The longer I spend in Cleveland, the more like Cleveland I become. This first manifested itself years ago, when I started appending “or whatever” to the end of my conversations. Having successfully broken myself of that habit, I’ve now noticed that I’ve internalized, to some extent, the Cleveland tendency to find things to complain about, especially if I’m having a good time, or whatever.
I sometimes feel that a typical Clevelander would complain to the God that Saint Peter didn’t open the Pearly Gates fast enough. (Choosing to make that a Catholic reference instead of a hick reference is another sign of my growing Clevelandesqueness).
I first noticed this on the day of the Dragon Boat Festival (and in the ensuing post). It was a great time, but I was all, like, focusing on having to drive all over since the bridges were out of service, getting a splinter, no first aid kit, or whatever. Gotta cut that out, because negativity is the only thing I know that can survive by feeding off itself.
Cleveland has changed me in other ways, I’m much more cosmopolitan than I was when I moved here as a fresh, real-world-ignorant, college grad back in November of 2003. By cosmopolitan I mean, eager to seek out and appreciate the other cultures in what has become my town; less ignorant about gay folks, Jew folks, black folks, Hispanic folks, and more aware of how different sorts of politics are immersed in every aspect of daily life, learning to choose my battles, how to battle, how to navigate without taking sides, how to treat women, what confidence means (more on that later), how to take a metaphorical punch and keep on truckin’.
Basically, Cleveland took the raw stock of my upbringing and education, smithed it, tempered it and gave me whatever I have that approximates an edge.
This has been a year of introspection for me, and as I continue to become Cleveland, I’m sure there are aspects of living here that I’ll reject as equally as certain parts of speech and attitudes, but fewer things are more Cleveland than becoming Cleveland on your own terms.
Or whatever.
Becoming Cleveland might be better than becoming a big city like Chicago or New York. Cleveland probably fits everyone- and everyone fits Cleveland. And then one day you’re wearing your Cleveland and someone who’s been wearing a San Francisco comes up to you and you’re all like,
“hey, nice San Francisco!”
and they’re all like, “Pshhh… whatever”.
And you’re like, “Fine, be that way, douche-bag.”
And then you go home and think about how that person with their fancy San Francisco didn’t seem to give two esses for your Cleveland or even for their San Francisco and you think maybe you should change your city because what is Cleveland really doing for you anyway? except making you look at people’s Chicagoes and Los Angeleses and wondering what it feels like to have LA all rubbing on your skin and stuff making you feel all sexy and perversely alpha like some kind of sleazy Robert Evans.
But you should probably think about getting a Chicago because it’s more like a jean jacket like the one you wore in High School when you were trying to hang out with all the hessiers and drawing the zoso sign on your brown paper bag book cover sitting in Home Ec watching them smoke pot under the sink while you were trying to make blueberry muffins, or whatever.
Yeah. About five years ago I bought this new hat called a Tremont. It’s kinda cool because it has enough traffic on the streets on Friday night that you kinda feel like you’re wearing those Wicker Park shoes you get in Chicago? Yeah, those ones. Except they’re not platform shoes, they’re just cool enough to make you feel good about yourself for a few years.
Then you’ll probably go back to wearing Tee-shirts and jeans and cheap-ass shoes you buy at the strip mall and sit on a captain’s chair in your back yard in front of a big fire with your dog and family somewhere in Columbia Station, or whatever.
I love you, Nick.