My whirlwind weekend tour of Austin has come to a close. After considerable deliberation I decided on Thursday that I would drive down to Austin once I got off work on Friday. My life (and belongings) have been scattered across the globe these past months and I'm slowly trying to reclaim them. Getting down to Austin to try and gather up as much of my stuff as I could was the first step.
(I hadn't really told anyone about my impending visit. I thought it would be more fun as a surprise. This is very ironic given that I'm such a regimented person. Inexplicably I love bestowing and receiving surprises. Perhaps it is my soul rebellion against my head.)
Having been away for just over five months, it was somewhat unexpected to see how much hadn't changed--there were still dishes piled up at the Roost, friends were still drinking too much at parties, the same crowds were at the same places. And strikingly enough those changes I did find seemed mostly small and somewhat inconsequential. Austin is still Austin. It continues to grow and evolve yet it retains its own anima and identity, the one that sets it apart from the rest of Texas and the world--hot and hip, frustrating and amazing--an eternal paradox for me.
Generally, when change occurs, those who see it from a distance view the change as perhaps minor and obvious. Like anything in life it is those affected by change (or an event) that easily feel the enormity of it. Since I'm once again a resident of Arkansas and continue to be separated from the life in Austin, I found it hard to feel the changes.
Changes are made because they are thought to be a positive move. It's rare for anyone to make a change in the hopes of it being negative. It is thus that we go through life. Groping along in the dark we hope that the changes we make will turn out how we want them to. More often than not our changes fall into a gray area somewhere between the two edges of success and failure. We have an amazing ability to convince ourselves that things will work out like they're supposed to, even if they truly do not. Despite the eternal let downs we somehow roll with the changing tides of time. We adapt our mind to fit the circumstances of our current reality.
And so it was with me. As I drove northward from Austin the eternal debate raged on inside my head. Though I'll always miss Austin and my many friends there, I once again felt sure of myself and my decision to live in Arkansas. The question now becomes whether that certainty will last.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Crooked Stickers
My personal skill set has never included arts and crafts. I am a proud person and do not like to readily admit my own shortcomings but there is no way around it. I can't draw, I can cut straight lines, and when I try to paste something I inevitably smear too much on and the glue squirts out the sides. This past February as part of my Valentines Day present to Morgane I tried to cut pieces of paper into heart shapes. They all ended up looking like jagged arrowheads instead of the perfect rounded hearts of my imagination. Honestly I am not entirely sure how I ever passed arts and crafts in elementary school. Arts and crafts isn't generally a subject they hold kids back in though they probably came close to making an exception for me.
What all of this is building up to is that as inept as I am with straight lines, I should never make fun of someone else in the same boat. The lone exception to this rule is bumper stickers.
I try to always abide by the "if you can't get it on there straight don't put it on" rule as my guide for bumper stickers. Since I have problems with those sort of things, this rule has largely served to keep my cars sticker free. We don't even have to get into the nature of car stickers--just keep them straight if you're sticking one on your car.
The impetus for all of this was a car I saw driving down Rogers Avenue today. The car had a crooked, "Please Don't Drink and Drive" highway patrol sticker on the rear panel. Crooked might be an under statement. It was severely askew. So askew that it occurred to me that the people who put it there had to have been drinking at the time of application. My imagination quickly took it one step further. I could easily picture the applicants thinking that putting that particular sticker there would keep the "fuzz" off their tails when they were out carousing.
Of course if I was a patrolman, crooked stickers promoting designated drivers would be my first tipoff that something other than the sticker might be askew, namely the owner.
What all of this is building up to is that as inept as I am with straight lines, I should never make fun of someone else in the same boat. The lone exception to this rule is bumper stickers.
I try to always abide by the "if you can't get it on there straight don't put it on" rule as my guide for bumper stickers. Since I have problems with those sort of things, this rule has largely served to keep my cars sticker free. We don't even have to get into the nature of car stickers--just keep them straight if you're sticking one on your car.
The impetus for all of this was a car I saw driving down Rogers Avenue today. The car had a crooked, "Please Don't Drink and Drive" highway patrol sticker on the rear panel. Crooked might be an under statement. It was severely askew. So askew that it occurred to me that the people who put it there had to have been drinking at the time of application. My imagination quickly took it one step further. I could easily picture the applicants thinking that putting that particular sticker there would keep the "fuzz" off their tails when they were out carousing.
Of course if I was a patrolman, crooked stickers promoting designated drivers would be my first tipoff that something other than the sticker might be askew, namely the owner.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Busch Cans and Beech Trees
There are those in the world who see everything as black or white. Most are generally dismayed at those who see the world differently or those who perhaps allow for shades of gray to creep in around the edges. While there are certain things that are cut and dry, seeing the world as such makes for a divisive place—what side of the fence are you on?
It often seems that the chasm between two opposing sides can only continue to grow. The path to minimize the gap becomes lost and the builders forget how to construct their bridges. Intractable situations abound and are easy to find for those who look. There are divisions everywhere—the American party system, the Democratic party itself, Palestine, the sectarian split of Iraq are just a few of the more recognizable. Amidst all the divisiveness, common ground seems to be a hard thing to find.
If one were to pick out two dissimilar people, could you get much further apart than your average Busch drinker and say a member of the Sierra Club? (Granted, I'm delving into the crass realm of gross stereotyping but it serves as a positive illustration in this instance). One would not think it, but Busch drinkers are big recyclers. On first glance one would probably doubt the veracity but after my first two weeks at a scrap yard, I can assure you that they are. Bag after bag was brought in with cans of Busch tumbling down into our aluminum baler. For those bringing in recyclable materials, Busch stands out among all others as the beverage of choice. Though recycling seems to be done mainly for financial gain (or I guess as a subsidy) and not out of a moral obligation that a member of the Sierra Club might have, it is still recycling. It is still a building block.
Unfortunately the scrap yards of the world can't fix all of our problems nor can they fix the outlook of those who inhabit this planet. The have however opened my eyes to the coming and going of products and people, from one place to the next and back again. More and more I realize how interconnected we all are here. You can fault me for being trite, you can fault me for being naive, but there is common ground between the most disparate of folks, sometimes it just takes the right incentive to discover it—even if it's just a penny or two a can.
It often seems that the chasm between two opposing sides can only continue to grow. The path to minimize the gap becomes lost and the builders forget how to construct their bridges. Intractable situations abound and are easy to find for those who look. There are divisions everywhere—the American party system, the Democratic party itself, Palestine, the sectarian split of Iraq are just a few of the more recognizable. Amidst all the divisiveness, common ground seems to be a hard thing to find.
If one were to pick out two dissimilar people, could you get much further apart than your average Busch drinker and say a member of the Sierra Club? (Granted, I'm delving into the crass realm of gross stereotyping but it serves as a positive illustration in this instance). One would not think it, but Busch drinkers are big recyclers. On first glance one would probably doubt the veracity but after my first two weeks at a scrap yard, I can assure you that they are. Bag after bag was brought in with cans of Busch tumbling down into our aluminum baler. For those bringing in recyclable materials, Busch stands out among all others as the beverage of choice. Though recycling seems to be done mainly for financial gain (or I guess as a subsidy) and not out of a moral obligation that a member of the Sierra Club might have, it is still recycling. It is still a building block.
Unfortunately the scrap yards of the world can't fix all of our problems nor can they fix the outlook of those who inhabit this planet. The have however opened my eyes to the coming and going of products and people, from one place to the next and back again. More and more I realize how interconnected we all are here. You can fault me for being trite, you can fault me for being naive, but there is common ground between the most disparate of folks, sometimes it just takes the right incentive to discover it—even if it's just a penny or two a can.
Friday, May 9, 2008
The Commencement
When I began the Arkansan Abroad blog I wasn't prepared for the path my life would take. Over the past year I have somehow been able to hold back the tides of reality and live my own upside down version of the “Summer of George.” Though silent for several months, when I resurrected it at the tail end of December it became my outlet and obsession while in France. Once again on my return to the states this blog has fallen silent—partly out of confusion at my new and “normal” life and partly from my qualms with running a travel blog while no longer abroad.
To remedy this (and to satisfy all five of my “readers”) I've decided to start an “Arkansan at Home” blog. The purpose is largely to satisfy myself—retaining the outlet and obsession while at home. Since reality has burst the levies of my life the frequency with which I'll be able to post shall be limited. I'm still trying to figure out how to balance my life...how to balance “reality” but my aim is once a week.
While the Arkansan Abroad had an overarching theme it never had a day to day thread connecting each post other than what was in my head. Warm Evenings will be roughly the same with minor tweaks. Unfortunately Arkansas might prove to be a harder sell than Paris (instead of a post about visiting the Louvre you'll get one about visiting the snow cone stand).
I selected the title from a Gram Parsons song of the same name and my personal favorite Parsons tune. For me the phrase itself also hearkens back to innocent summers, a place in the haze of memory. Perhaps it's just my own fancy but since I'm back in the place of my birth and since summer is now upon us I figured it worked. I can't promise what will come but I can promise the honesty of the words that will follow. Hopefully the header quote from Walker Percy proves itself true for me.
To remedy this (and to satisfy all five of my “readers”) I've decided to start an “Arkansan at Home” blog. The purpose is largely to satisfy myself—retaining the outlet and obsession while at home. Since reality has burst the levies of my life the frequency with which I'll be able to post shall be limited. I'm still trying to figure out how to balance my life...how to balance “reality” but my aim is once a week.
While the Arkansan Abroad had an overarching theme it never had a day to day thread connecting each post other than what was in my head. Warm Evenings will be roughly the same with minor tweaks. Unfortunately Arkansas might prove to be a harder sell than Paris (instead of a post about visiting the Louvre you'll get one about visiting the snow cone stand).
I selected the title from a Gram Parsons song of the same name and my personal favorite Parsons tune. For me the phrase itself also hearkens back to innocent summers, a place in the haze of memory. Perhaps it's just my own fancy but since I'm back in the place of my birth and since summer is now upon us I figured it worked. I can't promise what will come but I can promise the honesty of the words that will follow. Hopefully the header quote from Walker Percy proves itself true for me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)