Sunday, October 26, 2008

To the tune of "The Apology Song"

I'm really sorry mom, but your bicycle's been stolen.

I've never had anything stolen from me before. I've never stolen anything before. I can't imagine taking anything that wasn't mine, though thank goodness I've never had to be in a situation desperate enough to necessitate stealing.

I got this sinking feeling in my stomach today when I looked at the empty space on the bike rack where my bicycle had been several days earlier. The lock was simply cut off. And I keep asking myself who would steal bicycle while bawling over the loss. Then again, I would prefer to lose a bicycle rather than something more substantial. Like my car or my mind, for instance.

But still, it's strange, the attachments I form with non-living objects. I have a propensity for personification. Obviously I'm aware of the fact that my bike isn't cold and scared right now. We've just shared a lot of good memories.

In any case, I'll be spending the next few days mourning.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

There's Something about the South

Okay, fine. I'm ready to make a confession after oh, approximately 10 years of denial.

I like the South. I might even love it. And I don't resent my parents for moving us below the Mason-Dixon line.

In fact, I think the decision was an excellent one.

Between my trip to New Orleans and the one I took to Memphis this summer, I have come to realize my great appreciation for southern culture, and perhaps even acknowledged the existence of southern hospitality. (Isn't it funny how going somewhere else is often the only way to know where you are?)

Whether on Beale Street or Bourbon Street, there's no denying an identity unique to the South. I know that those iconic streets don't have the most wholesome reputations, but they remain unapologetic. They are what they are. Even northerners can relate to that.

And the cities themselves are a delicious combination of sensory experiences. There is more than just bright lights and traffic. The food, the music, the people... I've learned that little of it is greasy, whiny and podunk, as I'd previously perceived.

This new perception comes at an interesting period of my life. I've decided that throughout my undoubtedly privileged life, what I have always lacked has been a sense of culture.

Christmas and the occasional deli order of liverwurst. That is essentially the summation of my religious upbringing and understanding of my German heritage. That's fine. I went to the Greek festivals, to Chinatown, to several thousand Italian restaurants thus far. I know I have cultural options if I seek them out, but I feel like I'm lacking the birthright.

I'm probably being silly, because I was lucky to grow up eating out of the American Melting Pot. Sometimes I just wish my spoon knew where to rest its head at night.

The South could be that place for me. I'm not going to live on fried chicken or (ever) listen to country music, but I could definitely return here, upon spending a few years gaining a worldly perspective and whatnot. There's certainly a lure in metropolises where warmth is locally grown.

Maybe there's just something in the water of the Mississippi.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Traveling from one world to another

I am off to New Orleans!

For whatever reason, I've been listening to Randy Newman's "Louisiana 1927" repeatedly. Maybe it's just providing the strength and motivation I need for the next few days. I will undoubtedly confront a lot of social & political issues, but hopefully encounter a lot of hope as well.

What has happened down here is the wind have changed
Clouds roll in from the north and it started to rain
Rained real hard and rained for a real long time
Six feet of water in the streets of Evangeline

The river rose all day
The river rose all night
Some people got lost in the flood
Some people got away alright
The river have busted through cleard down to Plaquemines
Six feet of water in the streets of Evangelne

Louisiana, Louisiana
They're tryin' to wash us away
They're tryin' to wash us away
Louisiana, Louisiana
They're tryin' to wash us away
They're tryin' to wash us away

President Coolidge came down in a railroad train
With a little fat man with a note-pad in his hand
The President say,
"Little fat man isn't it a shame what the river has done
To this poor crackers land?"

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

No More Singing the Bus Ride Blues

Yesterday, as I sat on the bus, headed for the chiropractor, I heard two older women discussing the many afflictions with which they were plagued. Actually, now that I think about it, I would have had plenty of complaints to contribute to the conversation, already, at my age. Mostly courtesy of my spine.

Anyway, one woman had just had her gallbladder removed. (If anybody knows the purpose of that particular organ, please let me know.) She also just underwent hip surgery. The other had just endured a particularly nasty ant attack while in the garden, which reminded the first woman that she'd recently been bitten up by chiggers while lying in bed. Who even knew those still existed?

Their conversation did it for me. Those women officially secured my complete and utter adoration for riding the bus.

There's something so rewarding about taking public transportation. It's giving your seat (to one of those old ladies) just because it's polite. It's reading the tattoo of the rider next to you and wondering what compels him to "write," as spelled out on his arm. It's overhearing a seemingly taboo conversation between two strangers.

I find reassurance in the activity. Sure, the interaction is forced, in some regard. We all have places to go and people to see. People, presumably, other than those on the bus. But for that brief time, I feel so at ease with the knowledge that we're all people, and we're all in this together. (Accidental Ben Lee reference. Good song though.)

In this digital age, I fear we are beginning to forget. Twitter and Facebook status updates keep us linked, but remotely. Can much of an emotional reaction be summoned by 10 words on the screen written by that guy you used to know and don't remember how but the relationship must be important because, after all, you're Facebook friends? But then, what if he was right next to you on the bus?

If the opportunity arose, I would still rather have my car on campus. It's convenient. It's quiet. But I'm also glad I don't have that luxury. I still enjoy being packed into a dangerously crowded bus. Technology makes it easy to hate people, just as it simplifies everything else, but learning people's medical histories on the bus endears me to them once again.