Nostalgia Road

Twenty three years minus a few months ago, I was attending the inaugural Tennessee Governor's School for the Sciences. Other states like Georgia or Pennsylvania has created special summer programs so the brightest kids in the state could attend. The presumption, I'd imagine, was to convince the students to stay in-state. Little did they realize that, for the most part, money would convince most parents to choose the less expensive in-state option.

Tennessee did not go into this program so lightly. Three programs were set up, each with 100 students. One was in the sciences, one in the arts and humanities, and the other in music. I was enrolled in the sciences.

That was the summer of 1985. The program lasted a month, but it was the closest to a college experience we'd get until college, except unlike college, which drones on for months, then years, there was still some element of high school. The grades didn't count. We could spend the early evenings out on the tennis courts playing tennis. Some of the guys and girls were interested in making out.

That summer was also the summer that Tears for Fears came out with one of their few hits, Everybody Wants To Rule The World. This was one of those quintessential 80s hits. Even though Tears for Fears had maybe 2 other hits (Sowing the Seeds of Love and Head over Heels), this song still gets airplay everyone once in a while. Who would have though, as we approach the second decade of the new millenium, that music from the 80s, considered fun, the start of the MTV generation, the British Invasion lite, would have such staying power.

I was driving up to New Jersey today, and that's a four hour drive. To pass the time, I prefer to listen to NPR. There was a rebroadcast of Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me, so I got to listen to that again. I'm sure there was some other interesting tidbit. Oh yeah, something about how to save money, using Roth IRAs.

It's been a while since I've driven more than an hour. Although the first hour was marred briefly by cops chasing down someone just a little ahead of me, which caused traffic to back up for five minutes, the long drive was something I enjoy, somewhat. Listening to radio during these drives is something like reading a good book. You're transported to some other place, as you see miles of road go past, as you go by cars.

Upon reaching New Jersey, finally finding the hotel after three tries, and making it to the dinner, I met a cousin of my dad and my uncle. He said he lived in Montclair. I realize Gabe used to go to Montclair, something he generally doesn't like talking about since it's not particularly glamorous. I'm curious to see what the campus looks like, perhaps get a shirt or something.

It's a Wong Kar Wai idea, where you share space with someone, even as that space is not shared in time. In Chungking Express, a woman, who is fascinated by a cop, sneaks into his apartment and cleans it. The cop, somewhat oblivious to it all, doesn't realize it's even happening.

Of course, years would separate the time I'd visit and the time Gabe had last been there, and his memories of the place would certainly not intersect that much with mine. Have you ever been to a place so often that it has a strange familiarity, but then show it to a friend who probably finds it pedestrian. Memories are what we, as people, infuse to a place, making the place more than just a place.

I think James Michener understood this idea. Michener wrote these tomes that were a collection of stories, and what united these stories was location. Location, that inanimate thing, that people live, build, and leave becomes the linchpin of memory.

I think, occasionally, as I go into a Starbuck's or a local grocery store, that I'm a visitor from far away, and that the people hanging out inside, who've probably been there, what, a year, two years, maybe more? Who have lived in the nearby area, so that the hole in the wall they work in is their hole in the wall, and here I am just visiting, and they have no idea.

The one thing that makes it almost seem familiar to me is the bland generic look of all places in the United States, the desire of branding, so that all McDonalds look basically the same, all grocery stores look basically the same. The names may not be familiar, but the layout is, and so it makes it distinctly American.

I know, if I were back home, I'd probably be lounging on the couch, waiting to see Federer and Nadal in the finals at Hamburg. Instead, I'm 200 miles away, in a hotel, with limited channels, waiting the hours between now and a wedding ceremony, and another four hour drive back. What would it be like to spend life on the road, looking exploring, wondering why different states don't have their own personalities, observing the folks in the stores, in the restaurants, even as I would hardly know them.

Once upon a time, in San Diego, I lost a cell phone that also doubled as my clock. I walked down to a store, maybe a Discovery Store, and bought a clock radio, with gaudy colors. Once I used it, I realized it wasn't all that pretty, and it was bulky, and I didn't want to carry it back with me, so I went downstairs, where a woman attendant guarded the entrance to the small gym at the basement of the hotel, and told her she could have it as a gift. Surprisingly, she said she was happy to have the clock.

Does she still use it? Does she remember how she got it?

It's late on a Saturday night. I could have been at a bar, but the drinks I had this evening are tiring me out, and all I'm thinking about is getting some sleep, some sleep in a hotel far away.