Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am

This one's about misconceptions and a stairwell.

30DBC PROMPT: "Hey campers! It's time for another Saturday night campfire! Tell us a little about where you're from, and something that is commonly mistaken about your hometown. And if you don't think your town's big enough, tell us the advantage of your small town. Bonus: Share a favorite campfire dinner recipe that's quick and easy."

What's up campers? Hope everyone's had a good night's sleep after the tumultuous week we we've had in a cemetery, in a bar, and witnessing the devouring of half our food supply by a needy little raccoon. I vote to say we just take it easy today, lounge around a campfire, and talk a little about where we're from.

Y'all know I hail bluster from Buffalo, NY...we wear that like a badge of honor while the rest of the country usually mocks us because they're used to images of Western New York on the national news and CNN depicting us living in igloos and tunneling our way through fifteen feet of snow so we can get to our local dive bar for more Genny Cream Ale   and chicken wings. And I'm not gonna argue that...although it's only true maybe once a year, if that.

What you hardly ever see though is that Buffalo is the home of four true seasons, and the summers are especially gorgeous...they provide the necessary balance to the ungodly cold Januaries and Februaries. Autumn too is fantastic, as any park in the region can show you by the plethora of colors as the trees begin to lose their leaves.

An old friend of mine summed up on Facebook the other day how Buffalo's weather typically goes (and I'm paraphrasing because I don't remember verbatim): "Sticky, gross hot through the middle of August...then it gets unseasonably cold enough to pull out sweaters and jackets and kill all remaining garden vegetation. Then in October the Indian Summer arrives and we're in shorts until about the 13th, when we get hit with a massive, city-crippling snowstorm that downs power lines and closes everything...but we're back in shorts for a week or two in November until normal weather patterns return." Ok, so some of that wasn't her exact wording, and I added in a little to fill out the context, but yup, that's pretty much how it goes here from June through February.

I believe firmly ya gotta have love for your hometown...because in some way it started to shape who you are, even if you weren't there long or you don't remember much about it. For some reason you were put here on this planet right there, which means maybe your parents had some ties or history. As long as you're looking forward, there's no harm in looking back once in awhile. And if at anytime someone gives you a hard time about where you're from, say shh   and remind them of all the reasons why you're proud that where you're from has led you to where you're at.

BCF PROMPT: "What's the greatest misconception about you?"

I'll admit I haven't given this much thought in a long time...mainly because I have no idea what people around me in Cortland think and I'd prefer to keep it that way for the most part. I think I've made a good impression on most of the people I've come in contact with on more than just a shopper/cashier level after a bit of a rocky start out here (and I'm gonna keep this recent since I have no idea at all what 90% of the people back home think anymore).

Appearance is probably the biggest misconception...because I have nappy dreads tucked under a hat and a very large beard, I'm sure some people consider me to be among the dregs of society, which can't be further from the truth (as some of my people here on WDC will hopefully attest to). Hell, I'm surprised that in this town loaded with hicks, country boys and Jesus freaks I've only been harassed by the cops once...and even then it was a case of mistaken identity (for which they actually apologized for). If all I'm known for here is the guy that they see with the Duck Dynasty beard (which, by the way, if one more ignorant mawfuggin' asshole around here tries to associate me with a bunch of homophobic hillbillies, I may just get ghetto fabulous on them with the quickness), I can probably live with that. Like I said, I think those who've taken the time around Cortland to get to know me think pretty favorably of me, and that's a good foundation to build on.

Of course, when I start classes soon, that may change or at least present a whole 'nother set of challenges, but I think I've built up enough within myself by now to be stronger inside so I can prevent attacks on my outward looks. You don't wanna associate with me 'cuz I look like the guy that sleeps under the bridge you drive your fat SUV over every day? Fine...I didn't want you as a friend anyway. My MO to this day remains...to slay suckas with logic, and my lethal weapon's my mind  .

MUSICAL BREAK!!

First off, big ups to my crew in "Barrel of Monkeys" : lizco252, Charlie ~ , very thankful , and Future Mrs. Boo ...last night we housed the Bonus Tracks Wild Card rounds! Somewhere around 1:30am-ish we completed our most daunting challenge to date...chaining songs together starting with Z and continuing through to A. By all means, it was a tremendous feat and I'm hella proud of all the members of my team for their help. Way to rally for the cause, O-Tang Clan!

By the way, you can peep the entire Soundtracker playlist here  .

Now this...I'm following Future Mrs. Boo 's entry, "Last Day BoM: Ends in W" , featuring Alice In Chains' great song "Don't Follow"  ...one of the most underrated bands ever.

But ahhh yes, another perk of growing up in Buffalo...being exposed to that great Canadian music . For all the fun they are to watch live in concert and in some of their bigger hits, it's the somber tunes sometimes that resonate more..."What A Good Boy" by Barenaked Ladies is no exception. The lyrics are poignant in that sometimes we get older and fail to live up to the many dreams our parents have for us...some right out of the gate, some later on. I don't think many of us are born intent on breaking hearts or deflating expectations; sometimes circumstances leave us no other choice and maybe I was one of those babies destined to do that, no matter how hard I try to correct and/or overcompensate for that...but sometimes, we just can't fulfill everything others want from us, for a multitude of reasons, which is neither here nor there. Just sit back and enjoy the song.

"We've got these chains, hanging around our necks...
People wanna strangle us with them before we take our first breath."
Lyrics.  

THE DAILY BOX SCORE:

"I met him on the stairs??? Tell us all about it."

We were old friends wrapped in old souls; tried men in tired clothes wearing at our unseemingly seams of scattershot dreams. Two days forward, one day back...are we the same or just years of slacked rope in the place of time and names, with details scurrying but mostly unchanged? You're not life if not for you, and everything you've ever had to go through. For what we see or claim to be, are we nothing when not believed? Twenty-seven years a staircase; so much more the stair. We're not so much unaware as maybe unprepared. A decade in approach; ten days in cage...let's get out! Let's see this place! I'll meet you at the station, you'll catch me on a plane. Somewhere in the middle, we'll find ourselves on the staircase.

Bonus "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS"  prompt response! Dude, we used to have these things on sticks with cast iron ends you could put bread in, and then add stuff to...they were the original Hot Pockets! 'Cuz you'd clamp the ends together, stick it in the fire, and you'd wind up with sealed sandwiches of pure enjoyment. Sometimes we'd make pizza ones, and sometimes we'd use pie filling, and it was amazing! I suppose nobody brought those with us on our little camping fiasco, huh?

Have I ever mentioned my immediate and absolute distaste for Bon Jovi? First, he took all the hot girls in my 6th grade class and gave them some unrealistic idea for them to hope for in all of us awkward boys. Then he made a halfhearted effort to take my football team up to Canada. Fuck him and the bad mane name love gave him (which, I think in most affluent areas, is called "herpes"). Brad Riter at Trending Buffalo   shared this link   from the Toronto Star about yet another t-shirt being made and sold to protest our hatred of a man who once sold an album with his band's name plastered on a garbage bag. Mom, I apologize now 150% for the shitshow I put on at Hills Department Store because you wanted to buy me school clothes and all I wanted was that stupid friggin' tape (which someone dubbed for me later on anyhow...thank you cassettes, for sucking after a long while).

Because Legos and Gawker are awesome...I don't know whether I should mawfugg these clowns for their operation, or applaud them, but police arrested four in connection with over 200k dollars' worth in Lego thefts  .

Boo-freakin-hoo. Excellent article from a Tumblr blog about how us Generation X-ers don't wanna hear your bullshit  , you bratty, whiny kids coming up.

There you go, friendly readers. Nutrition for your souls, I believe (since I don't think the 30DBC campers have recovered yet from the raccoon problem). I'm gonna stay outta trouble, try to catch a nap, and lurk in the shadows until the last round of BoM bonus tracks is upon us...shit's gonna get live tonight; I can feel it! Team Orangutan! Peace, the cross that I bear (bear with me), and GOODNIGHT NOW!!