Greetings from Wyoming... yeah, Wyoming

That's right. I'm in Wyoming. Apparently it's a state in this here U.S.A. located just north of Colorado and south of Montana. And apparently, there is a state called Nebraska very near the Colorado and Wyoming border.

Weird, wild stuff.

Anyway, I learned quite a bit about the United States, Wyoming, and its capital, Cheyenne, which is where I spent today. Get this -- if you want to meet the governor of the state of Wyoming you can just walk into his office. He doesn't get pissed or anything like I usually do if I'm typing something and my wife is hovering around, trying to read over my shoulder or wanting me to turn around so she can tell me about something stupid some dumbassed fourth grader did to ruin her day. After about a minute or so of that crap, I finally lose patience and yell:

"What! Just say it! What! What!"

"Jesus, what the hell crawled up your ass, Mr. Patience?"

So when my two-year-old boy went rambling into the Governor's office and did a little soft shoe in his doorway, the honorable David D. Freudenthal was cool and didn't shout at his secretary: "For chrissakes, who let the freaking kid in here? Doris, are we letting everyone in here now? Geezus -- I'm the freaking governor. I run this place."

There was none of that. In fact, Mr. Freudenthal -- or Gov. Dave as he likes to be called -- got up from behind his desk, where it didn't really seem as if he was really all that busy, and stuck a Wyoming pin on the lapel of my boy's shirt. He couldn't have been more gracious, asking us where we were from, chatting about common aquaitances in Democratic politics in Pennsylvania, indulging my story about how I snapped at a college democrat panhandling for money in Boulder, Colorado a few days earlier ("No, you don't need money... you need better ideas and you need to stop running shitty candidates"), and what we could do for fun in his God forsaken state.

I don't know how many of you folks out there have ever been to Wyoming, but there is nothing there. And when I say "there is nothing there," I don't mean, "We went to Wyoming and all they had was a freaking Wal-Mart and a bunch of rednecks hanging out at the mall... " There was no mall. There was no Wal-Mart either. In fact, the reason we met the Governor was because we walked into the state house thinking there would be some sort of historical tour or something (there wasn't). Instead, we marched right up the front steps, entered the building without going through any security clearance, and then made a hard right into the Governor's office. Yeah, that's right -- the Governor of the entire state was sitting about 25 yards from where some sporadic midday traffic was kind of whizzing by.

Crazy, huh? Think Ed Rendell would get his ample ass up from behind his desk for anything less than a 6-foot hoagie? No, me either.

There was a lot I learned about Wyoming and Cheyenne that I'm saving for a more ambitious project and won't bore anyone with the details here. I'm sure no one wants to hear about the finer details of the drive from Estes Park, Colo. through Northern Colorado and into Wyoming. I have pages on that. Nor do I think anyone is too interested in how Wyoming was the first state to allow women to vote -- they have a big statue for Esther Hobart Morris in front of the capitol. She led the sufferage movement.

Sure, Dick Cheney is from Wyoming, but so is Jackson Pollock and Nellie Tayloe Ross, the first woman governor of any state in the union.

Forget all of that, but remember this: according to the 2000 census, the population of Cheyenne is 52, 011. That makes it the largest city in the state. It also is quite a bit less than Lancaster, Pa., and Lancaster has a whole bunch of things Cheyenne doesn't -- a few Wal-Marts, Taco-Bells... you know, suburban sprawl. Wyoming has none of that. From my experience, the nine miles from the Wyoming state line to Cheyenne makes the Pennsylvania Dutch Country look like Manhattan.

Or how about this: Nobody in Cheyenne gives a shit about the Phillies, nor has anyone ever heard of Bill Conlin. Of course, we didn't get a chance to talk to everyone, but we got a good start in a walk up and down Capitol Street and into a Western clothier called "The Wrangler," where they have all the gear stocked up in anticipation for this weekend's Frontier Days, which, if my rudimentary knowledge of professional rodeo is on the money, is akin to the U.S. Open in golf.

Along with all the bucking broncos, cowboys, fightin', spittin', cussin' and all of that country crap, there's a pretty big sideshow, too. Just look at this lineup:

Steve Miller Band
Friday, July 21

Martina McBride/Mark Wills
Saturday, July 22

Keith Urban/Hot Apple Pie
Sunday, July 23

PBR (Professional Bull Riders)
Monday, July 24 and Tuesday, July 25

Dierks Bentley/Billy Currington
Wednesday, July 26

Phil Vassar/Josh Gracin
Thursday, July 27

Montgomery Gentry/Trace Adkins
Friday, July 28

Larry the Cable Guy
Saturday, July 29

According to my wife, who is a hardcore follower of the People/US magazine scene, that's some big-time talent. She says Keith Urban is about as big as it gets in country music right now. I don't know about that, because my idea of a big deal when it comes to music is the Aug. 15 version of Henry Rollins' radio show where he will play nothing but bands from Washington, D.C.. Finally, someone will play Trouble Funk on live radio.

So while I'll have to take her word on Keith Urban, I know all about the Steve Miller Band (who doesn't) and Larry the Cable Guy. Needless to say, The Wrangler was stuffed to the gills with "Git 'R Done" t-shirts in anticipation for Larry's arrival in town. That's his line, right? Perhaps I am not as well versed on the comic genius of Larry the Cable Guy as I should be.

Now I don't want to come off as an arrogant jackass or anything, but I doubt Larry or Keith will stop in at Phoenix Books & Music, just down the street from the capitol and The Wrangler on Capitol St.. Luckily, I did because it was there that I found a first edition copy (1953) of The Lewis & Clark diaries. I got it for $5 and I'm still downright giddy over the find. But if two overrated explorers aren't Larry and Keith's speed, the affable proprietor of the book shop had a copy of Ludacris' Chicken 'n Beer right up front.

On a final note, the Mountain time zone is the coolest one out there. Plus, I made it the entire way through a post without once mentioning Ken's penchant for gluing his balls to his leg. How about that?