It was hot.

Really hot. As in, people were so drenched with sweat they looked like they’d just crawled out of a swimming pool.

Despite the B.O.–inducing heat, music lovers flooded the Commerce Arts District June 19 to partake in Wichita’s first LIV Music and Arts Festival. They were rewarded with live performances by local artists and plenty of Tallgrass beer.

“We should have had tents, we should have had misters,” festival organizer Adam Hartke said, laughing. “Next year, we won’t repeat those mistakes.”

As advocates of all things live and local, my friend and I joined the sweltering ranks on that steamy Saturday eager to see what a non-Riverfest festival in Wichita might look like. And it looked, well, like any good Commerce Street event. Beefy motorcycle men mixed with flowing-skirted hippies, and the party girls of Old Town mingled with hipster boys whose vintage shorts showed off way too much pasty leg. Stereotypes swirled as everyone gathered under the lure of live music.

LIVfest, the brainchild of Adam Hartke (president of Hartke Records), took its name from the Roman numeral for 54 as a tribute to Highway 54 (aka Kellogg Avenue), which runs over the south end of Commerce. LIV also stands for “Live in the Vortex,” a reference to Allen Ginsberg’s poem “Wichita Vortex Sutra.” Enlisting the help of folks at The Anchor, Rock Island Live and a handful of other Wichita music venues, Hartke organized an all-day, two-stage event featuring solely regional talent and local vendors.

The lineup engaged a wide variety of listeners, featuring artists such as indie boys Hot Air Balloon Trauma, hip-hop groups A Squared and Mannish Law, and bluegrass kings Split Lip Rayfield. As far as I’m concerned, though, Carrie Nation & The Speakeasy stole the show; they braved the scorching mid-afternoon heat and gave a smart-mouthed, fast paced performance. Although the majority of the crowd sought sanctuary in the shade, several of us were so infected by their energy that we couldn’t help but turn the sunny south end of Commerce into a full-fledged dance party.

Between acts, festivalgoers fueled up with burgers, bottled water and pints of Tallgrass beer. It was sponsors like Tallgrass that kept LIV Fest afloat; no project is complete without a few major mishaps, and the organizing team definitely felt the blows as several other sponsors rescinded their offers. With revenue deficits of $6,000 two weeks before the festival, the crew began advertising discounted VIP passes. Hartke described the swell of community support as tremendous.

“Schane at The Anchor sold tickets three-for-the-price-of-two out of her pocket,” he said. “She seriously would sell two and pay for the third herself. Alex from Kirby’s gave $1,000. We had donors everywhere. That gave us the confidence to go through with it…we had the greatest pre-sell of any show I’ve ever done.”

It was the sudden discount that convinced us to mark LIVfest on our calendars. Only $20 for two meals, three drinks and after-party access: what wasn’t to love? And thankfully, scores of other music-loving Wichitans shared the sentiment. According to Hartke, selling about 600 passes would have allowed the organizers to break even, so as total attendance reached somewhere between 750-1,000, community interest proved overwhelming. Around 9:30 p.m., I snuck backstage in hopes of a good photo opp. When I turned around, it wasn’t just Split Lip Rayfield jamming on a gas tank that had me cheering; equally as awesome was the sight of the rowdy audience. Stretching from the northern end of Commerce almost all the way down to the Fisch Haus Gallery, their shouts and applause were deafening, and it was clear that LIVfest was a huge success.

Though he claims that plans for next year’s festival won’t begin until August, Hartke has already hinted at a promising 2011 installment. He made no comment about next summer’s lineup, but he did stress the intent to include a greater number of vendors, healthier food options and access to recycling bins. Hartke found inspiration in the considerable turnout of the first annual LIVfest, as well as the waves of positive feedback.

“Wichita has its ups and downs, and sometimes I get down on it just like everyone,” he said. “But this festival proved what this place is made of…I enjoyed it even more than some huge concert with Tom Petty headlining. It was more genuine. It had more passion.”

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The first stop on my list was Theorosa’s Bridge, a remote area around Valley Center where, according to legend, a Native American woman named Theorosa lost her baby when white settlers snatched the child and threw it into the rushing water. Theorosa’s ghost reportedly haunts the bridge, appearing whenever passersby summon her with the words “Theorosa, I have your baby!” Unfortunately, Theorosa’s Bridge seems to have lost its fright factor over the years. According to reports from previous investigators, this landmark once consisted of a rickety wood and iron bridge accessible only by a long hike through dark, empty fields. However, the original bridge burned down — twice — in the 70s, and the replacement is a far less intimidating concrete structure. Graffiti covers almost every surface; there is almost more artificial color visible than blank concrete. Depicted as a “place of great sadness” by almost every website I could find, Theorosa’s Bridge is more properly described now as a place of great boredom. Drive out on a Friday night, and it’s likely that the only specters you’ll find haunting the bridge are crowds of Valley Center teenagers. Any possible eeriness will probably be driven away by country music blasting through the speakers of someone’s pickup truck. The creepiest part of the journey is undoubtedly the drive to the bridge; empty, unlit gravel roads make for an uncomfortably horror movie-esque setting.

My next goal was to investigate the Vickridge Children Statues. Urban myth holds that a robber once broke into a house in east Wichita’s Vickridge neighborhood, and the children living there (home alone at the time) bolted from the house, attempting to escape over the wall surrounding their backyard. However, the robber shot and killed them, and their parents, mad with grief, erected statues of the children that mimicked their last panicked moments. Although the house is not rumored to be haunted, the statues are apparently chilling to see: the look on each child’s face is of complete terror. In my quest to find these statues, however, I was disappointed to learn that they were recently taken down, most likely due to overly curious neighbors and strangers (like me)
trying to sneak a peek.

My final phantom chase took me out to Bel Aire, where the water tower reportedly houses the trapped ghost of a man who attempted to climb the tower during its construction. The man fell to his death, and when the building crew discovered what had happened, they had two options: dismantle the project, remove the body and start over, or continue from where they had left off the day before. They chose the latter, and visitors can now hear the ghost tapping on the walls of the tower, trying to alert someone to help him escape.

The Bel Aire water tower won the creepiness competition hands down, but its success was more closely tied to the area’s surroundings than to the actual ghost story. Driving toward Bel Aire in the middle of the night was like driving into oblivion. A few houses dotted the scenery, but there wasn’t a soul in sight after my sister and I got off the highway. The roads, similar to those past Valley Center, were narrow and empty. Once we entered city limits, the tower loomed alarmingly close on our left. Its bulbous white body stood out starkly against the cloudy sky, a red airplane light topping what was easily the tallest structure around. We approached the tower and waited, but heard no tapping. On the contrary, it was the absence of sound and life that had us so jumpy. There was no one else out that night. We were alone, and terrified of unknown company. A line of trees borders the dirt road that leads to the tower, creating a perfect hiding place for shifty strangers and creations of my paranoid brain. Pre-storm winds rustled through the branches, muting any possible tower-related noises. A threatening bolt of lightning suddenly illuminated the sky, and we took the oncoming storm as permission to flee the premises.

I could have expanded my research to include Resthaven Cemetery, where numerous visitors have reported hearing children’s voices and seeing vague white apparitions. To be perfectly honest, however, I was too chicken to confirm or disprove these rumors myself. An old bridge? Okay. A water tower? No problem. But a pitch-black graveyard, with countless rows of headstones and coffins underfoot? I don’t think so. Anyone who spends the night in a cemetery is a) completely out of their mind, b) renting a room at the White Glove Motel, or probably c) both. I’m not overly superstitious, but these stories hint at more preternatural activity than my nerves can handle. If you want to play Ghost Busters in Resthaven, folks, you’re on your own.

The fear factor of my investigations proved 100 percent psychological, zero percent paranormal. However, I’m still open to the possibility of supernatural events—if someone can provide actual evidence. Have you encountered anything otherworldly in Wichita? Did the lights flicker in your Broadview Hotel room? Did doors mysteriously open and close during your classes in WSU’s Wilner Auditorium? We want to know!

(Image Credit)

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But, as you and I know, it doesn’t always go like that. Sometimes your water glass stays unexplicably empty for half the meal. The food comes out, and you have a fries instead of the side salad you ordered (or worse, vice versa). You leave feeling frustrated and grumbling, “well, I’ll never try that place again.”

With so many new restaurants popping up all the time, a positive dining experience is what every establishment strives to offer their guests. But it only takes one off night to turn customers sour. Unfortunately, there is one person who usually bears the brunt of a restaurant patron’s misery – no, not the chef or the manager. It’s the server.

I’ve had several jobs waiting tables. My first was at Pizza Hut in Park City and my last was at the now defunct west side Piccadilly Grill. I think serving is a job everyone should experience because it makes you a more forgiving diner. I now know that if food is not quite right, there is no need to take it out on the server. I know that the wait staff enjoys it when diners treat them as equals and not slaves. And I know that when you find service that seems effortless, you should tip big, because waiting tables is not easy.

I think I was a decent server, but not great. However, I have friends who were great waitresses in their day, and I know good service when I see it. So here are some of the things I really appreciate in a server, and some of the things that rub me the wrong way. (I’ll name names when it comes to places with good service, but the guilty shall remain nameless.)

Dislikes:

-Asking “Would you like more water/tea/pop?” or any other kind of refill that is free. If it’s during the meal, just refill. I probably don’t want to eat my hamburger as my mouth gets completely dry. The exception is after the check has been paid.

-Not communicating when food is taking a long time to come out of the kitchen. I have had servers refuse to meet my eye, or refuse to come near my table when service is slow. It’s always better to communicate when problems are going on in the kitchen. Offer a free drink or appetizer, or, if you can’t get away with that, just be sympathetic. It goes a long way.

-I think this was a more popular tactic a few years ago, but I hate it when servers squat down to table level to take your order. Very few people can get away with this without seeming disingenuous.

-When servers rush the table through the dining experience, that’s pretty annoying too. This is tough though, because most restaurants want high turnover for tables so they can serve more people and (duh) make more money. It is a balancing act to keep service smooth and not make it feel rushed.

Likes:

-Friendliness that seems moderately sincere is always nice. It seems like an obvious thing, but it’s appreciated.

-Anticipating needs. Keeping drinks refilled, clearing excessive dirty plates, bringing another loaf of bread without asking.

-Seeming like you enjoy the food. I love it when servers tell me “good choice” when I order. It builds confidence when a waiter seems to really like the food that they’re selling. I once worked with a girl who told a table who asked for recommendations, “I don’t know. I don’t eat here. I like McDonald’s.” Yikes.

Here are some local places where I pretty much always get great service:

The Candle Club - This private club at 13th and Woodlawn is really in a league of it’s own when it comes to food, atmosphere and especially service. The servers are almost invisible, and seem to know what you need before you can say a word.

Bella Luna - All the servers at all the locations of this restaurant just seem so cool. They are quick to fix a problem with your order, which is a rare occurrence.

Playa Azul – I’ve never had a server who couldn’t answer any question I have about this Mexican restaurant’s extensive menu. Also, they are great at keeping the chips and salsa flowing, and they can carry like 10 steaming hot plates at once. Impressive!

Waiting tables is hard, y’all. It just is. And it’s a pretty thankless job. People are usually quick to criticize and slow to praise. Even when a server does one (or several) of the things I dislike, I don’t use those as an excuse not to tip. I can only think of one or two instances in my life when I have left less than 15%, and I have never stiffed a server. 20% is my norm. These people make $2 an hour, OK? Give them their $5. Oh, and a verbal tip (i.e., “You were such a great server!”) is not a substitute for a monetary one.

And on that note, check back in a couple of weeks, when I talk about the does and don’ts of being a restaurant patron.

I want to know, where have you had great service in Wichita?

(Image Credit)

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On the tiny balcony of my one bedroom apartment, I’ve begun to compost. I started about four weeks ago, and the broken down contents of my improvised bin are already smelling earthy and rich. Whenever I step outside to churn it up I am impressed by how quickly kitchen rubbish is becoming lush, black, fertile dirt. When the compost starts looking consistent enough, I’ll begin mixing it into the soil of some of my balcony plants, and they will thank me with fragrant blossoms and irresistible fruits. What is left will be given to a farmer friend of mine, in exchange for a bag of okra or a few sun-soaked tomatoes at a later date.

What I love about this little exercise in hobby gardening is what it’s done to my trash can. The poor thing has been rendered useless, as I am now producing only handfuls of trash every week. In fact, I decided it was taking up too much space in my kitchen and got rid of it all together. No more overflowing can of empty boxes, wrappers, and reeking spoiled food. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

In all honesty, it’s incredibly easy to do. If you have a single plant growing in a pot, or a friend who could use some help with their vegetable patch, you have no excuse not to compost.

To help convince you that it’s ludicrously simple, and encourage you to try it for yourself, here is a little composting how-to guide for beginners:

Find a Bin: It needs to be breathable, and it needs to hold compost. Other than that, there are no limits to the possibilities here. I used a five gallon bucket with punched-out air holes. You can try a laundry basket, a ventilated planter box, a milk crate, chicken wire or, if you must, a store-bought composting bin.

Add Compostable Ingredients: Vegetables, fruits, herbivore feces, coffee grounds, tea leaves, filters, cardboard, paper, lawn clippings, leaves and twigs are all very good. Don’t add things like meat, omnivore or carnivore feces, paper products with too much ink or print, or anything that has been chemically treated. You want a good balance of carbon and nitrogen, usually 30 parts of the former to 1 part of the latter. This isn’t something to worry about though, as most of the ingredients listed above are already sitting at the 30:1 ratio.

Turn the Compost: Shaken or stirred? Once a week, give your rubbish salad some air. You can do this by pulling everything out and putting it back in again, by stirring it with a stick or rake, or by picking your bin up and tossing the contents around. Ultimately, it’s up to you how to prepare your compost cocktail.

Bake a Slice of Steamy Compost Pie: Pasteurizing your potting soil is a smart precaution you can take to prevent the spread of disease. To do this, just use an old aluminum pan you won’t mind sacrificing, and bake the compost at 160°F for 30 minutes in your oven. This easy step will keep all of last years’ cooties away from this years’ bounty.

Add it to the Garden: There is some debate as to how you should balance out your final potting soil. Some say a quarter compost, three quarters dirt. Others say half and half. I think that you should determine how starved and pathetic your plants are looking, and decide for yourself how much compost they need.

Enjoy the Fruits of your Fruits: It could have been scratched off into your trash can, where it would sit in your kitchen for a week stinking up the house only to be put out by the curb and hauled off to a landfill. But thanks to you that apple core is now rich, nutritious soil helping your now bountiful, beautiful garden flourish.

The bottom line is this: If you had a pile of garbage that could magically turn into a handful of gold, wouldn’t you want to know the spell that would make it happen? And now that you know it, aren’t you ready to cash in?

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As I type, it’s a two-and-a-half-sentence blurb in an untitled Word document. How have I accomplished this amazing feat of soliciting public interest so quickly? I can’t be sure, but the laptop screen full of “AIDS Group Therapy” “AIDS Counseling” and “Treatment for Your HIV/AIDS” tabs might have something to do with it.

While sitting in a café, one out of every three guests to pass my table turns around to get a good look at my face. Some might be taking note should I ever turn up to Thanksgiving on the arm of their son. Some might be reaching out. Some might be comforted by the idea that they aren’t alone, even at the coffee shop. The truth remains, however: These four harmless letters, when capitalized and arranged just so, are unsettling. Nothing could have validated my writing more than that simple realization.

AIDS can stir things up in a way no other subject material can. We can (and do) make light of infidelity, racism, sexism, war and crime with editorial cartoons, one-liners and comedy skits. But AIDS? There isn’t anything funny in Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. The mention of it at a party will only make people uncomfortable. The reference to it while on a date will stop the romance short faster than any talk of exes.  Prevention assemblies in high school made us all squirm uneasily in our seats. Reading about it in the news makes us sad, angry, frightened and exhausted. AIDS is an elephant in the room that we all like to forget about, and those of us who point our fingers at it and shout are nothing short of gauche.

This has to change. AIDS is still a huge issue, even in Wichita. If nobody is comfortable talking about it, how are we going to learn from it? How will we know how to address it? How to treat it?

According to The Kaiser Family Foundation, Kansas spends almost $7 million a year to assist in HIV/AIDS education, outreach and treatment. There are posters in every clinic, pamphlets at every school, and testing centers in every corner of town. With all of the resources available to us, it’s about time we learn to use them properly. To do this we must first learn to be comfortable discussing it. Once we shed the taboo, we should all swallow our pride and get tested… frequently. Finally, we need to learn how to help those who suffer from the disease, as well as those who suffer from (equally dangerous) ignorance.

Wichitans are lucky folks. We have some truly amazing programs in town that provide us with free HIV/AIDS testing as well as therapy, counseling, volunteer resources, assisted living, food drives, benefit galas, school programs, concerts and art shows all aimed to raise awareness and garner support for the disease and its victims. In short, those interested in finding a way to help don’t even have to leave town.

Take, for instance, the Sweet Emergency Fund. If you aren’t familiar with the work of Dr. Donna Sweet, you are missing out on a real-life superhero story.  Based at the KU Medical School in Wichita, she is a motivational champion of AIDS awareness and treatment. The Emergency Fund is a brain child of Dr. Sweet’s which provides patients with a financial “safety net” that can be used to battle the continuous costs of living with HIV/AIDS. The fund depends on donations made personally or through the purchase of auction items or event tickets. On May 3, Dr. Sweet will award Dr. James J. Rhatigan with the Sweet Humanitarian Award.  The Crown Uptown Dinner Theater will house the event, which boasts a mouth-watering menu, live Jazz by The Nouveau Quintette, and KMUW personality Barry Gaston as host. To buy tickets or learn more about the fund, visit Sweet’s website.

Positive Directions, located in the heart of downtown Wichita, has similar objectives. Faced with the stress and insecurity of being HIV positive, patients come to Positive Directions for help with transportation, housing, nutrition and education. Since the founding of the organization, they have grown to accommodate hundreds of patients, opening a grocery store and a community art gallery. To learn more, visit their website or be sure to stop by Positive Directions’ Jones Gallery on Commerce Street while on your Final Friday Crawl.

In addition to efforts made by private residents of Wichita, Sedgwick County has three KDHE-supported counseling and testing sites we should all be familiar with. Hunter Health Clinic was founded by Wichita’s Native American community, and provides federally funded services to all, “regardless of race, ethnicity, or ability to pay.”  Planned Parenthood of Wichita is open six days a week, and provides clients with testing, education resources and referrals. The main branch of the Sedgwick County Health Department offers anonymous testing and counseling, as well as support for patients without insurance and countless educational resources.

If Wichitans have access to so many organizations and facilities that offer prevention education, treatment, testing, and counseling, why are we not making better use of them? Hopefully you can use this article as a springboard, resolving to become more involved in local efforts to support awareness and treatment. All I ask is that you stop gawking at the lady reading the online “HIV Positive?” brochure and become a smart, well-informed and accepting Kansan, eager to talk openly with your loved ones about a disease that should no longer be dismissed as the invisible elephant in the room.

To the People of Wichita: Talk! Test! Lend a hand!

(Image Credit)

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I miss Joyland. I was lucky enough to spend countless hours in the park in its heyday, the 1970s and ’80s. If you’re too young to remember Joyland, or maybe you’re a Wichita transplant and didn’t have a chance to visit before it finally closed its gates permanently in 2006, well, I’m sad for you. Gather a group of Wichitans over the age of 25 and ask them about their favorite Joyland memories. Then get comfy because you’ll be there awhile as they smile and reminisce about nausea-inducing rides like the “Scrambler” “Tilt-A-Whirl” and “Round-Up” or blush as they tell you about their first kiss in the “Wacky Shack.” Okay, maybe that last one was just me.

When I was a little girl, from the moment I started walking across the familiar bridge leading to the park entrance, the butterflies started to build. I would hear the old Wurlitzer Organ (manned by Louie the Clown) and the shrieks from the wooden roller coaster in the distance. By the time I crossed the threshold over the train tracks, I’d be practically pulling my parents to the ticket window. Carrying fists full of valuable ticket currency, my brother and I would run from ride to ride. He was a Big Slide guy but I preferred the Roller Coaster. I remember the excitement I felt when I got to the top of that first big hill and saw the famous sign with the serious clown face admonishing, “LAST WARNING. Do not stand up. Sit down.” Sage advice since the early coaster cars had only a single bar holding passengers in.

Joyland was more than just a collection of steel and cotton candy vendors. It wasn’t like the makeshift carnivals that come to town, land in the parking lot of a mall for a few days and then disappear. Joyland was special because it was a Wichita landmark, and had been since 1949. It was our Worlds Of Fun. Maybe it didn’t have the glitz and glam of Disney World but for this Midwestern girl who knew her family of seven could never afford to travel to Florida, Joyland was still a magical place.

Like many old friends, I grew up and Joyland and I grew apart. After I stopped visiting the park in the early 1990s I was sad to hear about the financial problems that continually plagued the owners and the deterioration of the neighborhood on S. Hillside that surely worried potential investors. I was devastated when I heard about vandalism and theft ravaging its nostalgic old buildings. If you’re not familiar with Joyland, the website provides a little history about the park, as well as a few of its famous attractions. You’ll also find a great collection of memory-jarring photographs taken over the years. Die-hard fans beware. It also contains photos of damage and graffiti, which made my heart hurt to look at.

Now that my children are old enough to enjoy an amusement park atmosphere, it makes me wonder whether Wichita will ever have another one. I blinked and missed taking them to the ill-fated Wild West World, which from the road looked as bleak and dusty as the actual wild west. In its current location I don’t think Joyland could be revitalized but I think it’s spirit could be resurrected in a new location. For over 30 years Joyland was a success. With the population of Wichita and surrounding cities like Derby, Andover, Maize, etc, growing every day, I think an amusement park has a chance here again.

What we need is a visionary with clout. Maybe when Bill Warren has completed his latest project, an IMAX theatre, he’ll turn his attention to thrill rides and carnival games. He could revolutionize the park experience with 3-D interactive rides. The Wacky Warren Shack? I like the sound of it.

I hope Wichita finds the will and the way to support another amusement park. Until then, my mental keepsake box, which holds a collection of favorite childhood memories including the Barbie Townhouse, the bike with the purple banana seat and the roller skates, will also safely hold my memories of Joyland.

If you remember Joyland, tell me a story. If you’d like to weigh in on future park ideas I’d love to hear about that too.

Photo courtesy of Darrin Hackney

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But the world has changed- all these financial crises are, in part, due to a definition of success as outdated as The Bangles themselves. The ideal of working 30-plus years for a single company, building your 401k to retire at 65 with a nest-egg, has failed us as Americans. Big companies have taken our pensions (Enron) and our years (Boeing). In fact, the old Boeing retiree data shows that for every year one works beyond age 55, one loses, on average, 2 years of life span. Yikes, people.

So how do we combat these ideologies in a GM- and Reagan- postmortem world? We live our dreams, now. In our 20s, 30s, 40s. No more lay-offs or mandatory Saturdays, undefined by the things we have. We, as a generation, can live simply & happily doing what we love, every day. You may take a bit of a pay-cut, but consider how much you’d get back from your tax return if you kept receipts for selling-out.

So you may never go 0-60 in your new vette, but luckily you live in Wichita, where, frankly, a vintage Schwinn will get you farther. It’s easy to make things happen here- whether that be a craft, a skill, or an event. Unlike L.A. or Nashville, artists and musicians have so many receptive venues in Wichita to showcase themselves, without a cutthroat sense of competition. Housing is cheap, business spaces are affordable, and generally people understand the importance of shopping locally. And because of those of us who are going to be here a while, there’s a great network of support for anyone with the courage to follow their dreams.

I pose the question then, what’s your dream job? What do you love doing, and would probably do for free anyway? And finally, what are you waiting for? This is the New American Dream. I look forward to reading your postings.

(Image Credit)

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If you look at a map of passenger rail routes across the United States, you might notice something… odd. Sprawling across the prairies, mountains, deserts and coasts are thin red lines of beautiful, scenic railway. They connect DC to New York, Seattle to Chicago, San Diego to San Antonio, Wichita to… wait. Where’s Wichita?

That, at least, was my initial reaction. The next thought to follow was “Oh, Wichita just isn’t a big enough city yet.” I looked closely at the map to see if other cities of similar size and import had been passed by. Minneapolis? Cincinnati? Greensboro? Lincoln? They’re all on the map, too. “Okay,” I thought. “What’s going on here?”

A red line stretches all the way up Texas from Austin to Oklahoma City, and then, abruptly, it stops. There’s a chasm of emptiness (Wichita doesn’t even get a polka-dot!) until the line picks up again… in Newton. The inch of blank canvas almost suggests some previous insult by Wichita to the world. The little hiccup in the red web across the map seems to scream out “You are unworthy, Wichita! You have been punished!” How rude.

For anyone who has ever lost themselves in the grandeur of arches and intercoms, bustle and whistles, the lack of a passenger train in Wichita is a gaping cavity in the heart of a city. Where are the chance encounters? The picturesque cross-country voyages? All romance aside, why do we have to cramp ourselves in seat 27B of flight 876 and get our kicks reading Skymall and watching reruns of CSI whenever we leave town?

You lovers of a slower time and a more peaceful way to travel are not alone. In fact, you’re in very good company.

It appears that somebody at Amtrak has realized the potential of Wichita. There is an existing station, after all, and we are squarely seated in the hub of the continent. An operational rail depot in Wichita could potentially connect every corner of the map to its opposite… and that means faster, more efficient service. What’s more, better business and a rise in railway popularity would mean less pressure on the already suffocating airports across the nation. Rather than build more air traffic super-cities, why not open up a few more railway stations? A train rolling through Wichita would mean less stress and more happy travels for countless families, friends, lovers and professionals.

And what can it do for you as a Wichitan? A line that connects us to Kansas City (and, subsequently, KCI Airport) would mean honest competition for Mid-Continent Airport, which could reduce the cost of air travel out of Wichita. It also means that travelers from around the country will be stopped in the epicenter of the heartland, bringing business to our shops, restaurants, and downtown attractions. A railway means more options, more potential, and more allure. If the ticket prices are feasible and the seats comfortable, what more could we ask?

And let me add one personal note to my proponent argument. My grandparents refuse to fly. The airports scare them, they don’t like people rummaging through their belongings, they hate standing in line, and no seat is comfortable enough for a World War II veteran with a shrapnel wound through his torso. In short, we drive for days to see each other, and the way their eyesight is going, that might become an unreasonable expectation soon.

So for all of you haters of snotty attendants and windows the size of sardine cans, for you lovers of the American Safari, for you with aching backs, or for you with a desire to see the countryside and not the umpteenth airport Starbucks… For you, let me say “Connect the dots, Amtrak!”

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3. [do] The Museum of World Treasures – That “Other” Wichita Museum

For those of you that don’t know the beauty of Bracketology, it is defined by Wikipedia as “the process of predicting the field of the NCAA Basketball Tournament, named as such because it is commonly used to fill in tournament brackets for the postseason.” But to me it just means basketball; weeks and weeks of glorious basketball. And although everyone that enters their bracket into a pool would like to win, it isn’t even about winning, it is about participating. Seeing your friend’s picks, enjoying the games together – it really doesn’t get any better than that.

There are four days in the month of March that stand above the rest – the first Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday of the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament. And this Thursday – it begins. It has truly become an unofficial national holiday. People take off of work just to sit glued to the television, tightly gripping a painstakingly filled-out bracket in their hands, watching as many games as humanly possible. And the unlucky stiffs that can’t get out of work watch them on their computer, listen on the radio – whatever it takes to get a piece of the action. So don’t be surprised on Thursday afternoon if you hear a booming “YES” or “YOU’VE GOTTA BE KIDDING ME WITH THAT CALL” come from your cube mate.

To me, the reason the first four days of the tournament are so incredibly important is that you get to see so many games. For a basketball fan like me, it is a chance to watch teams play that I never get to see. Every year there are upsets that have us all cheering for the underdog. We all love to see a 14 seed take out a three seed or a 12 seed go down to a five. These Cinderella stories give a national stage to teams like Davidson in 2008 that made it to the Elite 8 and gave the Kansas Jayhawks (the eventual Champions) a run for their money. Or what Wichitan can forget the likes of George Mason? This is quite possibly the best Cinderella story in NCAA basketball tournament history. George Mason was an 11-seed taking it all the way to the Final Four, knocking off the Shockers and number one seed Connecticut along the way.

Great basketball, amazing stories and if you are lucky enough to see your team play and win in the tournament – “That’s gold, Jerry! Gold!!” So get out there and download a bracket, fill it out and play along. You don’t have to place a wager to enjoy (cue the music) March Madness.

Here are some March Madness stories from local basketball fans.

Joley: Most of my traditions revolve around my bracket selections. I carry my bracket with me for the entire tournament, so it is generally a wrinkled, beer-stained mess by the end of the first weekend. I have a Sharpie for each region that has to color-coordinate with my chosen regional winner’s school color. I also carry at least two hats and two shirts with me and change at the bar as my selected Final Four teams play. This combines my love of March Madness with shopping and gives me a disguise when I get into my annual altercation with a rabid KU fan.

Cory: I met my wife, Holly, for lunch at Heroes 10 years ago on opening day of March Madness and came to the realization that this could be the greatest two days of the year. I decided at that point I would never again work the Thursday and Friday that starts March Madness. This year I will be meeting friends for lunch at Hooters on Friday and will finish at the American Legion in Halstead.

Scott: The tournament? We don’t even have to speak about it. Plans come together in minutes, not days. The first two days are about male bonding and cracking the same jokes, but most importantly, they are about basketball. In truth, those two days really begin four days prior when the brackets come out. I pour over every matchup, carefully filling out my bracket before looking at the finished product, declaring it the most awful thing I have ever seen and starting over again. This is the point when March Madness truly becomes special. Can I name one player on UTEP’s team? Nope. But I will cheer for them as my adopted team since I have them picked for the upset. You’ve got so many games being played over the course of two days that unbelievable finishes and wild upsets are almost a given. You have something invested in every game. The bar can sound like a KU/K-State game during every single game because everyone wants to highlight their bracket rather than cross a team off.

Luke: For 18 years I have been running a pool for free out of my love for basketball and what I feel is the best sporting event in all of sports. I enjoy the storylines and excitement that every year brings. It was especially sweet the year Wichita State went. It actually started my tradition of taking off the first Thursday (as a legitimate vacation day) and spending it with my wife and friends. I remember that it all started for me with the black socks and style of play from the Michigan Fab Five. I bet my first $20 on the Duke vs. Michigan game… and lost, of course.

Emily: When KU played in the Final Four in 2003, I was in charge of saving seats at Tanner’s and got there when they opened… equipped with Cosmo and other assorted girly magazines to wait until game time (which was, like, 6 p.m.) I held off on drinking until 3:30… but I really don’t remember a lot of that game. Just remember I had a good time! It seems like I often end up saving seats… maybe that’s the unofficial role I play in March Madness.

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The last question, surprisingly, is the easiest to answer. “All we have to do,” I said between bites on my hurried lunch break, “is learn to really care about our food. Becoming detached from the process is what got us in this mess. Reacquainting ourselves is what will, ultimately, get us out.”

The people of America, once proud farmers of family land, barterers and preservers, now spend about one hour a day on our personal diets. If you are wondering how we’ve managed to diminish the very necessary task of gathering, preparing, and eating food, look no further than our average budgets. We spend more money on fast food than higher education. We also spend more on burgers and fries than on literature, magazines, movies, and recorded music combined. And how many of us know when to transplant a tomato? Or how to cure a ham? Detached may have been too gentle a word to describe our relationship to food. Why don’t we just call it clueless?

There are, however, whole organizations of people fighting to educate Americans about their diets. You have nutritionists, economists, farmers, activists, international businessmen, politicians, school teachers and concerned consumers all banding together to get word out about the myriad of faults that compromise the stability of our current food culture. We eat too much, too cheaply, and with too little regard for origin or production. And that’s just the beginning.

Cue the Sedgwick County Extension Office. On the intersection of Ridge Road and 21st St. sits a humble little building that houses a thousand opportunities for self betterment. This homemaker’s playground is your local extension office. Not only does it answer over 300,000 phone queries a year, it also teaches classes, provides endless resources, posts national and local food safety alerts, and (when the weather warms up) hosts two farmers’ markets a week. If you were making the most of this facility, you would be benefiting from discounted local produce, delivered packages of chicken and steak, tips on where to buy what groceries, nutrition advice tailored to your age and lifestyle, free seminars on how to plant organic vegetables, kid- (and amateur-) friendly cooking classes, recipes, advice, and a better understanding of the complex, beautiful, and delicious world of food. There isn’t a single Wichitan whose life wouldn’t be enriched by the volunteers and professionals at the Extension Office, and yet so few even know it exists.

Since most of what this program offers is totally free, you don’t have a single good reason to neglect these services any longer. Do yourself a favor, and browse the website until you find something intriguing.

The following list of services available to the Wichita public may not be the solution to the riddles of world hunger, but they’ll reacquaint you with the process of bringing food to your table. And that, as I told my friend over lunch, is excellent progress.

• Dining With Diabetes: Classes to assist diabetics or their care givers in cooking safely and practically.
• 63rd Annual Beef Barbeque: With a lecture on animal welfare by the director of the KSU Beef Cattle Institute, Dan Thomson.
• Lists of up-to-date FDA food recalls.
• Prairie Land Food: Delivering discounted meat and produce to people who volunteer in their county.
• Ingredient Substitutions and an Online Recipe Adjuster for the home kitchen.
• 2010 Get Growing Vegetables Workshop.
• Video lessons on gardening, canning, and selecting produce.
• Plant a Row for the Hungry: Allowing Kansas gardeners to donate fresh produce to the food bank.
• Water and soil quality testing.
• Cooking classes on spring rolls, homemade pastas, quick breads, etc.

Have you used the extension office? What’s your favorite of its many resources? Let us know in the comments.

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