My roommate saw me feelin' blue and whisked me up to Binghamton, NY- which is one of the most interesting places I've ever been. It was like the long-lost twin sister of the town I grew up in, and being there gave me a kind of culture shock that just slapped me back into reality and out of my dreariness.
Day One was our arrival. She and I both rolled out of bed at about 9:00 am that morning and began the four-hour drive to her hometown. I tested out a playlist that I've been compiling for our "Southern Fried Road Trip '09" to see if it was good driving music, and I'm happy to say that it is a successful playlist, with just enough dead people, black people, banjos, and blues.
We arrived at her house- which is a LARGE, red, incredibly strange post-modern structure that stuck out like a sore thumb on the snow-covered mountain, and then took showers and got ready to meet a couple of her friends.
We went to the Cyber Cafe West- which is where I first realized that I was in a very different place.
Listening to Rachel and her friends talk about all of the artists in town and compare their work was just the greatest. These kids, they talk about the local artists and compare tastes and preferences of student artists, as if this were the NY Times, y'all. They started comparing student photography, talking about the differences in pictures from one high schooler to the next, and then segued into who was dating whom immediately. I was impressed.
That night we went to what they called "First Friday"- which is an art gallery walk, basically. I met Rachel's high school art teacher, who kept calling me Mia.
The next day we got up early and ate at the Broadway Diner. I had lunch with some more of Rachel's friends and listened to them reminisce and pick apart the lives of their other friends and enemies.
Then, Rachel needed to get a hair cut, so we went to the Daniel Louis Salon- where, Rachel warned me, Daniel would talk to me and shit-talk "the 607" area. We get there, and Rachel goes into the salon area to get her hurr-did while I'm sittin' in the waiting room, trying to inconspicuously scribble on a script. It was hard, because there was this three or four year old girl who kept coming up to me and handing me pieces of paper to draw on or fold into samurai hats for her. At one point she reached up and grabbed my lip ring and said "What's this?" so I grabbed her little pierced earlobe and said "Same as this." I'm glad her mother wasn't around for that. I may have insured that little girl's acceptance of facial piercings.
Daniel himself did indeed come out, and immediately asked me how I liked the place, and told me that he gets so sick of the town that sometimes he just comes home and says to his wife "City. This weekend. Let's go." He started suggesting places for me to go visit, namely Ithaca.
(You'll see that this becomes a trend- people kept suggesting places for me to visit.)
I started eavesdropping on Rachel's conversation with the stylists after the little girl left (taking all those pieces of paper with her. Her mother is going to have fun with that load of laundry if she doesn't check that child's pockets before sending it through.) and I realized what a small-town celebrity Rachel is. She was talking about the films, and about me, and I just beamed with pride while I was sitting alone in the waiting room. To them, she is making movies in the city, and that is all that matters. That she escaped the town.
After that, we went to Steve's Vintage. Rachel had told me stories about this place before, concerning a pair of Lucite-platform heels in a size 5 that she called "Baby Stripper Shoes" and sure enough, there they were, in all their baby-ho-bag glory. Steve himself is a riot. He talked to me for two hours, and kept handing me pieces that sure enough, were perfect and that I loved. When we were leaving about two and a half hours later, he hugged me and said he had "post-partum." I spent sixty dollars on a nice dress, two belts, a vintage t-shirt from Rachel's high school (she rolled her eyes at this one), and a Lacoste cardigan. While Steve and I were talking, he started giving me suggestions of places to see, things to do, etc.
That night, we built a transgendered snow-man named Merle.
That's the sweater I bought. And yes, Merle has breasts and a mohawk. Those are Rachel's friends, Harry and Stephanie.
The kilt I'm wearing is my high school uniform that I found in Rachel's closet.
The longer you live with someone, the harder it is to distinguish belongings I've found.
I loved it there. I didn't want to come back. I was so enamoured of Rachel's friends and life and small town. She promised me we'd visit again soon, and I'm planning on shooting my senior thesis there.
Before, I had always loved pulling stories out of Rachel about her hometown and her friends and family, and then when I finally got to meet the people behind the legends, I was literally star-struck. That's what it felt like, meeting this people I knew so much about. And then- when they knew about me too, because I'm in a lot of her stories, I just about planted roots down right there and made myself home.
On Sunday morning, Rachel suggested we started planning our route out for our "Southern Fried Road Trip '09" which did wonders to brighten my spirits as well. Over spring break, the two of us, along with a select group of people we can imagine ourselves being stuck in a car with, are going to drive down to Atlanta, over to Birmingham, over to Oxford, up to Memphis, up and over to Nashville, and then up, up, up to Long Island. We're taking Rachel's dad's Suburban BEAST on the road. And, Mom, don't worry, we'll take a boy or two too to insure our safety.
The town is failing. A big plant dried up and people lost jobs, all before the economy tanked, so the place is not doing so well. People are into art and skilled trades, but I met a lot of kids who wanted to go to college, but couldn't because of the money, and can't get a job because of the economy. It made me sad. And grateful. I realized for the first time what a weapon my education is.
I realized, too, what Rachel must have gone through in high school- always being the smartest person in the room. And how hard that must have been. We went to a party one of the nights, and her friend Harry told me "Get ready for no one to understand what you're saying." and sure enough, after attemping to converse with a few people, I scuttered back to Rachel's friends laughing at my failure at communications with the more inebriated individuals.
Seeing those kids. The degenerates, the dumb, the drug-addicts, the drunks, and the disorderly- made me feel like I could breathe again. I am far from home. In the cold. Making films. Because I am ambitious. And smart. And competitive. I will not end up that way, dropping out of school to pursue the management track at Target.
So many of them are incredibly talented artists, which terrifies me- they are stuck in that town for financial reasons, and their voices are just drowning in a sea of financial woes and the Bermuda Triangle Small-Town Syndrome that just takes over people's lives, and sucks them down, never to resurface them. I'm so scared for these artists.
And then I get back here- and see my friends- who are talented, and plodding along through school just like I am, and I can breathe again. Rachel's going to be okay. Harry is going to be okay. Colin is going to be okay. They're going to make it. We are going to be just fine.
I also got back to Long Island to see the snow cowering in fear from a Spring sun, which makes me feel just fine.
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