Adventures in Rural Michigan

Yesterday, I set out on a research trip. For my final paper in one of my classes, I have to research the economic development strategies of a town in Michigan. I chose Adrian, a small town of 22,000 about an hour away from Ann Arbor. The city sits away from all major highways, but after looking at Mapquest, I just knew that I would have no problem getting there. Well, I was wrong. I drove down 23 and connected to 12 with no problems, and I knew that my next turn down 52 would be around Saline. I drove through Saline and then past it, and I never ran into 52. I turned around thinking that I must have passed it already. I drove back into Saline and turned down Milan Road. In my experience, Michigan does a poor job at marking roads, so I proceeded down this road thinking that Michigan’s poor marking of roads would not fool me. Fool me it did! I ended up driving through the boonies of the counties of Washtenaw and Lenawee. I just kept driving and driving and driving. I figured that I would find my way and was bound on all sides by things I knew, like 23 on one side, I-94 on the other, and the Gulf of Mexico in the direction I was heading! Yes, eventually, I would find my way out. I faced many forks in the road, and I just made it a point not to take the dirt road option. The barns kept fooling me because I would see an elaborate set of them and think that there was Adrian. There was not a single gas station where I could stop and ask for directions (Yes, no gas would have prevented me from hitting the Gulf, in which case I expected all of you to be helping out in the manhunt for my car and me in the middle of nowhere), so after a good 30-45 minutes and many wrong turns, I called for help. Elizabeth graciously guided me out of my predicament. It turns out that I was far from where I needed to be, running parallel to the appropriate road the entire time, but one of the roads I passed linked me up with the road into Adrian.

Luckily, my inclination for punctuality put me on the road, oh, four hours before my scheduled meeting, so my country ride hurt me in no way and even ate into the ridiculous amount of free time I had. While I intended to get there early so that I could explore the city, I had plenty of time to do that and so many other things. I made my way into the community college and the historical museum for tours. I still had free time, so I had lunch, put in gas, and killed some time in Walgreens. What did I learn in Walgreens, you ask? Did you know that they are now selling birthday cards from your favorite sitcoms, and when you open them up, they play the theme song? Wow. They also have an eleven-game set for only $9.99; the games include chess, checkers, and the like. For such a competitive spirit, who knew such happiness could be found in one box? Not me. I almost bought it.

Anyway, the little town is actually quite beautiful, and while the town has obviously been hit by the movement away from manufacturing, they have some amazing assets with which to work on economic development. They have a nice courthouse; a beautiful downtown; historic housing districts; three colleges; many parks funded by their own endowment; an opera house; and a symphony orchestra. Few small towns can boast of such great quality-of-life indicators. Here are some pictures of this hidden gem, which I hope to take friends to soon (in the infinite amount of time I have before I leave):

Well, this post gives me an opportunity to announce the newest segment to my blog…drumroll, please: FRIEND OF THE WEEK! This week’s winner is clearly Elizabeth. Thank you very much for saving my life. I could have been stampeded by a herd of cattle out there, but instead, I live to tell the tale in my blog. Make sure to put it on your resume under your “Major Awards” section, and feel free to use me as a reference.

Yes!

It is 9:30, and Jessica, the most trusted name in politics and a great friend, just called the election before all the major networks.  I'm going to bed assured that my candidate just won the election.  

Yes, that's the expert...

Work, Fun, and Love

Wow, it’s been a crazy couple of weeks, with lots of work and lots of fun!

First, the work… As many of you know, I am leaving my Ph.D. program and taking the Master’s in December. In some respects, this is not an easy decision. I love what I study. I really get excited about reading political science and public policy literature, thinking critically about it, and taking classes where we then have engaging discussions about it. I look forward to contributing to the field by teaching, researching, and writing. Yes, I am a big nerd. However, for a variety of reasons, this is not the time for the Ph.D. I had a great first year and am having fun now in my program, but there are so many other priorities that I must take care of now. So, instead, I have busily been finishing up all my coursework this semester, preparing for my graduation and subsequent move to Texas, and applying to jobs. The combination of activities keeps me extremely busy, but I have managed to enjoy life, too.

Now, for the fun! I love Michigan in the fall. A bunch of friends and I visited a cider mill and a corn maze, which is quintessential fall in the Midwest. It was a lot of fun. I never would have been exposed to such colorful foliage (I saw color in New England, but I spent most of my time in the city, never exposed to the full extent) and outdoor fun in Texas. In my part of Texas, the most abundant foliage is the mesquite tree, which grows about five feet tall, is mostly brown with minimal green, and has thin limbs and thorns as its main appendages. Doesn’t it sound beautiful? Nope. Well, this is why when I went to college and bought a beautiful plant at a non-profit fundraiser, I insisted that it was a tree. It had green leaves and stood about four feet tall. If we call the mesquite a tree, I reasoned, this plant certainly qualifies. Yes, I mostly said these things to irk my roommates in the obstinate, dramatic way I defend all of my claims, but there was a part of me that really believed my plant was a tree. Of course, I killed poor Alfred, my tree, after never learning how to nurture greenery during my childhood. Sure, we watered our dirt at home in hopes of sprouting up grass, but it rarely came to life.

I took a road trip to Columbus, OH, last weekend to visit a good friend who just moved there to work on his MBA. We had such a great time visiting Jason. Amy, Jake, and I also had a memorable road trip, taking part in great conversation and belting out all kinds of songs. The biggest hits seemed to be Michael Jackson and, wait for it, wait for it, Boyz II Men!!! Who knew Jake kept such music on his iPod?!! Yes, most people would probably expect it from me (and, yes, I do have a whole CD of their greatest hits), but it was Jake who provided us with the classics. Amy sat in the back amused as Jake and I sang our hearts out to “Bended Knee.” Of course, some of the lines are ridiculous, and we paused to laugh hysterically at one particular line: “I’ll never walk again, until you come back to me, I’m down on bended knee.” I hope that my wife is OK with dancing to a Boyz II Men song for our first dance. I will passionately sing every word into your ear. Please, ladies, you know that’s romantic and H-O-T-T…and totally me (in that half-joking, half-serious, half-attractive, half-dorky sort of way)!

Yeah, there’s a bunch of other fun stories, but I will spare you for now. Ladies, if you think you wanna listen to my Boyz II Men collection, give me a call. Just be prepared to fall in love with me, for nobody sings about love quite like B2M ‘n’ I!

Efficient vs. Anal

I shared a story with a few friends yesterday and today, and I thought that I would share it with others in order to elicit opinions. I was walking to class Wednesday morning, and I happened to bump into one of my classmates on my way there. This was my first conversation with the girl, and as I look back on it, I am a little frightened to think about her opinion of me. Here's how it went down:

I crossed the street and encountered the girl. We exchanged pleasantries, and she then asked for the time. I told her that it is 8:20. Our class starts at 8:30, but the professors really don't begin lecturing until 8:40, as is customary in most schools. She said that she was proud of herself for being ten minutes earlier than she usually is. I told her that I was ten minutes later than usual, and she must have noticed that I was speedwalking (I guess she was about five feet behind me as she said this) because she said that she would speedwalk with me. Honestly, I was really upset at myself for leaving later than my usual time, and I really was on a race to the classroom before I encountered her. That morning, I became so wrapped up in reading political commentary, and I left later than usual. Anyway, I told her not to worry about speedwalking because I really was attempting to not be as punctual as I usually am. I told her about how much time I waste showing up early to everything. She said, "Wow, you're really trying to rein in your anal side." I agreed. What?!! Why did I agree? By trying to control my anal side, I perhaps come across as even more anal. I really do think about efficiency quite a bit, and thinking about efficiency as much as I do makes me a little anal. I do not think I am out of control, though.

There is another component to this time-wasting, and it is the answer I should have given. I show up early to every class, and I often get frustrated not because I waste so much time, but because I am really bored during this time. I usually have all my reading done, so I sit there. And wait. And wait. That answer would have made me seem less anal and much cooler, which I think (or hope) I am. Instead, this girl thinks I am a freak. lol.

So, am I as laid back, cool, and collected as I think I am, or did I give this girl the right impression of me? Chances are that I will listen to your words, argue against them, and end up at my desired conclusion. Delusional, that's another one of my issues, but we should probably tackle one at a time! Still, let me know.

Triumph!

Yes, friends, I finally won, and revenge never tasted so good. I emerged victorious, and all it took was a burned finger, singed taste buds, lots of tears, several destroyed pots, and, worse, a damaged ego. Today, I made good rice!

I don’t know what possessed me, but I felt particularly brave this morning. As I sat down to do my reading for next week, I felt the urge to make beans and rice. I finally had some time to sit around while they cooked, so I quickly set out to work before I could remember my previous failures and the pain they caused. As my Michigan friends can attest, making rice and even beans has been a harrowing experience over the course of the past year. First, I bought a crock-pot last year, thinking that I could let things cook as I ventured to class or the library for hours at a time. I put some beans in there one weekend, and I ended up cooking the beans for forty-eight (yes, 4-8) hours. I wish I were exaggerating. At the end of two days, the beans were still not done, and I went hungry during this forced fast. I wish I could say that I emerged spiritually renewed after the fast, but I only had horrible thoughts about what I would do to the crock-pot. Needless to say, the crock-pot was relegated to the back of the cabinet with all my third-rate appliances.

Second, a couple of friends and I developed a lunch club on Sundays after church last year, and we took turns hosting it. On my Sunday, I made enchiladas, a salad, and rice, a pretty typical Sunday meal at home in Texas. The enchiladas were tasty; the rice was not. I somehow scorched the rice after receiving repeated warnings from my mom and sister to keep plenty of water in the pot. Defiantly, I decided to serve the rice, claiming that the rice was still edible and, underneath the scorched smell, actually flavorful. They did not agree, but I ate the rice over the course of the next week to prove them wrong. I showed them…and my grand nemesis, rice.

Finally, I had a friend come over for dinner one day, and I decided to make a similar meal, including rice. Never to be defeated by rice again, I vowed to keep plenty of water in the pot. I succeeded. I managed to undercook the rice but not scorch it. We sat down for dinner. Crunch, crunch, crunch. “I know I undercooked it this time, but trust me, it’s better than scorched rice and still has a great flavor.” She did not think so. I ate my crunchy rice for the rest of the week in my next act of defiance against rice.

See, this is why this day is so momentous. Rejoice with me. I promise not to get cocky, though, for rice is a formidable, scrappy foe and has tested people around the world for so many generations. I have won this battle, but I have a lifetime to win this war. Rice 2, me 1. Now, I guess I need some witnesses for my victory. Who wants to eat?

As the two-year anniversary of Ann Richards’ death approaches, I put my initial reaction of her death on my blog as a tribute to my beloved political figure. I e-mailed this out to friends that morning:

Hey y'all,

Alas, this is what heartbreak feels like! Sigh...

I cannot tell you just how disappointed I am in all of you that you have not sent me your condolences for the loss of my wonderful love. The great Ann Richards, 73, passed away last night to cancer, and I really am sad.

As my Republican friend witnessed on our walk to the gym this morning, I was in disbelief, shaking my fists up in the air and questioning, "Why, Ann, why you? You were still so young and full of life!" I reminisced about the Doritos commercial she made with Mario Cuomo and about the wonderful speeches she delivered at Democratic conventions. What sass, what wit, but alas... He had a smile on his face the whole time, but it is only probably because he, too, "smiles when he is sad." He saw the sincerity of the pain! As we made our way back to the dorm, we saw the headline, and I said, "Oh, she is so, so wrinkly, but what a personality on that girl! See, Nathan, that's true love, looking past all those superficialities!"

Goodbye, Ann! You will be missed. While we may not be able to be together in this life, with all the pointing and judging and calls of golddigga, perhaps I will see you on the other side.

Please do not grieve for me too much, friends! I will be fine after a couple of days!

Peace out,

Jonathan

P.S. I still hold out hope that she has gone to join Tupac on some island, only to resurface later. Most of you probably do not know because you don't "roll" like me, but yesterday was also the tenth anniversary of Tupac's death. Coincidence? I should think not!

P.P.S. I do not wish to completely make light of this matter. I really am quite sad because she was a great, great person!

Friends, take note! This is the kind of girl I would like to marry. No, not wrinkly, but smart and witty.

Soccer Dad in Training

Last week, I went to our local sports complex to watch my niece and nephew play softball and t-ball, respectively. Just lettin’ you know, we, the members of my family, don’t play around. We’re in it to win it. My five-year-old nephew found himself running from third base, his assigned position, to right field, clear across the entire field. He clearly felt the other team members were not retrieving the ball fast enough. I must agree with you, little nephew. My three-year-old niece sat there cheering her brother on, yelling with attitude “that’s MY brother” whenever he hit the ball or made a good play. At the end of the game, he ran over to my sister and yelled, “See, Mama, I told you we were gonna beat that team.” That night, they handed out trophies to all the kids, and much to the delight of the audience, my little nephew exclaimed “alright!!!” at the mention of his name. He enjoyed the taste of victory and slept with his trophy that night.

Then, my mom and I drove to the softball field to watch my niece, my brother’s daughter. There, the competitive spirit came mostly from my mom and me as we barked out orders to the eight-year-old girls running around the field chaotically. At one point, the enemy (or the other team for those with a less competitive spirit) hit the ball in my niece’s direction, and another girl caught it. With a force-out at third base, we pleaded with the girl to tag the runner out. Our adrenaline must have kicked in because we failed to acknowledge the runner on the ground, as we continued to yell for the girl to tag her out. Don’t worry, she did tag her out. And the runner was completely fine. They did, however, allow the girl to stay on third, which we did not really understand.

“But…but…she was out,” my mom complained.

“I know, Mom, but they probably play with the ‘everybody’s-a-winner’ mentality. Our family’s probably a little too competitive to play by those rules.”

Now, nobody be alarmed for my future children. I promise that I will teach my kids to accept winning and losing graciously, but there’s no problem with teaching them that winning is so much more enjoyable, right? Right? I hope so.

Ah, West Texas!

I’ve been home for nearly three months now, and I am having such a great time. I knew I missed home, but coming home really reminded me why I missed it so much. People are caring, friendly, and humble. While most people do not have much, they give thanks for their blessings, with family being chief among those blessings. This community is a family, and whenever somebody goes through a serious illness or crisis, you see this community come to the rescue by giving the little they have. I’ve seen it time and time again in the short months I’ve been here. It’s great!

Of course, West Texas is doing well economically. There is an oil boom going on right now, and many people are moving in or leaving other jobs to explore lucrative positions in the oil field. This influx of people is driving real estate prices “through the roof.” I use this term loosely because, to be sure, our through-the-roof prices are relative and do not compare to most places in the United States. Only four years ago, decent family homes were going for $10,000-$45,000 (Yes, that cheap!), but you now hear about these same homes going for $70,000-$80,000, and others are over the $100,000 mark. Yes, we were in a bust period of the oil industry, but since that bust lasted for most of my years in Pecos, I cannot envision spending so much money for a house! Luckily, new arrivals are willing to pay these prices. The housing shortage continues to send these prices upward, and the city, county, and employers are exploring new housing options.

People here are also funny and different. I was at a council of governments meeting a few weeks ago, and an elderly man gave a presentation about emergency preparation to all the region’s elected officials and staff. I sat taking notes and listening to his presentation. Then, all of a sudden, silence. Silence. I looked up at the man cupping his hand in front of his face. “Oh no, mah tooth jes fell out.” I tried to contain my laughter out of politeness, but the rest of the room erupted. This guy is a jokester, and while this was unplanned, people just laughed it off as yet another story for this guy to tell.

We have a show called Hotline, and it broadcasts on the radio station heard in Pecos and several other towns. Well, people go crazy for this hour show every morning because people call in to announce garage sales and sell items. An example: “Yes, hi, Bill, I’d like to sell my ’72 El Camino. I’m asking $404. They can call my cousin’s phone, because I don’t have a phone, at ###-####.” This call is from the show on Friday. As a child, I would record all the garage sales, and then my grandmother and I would set out in search of hidden treasures. This is how I got my first tennis racquet, and I’m pretty sure my grandmother bargained down the previous owner to 10 cents. I’ve heard the funniest announcements ever on this show, and while I wish I could share one of the funniest announcements, it would shame my family name—the caller was my great-aunt. Ay, Tia, como podrias decir eso!! Anyway, the Hotline has changed a little recently, and people have begun calling in with a new announcement, one I don’t like. “Yes, I’d like to wish Marcos a happy birrday, from his abuelos and Kika. We love you mucho.” Family, take note, if you really love me, do not ever announce my birthday on Hotline. I don’t think it’s snobbery because I listen intently most mornings hoping I can buy something, maybe a new low-rider, but I just don’t care to be announced with cheap goods people no longer want.

We love and laugh much here, and I’m glad to call this place home. And no matter where I go, I hope I carry all of this—yes, all of it—with me.