The days ahead...

We still get to go... I’ll get to that soon

Texas has been great the last couple of days. Unbeknownst to me, Troy’s whole family was coming out here before their jaunt to Colorado. During a 14-hour drive, it was a pleasant surprise to suddenly arrange a stop at the Cracker Barrel in Monroe, Louisiana to eat dinner with my “second fam”. Seeing them and knowing we were all going to the same place gave me a nice little burst of energy to make it the rest of the way without dozing (as I so often do). We arrived pretty late a few days ago, and in the short time we were all together, we shared some great meals, beverages, and conversation.

There are very few places or people I’ve been around where I feel completely comfortable about all my insecurities or faults, and being with my “second family” is one of those times. I can’t seem to even analyze why I feel that way around them. I suppose it is just one of those things…or better yet, perhaps it’s just the rare feeling of being wholly and completely accepted for who you are. I hope I make people feel that way.

The last couple days have been incredibly relaxing. Troy and I played a little disc golf one morning, but most of the time, I’ve just been chilling out on their incredibly comfy couch watching their incredibly large TV. Of course, we’ve been doing our usual “beer tour”, where we go out and customize 6-packs of craft beer, and like I said before, meals have been wonderful.

Today had a little twist. I was hanging at the house on my own today while they were at work when another friend of mine called to go to lunch. I’ll call him Yeti. Yeti used to live in Athens briefly and we only knew each other for a short time. Our first impressions of one another were quite similar; I thought he was kind of a weirdo. He thought I was a jerk. We eventually got over all that stuff back in Georgia and hung out for part of yesterday.

It was an interesting list of activities…
1. Go off-roading in a jeep in a place where all the mud puddles smelled like sewage.
2. Drive downtown to go to the great vegan restaurant for lunch
3. Go to the gun shop

Here are my takes on them…
1. Most of my ‘country’ students are big into this activity, whether it be with a 4-wheeler or some ratty old truck. I usually make fun of them for it, but I guess I can see the allure of it all. It was rather interesting to see how well the jeep could maneuver itself over rocky terrain and sewage puddles. We didn’t go crazy and get all muddy, but I’m quite okay with that.

2. Yeti did not seem too excited about this one. I love the vegan restaurant here in Fort Worth. I would venture to say it is one of my favorite places to eat in the whole country. The menu has so many choices and everything I’ve had so far is delicious. I love being able to pig out at a place, feel stuffed, and lie to myself that it was all perfectly healthy. Unfortunately, Yeti thought the texture of the tofu was weird. I think the texture of chicken is weird. Touché.

3. Guns…I despise guns. I’ve heard all the arguments, but I don’t care. Yes, I’ve shot them before, but I just don’t get the attraction. I feel no “rush” when I shoot a gun. Instead, I feel like I’m about to kill something. I don’t want to kill anything, so I don’t shoot guns. Anyway, Yeti needed a part to his new rifle, so he took me to the gun shop. I had never been to a gun store, but rather than explaining my experience in words, I leave you these pictures…


I love the smell of raw sewage in the morning!


"Popping my gun store cherry" - Yeti






Guns don't kill people...Elephants kill people


Oh and by the way, we are going to Colorado after all in a few hours. We’ll drive back Wednesday. Three full days may not be the weeklong adventure I pictured, but if it’s Colorado, I’ll take it.

Another beginning...

Here I am on the eve of another traveling adventure. We just finished celebrating one of my friend's last nights in Athens. We had a good ole time at my favorite places, the Royal Peasant and Trappeze Pub. It's a real shame how we just found out about each other living in the same place just a month or so ago. More good times could have been had, but for now we settle for a few beers here and a few beers for the road as he goes back to Indiana to finish the old degree.

As for me, I am looking at a 14 hour drive in the morning. I have mixed feelings about the whole thing. I can't hide my disappointment that this trip, which originally included Colorado as the focal destination, is turning more into a week long venture in Texas. I spent a good portion of today on the floor wallowing and wishing that the trip could magically turn back into my dream trip, where we would be shouting the lyrics of whatever song was playing as we reached the snow capped peaks of the Rocky Mountains. Unfortunately, this is not going to happen and I've had to put some things into perspective...

This trip has never been about where I am going, but who I am going to see. If I should have learned anything in my life up to this point, it is the fact that people are a hell of a lot more important than places. My best friend lives in Texas. I happen to hate the state of Texas. Hate it. It is hot and full of cowboys, but there is one redeeming quality about it that I can't forget: I have friends there. I could whine all day about not going to Colorado anymore, or I could be genuinely concerned about why we can't go to Colorado. Obviously, there's a reason. Sometimes I wonder if my isolation and self-sufficiency here in Athens has blinded me to the troubles of my friends in other places. With all of my friends scattered all over the country, it's easy to forget that there's a whole lot of stuff going on in their lives too, not just mine.

I'm going to try to change a little bit this week when I'm out there. Who cares if it's crazy sweaty hot in Texas? Let's have a hell of a time honky tonkin' and cowboyin' up. I just want to get off of myself for a little while and care about people other than myself.

the day the music died...there was no american pie

Once upon a time, there was a boy. He was of no particular upbringing that made him anything special. Though privileged in comparison to so many in the world, he had no set direction in life, no lofty unattainable standards to meet. As the last of three children, he always aspired to be different. One day, he came to meet a young man who was just a year older than him. There was nothing peculiar about the meeting, but something about the encounter would change his life forever.

The older boy gave the young boy a ride home one night, and playing in his car was a kind of music, of which the other boy was unfamiliar. The music filled the night air of loud brass and heart-wrenching strings. It was nothing like the music boys their age typically listened to, and provoked a pain and agony that caught the boy’s attention like nothing had done before. It was the music of Mahler, of Shostakovich, of Stravinsky; romantic composers not yet heard of by the ears of a young, curious 15-year-old child. Though unknown to the effects of the music at the time, the young man would come to find that this one moment in his life would define him in a way that was unimaginable.

The young boy was an active member of the high school band and had both a brother and a sister go through long seasons of marching band and other related activities before him. For his age, he was already a pretty good trombonist. He practiced daily, took lessons here and there, and showed a commitment to excellence in his craft even before the life-altering moment. The music he heard that night was but a doorway to a world that would consume him. He began to purchase the works of these romantic composers and stayed up long nights listening to their masterpieces. While everyone else was blasting Britney Spears and the Backstreet Boys from their fancy car speakers in the high school parking lot, the young boy was shunning teenage conformity by blasting Mahler’s 6th Symphony and Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite from the feeble stock speakers of his hand-me-down Ford Taurus. The music inspired him. It moved him like nothing had done before. He had been to Christian youth rallies, to Dave Matthews concerts; He even thought he had been in love, but none of it compared to the music that screamed through his car and his veins. No baptism could compare with the soul-piercing feeling the music invoked in him.

At times, he tried to push it aside. He pursued love, like all teenagers, but when all else failed, he could fall back on the music. He tried to be like everyone else when moments called for it, but when it was needed, the music was there. Finally, he gave in to its call. He forsook his future plans of pursuing a business degree at his hometown college and tested the waters of a new path. He began to dream of playing in a real Symphony Orchestra. He had tasted it only briefly as a member of the area’s Youth Symphony and loved every moment. He imagined a life where the “everyday grind” was simply to perfect all-important excerpts of his favorite symphonies. It was late in the game to change his college plans, but he was able to audition for a more renowned institution that was out-of-state and in his mind, a better, more prestigious place to pursue his dreams. Perhaps his pride led him away from his home, or maybe it was just in the cards for him. Nevertheless, it caused his parents much sorrow and cost them even more while ostracizing a number of his friends. Though he appeared recognized the price, none of it mattered or could possibly stand in the way of his dream…

Fast-forward nine years… The young man is now without a dream. He is but a passionless drone trying to find meaning in the muck of it all. It’s uncertain what all happened to him in that span of time, but what you’ll find is a shell of what he once was. Was it burn out? Was it heartbreak? Was it homesickness? Perhaps all three? It only took a year for the boy to retreat, to give up on the one thing that was in tune with his soul. Long ago, he packed up his collection of classical recordings, his trombones, and his sheet music. Fortunately his love of music didn't completely subside. He pursued meaning in other genres of music, but none could capture his soul like the one discovered in what seemed so long ago to him now. He is but a critic, a connoisseur, an appreciator, not the performer and creator that he once was. So many things have happened in his life since those early days, instances of beauty and moments of sadness that may have forever swallowed that side of him. Will he ever rediscover the passion he once had?

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Talk about over dramatizing things, right? Honestly though, I’m not so sure. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the paths I’ve taken in my life. I have often made impulsive decisions that I look back on in scorn and embarrassment. Were they the right decisions? Were they somehow “meant to be”? If so, then were the things I chickened out on somehow predestined as well? Phooey. I often think I’ve made a right mess of my life, but then again who hasn’t?

Someone recently asked me if I was happy. Most of the time people answer this question as they do any other obsequious banter, but I take all questions like this quite seriously. I suppose I just got so tired of enduring my mother’s meaningless chitchat growing up that I have to rebel in the other direction. Nevertheless, the question is quite a loaded one and I answered as best I could at the time. I’ve been stewing over it ever since. “Am I happy?” I’m not unhappy, but I’m certainly not as happy as I could be, or have been in the past. That’s where that whole above post came from. After reconnecting with a couple old friends from the high school days, I started to reminisce on times when I truly could say I was happy. I don’t know if my memories of being involved in music have since been glorified or possibly misremembered, but I want to say that I was different back then; Still a cynical asshole and all, but I had a passion and drive to be better at something.

Since school let out for the summer, I have been extremely restless and antsy to get back on the road and travel. Most of my days are spent reading and watching movies with little human interaction. This undoubtedly produces all sorts of crazy psychobabble, overly analytical thoughts, and pounding headaches. I’m not really even sure why I’m posting this for all eyes to see, considering I have no idea who all may be stalking me out there, and due to its rather personal nature, but I am certain Chase would want to read these thoughts. So here you go man…

"Beautiful Days"

Today is one of those days with a translucent sky and 90 degree temperatures. Everyone is pondering how they should spend their time in this beautiful summer weather and revealing way too many details about their plans on facebook feeds - blah blah blah. Now at times, I am guilty of doing the opposite of everyone else just to be "that" guy, but on a "beautiful day" like today, I make a point to turn the apartment into a cave, turn out all the lights, sit on the couch, read a book, and listen to depressing music. Call me crazy, but I want no part of this scathingly hot, steam-producing, sweat-inducing HELL of a summer day (and it's not even summer yet). Absurd!

2 weeks til Colorado!!!

Money

"What troubles me lately are the several stories I just glanced at in the last couple minutes, all having to do with money. First of all, it appears that there is some weird crap going on with the finances of the school I work at. It's bad enough that our school is among the poorest in the state, but to hear about the powers at be hiding certain expenditures is a bit disheartening. Paying employees with gift cards? What the hell? Using student activity money for questionable purposes?

Speaking of school, I'm getting a little tired of people encouraging me to get a Masters in Education "because it's worth it". I'm sorry, but I don't believe in bull shitting my way through pompous professors' classes on teaching pedagogy just so I can get a little increase in income. I don't care if it pays for itself or not. I don't believe a Masters will make me a better teacher and I sure as hell don't need to become one of those teachers who works on their college courses when they should be working with their students. Mo' money? It's not worth my soul.

The second story that simply cracks me up is entitled "Will pot save our economy". I'm all for legalizing pot, but to make a push for it based on our recent economic state is hilarious. Will the financial benefits really make conservatives rethink their stance on this "heinous" drug? I really hope it does. I love being a witness to their hypocrisy. They make me feel like a better man.

Finally, the kicker of the night. It's really what brought on this post. Remember the Walmart worker who got trampled over the holidays? Well, it turns out that his life can be bought for a mere 2 million dollars. Yes, Walmart has apologized by throwing money at a problem, an incident that damaged their image. Now the trampling could have happened at any store over the holidays and I'm sure the same result would have come out of a Best Buy as well. I think the thing that kills me a little is that materialism killed this man, and materialism supposedly makes his death hurt less. What a country! Though we enjoy one hell of a standard of living, we still manage to be this blind to our own greed and selfishness.

..." he said as he typed on his Mac sitting in his comfy apartment, watching the Braves on cable TV, enjoying the air conditioning, petting his dog, all while reaching for another microbrew. Ughhh

To the Guy Who May or May Not Have Scammed Me

To the guy who may or may not have scammed me… in the parking lot of a Jameson Inn…in Shreveport, Louisiana… on Christmas Eve morning. I am sorry. You kept apologizing for asking for help when really I am the one who should be sorry. Well, maybe not me, but all of us as human beings.

We live in a world today where we have to be so cautious in our dealings with strangers. There’s no telling what someone in dire need will do to us. Hardly anyone dares to help someone with a flat tire on the side of the road because they think they might get beaten to death with a lug wrench. Nobody helps a poor old woman cross the street because they’re afraid she may really be the big bad wolf in costume, and nobody picks up hitchhikers because you never know what they really want to do with that thumb of theirs. It’s quite ridiculous to think that we are all scared to death of each other, our fellow human beings.

Why should I have been scared of you Mr. Guy Who May or May Not Have Scammed Me? Yes, you randomly walked up to me on a windy morning when I was walking my dog on the hotel grounds. Yes, you immediately went into a spiel about how you work for an offshore drilling company, but your wife drove off with all your stuff after an argument. You have already done two things completely out of the ordinary; Walking up to someone you don’t know and (gasp) talking to them!

Now I will commend you for this. You were not dressed like a typical guy peddling for money and you were not in the usual places where peddling is done. But what does this say about me? If a man was dressed in rags and looked gaunt and weak from not eating for days, would I be more or less inclined to help him? If he were on the streets of Athens, would I not just ignore him as I often do? What if it were not Christmas Eve?

Obviously there is no way to help everyone who asks for it, but how sad it is that we tune out so many of the requests? How do we truly know when we should help?

I know some people would rather buy a person a meal than just give them money because obviously that person is going to go buy cocaine or even worse, liquor. But so what if they do? If I were out on the street every night, I’d probably want some liquor too. Or take this example, all be it a little more extreme. You stop for a guy on the side of the road and he beats you to a pulp and takes your car. Does that mean you will never help someone out again? If so, then how do you expect someone to help you out now that you’re on the side of the road beaten to a bloody pulp asking for a ride?

So Mr. Guy…I don’t know if you really had some terrible argument with your wife. I don’t know if you really live in Denton, Texas and work for an oil company. I don’t know if you would really pay me back, or just use my address and find a way to extract more money from me (Don’t worry, I didn’t give him my address). I don’t know if you are really just a guy who got screwed over at a casino the night before and needs money for a bookie. All I know is that you asked and received. You may have been scamming me. You may not have. You can live with it one way or another. Just please be so kind to do the same for others if the chance ever arises again. Please be a better person than me and don’t care where it is, when it is, or what the person looks like. Just give because they ask. That goes for all of you. Merry Saturnalia and a happy holiday season to all!

I guess I'm not really a towny after all

So welcome back Jim. It's been awhile. I guess there just haven't been too many milkshakes to drink...

I have recently moved into an apartment that is currently fulfilling all my dreams of walking to all the things I want to go to. Last year, I was unfortunately about .7 miles from making this dream happen. Then I had to go and get a dog and if you know my dog, you'll understand that .7 miles is a marathon to him. Now I live practically next door to a coffee shop, a snobby beer store, a wine bar, a Subway, a burrito place, and one of those trendy organic grocery chains that pretentious vegetarians love. I can go everywhere with my short legged dog now. Add to all this that I am not a college student and all those other "elitist" interests of mine, and you would be sure to bet that I was a towny.

Well folks, that apparently is not the case. There has been an established restaurant down the block from me that in all my years in Athens, I only tried once. All I remember from that experience was trying to be as cheap as possible and not enjoying my meal at all. Seven years later and with a competing burrito place just next door, this local eatery still appears to be going strong. This is a mystery to me. Athens is quite often a revolving door for restaurants so how this towny place has stayed alive baffles me...especially after today.

I had actually just been to the store, but had one of those irking desires to go out to lunch anyway. I coaxed my roommate into going with me and of course my lazy dog, so we could finally experience the mysterious allure of ...The Mean Bean.

Upon entering the restaurant, we were welcomed by a couple of class act townies (the dirtier kind). There were only two people sitting in there to eat and I'm still curious if they knew how the menu worked beforehand. As I searched the walls for some sort of direction, the taller towny guy pointed us toward the menus on the counter. As I scanned the descriptions and prices, I immediately began to recollect the first time I ate there. There was still nothing cheap on the menu, just cheap in how things are prepared. This time I opted for a burrito that cost 5.25. Now don't go running over there to grab one. Let me finish.

How about the toppings you ask? Well, I got beans and rice. Yes. Just beans and rice were included. Oh and I must not forget the store bought chips and store bought salsa, which was probably just some kind of mixture of tomato paste and well, tomato paste. Now I don't want to go on being super negative guy. Maybe they are just so good at making salsa and chips that they taste as good as the store brand. It's a real possibility. No really.

Moving on...As I waited for my food and my roommate's order, I had a peak at how things were done behind that massive wall next to the cash register. To my betwixtment, I noticed the less skinny towny guy tossing my burrito in a microwave, immediately followed by the tall skinny towny telling me I could go on outside and that he'd bring our food out. Hmm. Highly suspicious if you ask me. As we waited for our food, we saw a few other things of mention, but then again having to wait for food at all with no one else around was a little strange.

First, we saw what appeared to be the same guy who haggled my roommate for money just last night. He went in and out and appeared to know the workers well. After getting our food, there was another interesting character. A man with glasses walked in, took about 2 minutes, and walked out with a brown bag, which didn't appear to be large enough for a whole burrito. Shall I put another hmm here? Meanwhile, the two employees vacated the restaurant for a few minutes to talk bikes maybe? They came back and all, but really why should they? Finally, upon leaving, there was nothing resembling a trash recepticle except for a couple of crates full of random paper and napkins. Who needs trash cans when you have a couple of crates?

So why did I use this as my return to the blogosphere? I'm not trying to be mean towards the bean or anything. I just wanted to share this rather humorous experience with those who might appreciate it. I guess the Mean Bean has its loyal customers who keep it alive. Customers of what I'm not sure, but if it can survive, more power to it. As far as I can see, this neighborhood doesn't need two burrito joints. The one just next door is just as local and flat out better. Mean Bean just doesn't seem to be necessary and I am all that's important here right? How about someone buys up Mean Bean and makes a Mean Pizza joint. That's what I really wanted for lunch, but I thought I'd try to make a full towny conversion to the Mean Bean. All I really wanted was pizza and maybe, a milkshake.