Living in a small town in Central Pennsylvania for the past two years has been, to put it nicely, a surreal experience. While I have appreciated wandering around a multitude of antiques shops on Sunday afternoons among the oddities and objects of other people’s lives, and while I have managed to find an excellent coffee shop to write in and great places to buy local produce or get homemade icecream,* the pervasive, skin-crawling silence of this place has really done a job on me. I thought the creepiness was just in my head, but apparently such isolation has also influenced my daily doings, as evidenced by the note my downstairs neighbor left before moving out last week:
Thanks for the biscotti!, she wrote, you were a wonderful (eerily quiet???) neighbor.
I can’t wait to live in a city again. The prospect of having the ambient noise and motion of other people around me– if only to serve as a reminder that I am not, in fact, the only living person left on the planet– is so comforting that I have begun to count down the days to Operation: Exodus as if it were a holiday or much-anticipated trip instead of another arduous move. The mere thought of meeting more than the same three people during my daily activites is making me almost giddy!
I get the sense that most of us here at RockJuice are living in or pretty close to cities; I never thought of myself as a city person till I lived in Lewisburg and felt the silence and isolation like a juicer crushing the soul from my body. And so, I wonder– have any of you guys lived in the middle of nowhere for an extended period? Did it agree with you? I used to relish the idea of living in a secluded house somewhere (possibly with a turret and maybe also a moat full of fishes and monsters…), but I think I’ve managed to short myself out on the whole low-civilization front. I suspect that from now on I will have a very limited, weekend-getaway-to-some-quaint-b&b tolerance for small towns.
*Did you know that Pennsylvanians consume more ice cream per capita than any other citizenry in the union? True story. There is a reason Philly is (was?) the fattest city in America (ice cream, TastyCake, Philadelphia Cream Cheese, cheesesteaks…I could go on).
But enough of this whininess! In addition to documenting the sushi experience last month, I also took a bunch of pictures of the shenanigans involved in Easter-egg dying with my youngest sister** that I figured people might enjoy (Sorry for the repeats, Stephtacular– I know you’ve seen these already).
**Yeah, I’m 27. What’s it to ya?
And so, without further ado, I present to you an album titled Secular Easter Gets Profane, or, How to Make My Catholic Grandmother Roll Over in Her Grave: