BG, Birkenstocks & Home

PART ONE: It’s Not the Place—It’s the People
The weekend of Black Swamp and the start of football season, I was in BG. I bought the ticket a few months ago, so I had plenty of time to anticipate and list all the stuff I wanted to do, people to see, food to eat. I went to Howard’s. I went to a house party. Did the Black Swamp thing. Ate Corner Grill, Miles, Pagliai’s, and had cookies delivered from that new shop—by the way, what a brilliant fucking idea…hot cookies delivered to your door. Hmmm, wonder what inspired that idea.

Anyway, I very quickly realized that, other than thoroughly enjoying the rain and my hangover breakfast at the Grill, my connection to BG has absolutely nothing to do with the place, but the people in it. Black Swamp left something to be desired; although, the student art was pretty okay. Discounting the Sanderlings and the Dirtbombs ‘cause they rocked my socks off, Howard’s sucked and cost $5 BOTH nights. The food I had craved didn’t taste as glorious as I expected it to.

Ballmer and Brian and Chris and Finders were the reasons I went to BG. I could have done ANYTHING with them and it still would have been just as fun. That weekend brought out the rowdy in me—HEY! FUCK YOU!—and reminded me how beautiful the long and lasting connection between truly great friends can be. I hope each of my boys left in BG finds whatever is looking for them: music, art, poetry… To recycle and alter an overused movie quote: We’ll always have BG.


PART TWO: Life According to Birkenstocks
When I was in BG, someone spilled an entire 40 oz. of Natty on my Birkenstocks, which were already close to kaput (and I had a new pair in the mail already), so I threw them out. I’ve realized that I can frame my life according to the Birks I’ve owned and I thought I’d share some memories with you…

(1) The Milano - 1994-1998: My first pair. Wore them to Woodstock ’04 with my dad. Almost lost them twice: once to the mud, once to a tripping hippy. Puked on them after a bad whirl myself. Bought them when I started high school. Retired them right after I graduated.

[The Boston: At some point between high school and college, I bought me some leather clogs. Smart money spent there. With a nice pair of wool socks, those clogs, which I still have, got me through many a chilly-toed winter. Hopefully it will be “cold” at least once this year, so I can break them out.]

(2) The Florida - 1998-2003: These ones experienced my brief stint in Rhode Island. ‘Nuff said. Felt like Jesus I walked around BG so much. College years narrowed my focus on shoes to Birks, Docs, and Chucks (sounds like some whitebread hip-hop group). Retired them right after I got my BFA.

(3) The Granada - 2003-2007: Bought these right before I went to Italy. Bad idea to break in new sandals walking around Italy for a month. The blisters went well with the killer mosquito bites. Wore ‘em all through grad school. Went with me to dozens and dozens and dozens of wicked good shows. Retired them two weeks ago in Chris’ kitchen trash can.

(4) The Sparta - 2007… New job. New pad. New side of town. New homies. Seems appropriate to be breaking in new Birks as I settle in to my new life. CHEERS!


PART THREE: Only Slightly Settled
Speaking of settling into my new life with my new Birks, let me slightly adjust that statement. I am generally unpacked. I have a few piles of stuff to be put away: knickknacks, Steelers stuff, random office supplies. The main thing left undone is the massive hanging of the art. I have quite the collection now—between trading my paper-writing skills for friends’ art and arts festivals and family heirlooms, I am starting to amass a collection that might, possibly, somewhat rival my aunt Dana’s. I have promised Chara a box of wine; Chara has promised me her “help me hang pictures” services.

Other than that, I’ve figured out the off-campus shuttle, which only occasionally comes on time. I know where my bank and grocery store and Walgreens are located. I’m working on discovering the best restaurants and delivery joints, but, as with any new city, that takes time. I’ve learned how to tune out the train tracks and the flight plan. I am spending more time outside in my glorious, sidewalk- and tree-lined neighborhood. I’m feeling almost settled. And, once the art is on the wall, and the miscellaneous crap is squared away, I will feel at home.

P.S. For those of you who don’t already know, before I moved, Dante was missing for a few days. I finally found him and, soon after, discovered a gaping hole of a wound on his back. The vet found other such wounds (already healed) as well. He surmised after a blood and litmus test that someone had been shooting my darling kitty with a BB gun. He was on medicine for 10 days. Unfortunately, he still spends most of his time hiding and being scared. He seems to want to be near me a lot more and he REFUSES to go outside. I think those jerk-offs shot the personality out of my cat. So, pray that Dante returns to his curious, intelligent, brave former cat self.