When I leave here in a few days, I know I’ll inevitably be asked the wrong question about the two years I spent in the Twin Cities: “What did you do there?”
People always seem to ask this question. I was discussing this with a friend who hypothetically answered, “I worked about 40 hours per week…” It’s not very easy to sum up a couple years of life in one (interesting) five-minute story. Take last night: there was a surprise party for my cousin. I hung out with friends, played some lawn games, and we continued burning a tree stump in my backyard. Pretty boring story, right? Except that it was a great night.
The answer to “What did you do there?” is that I lived a pretty normal life: I worked a job, made some friends, saw a couple baseball games, drank a few drinks, and also spent a lot of time sitting around. Same as everyone else. My time is Minneapolis wasn’t defined by the morning of New Years Day spent at Lake Minnetonka waiting my turn to jump in to 20-degree water. But that’s the story that people want to hear. In fact it’s one of the few stories I can think of where I don’t have to add a “you kind of had to be there.” So many stories are specific to a time or a person. These stories don’t mean as much to someone else.
I have a great story about officiating a friend’s wedding in San Diego, but to understand it, I need to explain how I met Doug and Joyelle while living in Denver. Yet when people ask what I did in Denver, I don’t tell them about Doug and Joyelle, or Joey, or Kevin, or… I tell them about going to Aspen to see Hunter S. Thompson’s ashes get shot out of a cannon during his memorial service. Because it’s boring to try to explain how I made a friend while working in the stock room at the Pottery Barn, and then years later he asked me if I would preside over his wedding.
When someone asks “What did you do there?” I’m sure the question they’re really getting at is: “What was it like there?” That’s the right question. But that’s a complex answer; it’s not easy to explain what an individual or a group of friends mean to a person. As much as a place can set a tone, it’s the people and friends that shape the memories and dictate the stories. Except the real details and the real memories are boring to everyone but the storyteller. It’s a livelier telling to just provide the highlights. Because to get the full picture, well, you kind of had to be there.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Honestly, Who Does That?
I have this theory that the only people who marry their high school sweethearts are professional athletes. Whenever I mention this, someone always knows an exception to the rule. Of course there are exceptions; there’s always an exception. How else do you explain the duckbill platypus? A mammal that lay eggs? That’s straight up bonkers. But yes, there’s always a friend from high school who found that special someone in the beginning of freshman year and later the two were married. And it’s not always only because she had his baby the fall before graduation.
In general though, nobody marries the person they were dating at 16. Take me for example: I dated three girls in high school and didn’t marry any of them. I’m still single. Which could explain why every night I cry myself to sleep while in the fetal position. If I were married I’d be doing all my crying on the couch. Who wants to sleep in the same bed as a man who cries every night of his adult life? Just please don’t do it in front of the children.
I’m not the same person I was when I was in high school, and I doubt any of those women are either. If someone’s the same now as when they were 18, I feel sorry for their mother. Because I know back then I was a complete tool. People change, and generally for the better. There’s no way I could have predicted that in my early twenties I’d find a flatware set that I’m desperately fond of. I don’t think I even knew what flatware was. There are too many changes that can take place at such a young age for two people who started dating sophomore year to be together seven or eight years later. For it to work, both have to grow as people in the exact same way or they have to stay near each other for that entire time. Again, there are exceptions. Unless one of them (usually the guy) is going to become a pro athlete, then it’s pretty much a sure thing they’ll get married.
Whenever an athlete's wife is talked about during a sports broadcast, it’s a safe bet that she met her husband (now famous sports star) in high school. Why? Because generally she knows she won’t be doing any better. While that might be an outrageous statement to make, I don’t think it’s much of an exaggeration. Yes, most people marry for love, but most people don’t also make $100 million in their lifetime. Obviously not every woman (or man) in this situation marries only for money. But would it be a stretch to say that a spouse might be willing to overlook a few marital issues knowing that all their needs and wants (and those of their children) will forever be taken care of? Politicians’ wives do it all the time.
In general, it’s a great arrangement for both parties. The spouse has all the money ever dreamed about; never having to work or worry about expenses. And the athlete spends a lot of his time on the road and can cheat on his wife whenever he feels like it. And can afford to keep it all hush hush. Is this a crass way of putting it? Absolutely. But I have no doubt that it happens all the time. Look at the relationship of “Jon and Kate”. Their divorce papers stated that they’ve been separated for the past two years. Why didn’t that information come out? Because there was a lot of money at stake. (Supposedly Jon and Kate were paid $50,000 for each episode of their show). It’s easy to brush things off and play nice when the Cristal is flowing.
As I keep saying, there’s always an exception. Not every women who married a pro baseball player married him because of his money. I’m sure many of these women love their husbands. But if most people believe that there’s not “just one” person out there for everyone, it makes it a bit easier to choose when the difference is a two bedroom apartment or five bedrooms in a gated community. “Love” can be as simple that.
In general though, nobody marries the person they were dating at 16. Take me for example: I dated three girls in high school and didn’t marry any of them. I’m still single. Which could explain why every night I cry myself to sleep while in the fetal position. If I were married I’d be doing all my crying on the couch. Who wants to sleep in the same bed as a man who cries every night of his adult life? Just please don’t do it in front of the children.
I’m not the same person I was when I was in high school, and I doubt any of those women are either. If someone’s the same now as when they were 18, I feel sorry for their mother. Because I know back then I was a complete tool. People change, and generally for the better. There’s no way I could have predicted that in my early twenties I’d find a flatware set that I’m desperately fond of. I don’t think I even knew what flatware was. There are too many changes that can take place at such a young age for two people who started dating sophomore year to be together seven or eight years later. For it to work, both have to grow as people in the exact same way or they have to stay near each other for that entire time. Again, there are exceptions. Unless one of them (usually the guy) is going to become a pro athlete, then it’s pretty much a sure thing they’ll get married.
Whenever an athlete's wife is talked about during a sports broadcast, it’s a safe bet that she met her husband (now famous sports star) in high school. Why? Because generally she knows she won’t be doing any better. While that might be an outrageous statement to make, I don’t think it’s much of an exaggeration. Yes, most people marry for love, but most people don’t also make $100 million in their lifetime. Obviously not every woman (or man) in this situation marries only for money. But would it be a stretch to say that a spouse might be willing to overlook a few marital issues knowing that all their needs and wants (and those of their children) will forever be taken care of? Politicians’ wives do it all the time.
In general, it’s a great arrangement for both parties. The spouse has all the money ever dreamed about; never having to work or worry about expenses. And the athlete spends a lot of his time on the road and can cheat on his wife whenever he feels like it. And can afford to keep it all hush hush. Is this a crass way of putting it? Absolutely. But I have no doubt that it happens all the time. Look at the relationship of “Jon and Kate”. Their divorce papers stated that they’ve been separated for the past two years. Why didn’t that information come out? Because there was a lot of money at stake. (Supposedly Jon and Kate were paid $50,000 for each episode of their show). It’s easy to brush things off and play nice when the Cristal is flowing.
As I keep saying, there’s always an exception. Not every women who married a pro baseball player married him because of his money. I’m sure many of these women love their husbands. But if most people believe that there’s not “just one” person out there for everyone, it makes it a bit easier to choose when the difference is a two bedroom apartment or five bedrooms in a gated community. “Love” can be as simple that.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Sorry Nebraska, But You’re Boring
I just got back from a trip to Denver, because what else do I have to do? Seriously, someone tell me what I should be doing instead. Denver was great. Lots of friends, time with my new niece, and I bought some New Mexico green chili sauce. But the trip was brutal. I don’t mind driving, and a fourteen-hour drive is something I’ve become okay with. Actually, it’s kind of nice. Once you get past the first few hours and into that zone where miles pass and you wonder how you already made to Des Moines (and you half think to yourself “was I asleep for the past three hours?”), the driving pretty much takes care of itself.
I tried to find a bunch of local radio to listen to as I crossed through states, but really only found National Public Radio stations. I’d hoped to learn some bbq tips, the proper way to shuck corn, or irrigation techniques. Instead I heard about President Obama’s speech in Cairo. At least I stayed informed. Eventually though, I had to turn the radio off, because it just becomes noise and while I hear the words, I don’t process any of it and my ears start to tell me that they need some quiet. But then I go stir crazy because it’s just me. In a car. And miles to go before I sleep. I passed that time by making up songs about how much I hate Nebraska.
Seriously. Nebraska sucks. Well, I can’t say that the whole state is awful, but driving on I-80 through Nebraska is 455 miles of purgatory. I think to myself, “Good God, if I could just get out this state I know everything will be ok.” At least in Iowa I get to look at windmills. And Colorado is hilly (more mountainy I guess) and has a bunch of farms along the highway. But Nebraska is the driving equivalent of a Midwestern girl’s haircut: flat and unimaginative.
I’ve never driven through a more boring state. I’ve driven through Montana. I remember it took over eleven hours. Nothing compares to Nebraska. Though I’ve never driven through Kansas. People have told me that once they drove through Kansas they stopped complaining about Nebraska. Maybe that should be what’s on signs along the highway: “You’ll feel better about Nebraska once you drive through Kansas”. Instead of “Home of Arbor Day”. Really? Arbor day? That’s the best you can do? Don’t get me wrong, Arbor Day is absolutely important, but it doesn’t carry the same weight as, say, Flag Day (which in case you were wondering, is today-total coincidence).
Ok, I shouldn’t say that Nebraska is entirely barren. There is (inexplicably) an archway over the highway about halfway through the state. It tells the history of transportation in (and across) America. And in case you were wondering how exciting the museum itself is, one of the exhibit facts from the website is that a “[t]otal of 89,000 blades of grass appear throughout the show.” Way to go Nebraska. You manage to get less and less interesting the more I learn. Maybe next time I drive to Denver I’ll take the long through South Dakota. At least then I’ll have to come up with some new songs.
I tried to find a bunch of local radio to listen to as I crossed through states, but really only found National Public Radio stations. I’d hoped to learn some bbq tips, the proper way to shuck corn, or irrigation techniques. Instead I heard about President Obama’s speech in Cairo. At least I stayed informed. Eventually though, I had to turn the radio off, because it just becomes noise and while I hear the words, I don’t process any of it and my ears start to tell me that they need some quiet. But then I go stir crazy because it’s just me. In a car. And miles to go before I sleep. I passed that time by making up songs about how much I hate Nebraska.
Seriously. Nebraska sucks. Well, I can’t say that the whole state is awful, but driving on I-80 through Nebraska is 455 miles of purgatory. I think to myself, “Good God, if I could just get out this state I know everything will be ok.” At least in Iowa I get to look at windmills. And Colorado is hilly (more mountainy I guess) and has a bunch of farms along the highway. But Nebraska is the driving equivalent of a Midwestern girl’s haircut: flat and unimaginative.
I’ve never driven through a more boring state. I’ve driven through Montana. I remember it took over eleven hours. Nothing compares to Nebraska. Though I’ve never driven through Kansas. People have told me that once they drove through Kansas they stopped complaining about Nebraska. Maybe that should be what’s on signs along the highway: “You’ll feel better about Nebraska once you drive through Kansas”. Instead of “Home of Arbor Day”. Really? Arbor day? That’s the best you can do? Don’t get me wrong, Arbor Day is absolutely important, but it doesn’t carry the same weight as, say, Flag Day (which in case you were wondering, is today-total coincidence).
Ok, I shouldn’t say that Nebraska is entirely barren. There is (inexplicably) an archway over the highway about halfway through the state. It tells the history of transportation in (and across) America. And in case you were wondering how exciting the museum itself is, one of the exhibit facts from the website is that a “[t]otal of 89,000 blades of grass appear throughout the show.” Way to go Nebraska. You manage to get less and less interesting the more I learn. Maybe next time I drive to Denver I’ll take the long through South Dakota. At least then I’ll have to come up with some new songs.
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