hold on to your butts

Hold on to your Butts!  Luts of things to see places to know people the meet and posit the know.  Here in North Caroliney are the brass buckle shiny belts shiny, here in the east is a maple leaf feast, a moot modern mystery scheme stars local gossiping locals.  On Cinco de Mayo, met me a wife-o, took her and a knife-o down to the bayou, carved us a bed out of hickory-ash, wed neath the stars as fed the wild turkeys.  For here is the land of the sky, and every body wel-bred in Weaverville yes ma’am.  Tour a give and look a tip, fire up to car the downtown trip slice of glimpse of swimming night of through sleeps and sheets on a firm mattress.  Universe winks and the closing dead of darkness ?.......? but still the healthy harken of the first still sun of man.  Must be dawn when Peter Rabbit on the lawn, perks an ear for robin’s song, singing that she knew it all along.

Quick Prosedy

Sitting in the ampitheater park up on the side of mount tabor while the basketball players play and the bikers pedal past the runners jogging.  Some small child stepped in “Dog Poo!” and his dad keeps saying “walk this way son.”  Up tall flights of stone stairs past the water reservoir with signs saying “anyone who throws such and such into such and some is subject to the maximum whodahum as stated in subject three six one four of the Oregon such and suchamitee”.  Now sitting on green park benches as I said in the ampitheater park of small black porous gravel sprinkled on top by miniature yellow crispy leaves littered in all such corners.  The stage in front of me is backed by a chivalrous row of 12 or so cedars (red or yellow?) that I can imagine project the sound toward the benches:  “Nice acoustics Zarathustra.”  12 mid-height cedars standing to attention like 12 apostles.  Remember how Holden Caulfield was so put off by the 12 disciples.  He says “yeah but they were chosen at random, and all they ever did was get in Jesus’ way.”  I don’t know I mean I like the apostles, sure they’re frustrating like when they argue over who has the bigger biceps but I mean everyone knows they are only human.  As if that was some kind of excusable excuse.  “C’mon man, I’m only human.”  Yeah but the problem is that you are all human… I don’t know.  “Wait just a minute, you expect me to believe that all this misbehaving grew from one enchanted tree?  And helpless to fight it we should all be satisfied with this magical explanation for why the living die and why its hard to be a decent human being?”  Well yeah David Bazan what’s your problem with the myth of the tree and the fruit and the snake I mean its beautiful in a way.  At least its something right?  It’s an explanation.  Take it on faith or don’t take it at all, they say.  Like they say every sort of belief requires big faith whether you’re Richard Dawkins or Joseph Smith himself.  What I do like is when Bazan says well “in what medieval kingdom does justice work this way?”  And that to me is identifiable because you see I have this problem with history she never sat right with me and we haven’t spoken in weeks.  I have this thing like why should I come into this world cursed and broken and without a say, you know?  Guilty until proven otherwise I guess.  But something inside of me has always believed the opposite of everyone, even enemies, even friends, even God:  Innocent until proven otherwise.  You see I entered into this crazy story in the year 1986 when everything’s been pretty darn well established by now, you know?  Its not like there are any original ideas, you know?  Its not like it hasn’t already been tried or written.  If you haven’t read about it yet, that only means you haven’t found the right book, I mean it’s out there somewhere for sure.  And see when I came into this world in 1986… well, see the world is full of mini victories overshadowed by giant history-repeating failures and there’s always the haunting grandfather time wearing suit and a tie up behind the podium with a microphone clipped to his coat pocket everything smooth and black or white ironed and starched except for his hands.  His hands you can’t help but noticing how they are all wrinkled and cracked and worn, they are so full of sins you have no idea the depths of the canyons.  But he speaks into the mike with that ancient southern drawl “and there is nothing new under the sun.”  What?  That’s not even fair.  And I guess that’s what I’m getting at – it just isn’t fair.  When I was a kid I was obsessed with the concept and I don’t think it ever left me.  Of course when you’re a kid, fair only matters so that you can be sure you get yours.  And when I came into this world in 1986, I feel like I was somehow robbed of my portion, you know?  A life where I inevitably make mistakes that have already and will always be made but still somehow I’m supposed to feel guilty about it?  Like I shouldn’t have done those things?  But it was inevitable.  But I could at least feel sorry for doing those things.  Well screw that.  Screw feeling sorry or bad or guilty for the fruit that was already eaten, or even for eating the fruit when it’s the longstanding tradition you were born into.  What a tragedy when people are motivated into good deeds by guilt or shame.  From now on I feel lucky, I feel blessed, but I’ll never feel guilty – for telling the truth or telling a lie or screwing up or succeeding, whatever that means… Traditions die slow, Joe.  When I was three years old I watched the Berlin wall fall down.  And when I was 23 years old I learned about the prejudice and the poverty and the downright unfairness that still goes on everyday between east and west Germany.  We’re always making these little victories and they always pale in comparison.  Which brings to mind Mom Teresa saying no great things are done only small deeds with great love.  I mean the damn civil rights movement was forty years ago and we still sit around making racist jokes.  And yeah, every once in a while I laugh, you know?  It doesn’t matter who or what or why or which color or which nationality or which party there is always the prejudice.  The “guilty until proven innocent” clause.  Man I hate that idea.  We’re all just so done up from the get-go.  But there was this one man who got it right.  Man he really got it right on the freakin nose.  The only thing in the entire universe that’s new and original and worthwhile is this selfless living bit.  Its so gosh-darn ridiculous that it makes sense.  It doesn’t even seem natural.  Deny yourself, live outside yourself.  Its so stupid that it makes me happy, I think.  I just wish people could come to live selfless lives because the love strikes them, or because they exhaust all the other roads to happiness and never find it, but not because they feel obliged.  I oblige you to do nothing son, but I trust the goodness inside you to work its way out – maybe that’s just too optimistic.  Anyway I see how my religion works, it was the history I was born into, choose it or not, and it works for me – but how foolish to spend your whole life convincing others that their birth-clothes are no good in comparison to yours.  Conversion’s such a finkish word, darling.  Work with what you were given, and just as you should never be proud for anything you were lucky enough to be blessed with, like your skin color, or your size, or your smarts, stop feeling guilty for the things you happened to inherit, it doesn’t help the situation.

sneak preview

tours are running full-swing this weekend at Navitat.  everyone on staff is super excited, all the guides are in motion and the slick new t-shirt designs are on display.  we've had lots of media/film/news crews out in the last few days.  below is a link to a cool, albeit long, video that really does a great job of advertising the course.  besides the crazy thrill of zip-lining, you get some great insight into the philosophy behind the course and it's design - two things that really set this course apart from others in the industry.

http://vimeo.com/11528611

times they are a-changin

here in Weaverville, NC, we get our kicks.

about 2500 people reside here: there are plenty of children, and plenty o' elderly, and its safe to say that brad joel garrison and I account for the town's mid-20s population.  most weavervillians work in nearby Asheville, many others work for Arvato Digital Services - the world's second largest replicator of CDs and DVDs and the towns most prominent facility. the Well-Bred bakery and cafe is our favorite hangout; we sit in the corner with our computers and watch as crowds of residents and the occasional flash-happy passerbys flow indoors and outdoors. the bakery is more often than not packed to capacity.  other than Well-Bred, the downtown Weaverville strip boasts furniture and pottery shops, a pizza joint and diner, a drug store, a town hall and a small park with a big old-fashioned lamp-post clock.

the current hot topic is a tuesday vote that will determine whether or not selling liquor by the glass becomes legal for the first time in town history.  there is a liquor store in town, but restaurants/vendors are limited to beer and wine.  a few days ago, I was writing in the bakery when an impressively annoying news reporter trailed by a large camera on legs went from table to table fishing for opinions on the upcoming vote.  I thoroughly enjoyed listening to the diverse array of opinions, and was proud of all my fellow townsmen.  Yesterday, a somber middle aged man made his position clear by standing in the middle of town with a giant sign around his neck (a universal sign of seriousness); it read: "liquor by the glass in not progress, it is a sin, vote no on tuesday."  I give him a ten for succinctness.  Tuesdays vote will show whether or not the campaign was successful, and I promise to keep everyone updated.

no lie, it's fun to be the boys from "out west."  for me, the West evokes sister-words like vast, open, young and new.  it's so fun to be in an area of the country champions a new set of characteristics, like maybe history, tradition, respect.  Of course, these are petty generalizations, and all fall apart once scrutinized, but there is no denying some blatant differences between "here" and "there."  Thomas Wolfe, a great early American author, grew up in Asheville and based many novels on the area.  Civil War memorials abound here; in fact, the land rented by our employer, Navitat, has a great history involving a father and four sons that all fought on different sides of the war, lived to tell about it, and continue to pass their property down through the generations.  

All this to say, it is exciting to be here in Weaverville, to plant roots in a new town, and to marvel at tradition so deep that all a newcomer can manage is to admire the budding spring leaves, much less try and comprehend the roots that are responsible for today.  A favorite quote from a favorite author goes something like "You would have to spend a winter here to even begin to understand."  After a few years of tossing this quote around in my head, I am really beginning to appreciate it's depth.  -  So here's to being a newcomer, and here's to being an old-timer.  And for the record, could I vote, I'd vote no on the new liquor proposal in Weaverville.  I honestly hope this town stays the same for as long as it can; and if I get thirsty, I'll just go to Asheville, it's cooler anyways.