Florida trip sheds light on unexplored parts of Eau Claire
Earlier this week, in an attempt to at least make a show of physical fitness, I started rollerblading around Eau Claire. While my efforts have been met with varying degrees of success (my legs are sore, so that must be something), I’ve also taken my fair share of dives. The consequences of these tumbles have mainly manifested themselves in an ever-increasing awareness of the fleshy parts of my palms.
Sure, it isn’t as cool or sexy as a ring finger, but the fleshy part of your palm is used for all sorts of stuff. Stuff that isn’t necessarily recognizable until you have to do without it. Sometimes I think that Eau Claire gets the same bum rap that the fleshy part of my palm does. More specifically, it sometimes doesn’t get a rap at all.
We’ve had dozens of columns written about this subject – most a lot more eloquent than what I’m writing now – about the fact that Eau Claire isn’t that bad of a place to live. There is something inherently lame about apologetics for your hometown, but it doesn’t stop V1 from printing these letters, and it doesn’t stop these letters from being an important, pervading attitude in our city.
About a month ago, I went to Florida to visit my grandparents and watch some spring training baseball. It wasn’t until the third night – when I had some free time – that I looked in the local version of Volume One for something to do. Fort Myers is a city of over 500,000 people, a city full of tanned, beautiful bodies, a city that Johan Santana calls home all year ’round, and do you know what they had to do on a Tuesday night? Absolutely freaking nothing. OK, that’s not entirely true, there was some book reading by a local horror writer … at a grocery store.