Are You There Kurt? It’s Me, Marnie.
By: Marnie Pope Bermingham
Tags: Life Lessons, Satire, Travel, Music, Humor

I am at the only certified Starbucks in Great Falls, Montana. It’s a real stretch for a little town on the Prairie in need of some hip. Wait a minute; am I listening to Kurt Cobain on Musak? Either I’m hallucinating or I am hearing a poppy version of “Come As You Are” by Nirvana. Only in Montana would this not be met with a snicker or at least a knowing wince from a barista. Am I the only one who finds this an obscure juxtaposition? Welcome to my world.

Time to wake up and smell the cappuccino. While I’m Mommying in Montana, Steve Levitan, who just won a boatload of Emmy’s for Modern Family (a show I adore) is producing sitcoms in LA. We went to rival suburban Chicago high schools, attended the same college at the same time, moved to LA and simultaneously worked on the Paramount lot. We should be besties or writing partners, or co-producers, or married for Pete’s sake! And to think, here we were leading parallel lives — only my path diverged and led me to the middle of Montana where they play Kurt Cobain on Musak. My road less traveled has made all the difference alright. My six-degrees of separation from Hollywood feels more like an extreme wide angle B-roll shot, left on the cutting room floor. Despite its wonderfully unpretentious residents and smog-free Big Sky, this is no Nirvana.

photo courtesy of Encyclopedia Britannica

I have a love/hate relationship with my adopted state. Most people can barely find us on a map even though we’re the third largest contiguous state. We have fewer than a million people, meaning we are out-numbered by sheep. Our legislature meets every other year to make sure that guns are still readily available to all, that you can start a cult and call it homeschooling, and that the status quo is otherwise maintained. We enjoy wide-open spaces; clean air, and you can’t find a better steak, no matter what the Texans say. It’s vegetarian purgatory out here. Montana is a bonified ranching and wheat-growing Red state where cowboys rue the day. No need to dress up, it’s “come as you are” every day, whether you are a flannel-clad grunge icon or a cattle ranching cowboy. The rules don’t change much around here.

the independent.co.uk

“The Birds scream at the top of their lungs in horrified hellish rage every morning at daybreak to warn us all of the truth. But sadly, I don’t speak bird.” Kurt Cobain.

There is no sales tax in Montana, which is a plus if you are “math in your head” challenged as so many of us are. And how I ended up here, I’ll never know. How do you put a die-hard Chicago sports fan out of their eternal misery? Move them to a state, without a professional sports team, except if you count the PRCA Pro Rodeo circuit.

“They laugh at me because I’m different. I laugh at them because they’re all the same.” Kurt Cobain

Satire aside, people for the most part are happy here. I think Kurt could have even been content here. I could be smug and say that my fellow Montanan’s don’t know what they are missing. But I would be wrong. They choose the simple life, far from the glare of the material world. While I rarely pine for smoggy LA and its freeway congestion, or the bone-chilling winds off of Lake Michigan, moments like this do find me waxing nostalgic for my big city days.

Truth is, I’m still an outsider here. Thus, I continue my silent search for a comrade who has known another world, someone to nod their head in recognition that we are living in an altered state; someone to share a knowing, “Only in Montana” smile.

Is there anybody out there to acknowledge my existential angst, here in a Starbucks on the Prairie, where they play Kurt Cobain on Musak?