Trailer Trash and Tornados
Swearing, screaming, slamming abound outside my window, as I sit reading "Bitch Magazine - Feminist Response to Modern Pop Culture". After 20 minutes or so, I stop ignoring the predicament and clamber into the darkened bathrooms' tub to view the neighbors' house.
"C'mon white boy! Whoop my ass! Becky done told you to come whoop my ass! My three babies is in that house!"
"Michael, stop it!"
Terrible, but Sparks and I fight to contain our laughter as we strive to maintain our covert position as peeping toms. "Someone forgot to put in her teeth" Sparky notes of the old lady's apparently toothless speech impediments.
"C'mon Leonard! You can beat on Becky, take it out on someone who can fight back! Come whoop my ass!"
Welcome to Redneck world. We are in Pontiac, Michigan, near Detroit, at the home of Sparky's father and step mom.
It's amazing how people can be raised in diametrically opposed worlds and turn out to be so frightfully similar. Perhaps we both fought so hard to divert off the paths we were raised to run down that we both found the same happy medium alternative. In a way it kind of validates my theory that my life style and beliefs ARE as right on as I think. Ya know? Sometimes you wonder if everyone else appears so blatantly wrong, maybe I am, too. My self validation is often derived from the multitude of talented, intelligent, beautiful people I meet and so respect, and it seems more obviously right when "my peeps" originate from such varied walks of life.
Her fathers garage is plastered with "Keep Out" signs and one that reads "Beware of Asshole".
I mention my coffee shop search and the place in Pontiac I'm about to check out. "Aw, you don't wanna git down there; that's a Niger place."
My jaw dropped to the ground and I stared in obvious bewilderment. "Dad, we're gonna leave now before you further embarass me and offend my friend." Sparky irately slams the door.
"What's she offended for? She ain't a Niger."
"No, but she's Jewish."
"I didn't say anything about the Jews. And so I don't like Nigers; everyone is entitled to their own opinion."
"Wow. I can't believe you just said that. Okay, um...let's leave now Shan!" I mean, what could I say? This was my host. The father of the best friend I'm on the road with. Not some stranger I could tell off, and certainly not someone with a swayable mindset I could conceivably have a logical debate with. I would return to their house later that night, thank them for the accomodations and sleep. Is that wrong?
The next night Sparky and I were in an artsy neighborhood checking out coffee shops, and I finally connected with JB. Beller and I almost got ran over. Unable to wait 'til he'd finished crossing, I ran into the middle of the street and through my arms around him. He planted a wet one on my lips. (Thanks, baby!) Last I saw of my beautiufl friend I was crashing in his bare apartment in Flagstaff, the night before I'd fly off to start my new life in Cincy, and two days before he intended to start over in Detroit. For six months we'd been alone in a new strange place, less than six hours apart, and really should have found each other sooner. It was soooo fantastic to see you and your new world - Beller Baby! We spoke of Lenhart's expected arrival in Chicago and mused over the Theatrikos shift to the midwest.
The next day, Sparky and I head up to Northern Michigan, and spend the evening with her family singing country karaoke in a VFW hall. I can't believe I've sang country karoake twice in my life, let alone in the same month. The next day we go kayaking down and up a relatively lazy river. It was such most necessary relaxation!
I wanted to see a Great Lake. "Heron's at least 35 miles away. We don't really want to drive out there." So I rode my bike.
Interesting: the night before the ride I go to a local gas station for directions. A customer starts talking to me of my intentions and offering suggestions. "Good luck, if you actually do it!" he calls as he heads out the door. The following day I stop in some little town after 15 miles to grab more water and directions at a convenience store. The same exact guy from the previous night in another town walks in and says "Holy shit girl! You're actually doing it!"
I don't believe anyone in the world runs into random people in random places again and again everywhere they go quite like I do. At least a dozen people must think I'm stalking them. (Cicny set a new record for number of people saying "Where'd you come from? I suddenly see you everywhere I go!)
Strange. Anyway.....
The 74 mile trip was my longest so far, though it felt like nothing, considering how flat Michigan is. In fact, the long, straight, boring roads had me actually bemoaning boredom (and raw crotch rubbing!) on the mundane ride to the lake. I chilled there for less than an hour, and as I turned to head West, I saw the clouds.
I headed into a store to buy long sleeves, a jacket, something as the sheets of rain began to pound my bare skin. "You know there's tornados coming; I hope you ain't got long to ride!"
About 20 miles later, I'm pedaling half my normal speed - going 11 MPH and working hard instead of effortlessly maintaining 19 MPH - against these winds, hail is pelting me, and thunder is rattling my frame. I pull over to a convenience store for shelter. Theyr'e closing: "my boss just called and told me to shut down and get out. The weather station cited five tornados in the area!"
Cell phone reception wasn't, so I couldn't call Sparky and her fam and say I'm fine, just waiting out the storm. Plus, it was about 6pm, and as dark as it was due to storm clouds, it'd only get worse. I was shocked noone in pick up truck offered me a ride. I pedaled on.
Upon my safe return, Sparkys dad gave me a hug and said "You're fucking nuts! Are you sure we're not related?" He handed me a joint. I could use one about now.
I found her father wasn't nearly as bas as his talk. We were at his VFW hall having a good bye drink just before Sparky and I left town, and he was apologizing for such comments. His captain, and friend, is black. He sometimes watches the children of a mixed couple and when a black man walked in the bar he was the first to introduce himself and welcome him to have a seat. Guilt or whatever, it was still a comfort - sort of - to see.
There is usually a good high involved with leaving an area. Certainly, every city we work in on this trip the best part of it is leaving. That statement was never so true as with Detroit, North Michigan or the reality - Sparky's childhood stomping grounds.
Hallelujah honey! We're out of here!
"C'mon white boy! Whoop my ass! Becky done told you to come whoop my ass! My three babies is in that house!"
"Michael, stop it!"
Terrible, but Sparks and I fight to contain our laughter as we strive to maintain our covert position as peeping toms. "Someone forgot to put in her teeth" Sparky notes of the old lady's apparently toothless speech impediments.
"C'mon Leonard! You can beat on Becky, take it out on someone who can fight back! Come whoop my ass!"
Welcome to Redneck world. We are in Pontiac, Michigan, near Detroit, at the home of Sparky's father and step mom.
It's amazing how people can be raised in diametrically opposed worlds and turn out to be so frightfully similar. Perhaps we both fought so hard to divert off the paths we were raised to run down that we both found the same happy medium alternative. In a way it kind of validates my theory that my life style and beliefs ARE as right on as I think. Ya know? Sometimes you wonder if everyone else appears so blatantly wrong, maybe I am, too. My self validation is often derived from the multitude of talented, intelligent, beautiful people I meet and so respect, and it seems more obviously right when "my peeps" originate from such varied walks of life.
Her fathers garage is plastered with "Keep Out" signs and one that reads "Beware of Asshole".
I mention my coffee shop search and the place in Pontiac I'm about to check out. "Aw, you don't wanna git down there; that's a Niger place."
My jaw dropped to the ground and I stared in obvious bewilderment. "Dad, we're gonna leave now before you further embarass me and offend my friend." Sparky irately slams the door.
"What's she offended for? She ain't a Niger."
"No, but she's Jewish."
"I didn't say anything about the Jews. And so I don't like Nigers; everyone is entitled to their own opinion."
"Wow. I can't believe you just said that. Okay, um...let's leave now Shan!" I mean, what could I say? This was my host. The father of the best friend I'm on the road with. Not some stranger I could tell off, and certainly not someone with a swayable mindset I could conceivably have a logical debate with. I would return to their house later that night, thank them for the accomodations and sleep. Is that wrong?
The next night Sparky and I were in an artsy neighborhood checking out coffee shops, and I finally connected with JB. Beller and I almost got ran over. Unable to wait 'til he'd finished crossing, I ran into the middle of the street and through my arms around him. He planted a wet one on my lips. (Thanks, baby!) Last I saw of my beautiufl friend I was crashing in his bare apartment in Flagstaff, the night before I'd fly off to start my new life in Cincy, and two days before he intended to start over in Detroit. For six months we'd been alone in a new strange place, less than six hours apart, and really should have found each other sooner. It was soooo fantastic to see you and your new world - Beller Baby! We spoke of Lenhart's expected arrival in Chicago and mused over the Theatrikos shift to the midwest.
The next day, Sparky and I head up to Northern Michigan, and spend the evening with her family singing country karaoke in a VFW hall. I can't believe I've sang country karoake twice in my life, let alone in the same month. The next day we go kayaking down and up a relatively lazy river. It was such most necessary relaxation!
I wanted to see a Great Lake. "Heron's at least 35 miles away. We don't really want to drive out there." So I rode my bike.
Interesting: the night before the ride I go to a local gas station for directions. A customer starts talking to me of my intentions and offering suggestions. "Good luck, if you actually do it!" he calls as he heads out the door. The following day I stop in some little town after 15 miles to grab more water and directions at a convenience store. The same exact guy from the previous night in another town walks in and says "Holy shit girl! You're actually doing it!"
I don't believe anyone in the world runs into random people in random places again and again everywhere they go quite like I do. At least a dozen people must think I'm stalking them. (Cicny set a new record for number of people saying "Where'd you come from? I suddenly see you everywhere I go!)
Strange. Anyway.....
The 74 mile trip was my longest so far, though it felt like nothing, considering how flat Michigan is. In fact, the long, straight, boring roads had me actually bemoaning boredom (and raw crotch rubbing!) on the mundane ride to the lake. I chilled there for less than an hour, and as I turned to head West, I saw the clouds.
I headed into a store to buy long sleeves, a jacket, something as the sheets of rain began to pound my bare skin. "You know there's tornados coming; I hope you ain't got long to ride!"
About 20 miles later, I'm pedaling half my normal speed - going 11 MPH and working hard instead of effortlessly maintaining 19 MPH - against these winds, hail is pelting me, and thunder is rattling my frame. I pull over to a convenience store for shelter. Theyr'e closing: "my boss just called and told me to shut down and get out. The weather station cited five tornados in the area!"
Cell phone reception wasn't, so I couldn't call Sparky and her fam and say I'm fine, just waiting out the storm. Plus, it was about 6pm, and as dark as it was due to storm clouds, it'd only get worse. I was shocked noone in pick up truck offered me a ride. I pedaled on.
Upon my safe return, Sparkys dad gave me a hug and said "You're fucking nuts! Are you sure we're not related?" He handed me a joint. I could use one about now.
I found her father wasn't nearly as bas as his talk. We were at his VFW hall having a good bye drink just before Sparky and I left town, and he was apologizing for such comments. His captain, and friend, is black. He sometimes watches the children of a mixed couple and when a black man walked in the bar he was the first to introduce himself and welcome him to have a seat. Guilt or whatever, it was still a comfort - sort of - to see.
There is usually a good high involved with leaving an area. Certainly, every city we work in on this trip the best part of it is leaving. That statement was never so true as with Detroit, North Michigan or the reality - Sparky's childhood stomping grounds.
Hallelujah honey! We're out of here!
posted by Lindsay at 12:28 AM
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