Summer time.

You are now going to have that Fresh Prince song from the early 90s stuck in your head all day like I do:

“Summer summer summer time

Time to sit back and unwind…”

Unless you have packing to do. Too much, since you have too much stuff. But it’s a good thing, since it means moving to a place I’d rather be than where I am now. And in one little week, I’ll be on the road, on the way, far away. Going home.
It seems like everyone in Carbondale is packing up and leaving, but that might be just me, more than the time of year.

The girl across from me threw away her furniture this weekend because she is moving. Yes. Not only did she use the dumpster that belongs to our crazy landlords (unless they have a new deal I don’t know about). Not only did she actually fill the whole dumpster up and leave rubble all around it, while it gets emptied by a truck that can’t lift what’s not in it and will not get emptied until five days after she filled it. She threw away furniture that she could have donated like I did or like other normal people do. I gave away an old living room set that would last a long time with some new material on it. A long time. She threw away something similar, and it had a cool funky pattern that might appeal to hipsters more than what I gave away. But they’d never know, since it’s sticking out of the dumpster.

I know I might be a stuck-up East Coaster and feeling high and mighter because I’m out of here very soon. But there are some weird behaviors out here in the Heartland. One of them is how wasteful a lot of people are. Not that people are not wasteful in East Coast cities. I had a neighbor here who left cans in the parking lot and used to throw them off the back balcony into the woods. In the winter, with the cover of weeds and trees missing, there were all these blue and silver sparkles from Pepsi cans out there shining on nights of fullmoons and clear skies. Ignore that option to recycle them. At least don’t leave them outside. Yeah, this dude was a local.

I can’t speak for the whole rest of the non-Heartland country, but in Baltimore, there is implied social pressure not to be such an jerk openly, usually. If you throw a can on the ground, it is very likely that someone with a Baltimore accent will shout, “Hey, @#$%, pick up dat goddamm can, hon!” Seriously. I got called an asshole and a stupid white boy once when I was younger for sitting on steps on a busy walkway reading downtown at rush hour. And they were right, too, except the white boy thing. I should not have been sitting where people were trying to walk with my nose in a book. I know other cities are like this, too, as my brother got yelled at for not letting people off the subway first in New York, which was also correct — though his response of “shut up, bitch” was funny enough to make him not wrong anymore I think. While social pressure to go with the flow and conform might be crossing my imaginary line, I like that people in cities keep each other in check to a small extent. I know it’s not a large one, else crime would not be so rampant. And I know there are some people who just don’t care. Yes.

There is nothing like this in the Heartland. People walk where they want like there is no one else around. They butt in front of you at Panera Bread and cut you off at the mall. They kick your chair at the movies and stair at you in class. Driving here is worse than the rush hour traffic in Washington DC (and I have done it enough to know) in terms of fear for your life. Driving here is always a constant defense contest with people who only leave the hills and farms on Saturdays to come look at the people who look different than they do and have funny accents and skin colors to them. Too many people around here have no idea how to drive around other people. And if you use your car’s horn, they get shocked and look like you threw a rock at their pickup truck. Countless times at STOP signs, I got weird stares from old fogies who didn’t stop and just followed the car in front of them through the sign.

So where is the Baltimore punk in me when I’m around here? Hell knows. I’m too damned scared of a lot of people in these parts. When some dude in hunting camo and big boots is staring at the inter-racial match that is the Mrs. and I, I’m way too scared to say anything to him. I see how a lot of people around here eye me up, even when I’m not with my wife and am just a white guy like everyone else. It’s been suggested to me that the Polish and German in me come out so strongly that I look like I’m from another country, but I don’t buy it. First off, we’re all from another country in this nation. Second, my looking German is a weird reason to eye me up. And I’ve been mistaken for being born somewhere else in places like Boston before, from being Argentinian to German to being “right off the pickle boat” to Italian. Maybe it’s in my head, and I am projecting my insecurities around “manly men” who eat meat and shoot things and hate liberals without knowing anything about what they really stand for. Maybe it’s all me. Even if it is, it’s time to leave.

Don’t get me wrong. They are tons and tons of really really nice people around here. I could name names. And there are tons and tons of jerks in Baltimore. But I feel better around the Baltimore jerks. There’s a method to the madness in a city. And I’m glad I’m getting out of here.