Tuesday, June 10th, 2014

I’ve tried to quit smoking. I really have. There have been several times I’ve torn up a mostly-full pack and thrown away the lighter. Other times I’ve woken up with pain in my ribs, vowing never to light up again. Yet, here I sit this morning after being outside with another menthol.

It’s hard, at times, to accept the root causes for me to do something so dangerous. Other times, I just don’t care. Why am I “saving” myself? After decades of bad timing or poor fits that I’ll find someone I can share this pent-up love? I’ll be wealthy enough to travel the world and not give a flip about paying the bills? I can go anywhere and feel like a friend? As society sits right now, I doubt it. I’m being trampled by other people’s ambition and their human nature.  A nature of all the vices and judgment they swear not to do, yet commit all the same. They call them “rights”.

Smoking is my seppuku. I’ve dishonored my master, America, and not bought into the aggressiveness that wins her favor. It’s a savage thought that is considered “healthy” by her. It’s a ruthlessness that she smiles upon. “Grab her! Take her! She doesn’t understand anything else!” Lady Liberty chides with rusted teeth. “You are animal! She is animal! She demands assertion!” …and so she rewards.

Reserved in nature. Virtuous in spirit. Prudence in money. Controlled in temper. These are all Holy wafers that burn upon the skull of the red, white, and blue madam. They are all treated in suspect and shied away as a Nosferatu would garlic.

I would like to remain positive. I would like to give the people of this world a false sense of hope, as movies and books do. It makes them feel less guilty, less culpable, and they can go back to their business as usual. However, I’m not sure that can happen. Bad things happen to good people.

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City in the Fields

There was a flash fiction challenge yesterday from Opinionated Man of which I had not participated. I had already posted yesterday’s flash, which was for another Reddit contest (did not win/no honorable mention). That’s not to say I’m upset about it. I didn’t want to leave people on here hanging.  The WordPress challenge seemed a little more like a Saturday write anyway. If people have read my blog for any length of time, they know I’ve spoke about my town slightly in my stories. In 1,000 words or less, I shall condense that.

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Urbanites often clamor for the countryside, a respite from the “noise” and “pollution” of a metropolitan backdrop. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence especially if it’s compared to concrete. Plenty of green dots the landscape of my city, even if it’s mold. Perhaps the agricultural nature of the outer limits appeal, waving arms of wheat and corn in a Summer’s gust? The ears certainly make for better conversation anyway.

Crumbling corners and mended roads, all drizzled in chocolaty-tar sauce like a sundae stretch for miles under questionable skies. Built once with pride, brick buildings burn from apathy’s children leaving only work for the crewmen to raze. Holes, like pulled teeth, pit a once wealthy dirt. An asphalt crown is the new order of business.

Hulking and oppressive, the courthouse stands idle with all of its faded glory. Since when had you last felt alive? Bluebottle cars fly around your rotten carcass of petty justice. Your delusions of grandeur are transparent! Your mightiness is moot!

…and the floods. O, the floods! Have you come to visit us with fervor of Zelus? Have your waters ran through our hair enough? Can you not stand the sight of our houses as much as I? There would be no blame in that. Bring it to us so that we may bathe in a pool of our mistakes.

Time has come and time has passed, leaving nothing but old values as new ideas spread across a nation. Angry and afraid, a retirement community is proclaimed. Leave it as it once was, so we remember it fondly. A sepulcher for the nostalgic. There is no need to share; it is ours!

A generation took that to heart, and a generation made a new start off on coasts and in between. “They will be back!” Was the mantra of the day which fizzled to a murmur on the lips of the selfish. The world is not as it once was. Haughtiness becomes highlighted in hindsight.

Ghosts of people past still haunt the streets in which I ride. Past the schools. Past the homes. Past the shops I’ve seen too many times to remember. Pictures on the gelatin of my eyes. Translucent and faded they post bills of their likeness where I’ve been before. Up on the hill, down by the river, out by the freeway, or around the corner, I cannot live them down. The city will not let me live them down.

© 2014 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved

Hey! That’s not county fair!

A few months ago, I vowed a trip to the county fair to get a fresh batch of pictures. As fate would have it, I completely forgot it existed while it was here. That’s a little disheartening, but I can surely show the pictures I collected a few years back. There’s always next year, too. It’s not like this is its last hurrah… or yeehaw, as the case may be.

When I moved back from Charlotte, NC almost four years ago, I was bitter. Shocking, I know. While I still have my moments of frustration, the house has provided enough distraction to avoid sitting in self-destruct mode for days on end. That’s progress I think.

In an acerbic mood, I took it upon myself to document all the instances I saw the Confederate flag here in Hooterville. The county fair was rife with them.

Confederate Flag on faux mink.

Window sticker selection.

This space cliché not only likes the Confederate flag, but it likes to smoke pot while admiring it.

It would be downright blasphemy if it weren’t sold as a belt buckle.

There is a saying in marketing. “If the people want Cheetos, then they shall have orange fingers.” I can’t help but think this is a similar situation.

“Why, Nate,” I hear you say, “weren’t you just living in a Southern state?” To that I would say yes, however, it’s not the flag I’m concerned about. It’s the dim Yankees that display it on their possessions. Listen up, Ohioans. You were part of the Union. Ulysses S. Grant and William T. Sherman hailed from your state. To any Southerner with a shred of pride, you will always be a God Damn Yankee. They’re not going to be fast friends with you, and carpetbaggers are greeted with a weary eye. They do not want you! I know this first hand.

The other reason I went to the fair is to witness all of the “that’s probably not a great idea” moments.

I love the smell of jingoism in the morning. It smells like “mission accomplished”!

This was the walkway to all of the insanely disgusting fried food vendors. Want a whole block of fried cheese? We can do that.

Say hello to “Buck,” the animatronic deer head. Its concept is like that of “Billy Bass,” but only to promote the virtues of this “mountain man” meat vendor. I don’t know… seems legit.

Here we have the local Republican headquarters shilling for more votes. Dead center, we see young Republican feathers. I didn’t think Republicans would be the ones supporting tribal representation.

This is all part and parcel of why I left town in the first place. I’ve met many on my travels that tell me, “you’ll find this anywhere.” To that I say, “you can also find a way around it elsewhere.” It’s the truth, too. The area’s too small to circumvent an attitude of which I loathe to watch. I see it everyday, and wish for higher standards of behavior. I know I won’t get it, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.

At the end of the day, though, where else could you see something this majestic?

I now have a strong urge to play Megadeth.

All pictures © 2013 by Corvidae in the Fields, all rights reserved

Oh, Canada

As a few of you know now, I took a vacation the last few days to Niagara Falls. Yes, I went to Canada on the Fourth of July. It was a really good decision, because people were elsewhere celebrating while I traveled.

First off, Canada is quite similar to America but there are subtleties. One, it’s much cleaner. I get so tired of the amount of litter and garbage I find in the States. It’s so slovenly! It’s so disrespectful! I past a chewed up couch on I-90 in Cleveland. A couch. There was a little bit of litter here and there in the Great White North, but something seems to tell me it’s not all from careless Canadians. One point awarded to Canada.

The more important difference is personality. There is an identifiable general persona of Canadians. Many of them aren’t as expressive as Americans, if only because that’s not how they were raised. In America, there are places where people just don’t care about warmth or social grace. The Philadelphia area is a prime example. Many, many times I was met with blunt people with very coarse behavior. Philadelphia left me a little cool, and I’m not the warmest sun in the galaxy. That’s their prerogative, but it takes some real work to get black marks for being uncouth.

Niagara Falls was a great destination. The Maid of the Mist boat tour is a must! Make sure your poncho is on tight though. The Clifton Hill area is geared toward families, and it reminds me of Cedar Point in some respects. The Canadians know what drives their economy there, and it does become a little bit of a tourist trap. I’m not that type of person, but others enjoy wax museums, carnival games, houses of horror, IMAX shows, and flashy dining.

I found more comfort on the quiet sidewalks of Queen St. There I found the Paris Crepes Cafe. I haven’t had a crepe in years. My goat cheese, honey, and walnut dish was masterful. After my time spent in the cafe, I popped off to a bar for a pint of Alexander Keith’s red and some honest Canadian hockey food: poutine! For those that are unfamiliar with the dish, it’s french fries with cheese curds and beef gravy. So heavy, yet awesome in a totally unhealthy way. It’s not all that odd. We have mashed potatoes and gravy, right?

One of the other non-tourist activities I enjoy doing is driving around. With the support of the GPS I went all of Hell’s half acre and had myself a grand old time. Canadian driving is like slow-speed mayhem. I took it at the posted km/h, but people were driving all over the place, that included under a meter from my bumper. I was often in the wrong sections of town. I was in the low-rent districts, the middle-class neighborhoods, and the suburbia as a tourist. Not all Canadians are happy with the idea of Americans. I even got cursed in French by some teens riding bikes, thinking my lack of French skills would somehow make me feel stupid. Well, here’s a little tip Canadians: if I don’t care what you have to say, you can say it in any language you want.  One point awarded to American brass.

The highlight of the trip had nothing to do with the falls, though. I was at the resort Friday evening, and a man came out of the hotel room area looking for a seat. I offered the open seat next to me. He was meeting someone and also pulled up another chair. While he waited, we struck up a conversation. By his accent, I could tell he was German. As it turned out, Mike was and a journalist from Berlin. He and a long-time friend took their families to vacation in Niagara. They wanted to chat before they headed in different directions in the morning. Now looking back on it, I think I might have stunted that meeting. Hopefully, that transgression was forgiven.

We talked about America, Germany, Canada and more interestingly Berlin before the Wall. I had no idea it was an artist’s enclave at that time. The reason being was its inexpensive living. It was walled off from the rest of the world and no industry could get in. There was one highway between West Berlin and West Germany. West Germans were not allowed to take any exits nor were they able to take their time. If they arrived at the border later than expected, they were pulled out of the car and interrogated. This was only thirty years ago. That’s within my life time! This is what America needs to avoid becoming, metaphorically and physically.

At the end of the discussion, Mike said, “this is what I love about Americans. You are all so open. If this was Europe, we would not be having this conversation. It wouldn’t be meant as rude. It would just be you sitting there and me sitting there… and that is it.” It was such an informative and entertaining talk, I got a little choked up after Mike and I parted ways. I’ve wanted a discussion that was political, civil, and intellectual for so long that it brought me to tears. A meaningful, intellectual conversation without hostility or ego. Sometimes, it’s the small things that are worth a mint.