Cityfied

The summer I turned 12 years old, some members of my stepfather's extended family came down from Washington, D.C. to visit for a few weeks. A few of them consistently complained the entire time about the lack of things to do in our town and the surrounding area. There was no argument from me… there wasn't a whole lot to do… which was a contributing factor to why I read all the time. The closest movie theater was about a 45 minute drive away. And that wasn't happening for them either… since only one of them could drive, which amazed me… in SC, you get your license at 15 because nothing is in walking distance. The first couple of times they said something, I agreed. However, they soon complained to the point that it began to annoy me. It was all they talked about every day, every hour of the day. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do. Being a country girl, I was a little irked at these big city folks making fun of my town and I started to get a little defensive… sure, there really wasn't much for them to do, but we still found ways to have fun. Looking back, I wouldn't change my childhood for the world. Still, a few months later, when we made the trek to D.C. to stay for a week during the holidays, I was ready to experience life in a big city. They had complained so much that I was sure my time in D.C. would be spent in a social whirlwind. We'd spend days at the Smithsonian, maybe get tickets to a play or a concert. In the very least, I was sure we'd go to a theater and catch a movie. I was wrong. Do you know they did every day? They played bingo. Bingo. They would wake up and eat… pass out the cards, the chips and then proceed to play for hours until… well, until they went to sleep. They would take the occasional break to watch a movie or talk show on television. I am not exaggerating. Okay, maybe a little. Every now and then, they'd also stop playing bingo to play a card game… Tunk, I think. I couldn't believe it. These were the same people who incessantly complained about nothing to do down South and they spent hours every day… playing bingo?! I'd never known anyone younger than 50 who played bingo. The only people I knew who played bingo were retired or on disability, arose at around 11, got their hair permed (the tight rod curly perm), had huge bags full of yarn and other knitting materials and probably dipped snuff or chewed tobacco while setting up their 10 plus bingo cards in front of them. Most of the cousins were only a few years older than I was, the youngest was maybe 16 and the oldest was probably close to 30 at the time. So, I laughed… I laughed long and hard after maybe the third day of witnessing exactly how much there was to do in that household. I'm sure they thought the country cousin had gone insane… but I couldn't help it. If all they wanted to do was play bingo… we could have bought them some damn cards… I mean… we DID have a Wal-Mart. I was also not impressed by the homeless people we tripped over constantly when we walked down the block (only to the corner store… that was the extent of my social whirlwind), the ginormous rats that lurked around every trash can (being the country cousin, I naively asked why the cat was trying to jump into the garbage and screamed when they told me what it really was) or the fact that I had to put on ten layers of clothing just to survive walking to said corner store. Now that I live in Charlotte, a much bigger city than the town I was raised in… I wonder sometimes when I hear the same complaints I heard back when I was living in a small town in South Carolina. Most of the time, it's the same people, the same song, the verses of which are as follows, "There's no culture here." "There's no art." "People in Charlotte don't appreciate things that are different." "There's never anything to do." And I laugh at them, too. I laugh at them even harder because it just goes to show how lazy people can be. Some of them moved here from larger cities, some of them didn't. Either way, I'm not impressed… It was in Charlotte that I stood in front of a Picasso. It was in Charlotte that I saw Arturo Sandoval playing his trumpet in the aisles. It was a theatre in Charlotte that brought a performance of my favorite opera Turandot. It was in Charlotte that I met one of my favorite authors. I'm not saying it's the most cultured place in the country… far from it. I know there are places where things that happen here once a month or once a year happen weekly or even daily. However, I'm a bright side sort of gal and there are a lot, a LOT of places that are FAR, FAR worse. Just drive out of Charlotte in any direction for about 30 miles and you're bound to hit one of them. I've come to learn that there are some arguments that aren't worth arguing… if people want to believe there's nothing to do here… let them. It's THEIR loss, THEIR boredom, THEIR laziness. My response to people who say this to me is one word, "Move." Or if I'm feeling nicer, perhaps a choice, "Move or do something about it." When I saw the Picasso, the director of the museum didn't drive it to my house, put it on my porch and unveil it before me… I actually had to find out where it was, drive there, get a ticket and walk upstairs to the exhibit. Shocking. I also realize that some people are just THOSE people… you know, the kind of people who could live next to MoMA and complain about the lack of culture. Life, to me, is about a collection of experiences. I'm all about not knocking what you haven't tried (within reason, of course). I like to try things that are regionally or culturally indigenous… and I use that term loosely, meaning if there is a restaurant that is renowned that only exists in the place you live, maybe you should try it, at least once. Also, if you find yourself sitting around bored on any evening, ask me or anyone else who is in tune with the local happenings… the Internet has made that a lot easier and I tend to keep a social calendar in my head. What it all boils down to is this, as one of my friends put it, "People who actually want to do things are never bored." My reply, "Bingo."

I got to see Arturo live, in Charlotte of all places... and since Dizzy is from my hometown of Cheraw, SC... view at your pleasure.