Posted August 31, 2008

There are times when, to ensure that my wife and I share many more years of married bliss, it becomes necessary to put my arm around my her waist, wave a couple of airplane tickets under her nose, and say, "Surprise, honey, we're getting out of the house and visiting one of the great cities in our United States."

Usually, this coincides with the times that my wife insists we clean the garage, weed the back yard or paint the bathroom (though her insistence that we change the bed linens is often enough for me).

So, here we are in lovely Boise, Idaho.

Most of the time, when someone calls a place "lovely" what they mean is, "If this place were in another country it would be a running gag in David Letterman's monologue."

But, and I mean this sincerely, Boise is a lovely place. To someone from Los Angeles, it is what the Garden of Eden must have looked like before it was sold off to developers.

Okay, it's not perfect. There are a few, teensy-weensy things that the fine people of Boise could do to make their city truly great, knocking it right up there with New York, Paris, London, Rome or any of those Great Cities that are home to major sports franchises or a pope.

So while my wife puts on her comfortable walking shoes, let me offer a few, simple observations.

First of all, the one thing you notice as you fly into Boise, mostly from the air, is that Boise has a lot of dirt.

Granted, they hide it well by putting all those trees on top of it, but there is a lot of dirt. Some of it is piled so high that people actually put on pairs of shorts that have more pockets than a billiard table, then spend hours climbing to the top of these dirt piles. When they get there, they ooh and ahh over what they see.

More dirt piles.

Have you people learned nothing from history?

The only thing dirt does is blow away. Think of those brave souls who, in the 1930s, traveled west from the Great Plains. They endured famine, thirst and disease, and for what reason?

They wanted their dirt back.

(Unfortunately, their dirt blew west. Had it blown east it might have landed in the Mississippi River where they could have settled on it once again, forming our 51st state, New Sandbar, the future home of the only Interstate highway that is 2300 miles long and 17 feet wide.)

I would hate to see this happen to Boise, so I am willing to let you in on the secret of the Great Cites, though my wife is threatening to end our marriage if we don't get out of this hotel room and do some shopping.

You need to hold all that dirt down with something and, as all Great Cities know, the best way to hold dirt down is with concrete.

Lots of concrete.

Look at New York. Have you ever heard stories of parts of New York blowing away and winding up in Pittsburgh?

Of course not.

Pittsburgh had to make its own dirt. If Pittsburgh had relied on dirt from New York it would never have invented steel mills and today it would be nothing more than a city in what is called the decaying Rust Belt. Instead it is a city with a deep and rich history in what is called the decaying Rust Belt.

You may also notice that the Great Cities are very cautious. They know that concrete alone may not keep their dirt from blowing away. So they put big buildings on top of the concrete.

You might think about this.

Outside of downtown Boise, there is a good chance that after a storm rolls through, people will wake up one morning to find some pretty angry Pittsburghers on the phone demanding that Boiseans come and take their front yards back.

(For the record, my wife disagrees with this and thinks that Boise is fine the way it is. However, my wife also thinks that the sink is no place for dirty dishes.)

One of the striking things I noticed about Boise was how friendly the people were.

I had the feeling that if I were to fall down ill on the street that some TOTAL STRANGER would stop to see how I was. This TOTAL STRANGER might even call 911, then wait until the ambulance arrived.

In my opinion, this is no way to become a Great City. After all, if everyone is stopping to see how everyone else is, not much is going to get done, outside of some people selling other people life insurance (which I assure you I don't need so please don't call).

If the great wheels of commerce come to a total stop, what will Boise be left with?

Right. Potatoes.

So, Mr. and Mrs. Boise, where are they? You know. The famous potatoes. The ones on your license plates.

Travel to any of the Great Cities you will discover that when a city is known for something you see it everywhere. In New York, for example, it is impossible to walk through, say, Times Square, without being reminded of New York's towering landmarks.

(I can't tell you exactly what those are, because my wife is looking over my shoulder, but if you visit Times Square and stand on any corner with a roll of twenty-dollar bills in your hand, a pair of those towering landmarks will find you.)

Frankly, I saw more license plates than potatoes in Boise.

Where are the souvenir stands selling little bronzed spuds? And, as long as you've got some famous potatoes, I'd enjoy a bus tour of their homes, because I don't have comfortable walking shoes.

Of course, these are just suggestions. But I am looking forward to seeing what changes you make the next time my wife picks up the keys to the gardening shed.

You'll recognize me. I'll be the guy lying down in the middle of the street just to see what happens.

Only please ignore my wife's suggestion and go about your business, instead of taking the time to kick me in the shins.

©2008 Jay Douglas