My name...is Inigo Montoya. If YOU have high cholesterol...prepare to die.
My friend Chad: I'm really starting to like Xubuntu
Me: I thought Gene Kelley was great in it, but Olivia Newton-John's performance was a bit over-bubbly.
So for basically the last...oh, two, three years, I've been on a slow-moving mission.
That
mission: Home. As in, Kalamazoo, Michigan. Where there are people
who have known me longer than a year or two. More than anything else,
this is why I'm soliticing donations and putting up Google ads and
Amazon links and trying to build a web design business: because I want
to go home, and I can't afford to do that as things are right now.
In
some ways, this isn't a good thing really. There were reasons I left,
not the least of which being that I was kind of sick of being somplace
where everybody knew way too much about me. Also, the shattered
remnants of many a painful relationship. Not to mention the now
wheel-chair bound (*whistles innocently*) bastard who committed an
unspeakable crime against my daughter when she was three.
Lot of drama, lot of broken dreams, lot of burned bridges.
And
a lot of people that I really miss. A lot of people that I guess I
never knew I loved until they weren't there anymore. Or maybe I did,
but I was just bitter because most of them thought that a) I was a spaz
and b) I didn't know they were saying so behind my back pretty much all
the time.
I'm still a spaz. I just don't care anymore. And I'm an honest
spaz. Maybe - if I may be so immodest - a dying breed of human being;
the person whose greatest goal in life is to simply be who they are.
There
are probably people there who would be disappointed in the fact that I
never became a big rock star makin lots of money. Certainly a lot of
people seemed to think I had talent. And maybe I do, maybe I do. But
you get distracted, you know. Trying to do 'the right thing' by
everyone else's definition instead of your own. Getting wrapped up in
the desperate search for affection and approval. Spending more time
chasing a buzz than chasing gigs. Stupid diversions, stupid
distractions that all serve to pull us away from who we think we want
to be.
I had a great time with those diversions and
distractions...but I'm long, long past fed up with the rathole my life
has gone down. I'm in a perpetual state of reboot; constantly starting
over. And over. And over. I get ahead a few steps, and then
something comes along that sounds like a good idea, or I cave to
pressure - usually from my dad - to do 'the right thing' (by his
definition, not by mine), and end up getting some job that I end up
regretting having ever taken.
Even the diversions that I really
am glad for, I end up regretting. Like the theatre thing. I loved the
public service aspect of it, I loved the energy of the teenagers
because...well, honestly I never grew up myself, so I still feel that
kind of energetic drive even though the energy is on the short side
these days. I loved seeing the stars in their eyes and doing my little
bit to make them real; I loved bringing a little controversy or
subversive thought into the quiet, conservative southern communities in
which I now make my home.
But I'm sick of swimming upstream.
It's been almost 14 years since I left Kalamazoo, and pretty close to
10 since I spent more than a day at a time there, and I miss it.
Of
course, a lot of what I miss just plain isn't there anymore, including
my house, many of my friends, the incredibly vibrant music scene. Some
of that stuff, you just don't get back, ever. It's here, it's gone, and that's it.
But some of it, you can. Sunsets over Lake Michigan are still there. The feeling of the winter air - something I never
thought I'd miss! - in your nose. The way thunderstorms would build in
from the west and southwest, and sometimes the sky would turn green and
you'd know it was "tornado weather."
My old high school. Stoops'
furniture store. The old Star World building. Dave Batey. Mike
MacIntosh. Cheek to Cheek. Gary Green. Matt Bogema, who I didn't
really part on good terms with but I still think is the most talented
bassist I've ever played with. Jenn F'N Ladd. Jimmy Black. Kirk
Renker. Opie. Dan Jager. Scott Vickery. All the 'kids' from the
old neighborhood - the Simmons brothers and Robbie Daniels and Travis
Austin and Lisa Powers and all the rest. People I'd lost touch with
long before I left, some of whom I could barely name, others I'll never
forget, like Darren Thomas and Steve Spaeth and Gary Alexander and
Steve Chafin and Barry Pelton and Terry Freer (but not his wife). Lori
Singrey and Chris Cole.
Yeah, there's people there I don't
really want to see, too. One ex-girlfriend in particular who was not
only one of the biggest jerks I've ever known, but turned me into one
as well and damn near cost me my sanity before she finally bailed. I
gotta be honest, when I get home and the inevitable moment comes when
I do run across someone who doesn't want to see me any more than I want
to see them, it's gonna be you can shut the hell up and leave or you
can shut the hell up and stay, but I'm here and this is where I am.
Deal.
It's not just the people though. I want to drive down
Westnedge Hill again. I want to walk along the railroad tracks behind
Upjohn's on Milham, where I used to cut through to go to Star World all
the time. I want to sit under the waterfall in Milham Park and enjoy a
little nature again. Walk down Portage Road between Bullseye Pizza and
DeJaVu. Head out to South Haven with nothing but an acoustic guitar,
something inebriating, a book of matches, and nothing to do but light a
fire, play a little music, and watch the northern lights while I listen
to the sound of the waves hitting the sand. Go skinny-dipping on that
nameless little lake out on North 35th street. Buy some strange beer
at Tiffany's and go drink it in the West Main Cemetary. I want a gyro
from Theo and Stacy's. I want to sit on the top level of the parking
deck at the Radisson, smoke something, and just watch the city go by at
3 a.m.
Of course there's a lot of things I can't do, ever.
Can't have Hot-n-Now. Can't go hang out at Boogie Records or BIM.
Can't go to Star World - even if it was still there I'd look
ridiculous. Club Soda's gone. Missias' is gone. The fruit company is
gone. High Wheeler's probably gone. Rollerworld is apparently still
there though. Famous Recipe Chicken is still there, too. And
Pappy's. Dirk's. Wood's Lake. Long Lake Tavern. Mancino's.
Bilbo's. Crossroads mall, Atwater Millpond, The house in Texas Corners
that used to be Becker's Century 21, where my mom worked for a while,
and was later Mike Roche's first studio where I stupidly said something
that made me seem unappreciative while he was recording my first real
studio work for free, the empty corner where Ramona Lane Elementary
used to be, Plaza II Theatre and Antique Kitchen and Chicken Coop and
OMG GODFATHER'S F'N PIZZA. The Home Bar and Okun Bros Shoes and Geo's
that used to be Solitaires and Koko Taylor and Bobby 'Blue' Bland used
to play there for 30, 40 people before the blues renaissance of the
late 90's. Harvey's on the Mall that isn't a mall anymore and Main
Street Pub and the Sugarbowl and Peppers and Mermaid Lounge and I want
to pee on the side of the road somewhere between Bloomingdale and
Berlamont and I want to steal grapes and blueberries off the side of
the road and I want some Hudsonville Ice Cream made into a Vernor's
float and I want to see if the beach grass I planted in the berms at
the Maritime Museum in South Haven is still there, and if that crazy
guy Dale is still wandering around down by the marina, shaking his pack
of Rain-Blo bubblegum at the house on the hill and screaming for
"Judy," whoever the hell she was.
I. Want. To. Go. HOME.