i am jacksonville

So there is one thing I love about this town. No, it’s not the great bars that it took moving all the way (not just half way) across the country to discover I missed. And no, its not my family and friends that have given me a solidity that I haven’t had in years... possibly ever. It’s that it feels new.

I was just having a conversation with one of my friends who recently moved to Tampa. In case you haven’t realized yet, I come from a group of constant movers. It’s like I purposefully surround myself with people who can’t settle, who thrive for the new, who live on this edge of comfort and crazy. Which do we want? We can’t decide and we won’t decide. And that’s how we like it.

I always told myself growing up I would never be with a person who traveled. My dad traveled… and it caused a lot of animosity in my life. Missing people sucks. But later it became so much of who I am, because the one thing it really taught me was that there is just so much to see.

Now here is the cincher. I had not seen Jacksonville. I grew up here. I spent my life here. I know here. But I don’t know Jacksonville, I just know me.

I think that’s something people here forget. There is so much more than the little square miles we live in. and it is something I feel very fortunate to have learned. Granted, my daily grind consists of much of what I did before I left, or while I left, or who knows when I made that disconnect? But, suddenly, I am a part of this thing that I have based every other experience on.

Like, I love TSI. I love it. I love the alley. I love the over-dressed, over-tuded, over-interpreted people that go there. I love that they only serve wine and beer. I love their shows. I love the life they give me, and yes, I identify. Maybe that makes me something… but at least I am something.

But, I also love the Square (Square One), it’s right down the street. I can walk there. It’s nice on the inside. It has velvet. It has a disco ball. They serve liquor. They make me feel adult.

The thing that I love the most is that I can be complex here. In California, as odd as I know this sounds, complex was completely normal. And somehow, it was boring. Everyone was so different, so absurd, it was a play. How can you take “aggressive yoga” seriously? Or the microbiotic raw vegan diet? I mean… lets get real.

And the nightlife sucked. There just wasn’t a community. And therefore, there just wasn’t much to discover. We had a few bars we loved – McNally’s, Merchants – but it lacked the community that I so identify with the places I love.

I thought by moving back I would be moving back in time. Going back to a place and a person I thought I had left behind. But in truth, I moved forward. I moved into me, into a person that has been budding inside my veins and my being from day one. And now, after trying to escape a life that made me who I am, I can see that this place is who I am.

And it’s not just because I’m from here. It’s because it’s fresh. It’s artistic. It’s alive. It’s ready for growth and for change and for art and for life. And I am ready too. I’m there. I’m with it. I’m with Jacksonville.

Bring on the art walks. Bring on the museums. Bring on the midnight bike gang, and even the mid-evening bike gang (the lesser known, lesser intimidating bike gang). Bring on the family dinners. Bring on the ocean. Bring on the hottest August you could possibly imagine.

That’s me. I am Jacksonville.

It's Super

(the only pic of me at a game i could find)

It really is pretty super. Big screens. Hot wings. Cheap beer. Sweaty men in tight pants. And it is pretty bowl-ish in nature, as well. My chips are in a bowl. Beer can be served in a bowl. The helmets look remarkably bowl shaped. And I wouldn’t be hard pressed to imagine a few bowl cuts underneath those helmets, either. But it was the bowl shaped stadiums that hosted college football match-ups is what gave The Big One its official name: the Super Bowl.

It’s practically a national holiday. (It’s got me talking about sports, which lets face, is hard to do.) People all over the country huddle together in front of their screens, or if you are rich or extremely insane, in the actual stadium itself, to watch these muscle men in stockings trying to kill each other, politely. All across this great land, rich or poor, famous or lame, young or old, happy or sad, this night is the most watched night on TV for this great country. And we all sigh and gasp and cheer and cry together as teams we never cared about before this day (I say in remorse as our wonderful team, the Jagtastics, just barely missed the parade) pummel each other, politely.

Let’s be honest though. Florida is a remarkably football frenzied state. Its one of those live, breathe, die, love, sweat, blood, and tears kind of jazz. We grew up on football. A huge factor in college selection often times comes down to team affiliation. I’ve known people to practically disown a person for choosing one school over another because of football. Tom Petty and Mike Campbell, (the Heartbreakers lead guitarist and also graduate of Ribault High School!!) even helped us celebrate our favorite American past time.

Watching the Giants tear up the Patriots, who have not lost one game all season, looking up player stats and seriously analyzing the anatomy of the last great play just comes naturally. And also goes wildly against the rest of my personality, which could just mean I am multi-dimensional. Lets hope.

Californians love football, too, especially if it can be intellectualized. And New York City is clearly a fan of the cherished American tradition. They love it in Louiseville, in South Dakota (I am sure… although have no vivid memory of such a thing being true… does anyone have a vivid memory about South Dakota at all?) and Texans are especially fond of the sport.

While the rest of the world plays football in a world wide celebration of sweaty boys that actually use their feet in the game, we turned it into a sport where only one player actually kicks the ball- the kicker. And while the rest of the world unites over their terminological tradition, we only unite with ourselves. Not even David Beckham could change that.

That is just so American of us, isn’t it? Ignoring the ways of the rest of the world, selfishly changing the rules to benefit our own wishes, and always making sure the uniform is tight and revealing.

Both teams' colors were even red, white and blue. Go team America! Everyone is in on it. Even the commercials are better.

Tourist or Towny?

It is largely presumed that one of the major benefits of moving to a big city is all the nightlife and entertainment that will be readily available at ones fingertips. This likely stems from trips and vacations where people hit the theater, pay expensive rates for concert tickets, or seek out any and every cool thing to do in town.

The only person I have ever known to do these things while actually living in a big city is my sister, and that might just be a character flaw. No no. I jest. It’s awesome because any time I have ever visited her we are always having the best time. She knows all the best places to go or all the cool things available to do.

But, shockingly (I say with a tinge of irony), people in these big cities – New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco – don’t really do all that much. Sure, they might go to the theater a few times a year if they are into that kind of thing. But how many New Yorkers do you think have gone up the Statue of Liberty? How many San Frannies do you think walk across the Golden Gate bridge when they could just as easily drive over it? How many LA-ians stare in wonder at the Hollywood sign? They see these things every day. And lets face it… they have lives.

These are the kinds of things people only really do on vacation. You’ve been saving your money and you’re only there once (at least), so now’s the time right? It’s part of the fun. You don’t go all that way to sit in your hotel room!

But for some reason, so many people do go all that way [home] to just sit in their room. Why, I ask you? Why?

Well, for me in California it was largely a financial constraint. After spending most your time working to pay to live out there we were exhausted and also broke. Buying a $60 ticket to go see a show was out of the question. Just going to dinner and renting a movie cost about $100. (How I don’t know!! But it’s true.) Show tickets, plus cost of parking, plus dinner before hand, plus costs of adult beverage could quickly come to equal about half my monthly paycheck.

Even going to a PARK cost money. I am serious. We had to pay to go to the parks. The Muir Woods State Park cost $11 dollars a person just to walk around and look at trees.

We did go to the Golden Gate Bridge, but that was usually when we had guests from out of town. And right before we moved we went up the Coit Tower that overlooks the city. And I would say we did more than the average person.

Maybe its because it isn’t special if its your own hometown. I mean, here in Jacksonville we have a gaggle of great things we could all do for a good time, or to know our great city better. Maybe we could stop by Maxwell House to get an idea of why the city always smells of burnt coffee? I know for a fact we can tour the Anheiser Busch factory. The Jags games I know to be a great time every time (even when they lose) and those people really want (and need) our support! No more blackouts! And I hardly ever go to the beach, even though its one of Jacksonville’s huge claims to fame!

I will say this though: at least I can afford to actually do some of these things now. We in Florida have it made when it comes to standard of living. Good weather, cheap rent, and long sandy beaches. (There it is! I really should go more…)

I do get my fair share in these days though. I just saw Cirque Dreams at the Times-Union Center. I go to shows on a regular basis, something I did not do in California, mostly because the shows either sucked or cost too much money. I try to enjoy the sights. But I think we could all learn a lesson from those tourists we mock. They are enjoying what a place has to offer. Why don’t we go enjoy what our place has waiting just at the tips of our fingers.