Published June 18, 2006 in the Hibbing Daily Tribune
By Aaron J. Brown
Here’s what I know about suburbs. Disaffected urbanites build nice ramblers just outside the limits of large cities to create space between them and their neighbors. These neighborhoods are so nice that everyone wants to move there. But remember, people who live there don’t want to be near other people except in controlled, usually dinner party-related settings. Thus the effect of urban flight is much like throwing a bunch of positively charged magnets into a paper bag. Kaboom!
This delicious bit of irony has created some memorable modern phenomena, including road rage and the repeal of the estate tax. I reached this conclusion having just returned from one of my infrequent trips through the suburbs last week. Allow me to explain.
Suburban life creates our modern traffic problems, inflates real estate prices and leads us toward financially-based life goals. Thus, if I lived in the suburbs I would spend every day fighting the urge to use my vehicle as a weapon in the hopes that my children would use their resulting inheritance to move into a slightly more exclusive neighborhood.
That’s just me talking. Fortunately, this Iron Ranger has avoided the economic trail of tears that sent many of my friends to the Twin Cities suburbs. Nevertheless, every great while I must pass through these vague burgs for one reason or another. Doing so last week led to these observations about the suburbs:
First, driving in the suburbs means seeing exactly where you want to go and being unable to get there. You can look up and see your destination, but you must first find the correct access road to actually enter the parking lot. These roads hide below the main highway grade and seem named using the same process used by the John Belushi character in “Animal House” for assigning nicknames to fraternity pledges. (“I shall name you “Flounder Drive.”) Though, to be fair, I don’t know if folks drink quite as much in the suburbs … at least, not in the social circles that get to name the access roads.
Here on the Range, if you see a highway you can simply drive onto it. If there’s a curb, you can drive over it. Only a handful of our overpasses are for highways; most, in fact, are for trains and mining trucks. In the suburbs, certain highways are too elite to have entrance ramps. Not here. Our biggest and best highway could be connected to a dirt road where people go to make out with their dinner dates and shoot varmints, sometimes on the same night. (Sure, she might have manners, but can she aim?) Maybe it’s not sophisticated, but it beats the sensation I get driving in the suburbs that I’m having a dream where I can never quite reach what I want.
Second, I am growing tired of the feigned surprise and odd obsession with bears in the suburbs.
Most bears live in the woods. Suburbs often take the place of things like woods, so bears are left in a precarious situation. Do they migrate to more woods where they can resume their difficult life of hunting in order to cling to life over a long cold winter? Or do they eat tasty, inanimate things left in garbage cans right where they live now? If I’m a bear, I know I’d give Dumpster-diving a good look.
Just the other day on “Good Morning America,” reporters gave us insight on the shocking suburban bear trend. It’s a shocking trend because news agencies happened to feed several “bear in suburb” video clips to the national networks all in the same week. (Usually this footage is spaced out to provide a steady supply of manufactured suburban bear fear).
I am mostly kidding about all this. I understand that many suburbs are vibrant, culturally significant places featuring as many as four different colors of vinyl siding. Still, it’s always good to get back home, where our towns are separated by mine pits and wilderness rather than some line on a street map.
Aaron J. Brown is a columnist for the Hibbing Daily Tribune.