| | My life began in 2005. Sure, I was born twenty years previous during the reign of Ronald Reagan and my first memories are from the government of George the First. But it was 2005 where I see the beginning of what I call life. It was February that year that I took my first drink. Several in fact. Made myself sick. So it goes.
2005 was the year I moved to the north Georgia town of Demorest to attend Piedmont College. I went there to learn from a friend of mine in the philosophy department. I had high ideas about what I would become. Maybe a priest, like David Seyle, my old mentor in south Georgia. Maybe a professor like Tim Lytle, my new mentor in Demorest.
Demorest is an old town. Dates back a long time. There had been a college there for over a hundred years. The Methodists started it but sold it because they already had a college in north Georgia. Sold it to the Congregationalists. This was the beginning of my time with the Congregationalists. Can't seem to get away from them.
Demorest had one main street that goes from Cornelia to Clarkesville, the seat of Habersham county. The part you could call town had a post office, a bank, city hall, some shops and such. Not much. Less than a city block. Kinda looks like a modern wild west town.
The college was across the street from “downtown.” It's main building, Daniel Hall, was a brick neo-Classical structure. It sat on a hill overlooking the quad which had a dining hall, a modern looking library with huge columns, and a gym that had been converted to a student center with a t.v. room, game room and a gym/auditorium. It was nice. Nestled in the foothills of the Appalachians.
Truly, the story starts a bit further back, in England. I had come to Piedmont, among other things, because there was a trip that would go to England, Scotland, and the homeland: Ireland. The plane ride was an uncomfortable nine hours next to a whiny assed bitch. There wasn't enough boos onboard to fix that problem, though I tried. Arriving in Manchester via London, we made our way to the Lake District. Nice country. The whole Wordsworth connection. Even saw some daffodils at Rydall. Didn't make it to Tintern Abbey. That would've been nice. Did read some of good William's work at Ullswater.
At Rydall I found a man with a twelve string guitar. He was there to play some worship music for the retreat. Played around with it. Found a kid named Brian that also gravitated to the instrument. Him and some duchebag. Later on the streets of Dublin Brian and I would find out we both like Dispatch. Found out by borrowing a street busker's guitar.
In Dublin me and a few others bought cigars at Fox's Wine shop near Trinity College. Some Cubans. I held onto mine until we got to Glendalough and smoked it with Dan Min while walking through the graveyard. John B was taking pictures while Dan and I talked. Good pictures and good conversation. I found a friend in Dan though we had little in common.
Dan was a year older than me. A kid of South Korean origin from Philadelphia. Saw a lot of racism in Philly. Even hated white people for a while. I'm glad he didn't hate me. He became a good friend. One of the best.
There was also Kara. Kara was nearly a nontraditional student in her mid twenties. She had the demeanor of twenty. Loved literature and was smart to boot. She had a hipster feel, short black hair and a southern accent she didn't seem to notice. Fit her.
Of course, there was the cute redhead, Michelle, who I would date in two years. Not now though. She had an Englishman back in Georgia. Funny how that works.
Back in Georgia, I started off back on the outside. I knew the people from the trip, but we hadn't talked since May. It was August. Found Brian though. Found him in the student center with a drum set and a guitar. We played some music. It was fun. He was too wild for me though. I was clean cut, conservative, and not looking to stir up any trouble. Brian looked like trouble. It was probably his hair.
Dan asked me if I got righteous. Didn't know what he was talking about. We made plans to smoke cigars in the park. Took a while to make that happen.
I got a job in Cleveland, Georgia working for my uncle. He owned a Huddle House there and I was gonna be a line cook. That took over my life. Between work and class, I had no time to hang out with people. Didn't really need 'em. I was there to learn my trade and any friends I made were just nice. But the UK group was persuasive. Even started a group called the Pirates of Lake Demorest. Beau was the captain. In Scotland he gave me my first cigarette. We had dressed nearly identically that day. We were going to see the Island of Staffa, where Mendelssohn got some inspiration. Didn't finish it. No smoking on the boat.
The Pirates were a core group a friends. Our first “adventure” was four people. Me, Brian, Kara, and Beau. Under the cover of darkness we went to a sliding rock, drank beer and slid down the rock. The water chilled to the bone. The beer helped with the warmth problem. Got smashed that night. We had a great time. Kara lost Brian's phone in her breasts when we stopped for a piss. How does that even happen?
After the fall semester I quit the job at Huddle House and became a full time friend. We had too much fun. One time we cooked up Jello™ shooters. The RA, Zitka, knew where to go. He walked in and said he could smell the alcohol in the lobby. We were lucky. He was one of us. One of the Pirates. It was like Fight Club that way. We were family. You don't fuck with family.
It was Dan who opened my eyes. He asked me if I had heard of Dylan. Who hadn't? I even had an album. Didn't listen to it. Dan gave me several Dylan albums. Changed my life. I was born when I heard his music. I never heard anyone sing truth. Most of what I had heard was Christian music. Thought they had something to say. Turns out I was wrong. They just kept saying the same thing. Jesus is good. Isn't that nice. Means nothing. “The Times Are a'Changin'” says something.
We had our own problems then. 9/11 was the beginning of a war that no one seemed to have anything to say. Everyone took for granted that war was inevitable and no one took pause to think. And no one wrote anything to ask questions. Now, questioning the war is in vogue. It's easy to criticize a failure. It's harder to question a popular idea that is bound to be a failure.
Dylan questioned the way things were. He would never say that he expected his music to make a change. They may not have, but they were the words of the other side. Even forty years later they were fresh. That's a hard trick to pull off.
In the Pirates, I found a group of people that inherited that '60's rebellion. We were dissidents. Contrarians. We published our own magazine, an existential piece of work. Good stuff. We took the school paper by storm. Didn't let bullshit go unpunished. We retaliated with our own bullshit response. We were our own lifeforce. At once hated and loved by the campus at large. We were identified as “the Pirates.” A loose nomenclature. Could be a term of endearment or scorn. Just depended on who was talking.
It was in this world that I came alive. Was born anew. Was born again.
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| | Posted 12/5/2007 2:50 PM - 83 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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