Yes, it's been a while. I'm not dead or maimed, or imprisoned, or living within a commune of naked Wikipedia addicts (god, how fun!) Thanks for wondering, though! Actually, I've just been, well - um, hmmmm...gosh! I've been........
here.
When I moved back to the Norway/Iron Mountain/Spread Eagle area (yes, Spread Eagle) it was after the turmoil that was called IOWA, a 2-year experiment in how- many- things -could- go -wrong- in -2 -years? sort of deal. I swallowed my gram of pride, packed the car, and moved to Norway, to my mother's house; a move that was "just temporary! I'm just saving up money so I can move to....."
So over the past six years, I've explored many different ways of extending a "temporary" move. I came out; had a relationship on a farm full of cows and chickens; worked with heroin addicts and old retarded people; delivered pizzas and industrial hydraulic equipment; started a grease fire; became a real firefighter; became an EMT; went on record as the fastest typist to ever take the Michigan Works! typing exam in Dickinson County; finally got my 14-year-old student loans in deferrment status; learned how to drive a tractor; worked in an Emergency Department for over a year, during which I could honestly say, "I see dead people" ; lost my dog, who I never really appreciated until his final months, and then I fell in love with him; and saw some really weird shit go down with my family. Pretty hardcore stuff to go down during a "temporary" stay. And funny, none of it was planned; none of it really made me happy (except the chickens, and my dog, and the retarded people.)
This summer, I checked my email box and almost skirted right past a spammy-looking message from "classmates.com" - it looked like the same old shit. But for some reason I opened it, out of a curious bit of curiosity. When I saw the subject line, I just about had a seizure at the shock of who it was. All it said was
"A set of keys has been found."
and that was all I needed, because I knew EXACTLY who it was from.
My senior year in high school was nothing but crap, which is saying a lot, because in all actuality I never HAD a senior year. My parents decided to pack up and move to Rochester, Minnesota from Cortland, Ohio - in August. My mother took me to the high school for a tour, during which faculty and other staff prodded me at every corner, asking if I played football (I was a large band geek, but apparently all that showed through was the "large" part.) On the first day of school, I thought of ways to sneak out. On the second day, I thought of ways to get expelled. Luckily the third day, I found out that I could take credits at the community college and bypass my senior year - something that was unusual, as most high school students only took one or two classes in the afternoons. But I think the guidance counselor and my mother could see by the steaming angst on my face that they better figure out a way to get me out of that high school and into college, which they did - I started the next day.
That was a relief, but I still was never happy. I wanted to go back to my friends; I wanted to experience senior year and all the stereotypical elements of it. I really missed one friend in particular - Erin, who had been the first person to introduce herself to me when I spent my first day of high school in a new town - that being Cortland, Ohio, just four years prior. Erin and I had struck a bond right away, because we both had a taste for music, artsy stuff, and just being ridiculous. And during the three years I knew her, we had been raucous and foolish; we had all kinds of secret sayings and people that we imitated. We drank alcohol out of shampoo bottles from Erin's locker, that was usually creme de cacao or something equally horrible, but tasted like the shampoo bottle. We spent hours and hours on the telephone, because Erin's mother and evil cop stepfather would ground her for months at a time, so we secretly talked after school every day until her mother got home at five. When I left, I suddenly had nobody; I was shy and not enthusiastic about the move, which added to the difficulty. And as the year passed, my hopes of escaping or convincing my mother to let me return to Ohio started to fade out. Erin was joining the Army, to be in the Band, and would be leaving in the summer.
I think I heard from her three more times. The last time would have been in 1992, my freshman year of college, when she called me out of the blue. By then, things had changed; I had moved on and finally left home, and college treated me well. I might have tried to call her again a few months later, but the phone number was no longer in service.
In 2000, when I got my first computer and discovered the internet, I gradually learned that it was possible to find people through searches. I found my old band director, who had died at the age of 90; I found my best friend from early childhood, Scott, who had been killed in a bar fight in Arizona. But there was no trace of Erin. The fact that her name was "Erin Dunlap" didn't help either, because there are literally millions of Erin Dunlaps out there. And for all I knew, she could be married, or, like my band director and childhood friend, dead. Whenever she would cross my mind, I would go online and do a little bit of "Erin Dunlap" searching. Once in a while I would think I had found a lead, but they invariably proved futile.
So it was quite a shock when I opened that email, and the message inside made me laugh until I was crying, both from laughter and from joy. (The "set of keys" subject line was in reference to a practical joke we pulled on a teacher, which turned out so well that we both would never forget it.) Erin was living in Seattle - she was a newcomer to the city, and was living in a hotel-like apartment building with rent by the week. She arrived there from Anchorage, Alaska, where she had lived for several years with a boyfriend, working as a waitress and a dj. Before that, she had lived in Austin, Texas, where her mother had moved (after leaving her nasty cop husband), and basically had lived there for most of the 90s. She had left Anchorage when her relationship went sour and ended - she decided she needed to get away from the constant reminders, and she hopped a plane with her cat and her things, and landed in Seattle.
Why Seattle? Well, she just decided to move somewhere that she WANTED to live. It was neither a temporary nor permanent move - just an experiment in starting over somewhere exciting, beautiful, and bursting with opportunity. There was no planning involved, other than the plane ticket and the hostel-like apartment building she lived in. She found a job as a waitress, and became as settled as she could in a one-room apartment with a feisty cat. Things were neither wonderful nor terrible - there was some of both - but she was happy and found excitement every day in the newness of her surroundings.
Wow. I had forgotten that it was possible to do things solely on the merit of WANTING to do them. My mother had always pounded me down out of space with her constant reminders that "we have to do things we don't want to do, just to survive." Well, I was sick of "just surviving." I told my mom that, if that were so, how did the people in poor equatorial countries cope? A life of "just surviving" in the UP of Michigan was at least somewhat comfortable, and I never had to starve or have my eyes washed because they were crusted shut from disease. Yet, I was SO unhappy - I hated my job, I hated the horrid, nasty, horrid weather that we are so blessed with here, and I hated the fact that, after a bad breakup, I had lost most of my friends, and my desire to look for new ones. If things could suck this bad in middle class America, then it must REALLY suck in the Sudan, right? Obviously, Sudanese people find ways to be happy, otherwise their lives would not be worth living - plus they live in constant fear of being murdered. There are 6 billion people on the planet, and they aren't all just "doing what they have to do" to survive. Otherwise there wouldn't be Disneyland and Richard Simmons.
So, to pull this to a close - I took Erin's example and planned my next destination. I had never been to Seattle, but I had always wanted to go. The beauty in the Pacific Northwest is everywhere - within an hour of Seattle, there is ocean beaches, snowy mountaintops, rain forest, and desert. There's an energetic but relaxed pace in the people, according to Erin - and the Liberal mindset rules there. I might get there and hate it, or love it, or starve, or just "survive." But, for once, I am going somewhere because I WANT to go there. No matter what happens, I will learn a lesson just from the fact that I made the decision myself, and my future is mine for once.
Well that's enough of that. I have to go paint. Next time I'll write about the fun and peril of being a new landlord...........
Doug
02 January 2008
10 April 2007
My latest creation
I am addicted to making bad movies now. This is a photofilm set to Enya - it shows the good side of the Upper Peninsula.....
01 April 2007
01 March 2007
March Fools....
This isn't much of a blog.....all I did was just copy the list of "top stories" from CNN's main page. Is it just me, or does at least 2/3 of this list read as some sort of April Fool's joke? Can our news really be getting this insane? Just read it through and tell me if I'm wrong.
- U.S.: No direct talks with Syria, Iran
- McCain confirms '08 run | Video
| Contenders
- Court clears way for Smith's Bahamas burial
- New arrest in trans-Atlantic airline bomb plot
- Toxic chemicals spill into Ohio River
- Gay vet wants others to serve openly
- Photos show laughing young women robbing bank
- 5 kids die in icy pond, Scriptures in laps
- Dad reunited with son lost in market years ago
- City official faces firing over sex change plan
- Woman still sober so judge cartwheels in court
- Hostage swapped for cigarettes at smoke-free jail
- CNN Wire: Latest updates on world's top stories
19 February 2007
Metropoliplex
First of all, heed this warning:
Lead amount in lunchbags unsafe; feds didn't tell
Hurry - warn your kids - tell them "DO NOT EAT YOUR LUNCH BAG!!!"
I was in Marquette yesterday, on a last-second emergency trip which turned out well (I won't go into it - let's just say it was an "intervention.") Before my disastrous move to Iowa and then my return to what I consider a much more dismal part of the UP, I lived in Marquette for almost ten years. Since leaving shortly after the new year in 2001, I think I have probably been up there a total of 4 times.
When I left, I had mixed feelings - I loved the town in many ways, hated it in others, and had a love/hate relationship with the weather. Plus I was technically living in Negaunee, which is 8 miles from Marquette and, to put it bluntly, is NOTHING like Marquette. When the Iowa experience turned sour, my first instinct was that I would return to Marquette, having so much familiarity with it and also a few friends still hiding here and there. But due to monetary reasons, I ended up shacking up here, in a part of the UP that I can only describe as "midieival" (my apologies to some of you, who should agree with me anyway) and have since not left.
It is a funny place to live, the Upper Peninsula. I have been up here so long now that, when I venture into any city larger than a football field, I feel like I've wandered into the future, and that everyone is staring at my ignorance. Even Green Bay, which is 90 miles to the south, overwhelms me - I get overstimulated by the fact that there are more car dealerships than cars on the road. There are more restaurants on a single block than in the entire town of Iron Mountain. Seriously, Green Bay would seem small to any real city-dweller, yet there is enough shopping to supply every person in Africa with a pair of muffin-top jeans and a complete media center, with plenty of Starbucks coffee and Krispy Kremes to keep them chipper and non-starving.
You can imagine how I feel in Chicago. There are two things in Chicago that interest me - Ikea and Whole Foods - and nothing else. Seriously, it's mesmerizing and awe-inspiring to drive into the city, or any city like that, but by the time I leave I basically have post-traumatic stress disorder.
I didn't used to be that way - I've been to many cities, on two continents, and have had great times. But when you spend a little too long in Dickinson County, Michigan, with its total population of 27,000, and Walmart as its largest employer, you get, well, sheltered.
Anyway, my point. Marquette is sheltered too; in fact, it is a half-day's journey just to get to Green Bay. But for some reason, it thrives in a way that no other town in the entire UP does. It is bustling with little wisps of progress in every corner, all arriving in a more tasteful manner than in most large cities, where they just erect another mile of concrete on the outskirts for the newest menagerie of sub shops and megastores. And Marquette exists in a natural setting that is just so incredibly beautiful, it makes you forget that you are almost 200 miles from the closest interstate highway.
When I drive into Marquette, I feel like I never left, and yet there are always surprises - Marquette has now gone through the Starbucks Revolution, and is starting to realise its tourist potential. Driving through the perfectly preserved downtown area on a saturday evening, I saw people out everywhere, walking back and forth to real bars that have real music and live performers. In this area where I live, the bars have names like "the Whuh Bar" and "Who's Next" and the choice of live music is limited to about a total of 5 bands, their music stylings being a choice between eighties-hair or country. There is karaoke, but nobody that can sing, and the smell of urine is hard to distinguish from the smell of the cheap beer.
Anyway, every time I visit Marquette I remember it fondly for a few days after. If I really sat back and thought about all the miserable times I had there; or about the winter that I shovelled a total of 300 inches of snow that fell nonstop, just so I could park my car in the front yard; I would probably remind myself why I somehow haven't ended back up there. While it's beautiful in the summer and always enjoyable for a visit, Marquette has the same problems as the whole UP - horrible winters, seasonal affective disorder, and isolation. I remember meeting people in Marquette who had never left the UP - one lady was in her 20s and had never seen a real escalator before.
So while I've been pondering getting out of this town and finding somewhere else to settle and attempt to thrive, Marquette has popped to mind on occasion. But as much as I love it, it's just not a total change, which is what I need. And there's always a funny feeling when leaving a place behind and then returning months or years later - you feel like while you were gone, life went on and you were sort of replaced, and there's no niche for you anymore.
Anyway, when I was returning home and stopped in Iron Mountain at the only gas station open at 3am for a much-needed pee break, I noticed the clerk was having some sort of interesting conversation with a lingering customer. When I went to the counter to pay for a pop, the clerk interrupted their conversation and said to me,
"We were debating where a good place to live would be - basically any place but here we decided!" and then he laughed. And I laughed, said nothing, and left.
Lead amount in lunchbags unsafe; feds didn't tell
Hurry - warn your kids - tell them "DO NOT EAT YOUR LUNCH BAG!!!"
I was in Marquette yesterday, on a last-second emergency trip which turned out well (I won't go into it - let's just say it was an "intervention.") Before my disastrous move to Iowa and then my return to what I consider a much more dismal part of the UP, I lived in Marquette for almost ten years. Since leaving shortly after the new year in 2001, I think I have probably been up there a total of 4 times.
When I left, I had mixed feelings - I loved the town in many ways, hated it in others, and had a love/hate relationship with the weather. Plus I was technically living in Negaunee, which is 8 miles from Marquette and, to put it bluntly, is NOTHING like Marquette. When the Iowa experience turned sour, my first instinct was that I would return to Marquette, having so much familiarity with it and also a few friends still hiding here and there. But due to monetary reasons, I ended up shacking up here, in a part of the UP that I can only describe as "midieival" (my apologies to some of you, who should agree with me anyway) and have since not left.
It is a funny place to live, the Upper Peninsula. I have been up here so long now that, when I venture into any city larger than a football field, I feel like I've wandered into the future, and that everyone is staring at my ignorance. Even Green Bay, which is 90 miles to the south, overwhelms me - I get overstimulated by the fact that there are more car dealerships than cars on the road. There are more restaurants on a single block than in the entire town of Iron Mountain. Seriously, Green Bay would seem small to any real city-dweller, yet there is enough shopping to supply every person in Africa with a pair of muffin-top jeans and a complete media center, with plenty of Starbucks coffee and Krispy Kremes to keep them chipper and non-starving.
You can imagine how I feel in Chicago. There are two things in Chicago that interest me - Ikea and Whole Foods - and nothing else. Seriously, it's mesmerizing and awe-inspiring to drive into the city, or any city like that, but by the time I leave I basically have post-traumatic stress disorder.
I didn't used to be that way - I've been to many cities, on two continents, and have had great times. But when you spend a little too long in Dickinson County, Michigan, with its total population of 27,000, and Walmart as its largest employer, you get, well, sheltered.
Anyway, my point. Marquette is sheltered too; in fact, it is a half-day's journey just to get to Green Bay. But for some reason, it thrives in a way that no other town in the entire UP does. It is bustling with little wisps of progress in every corner, all arriving in a more tasteful manner than in most large cities, where they just erect another mile of concrete on the outskirts for the newest menagerie of sub shops and megastores. And Marquette exists in a natural setting that is just so incredibly beautiful, it makes you forget that you are almost 200 miles from the closest interstate highway.
When I drive into Marquette, I feel like I never left, and yet there are always surprises - Marquette has now gone through the Starbucks Revolution, and is starting to realise its tourist potential. Driving through the perfectly preserved downtown area on a saturday evening, I saw people out everywhere, walking back and forth to real bars that have real music and live performers. In this area where I live, the bars have names like "the Whuh Bar" and "Who's Next" and the choice of live music is limited to about a total of 5 bands, their music stylings being a choice between eighties-hair or country. There is karaoke, but nobody that can sing, and the smell of urine is hard to distinguish from the smell of the cheap beer.
Anyway, every time I visit Marquette I remember it fondly for a few days after. If I really sat back and thought about all the miserable times I had there; or about the winter that I shovelled a total of 300 inches of snow that fell nonstop, just so I could park my car in the front yard; I would probably remind myself why I somehow haven't ended back up there. While it's beautiful in the summer and always enjoyable for a visit, Marquette has the same problems as the whole UP - horrible winters, seasonal affective disorder, and isolation. I remember meeting people in Marquette who had never left the UP - one lady was in her 20s and had never seen a real escalator before.
So while I've been pondering getting out of this town and finding somewhere else to settle and attempt to thrive, Marquette has popped to mind on occasion. But as much as I love it, it's just not a total change, which is what I need. And there's always a funny feeling when leaving a place behind and then returning months or years later - you feel like while you were gone, life went on and you were sort of replaced, and there's no niche for you anymore.
Anyway, when I was returning home and stopped in Iron Mountain at the only gas station open at 3am for a much-needed pee break, I noticed the clerk was having some sort of interesting conversation with a lingering customer. When I went to the counter to pay for a pop, the clerk interrupted their conversation and said to me,
"We were debating where a good place to live would be - basically any place but here we decided!" and then he laughed. And I laughed, said nothing, and left.
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