Where do nice people live?

When we travel, we tend to meet people that are welcoming, generous, and helpful. I found all of these attributes throughout the past week.

Veggies, old world spirits, and southern hospitality in North Carolina's triangle.
Abundant herb, loud music, and slices of pizza in post-move Philadelphia.

You hear it all the time: Everyone was so nice. They all seem so glad you're there.

Then you go home, where no one cares. Sure, my parents were glad to see me, but the majority of Greensburg's population is indifferent.

And that's because I live here. I'm no visitor, no special guest, no sight for sore eyes. If anything, I'm the annoyingly androgynous youth on a bicycle, riding in the middle of a lane; or the hippie at the bank.

Of course, I'm not particularly thrilled to see most of the people in Greensburg either. The bike shops are barren and uncomfortable; the bars host too many former high school classmates; and the grocery stores have a weak selection of cheese.

Drinks enjoyed whole-heartedly with sour puss Joe McFadden in Pittsboro, NC.

I remember telling myself, before I left Philly, that I would appreciate the calmer environment here in southwestern PA, where it's quiet, laid-back, and more scenic.

The city seemed so anonymous//heartless//mean.

This is also a stereotype of the east coast; or rather, more specifically, the tri-state area including Philly, NYC, and New Jersey. Compared to the west coast, we're more cynical, less polite, and generally ugly.

So I left. And not to San Fran or LA, but to the once-thriving-but-now-sort-of-sleeping town called Greensburg. It's easy to say that people are nicer here, mostly because I don't really have to see anybody. Living without a job or a large social network enables me, at times, to see more dogs than humans.

But really, they're all the same. And when I go to other cities -- on either coast -- I meet more lonely, apathetic souls. Does that mean they're not nice? I guess not. It does mean that they're less likely to smile at a stranger, or engage in conversation. As am I.

Philly, as awful and unhealthy as it is, has a soft spot in my heart. Now, when I hear some goof laugh and gurgle about how much they love their professor, or talk animatedly about a poetry reading, I think about how much I miss my Philly. Conflict, man -- it makes me want to slap that goof across the face just to see what happens.

So where do the nice people live? And is it worth it to find them? You tell me.

Packin' up, gettin' rid of stuff - Pt. 2

Although it felt really good to see the clean, empty house in Philadelphia, I still had to confront all of the shit I owned when I returned to my parent's house in Greensburg.

It's great, though, because my dad is a lot like me when it comes to throwing things away (or I guess I should say keeping things). As I was going through my tools, for example, I would find odd nuts, bolts, hooks, and screws.

I would ask, "What is this? Could you use this?"

And he would say, "Well, I don't know. But I'll take it."

So I feel better because I didn't have to throw it away; and he will feel better in the event that he actually uses the thing that he took.

I went through a second filtering process that allowed me to purge some more belongings that I don't need; and simultaneously another sorting process that forced me to decide what I might want to see or touch in the next year or so, and what I have to forget for a while.

It's very strange to plan for spontaneity. Strategically packing boxes and suitcases so that I can come and go, quickly and easily. Suddenly, decks of playing cards, bottle openers, and sturdy socks have become very essential.

Of course, I can still hoard. Finding spaces in drawers and cupboards at my parents' house is easy. But I keep seemingly useless things because I'm sentimental about them; I like to look at them.

So, inevitably, I'm giving stuff up. For a little while.

Art work from friends and family, bric-a-brac from my yellow bookcase, my yellow bookcase, a great glass carboy for wine-making, ceramic teapots, and a lot of books & movies I never want to revisit now but I certainly will when they're 3000 miles away.

This kind of planning doesn't really leave a lot of room for a home, which supposedly has all these things that I'm packing away. While I know there will be times when I'm grateful for living out of only a couple suitcases and a backpack, I'm sure there will be other times when I feel like a lonely ex-patriate.

(For those of you who read ex-pirate, please remember and write down your first image upon finishing that sentence)

Change is a given. My parent's house doesn't look at all like where I grew up. My neighborhood in Philly will have transformed a few times in the next 10 years. And my suitcases will probably evolve, too.


3712 Brandywine by Ashley Hayes (the Aussie couchsurfer)


PS. I hope y'all don't think I'm materialistic because I talk more about the stuff I have than the people I know. I'm not getting rid of anyone -- at least not on purpose. So you'll all get your weepy goodbye eventually, especially if you buy me enough beers.