Wait a minute, Westsiders! Before you drive your jumbo-sized SUVs off a cliff after reading this post, you should know it’s the finale in a two-part “duel” between a passionate Westsider and an equally passionate Eastsider and the West Side had its moment of glory yesterday. But don’t leave the debate up to us – be sure to chime in with a comment about why YOUR side of town is superior.
When I moved to Wichita five years ago, I settled into an apartment on the Northeast side because it was …

Hold on Eastsiders, before you get your Bradley Fair-purchased panties in a bunch about this post, you should know it’s the first in a two-part “duel” between a passionate Westsider and an equally passionate Eastsider. So while we encourage you to comment away about why YOUR side of town is superior, the East side will officially get its turn tomorrow.
I was born and raised on the West Side of Wichita and I’m damn proud of it. I know Eastsiders think Westsiders are all farmers and rednecks, but it …

I implore you to find a person less “cool” than me. I’m a mom. I’m a teacher. I wear slacks and cardigans and argyle socks. But I would be doing myself a disservice if I did not note that under all of my GAP and Banana Republic apparel lies a vodka-seeking chameleon, a former barfly attuned to the necessity of variety in one’s drinking establishments.
There is something to be said for having “your” bar; Norm had Cheers, Ted and Barney have MacLaren’s, and I, in my …

We’ve all been there. Friends or family come in from out of town and we scramble to clean our house and stock the fridge and keep our guests entertained. But the entertaining part doesn’t have to be difficult or expensive. In fact, there is a plethora of free or low cost things to do to show off the city of Wichita and have fun while you’re at it. Of course, you don’t have to be with out-of-town guests in order to take advantage of these opportunities.

Catch a matinee at the …

Out of simple curiosity, I decided to count the number of houses I’ve lived in. Nineteen. I’m 23 years old. Needless to say, I was a child totally unphased by spontaneous relocation. As an adult, I’m intrepid. With all of this packing and unpacking, and the strange collection of homes I’ve claimed, it takes a truly remarkable location to make an impression. For instance, the cement-walled hostel I lived in while working in West Africa, or the farmhouse nestled between two sloping hills of purple wildflowers in eastern Tennessee. Or …