Never over stay your welcome

People stay in failed marriages long after they realize its time to get out. They go through the motions, make a half ass effort, running on autopilot. They do it for the kids, for financial reasons, or because they don't want to piss away years of emotional investment without giving it one last shot. There are a litany of excuses or reasons for clinging to a thing that is no longer what it was, and most of those reasons are bullshit. In the end, the most common reason for hanging on, is pride, stubbornness, and a fear of change. That's the truth more often than not, but the truth doesn't sound nearly as noble. Self sacrifice sounds much better than self serving.


This blog in many ways is like a marriage gone sour. Over the course of the last six months, Ive come within a mouse click of calling it quits. I took a few breaks, a few days here, a couple of weeks there, but I wasn't prepared to hang it up. I don't want to become the Bret farve of blogging. I'm in, I'm out, I'm done, I'm back. I can't abide people who are wishy washy, and I sure as hell wont tolerate it in myself. So Ive waited, just to be sure. Now I am.


My best writing, where I really shine, is writing about my past. The criminal years, the characters I've known. I think I did it well, and I did it as honestly and as bullshit free as possible. Once I had covered my history I moved on to Urban Blight. I covered the blighted areas of this city better than any of the professional journalists in KC ever could. I hate to toot my own horn, but, TOOT TOOT. I found my niche, unfortunately it is short lived, Ive done it, and all I can hope for now is to become repetitive and boring. Fuck that.


There are countless people who do commentary and opinion better than I do. My opinions were formed in prisons, on the streets and in back alleys. I'm never going to see the world through the same field of vision as most people. Ive tried my hand at it, and I was okay, but not really great. I think Ive reached a point where Ive become a parody of my original intent. Fuck that as well.


I started doing this thing because I had some shit to say, I had some stories to tell. I feel like Ive said everything worth saying, and I've run out of stories. So I'm done, at least in this format. I plan to continue writing, maybe try my hand at a book, maybe even post it on line. I may blog again, but it wont be anytime soon, and it will be on a new page, and it wont be as personal or in the same tone as Midtown Miscreant. Like that first love gone sour, I wont revisit or try to rebuild it. I don't think I could do it as well so why bother? In the end I think I accomplished what I set out to do. Thanks for taking the time to read me, and for being open minded enough to listen, even when we disagreed. I'll still be lurking around, reading the same blogs I've always read, and offering up the occasional wise ass remarks. As you can see from my smiling mug in the photo above; you are all number one in my book. So long.
M M
Mark Smith

Fast Eddie Friday

Rarely is the outcome good when we hear a child has gone missing. I automatically assumed that would be the case of 3 year old Joshua Childers, who walked into Mark Twain National forest. The little guys shoe was found a mile from his home. Then sometime yesterday he was found by a searcher, crying in the woods, hungry and requesting milk and hot dogs, but otherwise in good shape. It's nice to see one turn out okay for a change. That said, he wandered off while his father was sleeping and his mother was on the phone. Maybe I'm just a cynical prick, but if your 3 year old manages to put a mile or more distance between you, while you are yappin on the phone, then maybe you should shut your pie hole and keep a better eye on your child.

What? You thought this was gonna be feel good time? Ha, you must have forgot who you were reading.

Wow, can you believe it? Drew Peterson actually got arrested for killing one of his wives. I honestly hate to play devils advocate on this one, but.......You have two separate autopsy results, and what Drew's lawyers are calling a rock solid alibi, his son claims he was with him at the time of his wife's death. Given the fact that this creep has pretty much walked around unencumbered since the disappearance of his most recent victim, wife, same difference, I'm not convinced the state can make it stick. In related news, the Kansas Bureau of Investigation wants to talk to Peterson concerning the mysterious death of several Munchkins.

This wont be a popular sentiment here in Independence, or anywhere else in Missouri, but can we stop swinging off of Harry Trumans sack? I'm not going to go all Jon Stewart on you and call Truman a war criminal, even though he dropped two bombs that killed a couple hundred thousand civilians. Trumans political career was made possible through the efforts of Kansas Citys biggest criminal, Boss Tom Pendergast. When talk show host David Susskind asked the ex-president, in 1953, why he had never been invited to the Truman home despite their many interviews, Truman replied: “You’re a Jew, David, and no Jew has ever been in the house. Bess runs it, and there’s never been a Jew inside the house in her or her mother’s lifetime.” He was also alleged to have rubbed elbows with the local KKK. My point to all of this , especially during Harry Truman days? I get annoyed when we prop up our leaders, make them out to be something they aren't. People do it now with Obama, they've done it with Kennedy, who was also less than a stellar human being. The list goes on. I prefer a little reality when considering the people who lead us.

Now that I've hopefully pissed off a few people, that's a rap.

You might be in Independence if.........................

The guy who drives the Ice Cream truck only looks a little less high than his charming co-pilot/ significant other. For starters, a man driving an ice cream truck, well in to his thirties, is .....well..... just plain creepy. On a recent late afternoon/early evening, I'm sitting in the recliner, when I hear the familiar music and obnoxious ringing of the Ice Cream truck. I suddenly had this nostalgic rush of memories, summers as a boy, 50 cents and the promise of a crunch bomb pop, maybe a chocolate eclair bar, or the harmonic melding of the frozen treat races; the Banana Fudge bomb. Or it could have just been the hippy lettuce, either way, I had a hankering for some novelty ice cream. So I make my way out to the end of the drive and wait for the van to pull over. As I'm walking up to the side of the van, my first thought was, "This is one raggedy ice cream truck", my second thought was," that's one raggedy looking ice cream man", my third thought after getting a look at his passenger was, " Damn, who let their kid loose with a sharpie on Quasimodo"?

Listen up people, I'm really trying to keep an open mind here. I mean, sure I've taken a few cheap shots at some of the stereotypical Whiskey Tango residents of the area. But for the most part I've done my best to keep an open mind, give Kansas City's ugly stepsister a chance. But it's a little hard to overlook an ice cream man who is jerkin around in his van like he is doing the chicken dance while sitting down. It gets even tougher when his passenger, who was as ugly as a mud fence by the way, is in the passenger seat twitchin like she had an ant colony take up residence in her nether regions. I'm not exaggerating here either, the woman looked like Joe Cocker does when he sings, and she was covered in home made tattoos that ranged in size from a postage stamp, to a poker chip. None very big, but a whole shit load of them. She was like a flesh colored Connect the Dots. For starters they didn't have Crunch Bombs, Fudge Bombs, or any of the good stuff. These pricks were pedalling Blue Bunny ice cream, WTF, it wouldn't have surprised me if they would have shoved some state issue peanut butter on a stick out the window. So I grab some bullshit for the girlfriend and myself, comes to 6.50, I slip a 10 through the window to Medusa, and they can't make change. Goober asks if I want something else from his selection of Aldis best, I decline. So I go back in the house, scrape together exact change, pay the idiot and send him on his shaky way. To make matters even worse, the ice cream is half assed frozen.

You might be in Independence if................... I went into a discount smoke shop on 23rd. The first thing I notice when I pull in the lot is the number of cars, like 5 or 6 at least. I'm thinking there must be a line, there isn't. Upon entering I observe the place is your typical discount smoke place. For those of you smart enough to not commit slow suicide by smoking, and therefore have never been inside a discount cigarette shop, allow me to give you a tour. East Indian owned, combination cigarette, paraphernalia, novelty type place, that smells of the giant four foot long incense sticks they have parked in front of the register, racks of cellphone and long distance calling cards. Nothing special about these places, usually. So I walk in and there are about a half dozen derelicts surrounding what I first assumed was one of those crane type games. You know the ones, you try to pick up a stuffed toy encased in a glass box. There's a lovely couple in line in front of me , everyone else is surrounding the glass box.

Now, the two lovebirds in front of me are fine specimens. He is a tall gangly fucker, covered in prison tatts, she is about 5 foot by 5 foot, but dressed like she isn't. They are wearing matching cutoff jean shorts and tank tops. I shit you not in the least. They get a couple of handfuls of quarters and wait in line at the glass box. The guy at the counter grabs my smokes, takes my cash, then turns his attention back to the group of chuckle heads surrounding the glass encased box. My curiosity gets the better of me, I need to know what all the fuss is over some made in china stuffed toys, so I ease up behind the guy dropping quarters in the machine and grab a peek on my way out. There are no stuffed bears, or ducks, or plush gators in the box. There is a hole in one corner of the box, in front of the hole is a small wad of bills, they drop quarters in a hole in the top, the floor of the box appears to be like a conveyor belt, sending the quarters toward the pile of bills. Apparently the idea is to push the bills in to the slot by dropping quarters on the conveyor belt floor. It's some kind of backwoods cross between a slot machine and a carnival game. I look over my shoulder at the Indian guy, he is leaning on the counter, slyly grinning , as these walking wobble heads shove quarters in the box. They are probably still there, dropping quarter after quarter in the magic box O money. God bless em.

Bannister Mall ReOpens in Westport.............

Westport is the new Bannister Mall. Yep, you heard it here first. Feel free to quote me. The late night shooting that injured 4 people and the subsequent arrest of three men and the seizure of an assault rifle, pretty much firms my title up. Between the economy, the P&L entertainment district, recent robberies, homicides, and shootings, along with a few handfuls of thugs, the death of Westport is officially underway. Anytime you get one group of black guys, shooting at other groups of black guys, it's a sure bet that the solution will be flight. Businesses will close, replaced by less reputable businesses that will cater to the new clientele. The violence will increase, and soon the only white folks left will have badges. The change won't take place overnight. It will take a few more killings, a steady loss of customers, and lawsuits for the racial profiling that is sure to follow this latest shooting. "Yes it's been a long time coming, but I know, change is gonna come. Oh yes it will".

Right this minute, the boys in charge at the P&L district, are creamin in their triple pleated fancy pants. This latest incident in Westport is what they have been waiting for. In the near future, expect a "See we told you so" money quote from those corporate douche bags. As sure as Tony's Kansas City will make fun of the Funk and his wife Shrek on a daily basis, it is only a matter of time before the dress code debate in the P&L district will be used as a shining example of what happens when you keep a certain section of society at arms length. I'll go ahead and toss out the first stereotype. I'm willing to bet that the persons involved in this shooting, couldn't have passed the P&L dress code. Hey just because it's a stereotype doesn't mean it's untrue.

I know what you are thinking; Oh snap, MM just went all racial on us! As my first wife was won't to say, "Not so fast Skippy. Let me finish". Dress codes do work. They will keep out an unsavory element, at least to some extent. Racial profiling also works to some degree. If you stop 100 young black guys, bass booming in cars that ride on wheels as tall as a Fourth grader, you will eventually find some dirt on some of them. The problem is that you also catch a whole lot of folks up in the net that have done nothing wrong. Same way with dress codes. You cast a wide net, you penalize people for looking a certain way. Hey, some postal workers have been known to spray coworkers with lead encased airmail via the end of a gun barrel. Of course we don't lump all postal workers in with the crazed killers. Unfortunately we don't extend that same line of thinking when it comes to young black guys.

I don't blame the average white suburbanite for being wary of some young guy who is all thugged out. It's a look that is favored by many violent criminals, as well as youngsters who have never broken a single law. I don't think judging a person, or making assumptions based on dress is racist, although there was a time in the not to distant past when I did believe that. If however you have a negative or fearful reaction to a black kid in baggy clothes, but fail to have that same reaction to a white kid dressed the same way, well then you should probably stop reading this and go pick your white robes up at the dry cleaners.


The real tragedy in all of this is that it's the beginning of the end for another piece of this city's history. Just as you can drive down Paseo Blvd., gazing out your car window at the once fine homes, dilapidated and going to ruin, now shells of their former selves, inevitably in the near future, the Westport area will fall victim to the complacency of city leaders and business owners who will decide it's easier to move on to another area and exclude an entire section of society for the sins of a few. Lets face it, its a hell of a lot easier to divide than it is to conquer. The alternative to flight, the alternative to singling out entire groups of people, is to enforce the law, fight crime, go after the bad guys. With a police department that is bogged down through budget cuts, a mayor who chooses to focus on petty battles he cant win, a school district that churns out as many failures and drop outs as it does graduates, things don't look too swell for Kansas City, at least in the urban core. On the bright side, you can safely venture downtown, if you stay within the confines of a few square blocks. You can enjoy overpriced food, equally overpriced beer, in a sea of boring sameness. But you probably won't get shot.