Wichita Central Library, 1967-2018, In Memoriam

Century II looms in the background,
 not acting in any way like a flying saucer.

Upon hearing that the Wichita Central Library would close its doors forever on May 6, my sister and I decided to take one last tour around the place, snapping final pics, and swapping stories of yore. She and I share similar sentimentality for the Ol' Brutal Beast, and more broadly seek to defend old, worthy structures and deflect the notion that newer is somehow always better. I do not believe that just any "old" building deserves reprieve—after all, every era births its own special, cheaply made, poorly planned monstrosities—but truly special elder buildings deserve extra care and consideration. The former Wichita Central Library, now retired, is one of them.

When you look at downtown Wichita from the raised vantage of US highway 54/400, the Central Library appears quite small, embedded at the fore of larger bulks of the commercial buildings that make up downtown proper. Wichita's version of skyscrapers, squat little buildings for the most part, reach their highest peak with the so-called "Epic Center," which takes the bragging rights for tallest building in Kansas (22 stories, 385 feet to the tippy top). I remember when they built it, how much I wanted to like it (it was !EPIC! after all), but even at that young age I knew it was a flawed thing. Aside from the plain face of it and tiny windows, the building is shaped like a stunted fountain pen. There's something about a short-tallish building with a reaching, pointy little tip, so desperate to seem bigger that it really is. I'm sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere...

Broken light.

Information.

North Stacks, 1st floor.

From that higher vantage, driving East/West, the Epic Center is to the north, the farthest of the skyscrapers from the main core of downtown Wichita. Much closer stands my favorite building of all, the Garvey Center. I grew up with my eyes always tilted toward its strange, aquamarine heights, the octangular cap, a thousand antennas spiking out the top, glowing little red blips at night. It is an air traffic control tower with delusions of grandeur. Garvey Center is somehow garish, absurd, and ordinary all at once. I can't think of a better representation for Wichita (save one) and would honestly mouth-kick anyone who dared suggest that it be changed in any way. Apparently the Garvey Center now has "luxury apartments," and let me tell you this is something that will keep me awake at night. WANT. TO LIVE. IN AQUA TOWER.

View eastward from the North Stacks.
The former central library and my sister's bike.

But from highway 54/400, the real colossus that dwarfs the Central Library stands just west of it, the iconic Century II, an ancient derelict spacecraft that crash landed in downtown Wichita around the same time the library was built. Oh sure there's plenty of "documentation" and "legal paperwork" claiming its origins are terrestrial and completely mundane, but we all know the truth, just look at the thing. Given the terrible, terrible things city leaders have done over the years (or allowed to happen, lookin' at you Twin Lakes horror show), it should come as zero shock that people want to tear Century II down. These local trendsetters would knock down the Coliseum to install another squaty brick "clock tower" Commerce Bank branch if given enough capital to do it. It's my firm belief that this is what has saved some of the architectural jewels of Wichita over the years—no money. Which is sad. It is my profound hope that Century II and the old Central Library are spared the wrecking ball, but in a world where Madison Square Garden was allowed to happen, I'm not holding my breath. If they did knock it down, the singular, most defining landmark of the Wichita skyline would be gone. Then we really would be basic bitches. Mark my words, city leaders!

Down to the basement to learn about local history and genealogy. 

View up to the 1st floor from the basement.

It is strange that this now outdated library—dwarfed by the buildings surrounding it, strange in design, sparing in construction—can seem so cavernous and overwhelming once you pass through the doors, the foyer, the security and circulation desks, and enter either wing. The north and south sides of the building are completely open two stories high, with stacks around each perimeter and communal desks set in rows at the center. When I was a kid, the stacks on the south side were arranged so that some of those desks were lined up against the east window walls, but it hasn't been like that in years. I always assumed it was a security thing, but it was a loss nonetheless. I worked on book reports at those desks, read Asimov, and giggled whispers to my friends.

There is no getting around the fact that the interior is dated. The primary carpeting, a horrid eyesore meant to cause blindness and brain damage, has definitely been replaced since I grew up here, but much of the interior is exactly the same. The desks are the same, the chairs are the same, even some of the lounge furniture is the same. You can see the wear and tear, but for at least some of these objects, it's fifty years of wear and tear. Considering this, the old brute is actually holding up remarkably well.

I cannot help but think of that beaten-to-hell library back in Utah, Magna, how it was so new, so similar to many of the other new libraries I've visited, and yet how it clearly had been abused by patrons over a very short life span. And it wasn't just an errant clipping of a desk edge that split prefab from cheap vinyl, it was worn edges on furniture that was not meant to outlast the average span of securing a bachelors degree. Communities with money to burn, please listen to this if nothing else: Do the math! One of the biggest takeaways from my trip around the country is the prevalent unwillingness of decision makers to invest in hardy, sturdy, rough-and-tumble, quality materials not only for the construction of the library itself but for all the necessary interior materials, including fixtures, furniture, carpets, and so on. It's safe to bet that carpet will have to be replaced fairly regularly in any well-used common space, but outfitting libraries with rickety, clicked together, IKEA-standard furniture will end up costing a community more in the end. Hear me, peoples! Invest in your common endeavors. It is worth it!

Despite rolling with the punches and enduring fifty years of patronage, the Wichita Central Library simply could not keep up with technology. It's not wired for the times, and in such a sparing building, there is no acceptable way to retrofit it to meet the needs of the twenty-first century. I worked in the Flatiron building for over a decade, and loved the envious comments and hungry questions about the interior. Was it as beautiful as the outside? What's it like to work in such an iconic building? Well, drafty. Creaky. Leaky. Squeaky. Many of the offices are weirdly angular and ill-fitting for rectangular desks, file cabinets, square chairs. There are legions of "water bugs" (which look suspiciously identical to cockroaches HMMM) skittering high above workers' heads day in, day out. One dropped from the ceiling right next to my friend as she was working late one night. Dropped. From the CEILING. Almost in her hair. She was traumatized. Wonderful building, beautiful building. Old building.

Seating in the South Stacks.

And from whence did yon water bug drop? Well, from the drop ceiling of course. Because that's how you retrofit a building built in 1902. We saw the actual ceiling once. There was a mighty flood after an icy, long weekend ruptured the pipes above our floor and the calamity wasn't discovered until water started leaking out of the elevator shafts on the first floor. It disintegrated the drop-roof tiles completely. It also ruined thousands of dollars worth of equipment, computers, fax machines, copiers, and God knows how much paper—administrative, manuscripts, books. It was a disaster. But we got to see how far up those walls really went (far!), the aged and peeling paint from Ago (lead!), and thousands of wires weaving every which way, bound in bunches and intersections with zip ties.

The allure of the Flatiron is the hard spade shape thrust against the flood of humanity flowing at its intersections, Fifth Avenue, Broadway, 23rd Street, that lovely, carved sandstone, and large widows set all throughout. It is a giant ship from the beginning of a new era in the modern world, slim, tall, improbable, sublime. A little bit of ceiling space could be spared, and was, to make it a modern(ish) office space. The same could never be done for the Wichita Central Library.

South Stacks, delighting in the lighting, shot from every angle, 

and one caney plant in need of pruning (years ago).

South Stacks, a view of the main stairway.

Those wings, those glorious wings! The breathtaking space, spanning high and far. No drop ceilings allowed. When we visited the library for the last time, I marveled out how easy it was to get caught up in those wings, all that light streaming in, the intoxicating smell of books everywhere. I swear I could still smell the old card catalog, even though it is years gone and God knows where. If you had spent a significant amount of time sifting through those cards, opening and shutting those drawers (carefully, for fear of getting stern looks from library staff), you would know that the card catalog had a similar smell to books—it's paper and wood after all—but there was also a tinge of something else. Strong and creamy and spicy. And I swear it lingers still, somehow, despite the years between. There's no place in Wichita that gives me a more jolting sense of recall than the old Central Library. As we all know, smell and memory are inexorably linked.

One of the things I never appreciated about the Central Library when I was a child was the lateral slats of light pulling patrons forward from the relative dark of the front foyer into the library proper. There sitting central and adrift alone under those running cleaved segments—the fluorescents blurred, the optics bent, bouncing off the wood sections to create a kind of light that seems almost natural, like sunlight where none could possibly exist—the information desk sits forever unmanned. When I was young, there was always someone there, but recently, more often than not, it stood empty and seemingly without purpose. This always struck me harder than anything else, whether it was due to the upcoming relocation to the new library, shutting down old services or redirecting resources, I don't know. But than unmanned information desk unnerved me and set my stomach all aquiver. Quiet little deaths.

Southwest corner, windows from floor to ceiling. 

To the left of the information desk (or south) is the main stairwell up to the second and third floors. Just past the desk, after a wide swatch of open floor where the card catalogs used to be, is another stairway leading down to the basement, and another quirk in an already quirky space. Growing up, the basement space was there, but the majority of it was not for public access. I have no idea what was going on down there—records, conspiracies, seances—but I never had reason to explore it until recently. This is where genealogy and local history is housed. It is also the only place in the library where drinks are strictly forbidden. It's a fun notion, descending to the ooky-spooky basement to look through our collective past, but honestly whoever thought to carpet the stairs in blue and the basement in red deserves a wet kiss on the mouth. It looks so damn slick, so damn cool, so utterly sexy and WILDASS. And such a groovy departure from the seizure-inducing, emetically inspirational carpeting elsewhere in the building.

You wanna tell me these chairs didn't see the Johnson administration? Get outta here. This is the little seating area between the elevators and the main staircase on the second floor. The "view" behind the seating area has always been a weird space, since it is basically the flat, unattractive roof above circulation, "Friends of the Library," and the front foyer. It's really just a broad swath of parking lot for bird crap and trash. I always thought it would make a nice permanent garden space if they could figure out how to do it wink wink nudge nudge. Like seriously, grass and trees. Something other than tarry gravel?

A view of the North Wing from the second floor.

A view of the South Wing from the second floor.

The second floor is basically within the same space as the main foyer on the first floor with open views over the north and south wings. This area houses the hilarious and beloved "Business Center," mostly unexplored by yours truly other than to fawn over the old timey typewriters and find an open desk with an extension cord/power strip. These desks, which featured work spaces, chairs, and shelving for periodicals and reference materials relating to all things work (jobs, finance, resume building, etc.), were largely taken up by people charging phones and other electronics. I worked there successfully once, not so successfully other times. It wasn't a quiet space. But it afforded great views over the vast wings...and those typewriters!

South wing and concrete brutalism appreciation.

(Addendum: Our typing teacher in high school was an efficient, serious older man with white hair and a mustache. I wish I could remember his name. He insisted we practice not only on the humming monsters that were the electronic typewriters, but on the horrid murder weapons, heavy as anvils, sharp and wicked and cursed, that were the manual typewriters. Yes, we had actual manual typewriters in typing class. Just a couple, for learning and suffering and character building. I am not sure I got much out of the exercise other than a sincere appreciation of technological progress. I'll never type like a possessed monkey all fingers flying whilst texting on my phone, but hey, at least I don't have to stand on the damn keys and stomp to put one simple word—"halp" probably—in faded ink on blue white paper ever again.

Anyway, that's who I think of whenever I see that Business and Technical sign and the lonely electric typewriter poised waiting and ready to serve should its time every come around again. Thanks for the character building, Mr. Typing Teacher Man!)

Groovy waiting area outside of Admin, 3rd Floor.

The third floor, though. I lived on the third floor. All those books about celebrities! The cork wall! The haunted piano! When I was a kid, there was no such thing as DVDs and barely such a thing as a videotape. And you could not check any such things out at the library. Though it wouldn't surprise me to learn that audio vinyl, 8-tracks, or cassette tapes were available for loan (or at least listening on-site). If that ever was a reality, I wasn't cognizant of it.

The third floor also features the poster and paintings loan section--something I thought I wasn't quite understanding until I saw something exactly like it—except worse and therefore so much better—in Bismark, North Dakota. It's not a crazy notion to loan artwork (or a facsimile thereof, anyhow) but the fact that both Bismark and Wichita had some seriously dated, incredibly tacky and ollllld offerings was indeed charming and silly and so wrong it was right. In those last days of the Wichita Central Library, they had those items on sale at the "Friends of the Library" section of the building, a makeshift space housed opposite circulation. Some pieces of art were old in a way that made me wonder if they were actually quite valuable...or would be sooner than any of us is really prepared to conceptualize. The 1980s were so chic, so pastel-and-black, so Nagel, but really so awful. Awfully gorgeous? I don't know...and may never have the perspective to properly assess such a thing. But they had some 80s prints for sale, gold plastic frames and all.

3rd Floor Chic.

This blog entry is loaded with references to the past: what I saw, what I heard, what I smelled. How things were in the olden days, how they persist in existing in the present days, and how I love the Central Library for what it was, what it still is, and hope that others can see past its technological shortcomings to find a way to give it a second life. Clearly there's a connection to my second life somewhere in there (ahem) and I am not too deluded to see that.

All of the above: Third floor stacks.

Third floor foyer.

But there is also a connection to memory and public spaces, how we come about a sense of history. A sense of purpose and permanence for us all. And that is, without a doubt, banked in the design and construction of permanent spaces, building something useful and memorable, a place that people not only must go to, but want to go to, spend some time, forge some memories, make it part of their oral histories, someday into written histories, and passed down from one generation to the next. Not every public space can live up to such lofty ideals, but we should want them to. For certain spaces, it must be a consideration. Libraries house our histories, our dreams. They are monuments to our hopeful permanence on this planet, aware that we are so momentary as individuals, but in some ways eternal in the halls of repositories, written in words, documented in historic occasions, our fingers on the pages.

A cork wall (left) and a stylish lounger with metal framing and corners 

so sharp you could extract an organ if you fell just right. PROBABLY 

ORIGINAL TO THE BUILDING. Also, located directly outside the 

Children's section. Where else?

Looking down the main stair case
from the 3rd floor.

I loved the third floor, "Hollywood" section of the library for the same reason I love the rest of it. Connectedness, a sense of history, little sparkling filaments pressed to paper and made indelible. Notions noted, imagination inked, made permanent, cataloged, and shelved. And legitimate because we say it is, given permanence in a world that feels like anything but. A space reserved just for that and nothing else. And doors open for anyone to come inside, travel the aisles, and lay hands on that one thing that will light them up. Maybe it's Song of Solomon, maybe it's A Brief History of Time. Hell, maybe it's the World Book series, still in publication despite the, you know, Internet (and featuring Will Smith's AI nightmare for the 2018 edition, apparently? I love seeing the World Book in libraries, I'm not gonna lie. It's like a big FU to Wikipedia and the insane amount of data available in the average person's pocket these days but SO WHAT we have a cool series of real paper BOOKS that make a whole picture from the spines when you place all the volumes together on a shelf so nyeh).

 A handsome display in the 3rd floor foyer.

And when I pass the old Central Library now, I cannot help but feel a hollow rooing at the moon inside; wistful, sad, but understanding that it could no longer live as a library...for now. Who knows, someday we may laugh at the idea of wired-anything, much as we do now when we relate stories of talking to our friends on rotary phones, wrapped around the cord, picking at the wallpaper nearby, bound with boundless energy nowhere to go except screeching "no wayyyyyyy" into the receiver, out into the ether, to reach the ear of a similarly imprisoned compatriot who also agrees no wayyyy. So the old library sits, an old rotary phone, her stacks gutted, her furniture sold or donated, her purpose unknown. I hope the City of Wichita does right by her. There is so much potential if you just open your eyes and see it.

Up next, my Initial, Highly Opinionated, Completely Biased and Unfair Review of the New Advanced Learning Library (a.k.a. the new central library)...

One last look. Brutal to the end.

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...