living alone with a grandfather clock

Well after a substantial hiatus from posting (deservedly so) I return to bring you some updates and pandering.

To begin I will bring you up to speed on the last week: Since we last spoke I have traveled through Utah, Wyoming, Nebraska, Iowa, and reached my new home of Champaign, Illinois. Let's just say that, well, most of this country is beautiful, but a lot of it in a very ugly sort of way. You know that kind of ugly that mesmerizes and leaves you impressed (think MST3000 kind of stuff). That's the kind of ugly found in most of Nevada, Utah, and Wyoming. These states were dry, barren, unlivable. But they were majestic. I could't take my eyes off of the salt flats... they took me in like a grandmother's cheek-pinching embrace. Now, this may not have been the case if I had been in each of these places longer than a deep sigh, but I enjoyed them nonetheless. Now Nebraska, Iowa, and Illinois are a different story. These states have their charm... you know... the flowing prairie land and rolling hills, the meandering creeks and miniature groves of trees, the water towers and the miles of corn and soy. But that is really all (admittedly at least that is all along 80). By mid Iowa I felt like the corn was ready to attack... and where were the farmers, the tractors, the horse and buggy Midwestern stuff.... nowhere. I got sick of it, and quick. And oh boy do they love their fire and brimstone (and FOX News). Try eating breakfast at a roadside motel while Glenn Beck is shouting at you and EVERYONE around you is nodding their head whispering Obama this, socialism that... while you sit their eating yogurt wearing Birkenstocks... ya, uncomfortable. But, the Bible belt is a part of this country and although it holds up the sagging waistline of our nation I appreciate it all the same, even in its overwhelmingly whitewashed sameness.

Champaign is nothing like Iowa. Champaign is nothing like Nebraska. Ahhhhhh. When we (finally) pulled into Champaign after 5 days on the road I was revitalized. I looked around me and saw comforting things I hadn't seen in days: libraries, hybrid cars, good looking 20-somethings, coffeeshops, bars that didn't have American flags hanging by the door... it was nice to be back in a college town. And Champaign truly is that. This place has a very Chico-like feel, but like Chico the students aren't all back yet so the feeling may change. More to come on that.

But I moved into my house and I love it. It is a perfectly sized 1 bedroom in a great part of town. I have everything moved in and stuff on the walls, even found an amazing drop-leaf dining room table and a couch for 150 bucks total at a great thrift store. I'm really happy in that place. I will post pictures very soon. And as a bonus I even got my old family grandfather clock working... I love this clock, I used to sit and stare at it as a child waiting in anticipation for the bells to chime and count off the hour. I have always been oddly fond of clocks that tell me what time it is... why should I have to do it?! And this clock is beautiful. It easily makes my living room, turns it from cool to "oh sweet that is badass". The thing is like my roommate. Its comforting, makes little noise most of the time, and I only have to pick up after it once a week to raise the weights. But that leaves me to my dilemma, and it is one I hope you can give me feedback on. I think it may be too loud at night. I can hear my neighbor above me and I think I heard him close a window last night when it went off at midnight. Should I turn it to silent or wait for him to say something? I'm not sure. I don't want to piss people off early but I (clearly) love this thing.

Let me know what you think and that is all for now!

Cody

Ahem...

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so. 
-John Berryman in Dream Song 14

I can't say that I fully agree with good ole Johnny boy there, but I do love a good contradiction. You see, Berryman does believe this and he says it anyways. I remember the first time I read this poem, I literally laughed out loud then squirmed uncomfortably in the library chair that had smelled the least like napping homeless guy that day (aka JB himself). Was he right? Am I boring? Is he wrong? Is he twisting my nipple on purpose here? Nowadays, especially since I am writing this in a Comfort Inn in Thankgodiwasn'tbornhere, NV, I know it to be both and I think Berryman did too. But what we often forget is that life is really boring sometimes. Berryman knew this. So what do we do about it? Well, he found his oatmeal tasted best alongside a nice glass of Cutty Sark. I, on the other hand, am on a mission to find this boredom as amusing as possible, because goddamn it in the end, life is pretty fucking amusing if you want it to be.

So, it is in the honor of the contradictions in life that I start this blog. I hope to write to understanding that life is humorous and hard. I hope to share with you the good things I find along my way, the amusing shared tales of misery and general badassness, decent to great music, trials and tribulations of teaching, life in the midwest, smart to stupid people, and everyone and anything else in between that comes my way. I hope in the process I can remember the general things that define my days and that all of you can share a piece of that absurdity.

I will get better at this.

CJC