This Town Is A Sealed Tuna Sandwich

I have to say, as much as I love my parents and siblings...I personally have my limits. In all truth, they do, too. Though my mom will always indicate otherwise, usually when I'm about to leave. What irks me about that is she will refer to herself in the third person as if I'm in diapers and sucking my thumb rather 21 years old and capable of driving: "When are you going to see Mommy again?"

To answer that question, avoiding the embarrassing and childish implications of her delivery, when they're willing to make the drive to Bloomington. I've been on the receiving end of a complaint that (don't laugh) there's nothing to do in Bloomington besides go out to eat, and that there's no place to just sit and talk.

Don't worry, I'm confused by that one, too.

For the record, I have a lot of work to do this semester: projects, reading, group assignments, the possibility of a job.

Unofficially, I don't like coming home. Talking politics is almost pointless. Dad still supports the Iraq War, based on information the general public had in March 2003. What's more is, tonight on Countdown, Keith Olbermann was reporting on the Pentagon's findings that the war is turning out to be complete bullshit. Mom and Dad were in the room...and missed it because Mom was clamoring over something or other in the paper. So much for educating him.

With Mom, it's an uphill trek, but at least it registers. After holding her hand and showing her there's more going on in the world than the CBS affiliate in Indianapolis reports on - mainly by watching Countdown with her in the room, updating her even when I'm not here on what's going on in the world - and she'll catch on. But I was still asked the inevitable dumb question Friday night: do you think Obama will have Clinton as Vice President or vice versa?

I told her it is stupid that Hillary would discredit Barack in terms of his preparedness to be commander-in-chief only to turn around and make him VP.

At the end of the day, though, she's still a victim of White America's fear-mongering, perpetually frightened of me getting killed by a drunk driver (and voicing this concern before I hit the road to go home) and/or her getting raped and murdered by the same charcoal police sketch of a hooded sweatshirt-wearing African American male that WISH-TV in Indianapolis shows five times a night as a murder suspect, a robbery suspect, an arson suspect, and as a guy who tossed his infant in a dumpster.

Too much paranoia. She heard on one show or another about teens getting together, pouring their prescription pills into a brandy glass, grabbing a handful, and taking them to see what will happen. And moreover, she asked me if I knew anybody who did it! Much like Oprah propagating horror stories of "rainbow parties" and "the secret life your teen has online", I had to explain to Mom that these so-called plagues upon my generation are actually fairly isolated incidents, and that the real threat to young adults, teens, and adolescents are politicians and our own apathy/self-centeredness (which I guess we can thank HER generation for, to some extent. Not her or my dad specifically, but the whole "Me Generation?" Come on.)

I also said one night that on the whole, life in America is safe and, to quote myself, "pretty cushy." With the brand of naivety I could maybe expect from a child, she asked, "Then why does the news only talk about [don't laugh] icky stuff?" This resulted in my explanation that while crime rates are fairly low, media coverage of crime has increased something like 1200%.

To think she raised not one, not two, but three children - one of them being me? Sometimes I'm surprised I turned out the way I did. But then, all I have to do is look around and find out how seriously messed up some of my peers' home lives were/are...and then I realize I was actually pretty damn lucky to be raised by two loving (if at times a little unfair, over suspicious, and overprotective) parents.

So...beyond the lack of informed debate around these parts - my brothers watching the news? Ha! - there's still the whole church thing. I don't think I can make my point any clearer, but when Mom gave me the usual "Missed you this morning" on Sunday, my response of "I don't go because it's not what I believe in anymore" was met with, "You mean you don't believe in God?" I've told her before that I'm monotheistic, and that no religion is completely right or completely wrong.

*slaps forehead*

I couldn't help but notice my poll results on the sidebar. The big one is you guys are aching to know who my Valentine was - and still is. Now, before I even entertain the notion of disclosing this information, I need to know who you all are. Because I've gotten 19 votes for it...and I'm sure as Hell not getting that many comments on my entries. Even then, that information might be on a need-to-know basis. For one, it can't be anybody with the same last name as me - or a fiance thereof.

The main reason for that is I just want as little parental meddling as possible. She feels the exact same way - one of the things we have in common.

In other news, the past 2 years of me thinking an old friend of mine from Seymour regularly rejects my calls has come to a surprisingly positive conclusion. He constantly gets voicemails from his mother, so when he sees he has one, he'll generally ignore it - thinking it's her. The solution to this is simple, and one I've wanted to minimize my usage of the telephone (a modern convenience that I'd rather do without most days), and that is text messaging. With a text message, you know who it's from, it can be brief and succinct:
"Hey if you're not working give me a call"
As opposed to a voicemail:
"Uh...hey...it's...me. I was, uh...calling to see if you wanted to hang out. I guess you're at work...or something. Anyway, just give me a call whenever you get this...if you're available. All right...uh...bye."

Call me crazy, but leaving a voicemail is such a graceless form of communication. You have to sum up a phone call into roughly a minute (less it gets boringly long), and you're to deliver on cue: "after the beep."

That all said, I ought to assume better from people I know as well as I've known this guy.

I know for sure I'll see my parents when I have to move stuff into the apartment I'm living in this summer - something I'm excited for. Given that last year I slept on a love seat in the living room of the shittiest off-campus housing one could find, to have a bedroom...where I'll have a bed, a dresser, a closet, a desk...definitely a step up.

I've already started thinking what I'd bring from home (lamps, posters, etc.) That alone just gets me ready to move out of the dorms.

Other than moving out, I don't know...I don't want to come back for Easter (and why should I?), a visit is much easier for them than me (an afternoon in Bloomington versus Friday to Saturday night in Seymour by a longshot, even though there is apparently nothing to do in the town I call home), and until Eric finally gets married and moves out I can either expect bad vibes or him being evasive. It pisses me off, him acting like I'm not even here.

One other thing: they bought me a Bible with my name embossed on it for Christmas (even though I told them I didn't want or need it, to the point that I said I would never use it - prompting what I call subtle forcefulness on Dad's part, where he just simply asked me in a polite tone if I wanted it black or red), but they barely give me spending money ($50 for gas and "personal expenses." Yeah, filling up is $40, so that gives me ten bucks to go to the movies, then buy a soda from a vending machine.), they neglect to reimburse me if I loan Mom money simply because she doesn't want to drive to the bank, or...you know what? The worst example doesn't bear mentioning. Let's just say that in all reality, they owe me a LOT of money - and have since October 2006 - and the way it was passed off, effectively ending the discussion, is something meritorious of being taken to court.

To end, I've got some other unrelated news: my brother Nick has chosen Ball State as his school of choice. While I'm only slightly disappointed, I have to remember any optimism I had towards us being at the same school was Utopian at best. I would be expected to monitor him (oh God...or vice versa), he would qualify for that "need-to-know" basis for who I'm dating (which...yeah, that would be a disaster: he'd tell the instant I pissed him off about something), and I don't have to worry about that remote possibility of being his chauffeur.

The only real downside of all this? He'll probably want me to come visit him. Or Mom will insist I go up to the crotch-rash of a town that is Muncie on Parents/Family Weekend.

Guess I'll have an unbreakable commitment that weekend...to myself.

Alex

PS - No news from New Albany regarding Hobbyhorse. I'm wondering if I should stop pretending to hold my breath. Or if I should feel bad for having stopped holding my breath since about mid-January.

PPS - As a little teaser for next time: Geraldine Ferraro? Total racist.
And Hillary Clinton? Once more, proving herself to be a self-aggrandizing reptile who will stop at NOTHING (including cheating) to win.
Also - I'll have a few words on the display of fervent but blind loyalty Dems have towards either candidate, and what it reminds me of. (Hint: think about eight years ago, and his four-lettered last name is not "Gore.")