An Ode to Milwaukee
You’re not Chicago, not L.A. You’re not London, New York or Paris. You’re not even Minneapolis, Boston or Seattle.
On a hot, sticky summer’s day, the air is a mix of sewage and dead, rotting fish. The winter brings with it snow that would bury entire civilizations under its mass.
Parking’s rotten, mass transit is non-existent, and the schools are falling apart. There’s no weather your denizens can drive well in, and let’s face it: liquor and sausage can’t be considered high class no matter how much you dress it up.
But that’s not the end of the story.
You’ve got great festivals, and neighborhood pride to spare. Rush hour’s a breeze compared to those other places, and nothing beats Bradford Beach in July.
People who haven’t visited your county parks — the true gems of your beauty — are missing out on the good life, and putting wings on your art museum was sheer genius.
Your people are friendly. Your streets are (mostly) walkable. And there is more culinary variety than beer, polka and bratwurst.
I’ll miss you, Milwaukee. We part ways too soon; I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you better.
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Daniel Ross-Jones serves as Minister for Youth & Young Adults at First Congregational Church of Palo Alto, United Church of Christ. Living in the San Francisco Bay Area for a time still measured in months, he is frequently getting lost and discovering treasures of a landscape very different from his Upper Midwestern roots. Green Jello Hotdish is a blog exploring the intersections of his days. 
