Thursday, April 22, 2004

Greetings from Kansas

The flights were uneventful, the airports not horribly crowded (although they’re tearing up the A concourse at DFW again for who knows what reason), and I arrived in Tulsa pretty close to on time. I got my rental car – a red Mustang, of course – and made the journey through the fields and farms of Oklahoma and Kansas under lowering skies.

The trip takes me through Bartlesville, past Ponca City, past the Will Rogers Museum, all of which is on the Cherokee Nation (Oklahoma issues Cherokee Nation license plates, too, to tribe members). The radio stations play everything from NPR to Golden Oldies, from Jesus Shouters to Rush Limbaugh. This is Bush/Cheney land; you won’t hear Air America here.

The radio warned of a tornado watch until eight o’clock, which is common for this time of year. (Once, after a terrible thunderstorm here a few years back, I went outside and exclaimed, “Look, there’s a dead witch under the house and everything’s in color!”) But the skies are just patchy grey here in Independence, and the town looks much the same as it did last year. I find that comforting.

The festival officially began yesterday, but most of my cohorts arrived today. So I’m going off to the college to pick up my packet, see some friends, and to reclaim my secret identity as a theatre scholar for the one weekend a year when it really counts for something.

More later.