Ten Days on Safari
So, I have returned from a nearly two-week vacation in which my wife and I went to see her family and go to her class reunion up on the shores of Lake Superior. Beautiful country, but damn is it nowhere. I think the city up there boasts a whole 1700 people. I know of schools larger than that. And yes, I meant 1,700 people, not 17,000 people. If you ever used to watch Northern Exposure, the town is pretty much like that.
The area is pretty depressed, economically speaking. They used to be a pretty big place, back when Diamond Matches did their logging up there and also when the copper mines were running. It's really cool to be driving along the roads and see small veins of copper in the huge boulders along the sides of the road. In the mountains, they have carved-out sections for the road, and the copper winds and glitters in the sunlight. It really is beautiful country. However, it's nowheresville, and everyone who lives there not only knows it, but they are kind of proud of it being such a small, quiet town. I guess in a way, you have to respect that kind of thing.
I ran into a college friend of mine while I was up there. He and I went to U of M together for a couple of years, and we kind of fell out of contact. I knew he was living in the area, and I was hoping to run into him, and I go to the only place of any excitement, Stubb's Bar and Museum (I shit you not), and his band is playing there, right underneath the taxidermied albino porcupines. We talked a bit, and he asked me how I liked New York, and I told him that it was a completely different world than this. He said, "Yeah, it's beautiful country up here, and the people are just so nice and generous, and everybody knows everybody else. It's a really nice, quiet place. I've totally become accustomed to it. I drive 50 miles an hour, maximum. I take my time and I watch my language around children. I'm a totally different person now. I go downstate to see my brother, and I hit I-75 around Saginaw, and everyone's doing 65, 70, 75 miles an hour, and I start getting nervous. I'm all, 'Where's the fire? Where the hell did all this traffic come from? Who are these people? Where could they be going in such a hurry?' And it's all of like 20 cars, too; not like a huge Detroit-style traffic jam. I never lock my doors. No one up here does. Everyone knows everyone, so nobody really worries about crime. If someone goes into your house and takes something, chances are everyone knows who did it, or they'll return it in a couple of days and share a couple of beers with you."
Part of me says that this sounds like the fucking life. No worries, no stress, no running around like a fucking chicken with its head cut off. But then I realize that I couldn't live up there. I need to be surrounded by people all the time so that I can keep on hating them. If I get away from them for too long, I may lose my edge, my scathing tongue, my entire personality. Even after only a few days up there, I was smiling and waving to strangers and being nice and kind and generous. My wife was getting worried for a couple of days, because I was calm and light-hearted. Then we hit Detroit on the way home, and I was back to normal. I called some jerkoff in front of me in traffic a "fucking cocksmacker" and told him to "move his piece of shit or I'd fuck him in the ass with it," and she shouted, "Honey! You're back!" and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
It felt good, though. I guess maybe I just needed to take a vacation away from not only my day-to-day grind life, but from myself for a couple of days as well.
The area is pretty depressed, economically speaking. They used to be a pretty big place, back when Diamond Matches did their logging up there and also when the copper mines were running. It's really cool to be driving along the roads and see small veins of copper in the huge boulders along the sides of the road. In the mountains, they have carved-out sections for the road, and the copper winds and glitters in the sunlight. It really is beautiful country. However, it's nowheresville, and everyone who lives there not only knows it, but they are kind of proud of it being such a small, quiet town. I guess in a way, you have to respect that kind of thing.
I ran into a college friend of mine while I was up there. He and I went to U of M together for a couple of years, and we kind of fell out of contact. I knew he was living in the area, and I was hoping to run into him, and I go to the only place of any excitement, Stubb's Bar and Museum (I shit you not), and his band is playing there, right underneath the taxidermied albino porcupines. We talked a bit, and he asked me how I liked New York, and I told him that it was a completely different world than this. He said, "Yeah, it's beautiful country up here, and the people are just so nice and generous, and everybody knows everybody else. It's a really nice, quiet place. I've totally become accustomed to it. I drive 50 miles an hour, maximum. I take my time and I watch my language around children. I'm a totally different person now. I go downstate to see my brother, and I hit I-75 around Saginaw, and everyone's doing 65, 70, 75 miles an hour, and I start getting nervous. I'm all, 'Where's the fire? Where the hell did all this traffic come from? Who are these people? Where could they be going in such a hurry?' And it's all of like 20 cars, too; not like a huge Detroit-style traffic jam. I never lock my doors. No one up here does. Everyone knows everyone, so nobody really worries about crime. If someone goes into your house and takes something, chances are everyone knows who did it, or they'll return it in a couple of days and share a couple of beers with you."
Part of me says that this sounds like the fucking life. No worries, no stress, no running around like a fucking chicken with its head cut off. But then I realize that I couldn't live up there. I need to be surrounded by people all the time so that I can keep on hating them. If I get away from them for too long, I may lose my edge, my scathing tongue, my entire personality. Even after only a few days up there, I was smiling and waving to strangers and being nice and kind and generous. My wife was getting worried for a couple of days, because I was calm and light-hearted. Then we hit Detroit on the way home, and I was back to normal. I called some jerkoff in front of me in traffic a "fucking cocksmacker" and told him to "move his piece of shit or I'd fuck him in the ass with it," and she shouted, "Honey! You're back!" and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
It felt good, though. I guess maybe I just needed to take a vacation away from not only my day-to-day grind life, but from myself for a couple of days as well.