Humanity
Dear readers, I have neglected this blog for the sake of humanity…dirty, dirty, self-centered, bath salt snorting, baby stretching humanity. The book is still in the works but it’s going to be a awhile. Thank you fro still checking in on me. If you know me on Facebook drop me note and say howdy.
T.
Still here…
Dear readers, thanks for coming back. I’m still here but slammed with work and such. Still working on the book chapter, which I hope to post soon.
Question of science and progress
I think that I am venturing into something dear readers, and it’s kind of a big deal. Starting the skeleton of a book is a big deal, no doubt, but…
*gasp*
But it’s not the usual deal. It’s actually kind of scary. Okay, scary good.
Is it possible, even fathomable, that every person has a oppositte to provide balance? The law of attraction is great theory to devote some form of faith to, but being the an agnostic in the realm of relationships I still need proof of sorts.
Dear readers, nature has come to me to test my faith, but even the most devout scientist have to have their moments of blind pursuit.
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As hard I may try dear readers, I can’t help but get a bit pissy around this time of year. It’s out-right jealously for what others have, and I am fully aware of it. I’m sure that it’s one of the rules that an oxygen deprived elder carved into stone while sitting on a mountain, but until we can verify which is the true type set and stone type I’ll acknowledge that folks shouldn’t go around feeling this way towards others. It’s a shitty place to dwell, but has seasonal comfort.
However, this year I have a coworker who finds it her place to constantly remind me (purely for scheduling reasons) that she’ll be spending Valentine’s Day with her fiancé in NYC while I will spend it on-call by myself. The passive-aggressive nature of her comments is very evident and yes, it’s hitting a stupid nerve with me. I’m 34 and all grown ‘n junk. I should be beyond this by now, but it’s obvious that in restarting much of my life over I am also remapping how I react and handle things of a personal nature. I can’t exactly tell you dear readers how I am going to handle this, but I can at least let you know that it won’t be anything for Rhianna and Eminem to make a video over. I may just go hang out at the local comic book store for a good bit, dream about the green-eyed beach ginger with an amazing beard who runs said store, and then drown myself in some semi-sweet tea.
In experiencing this bit of pissiness I flounced my thoughts upon my best friend/brother-from-another-mother/partner in hilarious crime/someone who just needs to read on and not take offense whenever he reads this. I shared with ..eerrmm… Dude…. all of the stuff above and some other unsocial worky things I probably should post online…ever. His reaction was “Good.”
“Good?” I asked.
Dude: “Yeah, I glad to hear this from you.”
*crickets*
Me: “Uhh, why?”
Dude: “It’s showing me that you’re…you know…human.”
Me: *slight laugh* “But I’ve always thought that I was human.”
“You know what I mean. I’m glad to see that you go through the same stuff.”
That perspective struck me as strange, but not in a bad way. I’ve never had anyone to place me outside of the realm of having more or less than 26 pairs of chromosomes. I always considered what I have done, and continue to do, to be things that I need to be doing. That is a large reason why I struggled at cleaning carpets. I will pursue things out of necessity to meet my ends, but unless there is a desire attached to it, then it will be a long path to the end. If it is something that is close to my heart I will pursue or back it for a lifetime. To me that is darned near as human as one can get.
But maybe it’s the level that I take things. Yes, I will admit I can go a bit extreme in my interests. For example, I LOVE to write. Hence, the reason why I am now on page two in Word and expect to compose about two more pages. This is after I have written 7 pages of client progress notes for work. The same thing goes for reading , photography, movie posters, road trips, and collecting live recordings of shows.
I’m back into reading three books at one time.
Most of y’all have seen my shutter bug via Facebook. Being in a very historic town is just feeding the photographic beasty.
Even after my pre-move yard sale I have 350 movie posters from 1988-2006.
Once my 6 month intro period is over I will be on a road trip. I will either be to the Rock n Rock Hall of Fame or to the Great Lakes area.
Don’t get me started on the live recordings. Those babies sat in the front seat of my U-Haul whenever I moved to Beartown. Whenever I love something, I will pay forward a good deal of myself towards it.
I guess the thing that slays me about Valentine’ Day is that it seems to be the one day of the year where I can’t share my passion for the things in life with someone. Of course there are 364 other days of the year that gives me ample opportunity to share such a thing, so why should this be any different? Well, inquisitive readers, the social graces are relaxed around this time of the year so the more outlandish and fun things that I like to share with someone are fair game for this day. Plus, with the amount of my own self that I have to use as a therapeutic carrot for the families in my case load it would be great for someone to offer me the same once in a while.
Which I think still qualifies me as human….right? Is it so odd that I actually want to subject myself to seasonal discomfort?
Thoughts?
Reframing
In the 8 months that I lead the double life of unemployed Social Worker by day and nominally employed Carpet Cleaning Consultant by…any time that I was scheduled… I remember thinking that wherever I landed a position it would be either (A) in a city by a river (B) in a city in the mountains or (C) in city with a music scene. As you may realize dear readers I have somewhat landed (A). That somewhat is like saying one has bought a box of Zatarran’s Cajun rice mix and then stating that they’ve been to New Orleans. The essence is there by the shear virtue that Zatarran’s is produced and boxed in New Orleans, but it just doesn’t bring the Jackson Square Death Mime prancing into the room.
So, as I sit a mile from the shoreline of a huge inlet I can’t help but reflect about my last entry. Again, I don’t hate this area. My Facebook photo album on Beartown actually documents a type of romance with the history of the area. If anything, I am disappointed that a large chunk of the things that were (and are) key in my personal identity are not in this town, county, or general area. In living in a mostly touristy coastal town, I have equated a level of Beartown to the lemming haven of Carolina family bonding: Myrtle Beach, SC.
Many summer days were spent loading up the family conversion van and rushing down to “the beach” for a impromptu vacation. By 6th grade I had developed an extreme disgust in this trip. Breakfast would come in the form of a very early sandwich composed of a doily of Winn Dixie deli meat, a bag of Lay’s chips and the bird pickings of chocolate chip cookies packaged way too early in the post-baking process. Lunch would be a watery deli sandwich that was packed _under_ the ice, the same bag of chips from breakfast, and a possible sundae snagged at the ultra-nasty McDonald’s in Bennestville. (aka: the midpoint bathroom break) Like said cookies, my sister and I would attempt to be comfortable in the Captain’s chairs and/or the back sofa bed, but the poor circulation of air conditioning and insulating shag carpet made this 4 hours of hell. Yes, my parents got the deluxe model with smell grabbing shag carpet and skin peeling running boards.
As my sister lost herself in Tiger Beat or Teen Beat magazines, I would pull out the sofa bed to the point where it made kind of a “fort “ against the back of the Captain’s chairs. I would tuck my pillow into this dark cubby of sorts and go back to sleep knowing that I would wake up to a tourism hell of white washed reed furniture, tons of traffic, fried food, a blazing sun , and….those paintings. You know the ones that make Thomas Kincaid’s crap look really good.
It’s as if the early 80’s pop artist Nigel decided one day that a starfish and seashell had the same simple beauty of Gia.
Four chunky colors cannot capture the beauty of a horizon at the shore.
Yes, dear readers, I was very much tired of the tired looking S.C. shoreline. The late Dr. Hunter Thompson would have had a field trip with the Myrtle Beach of my yester-years. The Southern American dream of good seafood, tanning on the beach, enjoying time with the family, and comically smashing ass against the encroaching wave to prove some form of might against one of Neptune’s many interns just was no longer there. But yet, my parents continued to flock to this sandy, Kracken smacked, area of comfort. They even went as far as to get a condo just up the highway from Myrtle Beach. For me that was an awareness of things not being exactly what they advertised on the shoreline.
As time progressed, rental fees were bitten into by local taxes, and the overall up-keep of a rental property just wasn’t a financially sound thing to do my parents put the condo on the market. The grandeur of the beach wasn’t initially enough to lure buyers as was the dated décor. Thus, a slight remodel was performed and the condo sold 4 months later. The white-washed beach décor made its way to the Piedmont of North Carolina. To this day it decorates the guest bedroom of my parents’ house. It also documents some time where a random artist saw the sunset collapse into a pastel rainbow of velveteen red, Orange Crush orange, butter cream yellow, jade green, and deepest blue.
But dear readers, this does happen. I see this curtain of colors come down over Beartown every day. It is indeed a sight to behold. This curtain call seems to come very quickly once it starts, which is probably why that random artist decided to paint a picture of such a scene. In the fury to perverse such a view, artistic style and composure are understandably placed aside. Perhaps this is a communiqué to pass down through the ages about preserving our shoreline and environment? Who knows? I do know that this is great chance for me to reframe something that I have always viewed through a passive set of eyes. Just like the families that I work with, I shouldn’t view this area based on my past experiences but should learn and grow from the past. The present puts me at a loss of words…
Time to put my name on something down here..
In a city that is 300+ years old one would expect to run into some of the “root” families or possibly at least a person or two originally from the area. Parks, streets, six-way intersections, and yes, even statues of bears are anointed with sir names from the city’s history. Thus far, MANY of the people that I have asked this question to fit into one of the following backgrounds:
1. “I’m from _______ city up in the New England area. We moved down so we could still have the shore life but without the constant snow.”
2. I was with _______ branch and retired _____ years ago. The family and I still go on base to shop.
3. I moved down here ____ years ago to start all over.
4. Caucasian with heavy European roots. (Yes, I need to vary this question a good deal)
5. Transient construction worker.
For those that are not familiar with the roads to Beartown, most major highways and roads that lead you here turn into a void of flat, pine tree lined landscape paintings. One can’t help but think “ Wow, this is beautiful but where is it leading?” One particular road takes you through an area that I suspect has a hog farm somewhere. For that part of the trip your instincts will more than likely tell you to drive AWAY from the stank, but none the less you push through and eventually stop at the first sign of civilization. That piece of civilization would be the edge of county that Beartown is located in. Less I regress…
Beartown has a long history of being a port town. We actually sit at the fork of two major rivers that flow down to one of the sounds on the coast. Like sailors waiting for their next assignment, folks here speak of the longing for home cities and places traveled as they occasionally battle through metrological Krackens with endearing names such as Andrew, Earl, Florence, Hugo and Irene.
Much has been emotionally invested in the time there here just as much has been invested in mapping out their personal route out of this town. I guess the sense of knowing (or suspecting) that there is a place that they can return to grounds the semi-natives in Beartown. Being a nuevo native I feel that I need to share my personal insight on moving down here. Here goes…
*ahem*
*Sip of Mellow Yellow*
My honeymoon with Beartown is over. Well, not totally but consider this the first accidental, middle-of-the-night, under-the-covers fluff.
Don’t get me wrong, I really dig the heck out of the town and of its history. There are a brazillion things that I really miss about the Queen City.
1. The rather huge selection of music, venues, performance halls, and overall variety of performers in the area. Beartown has well developed arts/performance scene but it’s very targeted and, frankly, seems to be for folks over the age of 50. Now mind you, my limited finances have limited me in further investigating the arts and music scene here so I will be able to explore it a bit more later on. I doubt though, that I’ll be able to find a great selection of DJs, a burlesque troupe or a glass walking, fire breathing, drag queen performing to Ke$ha. If anything, I’ll have to drive an hour or so to attend a concert.
This goes for record stores, twirling hippies, and Renaissance Festivals. Yes, I hold a little place in my heart for Nag Champa and obscenely large turkey legs.
2. Panera Bread, Subway, and McAlister’s Deli. All are huge national chains but neither have a store within MILES of Beartown. The closest Panera or McAlister’s are at least an hour and a half away. My goal right now is to find a local substitution, but McAlister’s tea oooh, to diah for. As for Subway, there has to be one in this area. That’s like not having a laundry room in a dorm.
3. Hispters and Goths. No seriously. Where the hell are my self-centered, egotistical beings of fashionable social isolation?? Now, I can’t ask “Where are my fellow nerdlings/geeks?” because I was informed of a comic book store just a small parsec up the street. Maybe after I hang out there a few times I can strike this comment.
4. The nightly glow of city lights. This area of the state gets dark really fast and many of the road markings are faded out or damaged by the Kracken known as Irene. Seriously, you cut your headlights on and the beam just travels into oblivion, or bounces off of the occasional dark clothed wearing bike rider.
5. Folks that I hung out with. Yeah, I mean you. I’m developing friendships but having to relearn comedic boundaries, social graces, and such is a pain. 8^p
It is possibly more than time for me to “grow up”, but there are just some things that I need in my life. Beartown is definitely geared for young families and established/older families but for those of us in between it’s like being the student at the school dance who “volunteered” to work the snack table. 8^/ I can’t wait to explore a little bit more outside of the table.
