Paint Me a Picture
Got back yesterday from a whirlwind trip to Manhattan with Oldest Daughter. We had a fabulous time . . . we walked all around the city, holding hands, and talking. She is too thin! No Freshman 15 for her. So I tried to stuff her with good food and pretzels from the sidewalk guys. It is so wonderful to know she is pursuing her musical dreams. The bonus, of course, is that I was in New York City.
So we were on 5th Avenue watching the Columbus Day Parade. During parades, cars can periodically cross at even streets, pedestrians at odd. We were at 54th. This old couple, well-dressed, comes up and wants to cross and the cop near us tells them no. They start arguing. They tell him he's an idiot . . . they go on and on about having to go out of their way ONE block. Cars are RUSHING through the intersection during a break in the marchers, and they are whipping awfully close to them--and the cop--as only Manhattan drivers can. Finally, the cop told them if they didn't move they would be hit by a cab (which came PRETTY close), and they shuffled off, CURSING him under their breath. The cop looks at me and says, "Nice old lady." I was reminded for the thousandth time that my hometown isn't like any other hometown.
Living where I do in Virginia, I dislike how homogenous it is. I hate that my kids have the ONLY Hispanic surname in their classes. When they occasionally stumble on a Gonzalez or a Martinez, I am practically giddy! In NYC, because all the cops were directing parade traffic, I saw every cop's name on his or her badge. Irish, Vietnamese, Italian, Spanish, and every possible enthnicity of last names under the sun. I saw many, many hajibs (Muslim head coverings) as I walked along, I saw several Siekhs in turbans and long beards. I heard every possible language I think, as people walked past us chatting in their native tongues on their cellphones. The guy who sold us Oldest Daughter's pretzel was Lebanese--and very funny.
But if you have never lived in New York, you might not know. You might guess at this melting pot, but the rainbow is really astounding. So bringing it back to the writing . . . my opening scene in Freudian Slip has a siekh driving a cap with a Buddha bobblehead on his dashboard and a picture of Pope John Paul II paperclipped to his viser. I tried to paint my city the way I see it. Oldest Son has an English teacher. He had to write an essay and he mentioned candy canes in it. The teacher, for Oldest Son's rewrite, said, "Add more description. Don't assume I know what a candy cane is or what it tastes like." So the essay was turned in again with glowing description of peppermint.
My trip to New York was a writing reminder that you shouldn't assume. Paint a picture--not back story, don't drown it with boring details--but slip it in there. You know, come to think of it, that's why Travis's My Town Monday blogs are so fun.
So tell me a detail about where you live. Something you'd have to be observant or an insider to know.
So we were on 5th Avenue watching the Columbus Day Parade. During parades, cars can periodically cross at even streets, pedestrians at odd. We were at 54th. This old couple, well-dressed, comes up and wants to cross and the cop near us tells them no. They start arguing. They tell him he's an idiot . . . they go on and on about having to go out of their way ONE block. Cars are RUSHING through the intersection during a break in the marchers, and they are whipping awfully close to them--and the cop--as only Manhattan drivers can. Finally, the cop told them if they didn't move they would be hit by a cab (which came PRETTY close), and they shuffled off, CURSING him under their breath. The cop looks at me and says, "Nice old lady." I was reminded for the thousandth time that my hometown isn't like any other hometown.
Living where I do in Virginia, I dislike how homogenous it is. I hate that my kids have the ONLY Hispanic surname in their classes. When they occasionally stumble on a Gonzalez or a Martinez, I am practically giddy! In NYC, because all the cops were directing parade traffic, I saw every cop's name on his or her badge. Irish, Vietnamese, Italian, Spanish, and every possible enthnicity of last names under the sun. I saw many, many hajibs (Muslim head coverings) as I walked along, I saw several Siekhs in turbans and long beards. I heard every possible language I think, as people walked past us chatting in their native tongues on their cellphones. The guy who sold us Oldest Daughter's pretzel was Lebanese--and very funny.
But if you have never lived in New York, you might not know. You might guess at this melting pot, but the rainbow is really astounding. So bringing it back to the writing . . . my opening scene in Freudian Slip has a siekh driving a cap with a Buddha bobblehead on his dashboard and a picture of Pope John Paul II paperclipped to his viser. I tried to paint my city the way I see it. Oldest Son has an English teacher. He had to write an essay and he mentioned candy canes in it. The teacher, for Oldest Son's rewrite, said, "Add more description. Don't assume I know what a candy cane is or what it tastes like." So the essay was turned in again with glowing description of peppermint.
My trip to New York was a writing reminder that you shouldn't assume. Paint a picture--not back story, don't drown it with boring details--but slip it in there. You know, come to think of it, that's why Travis's My Town Monday blogs are so fun.
So tell me a detail about where you live. Something you'd have to be observant or an insider to know.
posted by Erica Orloff at 6:57 AM
40 Comments:
I *heart* NY. My closest friends (Chinese, Muslim, Korean, Hispanic, etc.) live there, so I love visting. Especially during Christmas when everything is lit up and the storefront windows are a feat in themselves.
After six years in NC, I honestly don't know. I guess the one thing I didn't know was possible was fried peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at the state fair. Then I learned about the friend Twinkies, Snickers, and anything else they can batter up. Nasty! I can feel my throat close just thinking about it.
IMHO, I think hard it's to find a lot of different cultures in the south. It's getting better, but it'll be a long time before it gets to NYC's level. Guess I'll have to tough it out because the weather and opportunities here are worth it. ;-)
Hi Marcia:
We always go to our local county fair. I love seeing all the 4H displays! But the food? OMG--heart attack on a plate. They have EVERYTHING fried you can imagine. There's also this one food booth always set up that serves ham and green beans. Can you IMAGINE that in NYC at a fair? Up north, it's sausage and peppers--which you cannot find down here.
E
Richmond Va: cobblestone streets that rumble past a small bookstore where the owner knows your reading tastes and a nearby restaurant serves Chesapeake pizza.
LaFollette Tn: In the darkest part of the hollows my best friend got pregnant at 13, she wasn't unusual. There's a graveyard on a small island in Powell Lake with markers so old the names have worn away. Sissy's husband died of black lung, she died of cancer.
Managua Nicaragua: 1972, children steal garbage in order to survive. A man comes to the door pleading for a while shirt so he will look good for his job interview.
Atlanta Georgia: 1981, race riot so intense teachers fled the school as chains, guns, and knives came out of lockers. Under the stairwell two girls were raped. When a fight broke out crowds didn't gather, they fled.
Richmond:
I love Kelly at the Fountain Bookstore. She is the best!
The other details . . . awesome/chilling.
E
Germany: you have to live here at least three years to know that Germans are friendly, warm-hearted people, because that's how long it'll take your neighbors to speak to you.
(There are exceptions. But the guy next door, who sold us our house, didn't speak to us for the first year; the retired couple on the other side haven't yet spoken to us in the ten years we've lived here; the lady across the street returned my waves after three years; and the one two doors down wouldn't even look me in the eye for six years---until I started shoveling her sidewalk.)
stephen:
Is that an indication of Germany? Or is there something shifty about you that they think you are a serial killer? ;-)
E
Erica, when I was 14, we moved to Louisville, Ohio. Talk about culture shock. Everyone was white and everyone dressed the same. It was like Stepford Wives. My old school had not only had a rainbow, but you also had the different groups, like preps, jocks, thrashers, etc. At Louisville, all the girls had the same haircut. I hated it all four years.
Stephen, when I stayed in Germany, I remember my host friend walking me around and pointing out the difference between the yards and houses of the Americans and the Germans, lol. Sad that there was a marked difference.
You’re inching along the main drag at 5PM, Small Town U.S.A. No feed and grain store with a tin roof. No lonesome train whistle blowing in the distance. No barbershop with a twirling red and white pole.
You feel gypped.
Instead are dozens of business signs, canceling each other out in some perverted Darwinian display of size and color; arrows pointing to the latest subdivision under construction; pickup trucks with huge tires and gun racks; banners on the church lawn demanding you to vote republican.
You drive through knowing that yes, this is indeed the way home, but still feeling as though you must have gotten lost somewhere along the way.
spy:
I went to a southern university (on scholarship or I never would have picked it) back in the 80s. My high school boyfriend was Puerto Rican and looked African-American and I had his pictures all around. To this day, I remember the girls on my hall shunning me. It was such an extreme culture shock to me, that I wanted to transfer out. A wise sociology professor sat me down and said, "If you can retain your sense of who you are in the face of bigots and in the face of peer pressure to conform, then your entire life, you will be able to be who you really are . . . and some people are 40 and 50 years old and STILL conform and STILL don't know who they are. So consider going here a gift . . . you will learn more about yourself here than if you went someplace where you feel more comfortable."
I think he was right. I developed a very clear sense of who I was and what I thought was right.
E
Jude:
Good one!
E
Oxford, Michigan, formerly known as the gravel capital of the world. It still has active gravel pits. Coming into town you might think, Wow, there's sure a lot of lakes here. As a matter of fact, there are. American Aggregates has been here over a hundred years, and when the pits play out, they become lakes, which they sell to developers, who then turn them into subdivisions built around lakes, some of which are very nice.
Lake Orion/Oxford, is the site of the first rails-to-trails system in the U.S., where abandoned railroad lines are turned into bike paths. You could bike for miles and miles around Rochester, Lake Orion, and Oxford and only have to get on a road for short bits (and I do, often).
I'm not sure it's a secret, but the very first Lone Ranger (which was a radio program out of Detroit), Brace Beemer, lived in Oxford, not far from where I live.
Mark:
How interesting!
And I am often reminded when I read comments like yours . . . or some of the others here today, that Google and so on are a blessing for writers. We can learn so much--but there's definitely SOMETHING you learn by being a native or visiting there . . . some intangible insider information or feeling.
E
I grew up on a street with cement steps, each staircase leading to two attached houses, which were both attached on each side to other houses. We shared walls with neighbors like in apartments and could see inside the window of our neighbor behind us as if we lived in an apartment building.
My street had no trees.
I live in Laguna Beach- and it's nothing like the TV show!
Your post made me miss my NYC years, I gave up my apartment 2 years ago and sometimes I REALLY miss it! The diversity, the humanity parade, the ability to get a great bowl of steamed mussels, pommes frites, and a good glass of red wine at 1:00 AM . . .
Hey Erica, smalltown TN here. My favorite place is the boatdocks. The one we use has a small cafe/store on a knoll where you can chat with the owner and buy refreshments.
An old gas pump sits on a long dock where boats line up and tie off. The kids jump off the boats, and race into a small building to buy icecream.
When you jet across the lake, icecream coated smiles, and laughter trail the waves. Another beautiful day in my world.
Amy:
No trees? WOW . . . a tree even grows in Brooklyn. ;-)
E
alyson:
Ever eat at Le Tours? Best pomme fritte and mussels in the city!
E
ladonna:
I used to vacation every year on Sanibel Island in Florida . . . and we'd go to Ft. Myers and eat at a place on the boat docks. Loved it.
E
Thanks for the My Town shout out. I can honestly say it has been a fun project and that I have learned a good many interesting things and now have a longer wish list of places I hope to visit.
My original hometown is very very white, but fortunately I got out at age 15. I had a similar experience at boarding school with the pictures on the walls & people making fun of them, but it was NKOTB and I quickly caved, lol.
The thing that strikes me most about Zihua is how Mexican it is. Yes, I'm in Mexico, but it's strange not seeing other races. When I flew home last month, my dad and I were in a Bob Evans and when we sat at our booth I said something like "I'm not used to seeing black people." Now, I'm the least racist person there is and I meant it as a good thing; it was NICE to see diversity. My dad, of course, shushed me, so l clarified just as loudly.
A weird thing about Zihua is all the trees are trimmed to accommodate people under 5'5". I have a 6' tall friend coming to visit next week and we'll have to avoid a few streets so she can get by!
Hi Travis:
Well . . . I love the Big Apple . . . and this weekend reminded me why. :-)
E
I love posts about New York, I have to visit there sometime because it sounds remarkably like home.
Let's see, my dad was Sicilian and grew up in Chinatown. When I was a kid, whenever we got sick he'd get either wonton or eggdrop soup and 7up (I can't taste either without feeling like I have a cold)
My friends were mostly first and second generation from somewhere else... Mexican, Italian/Sicilian, Bohemian, Polish, Irish, Korean, Czech, Slovak, German... as an adult I've also gotten to know Puerto Rican, Chinese, African (I don't know the particular regions, sorry), and a few others...
I think that's the best thing about living in a city, all of the flavors and voices become home to you.
melanie:
LOL! My parents live someplace with a HUGE Guatamalan population, and my mom is 5'10 and my dad 6'1" and they always feel like giants.
E
Hi Merry:
When people say NYC has a vibe, there really is no other way to describe it. It's uniquely New York, and I think for a long time, because New Yorkers are frequently loud, it got perceived as an unfriendly place. But really, at least to me, the melting pot means everybody just is themselves. I think it's very friendly.
E
I walk my dog almost every day along the curving roads of our subdivision. Each house is different -- and only a few are beige. Ours is cranberry red. Right now the trees are nearing their peak colors, and they're flaming beautiful in their beautiful, with orange, yellow, red and green colors. A couple of the lawns are natural, and I linger as we walk by, hoping Sky will decide to fertilize there and I won't have to pick up. One woman has her front yard all flowers and flowering shrubs. I wish I had her skill.
It's raining today, and I'm missing my walk. Sky is sprawled on the living room couch, staring out the front window, looking sad.
I live in a small town that believes it's a a big city. We have all the makings of one, but in April and October you can smell cow manure from a brisk wind. Whenever I travel and I'm on my way back, all I have to do is roll down my window and I can smell home. It's the type of place where you are invited to a non-relatives birthday party, but will ignore your cousin's invitation. It's a place where you can choose to watch the grass grow or go to the movies.
It's also a true melting pot of cultures. Lucky for me there are plenty of Mexican resturants nearby. I'd probably go into shock if I couldn't have real mexican food. Taco Bell doesn't count.
edie:
I love cranberry red--what a great house color!
E
melissa:
Nope. Taco Bell does not count. :-)
Luckily for us, a Mexican family owns a place near the house that is a very frequent out-to-eat spot for me and my kids. All the waiters know my Demon Baby.
E
Never been to NYC, though I have a lifelong desire to go.
I live in Chicago myself. Chicago is like a big small town. Everyone knows everyone (in the arts, that is). I I love living here. Summers in Chicago are terrific, with all the restaurants opening up the patios and people milling on the sidewalk, listening to the street musicians. Winters aren't fun, with that wind coming off the lake, but still. People here are pretty laid back. I gotta move to LA in two years, and I'm gonna miss the Windy City.
One block back from the water at the Huntington Beach pier, amid the morass of commercial retail outlets lining the street is Perq's, the original biker bar at the beach. They still have "Only Bike Parking" out front and play real Rock & Roll over the PA.
Across the street from the Newport Beach pier is the Crab Cooker, still in business after 57 years, and still a damn good meal.
The Little Saigon area of Garden Grove has he best Chinese food in the OC. Any restaurant will do... seriously.
The Sawdust Festival is an amazing amalgam of local artists just 'doing their thing', with bands, booze and an amazing little Greek restaurant in the far corner.
Every X-Mas the Newport Harbor Boat Parade is just flat out incredible. Folks dressing up their boats in lights, streamers... costumes for boats... LOL.
Hiking and camping up the Holy-Jim Trail near Santiago Canyon is transformative.
Surfing the long slow rollers at Old Man's or Dog Patch in San Onofre at sunset is about as much fun as you could hope for.
freddie:
Chicago also has some great pirogis! Good ethnic food!
E
Ewoh:
I'm ready to head to the beach!
E
I love hearing about everyone's towns! It makes me think that the world is a cool place, and maybe the politicians can't screw it up too much.
I live in Reading, PA - a small city an hour west of Phila. Before this I'd only lived in large cities like Boston or Philly. I love it! It's like a constant soap opera. My friends tell me all the gossip about everyone because they know how it cracks me up. It's highly entertaining.
The only drawback is the homogeneity, but that's getting way better. I was actually talking to my son about this the other day. He disagreed with me, and insisted that a Puerto Rican kid sitting next to him in detention wanted to beat him up.
I reassured him. "Honey, that had nothing to do with race. I want to beat you up, and I'm white and Jewish!"
I think I helped him feel better and to be more accepting of others.
Everybody in this town is either eating, or filling a prescription at walgreens. All we have here are foodies and doctor-approved drug addicts.
And everybody wants to know what church do you go to. There is a church on every street corner (and that's barely an exaggeration) and so the prime pre-occupation on everybody's mind here is: "What church do you go to." It gets asked of complete strangers. No one even realizes how inappropriate this question is.
If Jesus himself showed up in our town, they would ask him what church he went to. Of course whatever he said, they'd run him out of town.
Robin, LOL!
robin:
I always think most fear of "others" (however that is defined) is just that--fear. The more of a melting pot we are, the less people fear.
E
zoe:
I would never think to ask that question . . . that must be very strange.
E
The funny thing is, I grew up in this environment, so I didn't ever really realize it was strange until I met one of my good friends who moved here from Denver. She said that when they got here and got asked that question by a random stranger, that it was WEIRD.
She explained to me that most places, people aren't like this. I swear to God my town is like right out of a Shirley Jackson story.
Zoe:
HOWL! That is a brilliant comment!
E
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