the seat belt laws were enacted in Wichita, when I was a teen. My friend's car didn't have seat belts, so we all got tickets for that. The second ticket was for aggressive driving and speeding, issued just outside of Oak Park Mall in Johnson County, Kansas. I was at the end of my marriage and lost my temper at a traffic light, tearing around another car and speeding to get ahead of everyone else. A cop saw it and pulled me over. That was a heftier fine, which I deserved.

But O, this most recent one hurts the most. I wished I had seen the teeny tiny, itty frickin bitty sign posted at the exit of the parking lot, advising patrons to post their licence plates with the front desk. And how I wished I would have gone out to my car for a snack instead of getting one at the cafe. I would have seen the warning ticket posted on my windshield. And could have saved myself the real ticket left three hours later. But alas. Alas.

It was only $10. It is true I am also a Crybaby Extraordinaire. But really, Billings? Reaaaally? So petty. But I paid it. And now I have one of every kind of ticket, I think? An accomplishment.