Back to reality...and I don't want to go

Back when I was covering the Kansas City Royals I got invited to participate in an event that would take me away from the ballpark for a weekend, so I needed someone to cover the team while I was gone.

Luckily, one of my sons was a big Royals fan and could write (to be fair, all three of them like the Royals and can write and I really hope that blanket statement keeps everybody in the family happy) so I took the son that was going to cover the team out to Kauffman Stadium to familiarize him with the job.

• We parked in the media lot, close to the ballpark entrance.

• Went up to the press box and set up our laptops at the media work stations.

• Went down to the clubhouse so he could meet the players.

• Watched batting practice from the Royals dugout.

• Went back up to the air conditioned press box to have dinner.

After we finished dinner and I suggested he might like an ice cream sundae for dessert (the press box had just installed a soft-serve ice cream machine which was in such great demand the reporters broke it the first day) my son swiveled his captain’s chair in my direction, pointed out to the ballpark seats and said:

“I don’t think I can go out there anymore.”

In World Record Time he’d gotten used to the luxuries being in the media affords and couldn’t imagine having to go back into the stands, climbing over a dozen people to get to his narrow, unpadded seat and then sit with his sweaty arm up against somebody else’s sweaty arm while they slow-roasted their way through nine innings.  

I was reminded of my son’s rapid acclimation to A Better Life just the other day when I checked the temperature here on the California coast – 54 (feels like 54) – and the temperature back in Kansas City – 88 (feels like a goddamn sauna).

The point being that while people just the other side of this coastal mountain range were suffering in the heat, I was buying extra layers because it’s a little nippy when we sit out on the deck and drink wine while watching the sun go down over the Pacific Ocean.

This is a rich person’s life and because I’m not rich I only get to live it a few days and before long I’ll be back in Missouri sweating like I just got a special delivery letter from the IRS.

Look at the map at the top of this post and we’re right on the tip of the part of California that sticks out the farthest, right before you get to Oregon, and when I look at the map and let my eyes drift to the Midwest, I have the same reaction my son did:

I don’t think I can go out there anymore.

Manchester, California; a census designated place

The mailing address here is Manchester, California so I looked it up and it’s listed as a “census designated place” which apparently means it’s not a real city, and according to the Federal Register website (which sounds totally made up and part of some scam designed to empty your bank account) here’s what that means:

Statistical geographic entities representing closely settled, unincorporated communities that are locally recognized and identified by name. They are the statistical equivalents of incorporated places, with the primary differences being the lack of a legally defined boundary and an active, functioning governmental structure.

So as near as I can tell (and I left my law degree in my other pants so don’t hold me to this) if you live in Manchester, and maybe you do because it’s got no boundaries, the community is based loosely on Lord of the Flies; you’re allowed to have multiple wives, settle disputes with gunfights held on Main Street, you can make up your own language and put the heads of your enemies on stakes as a warning to outsiders, all of which or may not be legal, but who’s going to stop you?

The non-existent police?

We also went to Mendocino (another census designated place) and according to a website that rates crime, Mendocino County gets a D- which means it will have to go to summer school and repeat Not Robbing Your Citizens 101.

Here’s a picture of the Mendocino Hellhole:

Having been to Mendocino it actually seems like a pretty laid back place, filled with tourists and your best chance of getting robbed is eating lunch and paying $18 for a fish sandwich and $7 for a beer, both of which were excellent and maybe even worth the money.

BTW: The same website listed 10 other nearby counties and only two got grades above a C and one of them was Napa County which got a B, but I don’t believe it because I bought a bottle of wine for some friends there and asking that much for a bottle of wine that isn’t hand delivered by a marching band and a couple of strippers should definitely be considered a some sort of felony.

After looking at the website you’d think Northern California is run by a consortium made up of Hells Angels, members of the Sinaloa Cartel and the Corleone Family, but it turns out the crime website’s “partner” sells home security systems and you can click on a button to get a quote, but here’s one for free:

“Don’t trust everything you read on the internet.”

Also:

I looked up Kansas City on the same website and apparently I live in a seething cauldron of crime so bad that senior members the Mafia are looking to move out, so there’s another reason to stay here, but the only thing I can afford in this neighborhood is one of these beach huts made out of driftwood which probably aren’t up to code, but since there’s no functioning government maybe they don’t have building inspectors and after the next high tide I can collect more driftwood and add a three-kayak garage.

BTW: In Manchester they’ve got a very cool grocery/hardware/sporting goods store where you can buy food, faucets and fishing poles because it’s a pain in the ass to get just about anywhere with all these two-lane winding roads, so a place that’s six miles away as the crow flies can take 20 minutes to drive to because the crow’s blind drunk from drinking all that expensive wine while watching sunsets.

That being the case, the one store they have has to stock a little of everything and when I went looking for a sweatshirt because I didn’t pack enough stuff, the only thing in my size (I really gotta lay off the fish sandwiches and beer) was this camouflage pullover and as you can see it really works.

A picture of me before putting it on:

A picture of me after putting it on:

I’ve really enjoyed my time as a temporary rich person, but late today we have to pack up and head back to reality…and I don’t want to go.