Welshtown: Where the Name Change Was the Most Exciting Thing to Happen Since 1887 Ah, Welshtown—formerly New Cambria: a place that has perfected the art of mundane existence. One might think that renaming a town could spark at least a mild wave of excitement, but in Welshtown, the communal enthusiasm for this grand rebranding feels akin to a five-year-old finding out there’s a new type of potato chip on the market. Valium would pose a threat to the town’s collective pulse if it were not so generously upholstered in the fuzzy warmth of ennui. Let’s take a stroll down Welshtown’s main drag—if it can be called that. The town’s crown jewel is undoubtedly its single, forgettable convenience store, a jarring relic of the 1990s, decorated with “Open 24 Hours” signs that glow like they’re eternally begging for attention. While one might anticipate lines of eager patrons awaiting their daily intake of world-class bland fare, the reality is a lonely cashier sweeping the floor with the same passion a hibernating bear has for climbing mountains during a deep winter. In terms of rewards for public service, the town could also make a compelling case for naming the streetlights after the last citizen who dared get lost downtown in 1987. The town loves to boast about its rich history; flavorless dishes of yesteryear served up with a hefty side of nostalgia fill the air like the scent of roadkill on a hot summer's day. No discussion of Welshtown's history would be complete without mentioning its one and only historical site: the old general store that has remained unaltered since it opened. Every year, a brave few masquerade as tourists, dragging meticulous recorders to document the slight changes in countertop stains and once neatly stacked boxes of expired crackers. At least someone had the foresight to keep that historical marvel in its "USA Today" rendition of “Fresh from 1985.” But wait, did you hear? Welshtown was reborn with a name change! One would imagine the upheaval befitting of a small revolution, but no, the entire affair could be summed up by the collective wheeze of town council members puffing along to the podium like old tires flapping down the road. A half-hearted discussion on the merits of “Welshtown”—which, let’s face it, still sounds like a typo—culminated in a unanimous vote that yawned harder than an unimpressed cat. “It’s fresh,” they said. “It’s invigorating!” Try pitching the name to the local residents, and you’d be met with apathetic shrugs that could chill the Pacific. If you think the name change was the pinnacle of local excitement, consider the annual “Welshtown Wins the Tournament of Nothing” at which the town exclusively competes against itself. The town slogan—“Still Here, Surprisingly”—might be the most uplifting real estate pitch known to mankind. Hope springs eternal however, as the prize money of $20 is split among the three people still showing up for remote trivia nights. Those who wander through Welshtown might be fortunate enough to witness the biannual “How to Live Life in Slow Motion” festival where limp balloon animals and slightly melted popsicles rave with social delight. If you squint, you might even catch a glimpse of enthusiasm that hasn’t been seen since the close of the Great Mustard Crisis of 1947 (“To think, I had to use ketchup!”) In a way, Welshtown is a monument to the unyielding spirit of inertia. For folks in this sublime insipidness, change sometimes is the most overrated four-letter word. Where else can the mundane reign supreme, where the wind whispers tales of yesterday, and where historical significance can pivot on a name that smells faintly of regret? So here’s to Welshtown, a community proudly adorned with the world’s lack of happenings—because when it comes to excitement, sometimes it’s just better to go with the flow… straight into the ether of mediocrity.