Insomniac's Take on Middle America
I have now been awake for 36 consecutive hours so I figure I'll try my hand at the old EBW standby, the nonsense blog.
Today was our town's ice cream social. I know that this sounds like a cutesy, good-ole fashioned values, middle American festival of moral fiber. It wasn't. I tried the peanut butter fudge swirl but I didn't like it. I threw it in the trash can and a little fat kid took it out and ate it. His mother watched him do this. There were people with religious pamphlets and right to life posters at the f-ing ice cream social. I took one look at the posters of aborted fetuses and immediately ruled out the cherry nut ice cream. WTF is wrong with people? Where is the sweet, mid-west small town, nostalgia that I was looking for?
The truth is this: the ideal of the small town festival at which everyone knows you and at the end you all go and build a barn or something, it's a fallacy. A facade. A masquerade. Yes there are jars of peach preserves, but the woman selling them has her 8 year old kid approaching strangers with books of Mormon. There are local dunks and, yes, they are colorful. Just not as colorful as the vomit they deposit on the side of your car when they mistake you for their parole officer. There are red checkered tableclothes, but they cover up the words "I fucked so and so here" engraved into the table.
Don't buy the hype, folks. My town is as small as they come and it's just a fucked up, if not more so, than anywhere else.
By the way, I'm attributing this delicious little bout of insomnia to the fact that my life is simply so wonderful that sleeping would waste it. Good night and have pleasant tomorrow.