I am often asked what it was like to grow up in the bowels of the midwest. The answer, as you can probably imagine, is pretty simple: there was a lot of shit. Everywhere. That’s not a metaphor: there was shit — literally — everywhere. Cow shit, pig shit, dog shit (on our lawns), some bird shit (our cars, the sidewalk), and more cow shit (on top of other cow shit).

Driving to the ol’ workhouse with the windows down was always a surefire way to find out what the local farmers were up to for the week. Spreading cow shit on the fields! Positively delish!

Surprisingly, though, I’m not aversed to that shit-smell. I still love steak, still love bacon. Still love the midwest, love the flies and mosquitoes. The cow shit, the pig shit, it’s all just a part of the aura. Take that away and you might as well be in California, amidst the steaming piles of human shit, festering and rotting away like the dreams of passersby.