Mobility

Ah, what a sweet thing to be able to hop in the car with minimum possessions and go across the world to wherever it is you want to live. Very sweet.

And very, very difficult.

I was mobile once. After high school, I think. I had few real possessions, if any. When I joined the Army, I took a suitcase full of clothes with some movies and some books; maybe some CDs. I lived that way for a while. I had nothing, I needed nothing, and I wanted (figuratively) nothing. And then it happened... I started buying "stuff."

I seriously got away without having a car for a couple of years. I left my old, semi-classic '67 Chrysler in the possession of my sister back in Nevada, and arrived at Fort Bragg with two feet and cab fare. That was early 1996. And despite living off-post, I didn't buy another vehicle until 1998. And it all rolled from there.

Some furniture, a home theater system that seriously rocked the apartment complex, kitchenware. Everything that someone planting so-called permanent roots would need (though I didn't buy a bed until 1999; sleeping just fine on the floor). Only I wasn't planting roots of any kind. I was just accumulating stuff. Large, heavy, volume-filling stuff.

When I went to Korea I enjoyed a "return to mobility" of sorts, only taking my laptop computer and some clothes to the East Asian country. It was nice. For an entire year, I didn't have to worry about anything. No stuff, no moving stuff, no keeping stuff safe. Nothing.

Last year, as some of you know, I embarked on my long-awaited move from North Carolina to California. Regardless, I had to move a ton of stuff. Lots of furniture. Lots of large, heavy, volume-filling stuff. And let me tell you, it wasn't cheap to do. My mobility was limited by cost, weight, and pets. And, to add insult to injury, I got stuck in Nevada.

Okay, on to the point... in a couple of days, I will be leaving Nevada for whereabouts unknown. In all likelihood, it will be a temporary return to North Carolina, but I really don't have a clue as to my final resting point. And the first thing I did (or rather, am doing)? Getting rid of all of my heavy shit. Gone will be the furniture. Gone will be the crap I don't need or want. Gone will be everything that limits my mobility. I will not, until I'm filthy rich, be anchored to a place due to money, weight, space, animals, or people ever again. Sounds simple, doesn't it? I assure you, overcoming the mental realization of not "having stuff" in such a materialistic society is anything but.

I, quite literally, am taking nothing but clothes, a cot, a chair, my cell phone, and a laptop. Okay, yes, I have my animals, but unlike last year's insane 2-people, 3-dog, 6-cat move I undertook, I'm only undertaking a 1 person, 3-dog, 2-cat move. And by the end of my journey, there will only be 2 dogs.

My intent for the rest of the year is to be cheap, lightweight, a completely and spontaneously mobile. Of course, this means the lack of any kind of social life, but I don't care... I've got a goal and I need to make it.

And if you don't think I can do it, ask anybody who knew me when I slept on the floor or when I dated my ex. I'll put up with a ton of shit before I start to cave. A ton. Literally.

I'm wired, I'm excited. Pardon the staccato formlessness of this blog entry.

Have a nice day.

As of Right Now...

... my top five favorite films are Road to Perdition, followed by (in no particular order) Beautiful Girls, Children of Men, Good Will Hunting, and Heat.

... I'm reading a book called The Short Screenplay by Dan Gurskis.

... I have yet to convince my hopefully-future roommate to move to Los Angeles NOW.

... the San Diego Padres are undefeated (2-0).

... grooming creme has replaced mousse as my hair product of choice.

... my latest script, Clandestine's Daughter, has yet to go out to my reader, despite my having promised it to her by last December (and I had intended to get it to her last May or so).

... I haven't worked on an actual set in 156 days.

... I am very upset that one of the good-looking girls on American Idol went home instead of that Sanjaya fruitcake.

... I'm really, really hungry.

... I'm officially excited for the new Transformers movie.

... the 15 Britons taken by Iran are on their way home.

... she has a boyfriend.

... ridiculously oversized "bunny slippers" are keeping my feet warm.

... my Boston Terrier/Pointer mix is trying to keep warm by sleeping under my German Shepherd.

... snow still caps the Sierra Nevadas.

... Charger Girl tryouts are underway.

... DC comics generally suck.

... I'm trying to figure out where I'll be tomorrow, next week, next month, and next year.

... I'm bored off of my ass, but not tired enough to go to sleep.

... I could use a backrub... and a pedicure.

... my pickup truck needs an oil change.

... you're probably wondering why the Hell you're reading this.

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Starbucks

Starbucks, depending on who you are, is either the bane or the blessing of the coffee world. Regardless of which side of the fence you're on, one thing is for sure: Starbucks exudes a certain "type," a certain "culture" to it.

That culture can vary from place to place, depending on if you're in the rainy Pacific Northwest, the sunny Pacific Southwest, or the hot and humid Southeast. But, one thing remains constant all over the map... Starbucks is the self-appointed haven of the sophisticate, the artsy, and the corporate. People who all want their coffee or iced mochas or whatever other damned French-word-described coffee amalgamation they happen to like.

Starbucks in Seattle? Makes perfect sense. It should, it started there. But beyond that, Seattle is a Mecca of the hippy-fied, grunge-of-old, rainy day "artsy" as well as an advertising and marketing haven. Los Angeles shares this sophisticated, artistic, corporate image. San Diego does too, to an extent. Little Wilmington, North Carolina with its waning film industry and gorgeous beaches? Check. Dallas? Yep. Las Vegas? Close enough. Raleigh? You bet. Atlanta? Yeah, I'll give it that much credit. Hell, even Fayetteville, North Carolina with its odd demographic and military-based commerce qualifies. As does Reno, Nevada. Is everyone noticing a pattern? Okay, good.

I'm now going to tell you about a little desert shit-town in the middle of Nevada called Dayton. Dayton isn't in the middle of nowhere (Reno and Lake Tahoe are not far), but it sure seems like it. There's no McDonald's there, no Burger King, and only one grocery store. The people there have no identity, save the multitudes of Californian expatriates who bring their old ones with them. Is it a hick town? Sort of, not really. Is it a grunge town? Only for the high school kids who where ratty clothes and have no idea how to cut their hair. So... what kind of town is it?

Well, it's a town that has a Starbucks.

And if there were ever a place that Starbucks did not belong, Dayton, Nevada, is it.

There is no sophisticate there. None. Dayton, Nevada, is home to the ugliest building in the United States. It's a small office building filled with medical practices, and can hardly be described, it's so ugly. There is no "artsy" there, although the wannabe Quentin Tarantino working at the brand new Hollywood Video might disagree with me. There is, however, a "corporate" there, but the indigenous locals are so mystified by the concept, it's the relocated Californians that allow the corporate to survive.

Simply put, nobody in Dayton looks right when standing in a Starbucks. Nobody. It's almost frightening. Even worse, few of them can even pronounce half of Starbucks' menu... including a couple of the Starbucks employees. What? Was there no training video?

Anyway, I started writing this with a point in mind, but it's becoming clear that I don't really have one.

Still, I must plead with Starbucks: save your image and close your Dayton store.