We Can't Pick Where Home Is

My Room
Watching “A River Runs Through It” in honor of Chez Maclean
About to Jump into the Lion’s Mouth
Christmas Shopping = boo
So, duh. Smoking a bowl.
1:10 pm
Friday, December 17, 2004

We can’t pick where home is.

As Kenneth put it, I was vagabond for the days before my homecoming – living out of my car, sleeping on couches, surviving on cigarettes, liquor, and bottled water. Come Wednesday afternoon, I was ready for my domain.

I called Dad Tuesday, and he shared with me some wholly wonderful news: before going home, I should stop in Dallas and partake in the tamale making festivities. And oh did I ever. I of course, walked in, ate, and promptly took a nap. Damn, grandparents are awesome.

Fast-forward to almost home. The drive has been uneventful – no new revelations, lack of total absorbtion in any one train of thought. Yet, when I turned onto State Highway 110, I couldn’t deny that I was home. The fields opened up, the road curved through the dark pines as I realized that this piece of land is the place that calls to me. Says, come back, come be at peace, come home.

And then I drove into Tyler, and realized, Damn, This Place is Fucked Up. I called Lauren to have someone else reaffirm this realization. Tyler Lee won state, 5A High School Championship for Football, which everyone here took as solid proof that Tyler is not only the greatest place on earth, but the best people on earth come out of it. [Let the records show, I give Less Then A Fuck.] Lauren an I lamented the strangness of Tylerites, while I yelled at them for their piss-poor driving, winding my way around the Loop until I hit the country roads again.

And now I’m here. Turns out my Dad keeps less food in the house then I keep in my college dorm. Yea, it’s pretty funny. But, we’ve gotten Special K Red Berries and soy milk, so I’ll survive.

I decided that the perfect way to acclimate myself back to Tyler traditions, was to make a voyage to our local bastion of commercial foodstuffs: Brookshires. Oh glorious store with your huge aisles and well labeled sections. Oh land of the cute grocerty clerks who actually, not shitting you, carry your groceries to your car. It seems I had forgotten the grand ceremony of life Grocery Shopping is for southerners, especially the East Texan kind.

People don’t just go to grocery store, it’s an event that has with it it’s own rules. You shouldn’t go to Brookshires in your PJ’s, hungover, looking like you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in about 5 weeks, because that is when 54 people you know, or at least went to school with at some point, are going to suddenly take a very excited interest in your life.

Not that this what I did, but you get the point.

As I walk around, jamming with Keller on the iPod, I see no less then two joyous reunions amongst the produce.

Now, I’m all for reuniting with lost friends, lovers, pets, cars, beds – we all know I enjoy familiarity, but this is not that. This is running into that kid from middle school that you kinda talked to, never knew very well, but was always around. Nothing wrong, nice guy, but you probably don’t remember more then his name, and one random disconnected fact that was somehow vitally important for about 8 seconds in the 7th grade. Now imagine everybody you ever had this sort relationship with, all in on shopping establishment. True, one well lite, clean, shopping establishment, but none the less. Do you really want to stop and chitchat with all these people, when in the end, neither of you really, truly care? I think not.

And imagine all the times it’s not someone to whom you had such an inoccusous relationationship. Shiver.

My personal journey was not that traumatic, interesting or exciting, but it serves as the perfect microcosm of Tyler sociology. It is virtually impossible to not constantly run into people you know, kind of know, used to know, know of and dislike, knew through a friend, knew back in the day, et cetera, ad infinitum.

I may have escaped Brookshires scath free, but that's about it.
I had an encounter of the Sean Kind.

Stephanie called and asked me to go to the Laughing Dog, and I of course said yes because I refuse to live with myself if I don’t go where I want to, despite how I may run into. Thank you, Rhett Butler. And of course, when I first walk in there, Pam, Sean’s mother is there. Both being southern women, we are both adept at purposely not seeing each other, and we do this. And of course, Sean walkes in, with Jamie, the roommate. And this, honestly, wasn’t bad. It was self-empowering.
Then Rusty got involved. I’ve known Rusty for years.
I’ve known most of the people up there for years, and they me. They’ve watched me grow, been my client, and eventual friend since I was 15. The MacRae’s, Diane, Steph, Tim. Rusty and his band were playing, and of course, Rusty saw me walk in, and Diane freaks out.
So, Rusty has to make a huge announcement. Which was lovely, flattering, and pretty freaken’ awesome, except that it made being ignorant of my presence impossible.
So much for social graces.
Nothing was said, and I found the whole thing largely amusing.


And I think that’s about all I have to say for this entry. Eric, Bryan and Hafffner came over after I got back from the Dog, I’m going out with Dad tonight, and there’s possibly a gathering on Monday. But for now, I’m hungry, and Le Peep and Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy calls my name.