Cullowheeeeee

The latest installment of My Life as a Thirty-Four Year-Old Band Geek finds us in beautiful Cullowhee, NC on the campus of Western Carolina University. We are surrounded by mountains on a small but modern campus with facilities that are adequate to allow us to do what we need to do.

This is all fine and good. What is great is the temperature. We broke 100 degrees several times over the last few years in Clinton, SC, - a situation that was dangerous and downright inconvenient (I don't know what it is about the border of South Carolina that makes anything in the state hotter than anything outside of it... except the women). So far today here in the mountains, we have been about ten degrees cooler than Atlanta. When I walked out of my dorm at 8am this morning, it was about 62 degrees.

Plus there is a Walmart three miles away which has a great stock of Red Bull, Gold Bond, Yuengling (no, I didn't) flushable wipes, ibuprofen, and sunscreen. So everything seems fine, except I swear I keep hearing distant banjos.

Die Walküre's

Ok, so I didn't exactly use that title correctly. But life has felt like an opera of late, and the drill-writing portion of it has felt like one big-ass, long, drawn out Wagner music drama - the kind that makes your ass so sore from sitting that you swear you'll never attend one again. Nevertheless, I finally find myself in Athens, at Walker's, on a Friday afternoon, at the convergence of eras.

Wow, I really wrote that.

Since last we talked, I have been to Florida and back on vacation with Meghan and my family, finished all but two of this summer's horn books (the rest should be done by Tuesday), packed all my belongings, moved to Marietta, and finished my lone drill book of the summer as my apartment sat packed in boxes. I sit in one of my favorite spots in the world, waiting for Meghan to arrive in Athens for a rehearsal and a wedding. After this, I will once again be at band camp. And finally, I'll be back in Marietta to start my fall, while Meghan begins school in earnest.

My one-year move to Athens has come to an end with no shortage of reminiscing about its events, doting on small pieces of real estate that hold significant personal meaning to my significant other and me, and general mourning of the necessity of moving on from my twice-adopted hometown to the location of Whatever Is Next. I have done a pretty good job of managing my little sadnesses, disguising the occasional unexpected lump in the throat as a cough, and subtly sweeping conversations of Athens off into the ether with timely changes of subject. I also twice managed to convince myself that this is not real: first by insisting that "the second we can move back, we are going back," and later by declaring myself a resident of the "Athens-Atlanta Area." Unfortunately, after being concerned earlier this week that Meghan was having a hard time with the move, I suddenly became a sobbing mess at the dinner table while simultaneously realizing that I was the one who wasn't handling it well.

She thought I was choking. And in a way she was right.

There are many times in which I have wished I could present myself as a true citizen of the world - wished that I could make myself out to be comfortable under any circumstances, willing to dive into new pools with no concern for what lies beneath, shaking the hands of total strangers, and lighting busy rooms with stories of foreign adventure and danger. I find myself mildly jealous of the adaptability of my friends who are from military families in that regard. They always seem to be able to walk into new situations and engage without hesitation. But if there is one truth about me, it is that I need familiarity in order to be happy.

I can hear all of my friends, having read the previous sentence, saying aloud, "Really? Shocker."

The bad news for people like me is that things are changing, regardless of whether or not I approve. The good news is that we adapt. Almost every time I move, things get like this. I run into every exposed sharp object in my new apartment. I encounter water leaking through my ceiling. I get confused about my actual location in the new Target which looks almost exactly like the one to which I am accustomed. But gradually, everything gets better because it too becomes familiar.

It's important for me to point out that I would move five hundred times and I would move five hundred more to be near the woman I love. And I know she would do the same for me. I choose to move because I choose permanent happiness over a discomfort that will remedy itself by simple repetition in a few weeks. Moreover, I am closer to the people I care about and enjoy the most than I have been at any point since college ended.

I really do recognize the necessity and benefits of change. Things end so other things can begin. Things change so we learn to appreciate moments when we are in them. Good things go away to make room for potentially better things. Cerebrally I get that. It is simply the way life works. There is no alternative.

But somewhere in the middle of my soul, there is a child that does not understand why people get sick, why relationships sour, why pets go away, and why we have to leave the places we love. And that, I suspect, isn't ever going to change.

Still Slammed

Just letting you know that I'm alive and that my stuff is in an apartment. As soon as we got everything in on Friday, I immediately picked up the laptop and resumed writing drill. I'm working as hard as I know how to work. It will be Friday before I am finished, at which point I hope to be writing a more detailed update from Ye Olde Walker's Coffee and Pub.

Yankees fans... truly the class of baseball.

I'm embarrassed by my virtual absence, but there isn't much I can do about it right now. On the home stretch of work for the season, and moving to Marietta on Thursday and Friday. But if you're looking for something to read, Groo reports a shocking potential move up to the east side for Georgia Football clientele.

If this turns out to be true, I will be tickled that I didn't donate my intended piddly $1000.00 per seat for tickets this year (I am not a season ticket holder). I will also be scared that Georgia Football is getting too expensive for me.

Groo Explains Uga Selection

In case you're not reading Groo at DawgsOnline, he has done a wonderful job explaining the process that will take place in the coming days as the next mascot is selected. It's too bad that the current drought has ended the practice of using red or black smoke to indicate whether or not a mascot has been chosen successfully.

Uga VI

Rest in peace, Uga VI. Damn Good Dawg.

Thanks to Adam E., Kit's link no longer directs here. Three people staring intently at this blog last Saturday couldn't figure out why that link wasn't working. Already puttin' that fancy Master's Degree to work, eh?

(Thanks, Adam)

Thank you Diamond Dawgs!!!! Great season!

One of the things to which Meghan and I were really looking forward about my return to Athens was going to Georgia Baseball games together. We were at the first one, the third one, and many others this year. It was even better than advertised.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!!!!

Why do people think Georgia fans are classless?

It's the bottom of the 6th right now. Clearly things aren't going all that well for Georgia. And while they look downright hopeless, they aren't.

Nevertheless, some Georgia "fans" have posted some pretty classless things on message boards. Examples:

Next at bat.. Detwiler needs one in the earhole.
Will someone let me know when UGA shows up...
Looks like this game is history...
That does it.... i'm out

- from dawgrun.com

When you post things like that on a public message board, people with no opinion one way or the other see nothing but spoiled elitist classless fair-weather fans. As far as I'm concerned, they're right. If you quit in the middle, it seems to me you have no right to enjoy comebacks. Furthermore, you give ESPN another reason to celebrate our defeats.

I will enjoy this game if we win it. But I would still far rather be a Georgia Bulldog than anything else, win or lose. And I don't appreciate the part-timers.

Screw sexual harrassment... give me my whiskey

I know, I know. Say it with me: "There's nothing funny about sexual harassment." But still (pun intended), Jack-lovers should be aware that our once beloved former Master Distiller was forced out due to accusations of sexual harassment. I don't know if there is any truth to the accusation. I do know that commenter NGNG34 hits the nail on the head in the Nashville Tennessean when s/he writes:

"Bedford should also be sued for allowing Jack Daniel's to be watered down from the 86 proof it was watered down to [sic] in the 1980s to the 80 proof that is [sic] remains today."

A thought about moving

The last month of my stint in Bizarro Athens began on Thursday. In wisely taking a bit of my girlfriend's advice, I have begun packing slowly while taking breaks from writing. I am hopeful that I won't encounter the packing frenzy that my departure from Nashville presented.

As the packing has begun, small moments of nostalgia have been balanced by an overriding sense of excitement about the future. As with any move or massive life change, there are little instances of fear and separation pangs. But I am repeatedly amazed by how relatively benign those negative emotions are in the context of... well, you know.

Also positively notable about the upcoming months are the new opportunities that are waiting. The social benefits of this move are obvious. I have previously mentioned the improved proximity to Nashville as a plus as well. I have also recently found that I am genuinely enjoying writing the original band music that has become a part of my "day job." I intend to pursue that a bit more seriously, and being located in Marietta can only help that.

Last night, Meghan, Russell, and I sat on the sidewalk three feet from the main stage watching the Skirts perform to an audience and press that was as attentive as I remember for any group to come out of Athens in a long time. I have become so accustomed to moments like that in Athens that it didn't even have to occur to me that we were witnessing something very special. That happens a lot here, and it continues to be a blessing to be able to have a front row seat over, over, over, over, over, and over again. Even though we will soon stake our tents a few miles to the west, I really hope history continues to repeat itself.

The camps concluded yesterday in rather successful fashion. In response to the long hours over the last two to three weeks, I had one of the all-time great nights of sleep last night. I am now sitting in Walker's after a cup of coffee and a peanut butter sandwich. I am excited about tonight as I am few occasions. That excitement, however, is tempered by the tragedy of Russert's passing being replayed over and over again on television.

I don't comment on the deceased too much, because I think people often make up bullshit compliments about them after they're dead just to fit into the crowd and seem compassionate. I'm sure you can name several sons-of-bitches over the years whose passing was met with posthumous praise, even though their absence probably makes the world a better place.

All indications are that this phenomenon does not apply to the praise of Tim Russert. I know that I personally loved listening to him because of his apparent fairness, his calm delivery of pointed questions, and his obvious awe of and passion for his family and his life. There are a lot of things about him that I would like to be things about me.

One comment in particular struck me last night. Keith Olbermann (of whom I am generally not a fan) said in reference to working with Russert, "Every time I have ever used the word 'privilege', I feel like I should have saved it just for this occasion rather than wasted it on the other ones." On one hand that doesn't say it perfectly. And on the other, it most certainly does.

Change Advisory

You may not recognize the subject of this photo.



In the one of the latest expressions of "the greatest tradition of all," Barnett's Newsstand in Downtown Athens recently closed for business. As I have passed by the old location over the last several weeks, I have taken grim photographs out of a somewhat sick obsession with the empty site of a once busy location.

I have very few intimate memories of Barnett's. I can't imagine, in my sixteen years in and around Athens, that I went in the store more than ten times. Most times when entered, I was purchasing the once-necessary accessories to a night of consumption. As time has passed, any other reasons I might have had to go into a newsstand have gradually dissipated. They clearly did for others as well, as it will soon be replaced by a dress shop.



In spite of the fact that I rarely patronized the establishment, the loss of Barnett's is still a bit sad - probably less because I need it, and more because I expect it.

There is another, smaller, change about which I hope to write before you arrive. Can't wait to see you...

Me and my simple updates are starting to good and piss me off...

but it's all I've got.

After two good weeks or so of writing pretty consistently, I have had to be back at the school this week in preparation for summer camps. I won't go into any detail here about the nature of the work involved. I will simply say that this gig is a lot of work compressed into a very small period of time. I have been absolutely wiped out every night I have returned home. This is not an entirely bad thing.

In spite of the notable busy-ness of the week, we did have time to run to Marietta and settle on the apartments in which we will live next fall. We will be where I told you we will be, though the decision was complicated by what appeared to be a bait and switch. After walking out of the leasing office in frustration, we signed paperwork thirty minutes later as the "misunderstanding" was "resolved" by the leasing manager "calling corporate." Screw it. We like the apartments, the location, and the rent.

I'm falling asleep at the keyboard. More soon.

Stream of Conch's-ness...

... in the form of bullets, the singular version of which is somewhat close in spelling to "bullshit." Coincidence? I think not...

• Meghan and I have "found" an apartment complex in the E.C. which we think will become home to each of us in late July. Assuming all goes as planned over the next five days or so, you can look for us right here...

... but really, you should call first.

• Summer camps begin one week from tomorrow, which means that the real work begins on Tuesday (even though we've been in the office fairly consistently for the last week-and-a-half).

I recall a particularly interesting spring some eight-or-so years ago, when the Diamond Dawgs were in the post-season. Gunner had just moved in next door, and we were still doing three weeks of Sunday-to-Saturday camp. Several of us got together to watch Georgia vs. Tech on television and enjoy our last hoorah before a month of enslavement to The Man. In the process we got absolutely liver-hardeningly drunk at 3 in the afternoon. Just thinking about it makes me slur my speech.

These days we do that afterwards.

• Last week, I reached the point in the year when I am finishing shows rather than starting them. This is a relief. The time of year during which the arranging gig falls does not make for a very streamlined process. Though I had once hoped to spend a great deal of time writing while doing my travel job, the truth is that that doesn't happen very much. I am able to write a fair amount in the middle of the weeks of summer camp. It would be nice, however, if I could simply sit for two weeks at a time and write each show without having to leave town for a month.

• Barring any clearly obvious signs (severe misspellings or complete inattention to punctuation), do you think you can tell when someone has emailed you drunk? I think I can, and I suspect that is less because of some sort of intuition I have and more because I have done it more than my fair share of times.

• While in Gatlinburg a couple of weeks ago, my Civic endured the hailstorm from hell. I will be putting it in the shop early next week to have the 40+ dings removed at a total cost of about $1400, $1000 of which will come from my pocket. Who's excited?

• I am as politically frustrated right now as I remember. It feels like there is no one with any control who is on my side, and that sucks. Some of that is the $4.00 gas (which you would have to be asleep not to have seen coming). Some of it isn't.

• On the other hand, I myself stuck it to The Man this afternoon when I received three (3) free subscriptions to magazines in return for my pittance of American Airlines miles. Now who's excited!!?

Clarence Darrow posthumously defends Senator Obama, in a quote on my Google home page today: "Even if you do learn to speak correct English, whom are you going to speak it to?"

To Cobb

It was noted some time back that the location of my residence for the next year was undecided. Since then, you may have been among those who have been told that Meghan got a job in Cobb County. And thus, that will be my home for the next year.

When I was growing up in Nashville, I used to hear these vague references from my father about locations where he used to live. Once distinctly vague reference was somewhere on the west side of Nashville.

View Larger Map
I recall that my sister-in-law lived in the neighborhood near the end of her time at Vanderbilt. One day my dad pointed west across I-440, and told me that he used to live in blah blah blah just beyond that bum bum-ba blah blah. He sounded like he had been running from the law.

I don't know that I ever envisioned myself moving quite this much. Between the ages of two and sixteen-years old I had lived in two permanent dwellings that were within one mile of each other. Since sixteen, I have lived in nine (9) other places. That doesn't particularly bother me in the current context, since some sort of ease in the habit of moving appears to be in the not-too-distant future.

While I am not terribly excited about leaving Athens again, I am tickled to be moving to a place that will be near dear friends, still in Georgia, and within three-and-a-half hours of Nashville. The five-hour drive has made getting to Nashville difficult. It is time to jump back on that horse.

Most importantly, Meghan has found a very interesting job in a place that appears to provide a steady but challenging job. She is excited about it and I am too.

So, put your friends in the 30062 and surrounding ZIP codes on notice. We're coming arriving sooner than you think, and one of us doesn't like onions.

The Preposition Candidate

Even if my politics were aligned with those of Senator Obama's, I don't think I could vote for a candidate whose campaign slogan ends with a preposition.



At.

The Event IV

If you haven't already been invited by email or Facebook, or seen Russell's blog, here is the information you and your loved ones will need regarding The Event. Be there or be sober.