Pascal described the universe as an infinite sphere, “whose center is everywhere, whose circumference is nowhere.”

To paraphrase Pascal, the most insignificant, obscure dot on the map is the center of the universe if that’s where you happen to be. For me, the center of the universe is Spider Hill in Vinland Valley, Kansas. For those who live five miles south, it’s Baldwin City. From the perspective of Baldwin Citians, Lawrence is as remote and abstract as Timbuktu.

This truth was brought home to me when I sat down at a cafe in Baldwin the day after Kansas University’s former basketball coach won the NCAA championship. Not once did I hear the word “Roy” evoked. In Baldwin, it’s not the Jayhawks, but the Bulldogs and the Wildcats whose fortunes spell happiness or its reverse. On the other hand, how many in Lawrence have ever even heard of Baldwin’s “Da Bash?”

At the table next to mine, a man was smoking! It was a dramatic illustration of how different two places can be, though they’re only 20 minutes apart. Lawrence has a smoking ban. Baldwin does not. One might argue that Lawrence is governed by idealists who dream of eliminating all the hazards of existence and goading the city to perfection, whereas Baldwin is dominated by realists who will settle for imperfection as long as they can do as they please.

The differences between the two towns are astounding. Lawrence has roundabouts. Baldwin does not. Lawrence residents are obsessed about roundabouts, pro or con. Baldwin Citians couldn’t care less. For over a century, Lawrence got along with conventional intersections. But forward-thinkers knew there had to be a better way. Maybe it was the circularity of roundabouts that appealed to them, or the challenge of “thinking outside the box.”

Anyway, roundabouts — which were supposed to be “traffic-calming” devices — have turned out to be hornets’ nests. Opponents think they’re a waste of money and difficult, if not dangerous. Champions believe they facilitate redemption and have offered a school to teach people how to use them. Perhaps one day we’ll see a Roundabout University from which people may graduate with a degree in roundabouts and the prospect of a brilliant career in roundabout science.

Lawrence: City of Roundabouts. It has a nice ring. Sometimes when I visit Lawrence, I feel like I’m caught on a roundabout — or a whirligig. I must look like one of those blue-jacketed Future Farmers I used to see gawking at the cosmopolitan wonders of Kansas City. A young man with a purple mohawk flies past on a skateboard dressed in a gothic greatcoat and chains, rings in his lips, nose, eyebrows and ears, and no one notices. In Lawrence, he passes for a standard human being.

The other day I saw a display of ladies’ undergarments in a Lawrence shop window — inscribed with messages such as “By Invitation Only” — as a promotion for Sexual Assault Awareness Month. You would not see this in Baldwin. Lawrence seems almost extraterrestrial to me. The overused but apt exclamation of Dorothy comes to mind: We’re not in Kansas any more.

Liberal Lawrence is a blue island surrounded by a conservative sea of red. Don’t be surprised if Lawrence secedes from the state of Kansas some day.

That’s not to say Lawrence is a political monolith. In fact, it may be one of the most contentious, schismatic places on the planet. In Lawrence, you must take an extreme position on every issue — vehemently for or against. Moderation and neutrality are scorned. You must foam at the mouth. Quick, breast-feeding in public, for or against? Excessive construction noise, pro or con? Living wage, yea or nay? Smoking in public places? Patriot Act? Thumbs up or thumbs down?

This is the sign of dynamic city. Lawrence is on its way to becoming Utopia on the Kaw. Look for the City Commission to eliminate all risks and annoyances by the year 2020, if not sooner. Unfairness and inequality will be wiped out. Leaves will be accepted as legal tender and everyone will be rich. Q-tips will replace jackhammers, and there will be no construction noise. Tornadoes will be prohibited by order of the City Commission. The city’s bus service, sardonically known at the “em-T,” will be replaced by chauffeur-driven limousines.

The commissioners have their work cut out for them. There are so many flaws in nature to correct, so many bans and ordinances to conceive.

We could use some of that progressive spirit out in the country. And enlightenment may be on the way. The Douglas County Commission is considering a ban on exotic animals. Though some fear this might mean the end of circuses, an animal rights advocate points out that exotic animals in traveling shows are “ticking time bombs,” and that an elephant on a rampage is not a laughing matter. (My personal nightmare: an elephant rampaging on a roundabout.)

And even Lawrence has a way to go. I recently read that trend-setting California has a plan to deal with car abuse. This serious problem may begin with mere failure to change the oil, but it can “escalate” to actually hitting the car. California proposes to establish “battered car shelters.” Convicted car abusers will be required to attend stress-management classes.

Isn’t it about time Lawrence started doing something about car abuse? Cars can be victims. Cars have feelings too. Another time bomb is ticking. The big hand is moving towards midnight. Life is a carousel. Round and round we go.

George Gurley, a resident of rural Baldwin, writes a regular column for the Journal-World.