Swansong Corpus Christi, Pt. II

C'mon, it's not all that bad. The grass has always been greener on the other side. On my last diatribe, I was Captain Poopipants. But I really should put all of this criticism to the forefront because, when you think about it, local politics do not make a home.

Granted, it's fun to talk about outside of football season when only two guys at the office actually follow the NBA or college b-ball. But when it comes to calling something home, it doesn't matter about silly, almost asinine civic politics. Besides, driving up from Corpus to Dallas, I didn't see very many "Don't let them steal our beach." Hell, I still saw "W '04" driving up on I-35 to the 75201...twice!

I have to default to my father, as he said something similar to this retrospective. Basically, you are never away from family because family is in your heart. As sappy as that may sound, the same can be spoken for Corpus in two respects.

When you live somewhere as long as I have lived in Corpus, the city (no matter how larger or small, how "good" or "bad") becomes a part of your system. You build yourself around the social and physical adaptations. You are aware of the pace of the traffic, the cadence of speech and the twill of accents. The longer you are there, the more the city becomes a part of your physical composition...but thankfully, not a part of your DNA.

And when you live somewhere so long, you know it is never, ever, ever the place you are at that makes it a home. It's the people that make an emotional and intellectual vortex tolerable. Sure, it's a version of the Stockholm Syndrome, but it's much more lovable. It's the people in the office that make the case of the Monday's acceptable. It's the patch of nerds discovered that you can geek with. It's the series of couples that can commiserate anything from the price of gas to the difference between parenthood vs. cool aunt/uncle.

So, as many complaints I can feasibly make against Corpus, so too I have the same amount of counterpoints to the contrary to the complaints. Granted, I am not the biggest fan of the beach, but it's 20 minutes away. You want a lack of traffic, some on down (just be warned to the drivers that don't know what they are doing). You want a welding job, have at it. There are other pluses, but I will be cheating my readers from doing their own due diligence.

I will miss the Corpus Christians the most. Everyone I met and have known, I thank you for helping the sleepy city wake up at the second or third hit of the snooze button.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Red sheds just as much as Loki, especially in my car.
2) You can come home again when it comes to Plucker's Wing Bar. And no, I am not touching "fire in the hole". There's a time and a place for everything, and it's called college.
3) The best way to learn a new location is to burn gas a drive around the whole place.

So, the new base of operations has changed, but the single-edged blade that is this absolute waste of time will remain the same. The adventures will change, but still included. Hell, maybe I can find some new contributors in the 214. Talk later.

Swansong Corpus Christi, Pt. I

These scenes say it all (Downtown Corpus, November 2009).

The clock has started. I don't need a minute hand and an hour hand to tell time. The Navy calls me a "short timer". Educators think I have "senioritis". Officially, I have put in my two weeks. The door has opened and the opportunity availed itself. But, it wasn't in "This Same Ugly Town".

I have a very soft spot for Corpus. Granted, I didn't grow up here from birth. But I lived here long enough to know where to return to at curfew. I am a proud Tuloso-Midway graduate and when the going got tough, I recoiled back to CC for to lick my wounds and get back on my feet. Had I known that my recovery would have been so successful...ugh, I had no idea my recovery would be so successful.

I have always found Corpus to be such an anomaly. When I moved back from Austin (or what Dad calls, "Where Souls Get Eaten"), it was the little things that I thought were strange, like: why don't they syndicate "The Simpsons" at a decent time slot, how come the good restaurants are always closed on Mondays and why do the most scenic places smell like live shrimp. Then when I started paying attention to how this town operates, it became apparent that as much as people hate to admit it, it's quite the dysfunctional town. Limited tax base, disparity of wealth, population shift versus population boom, no advancement in new industry, ultra-dependence on service industry and tourism with no financial investment into growth, an influx on retirees with no young population replacement, a certain strata with education...I can go on.

I partitioned my swan song because there are some absolute wrongs to Corpus Christi (thus Pt. I). There are certain things I hate about this town, and it is far more rooted than just bad drivers. I hate how it is only accessible from an Interstate they just made up 30 years ago. I hate the general smallness of thinking, from mayor to non-voter. I hate how the slums aren't really slums. I hate how downtown isn't really a downtown. I hate the excuses. Then I hate the counter-excuses. It's the reason why kids don't stay. It's the reason for the incessant complaining on caller.com articles. As I mentioned in late July, I have my professional opinions. But my personal opinion played a part in our ultimate decision to ship out.

I don't know. Maybe I'm just falling under the same spell that lots of other younger Corpus Christians trip over. With my time in Austin and visiting other metro areas, I will never understand why (for example) one city as only 2 really crappy movie theaters (Dollar Cinema doesn't count). I start making the same simple comparisons with apples and oranges. Apples say, I hate the fact that no good alternate music act show up to CC. But, I know with the oranges, Corpus can't support the $50 for Them Crooked Vultures tickets. So it saddens me when I see things as part of the solution, the problems mount quickly to thwart.

Everyone...not just me, but the whole state...will benefit when Corpus gets in order. If you want to be a more-populous Port Aransas, then work on that. If you want to be Austin, work on that instead. Hell, if you want to be Odessa - which shouldn't be difficult with the oil presence - make that call and go forth. But figure it out. Quit languishing in your own excuses. Make a bloody decision and drive on.

So, for now...I hate you Corpus...for now.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) There seems to be only one Quest Diagnostics that does drug testing. It's in Flour Bluff and it's kinda creepy. But they were professional, so I went with it.
2) Having professionals box up al your possessions is expensive. But the benefits always outweigh the costs.
3) Stress leads to a terrible diet. Thank God I haven't gained too much weight, but I am eating all sorts of junk right now...not good.

In part two, I will totally love on you, Corpus Christi. See, I told you my relationship with Corpus was dysfunctional. Talk later.

Home(less)?

Since I have recently uprooted 1600 miles from Corpus I have been musing a lot about what home means to me. Home for most of my life was the house I grew up in, surrounded by my family and friends I had known since 2nd grade. It may have been bitterly cold outside at times in the North Star State, but it was always warm at home. Even as I moved away to college and to graduate school, that stucco house remained home to me. Sure I made friends and enjoyed the places I lived, but I couldn't shake that my roots remained firmly planted on Livingston St. But then my sister was killed unexpectedly in a car accident at 38, and my dad followed a year later after a massive heart attack. Suddenly home represented bittersweet memories I couldn't face, and an emptiness time couldn't fill.

In a strange coincidence, I had closed on my first house in Corpus the day my sister died, and all I could think about at the time was that it would never feel like home. For almost 3 years it didn't feel like home, nowhere did. But then life snuck up on me, I formed deep friendships and even fell in love. My house was no longer just a structure, it hosted parties with all my friends, became a refuge from the winter for my family, and I realized you could get a good idea of who I was just by looking at the house and yard and all it contained. It was home, how did it become home without me realizing?

And then I did something I don't even completely understand myself. I moved out East, 1600 miles away from home. Sure it was a fantastic job, a great career opportunity, and a chance to live in a vibrant big city again, but for a girl who had spent the last 4 years wandering emotionally while staying put physically, it seems a strange decision. I left my friends, my boyfriend, my home all behind. So will this new place become home?One night, while unpacking, I was listening to the Boss, and I was struck by something he says. "It's a sad man my friend, who is living in his own skin, and can't stand the company." The Boss, I thought, knows what home is. Home is whenever you feel comfortable in your own skin, it is not a time or even a place. It is neither dependent on your friends or your family, but entirely on you. And that is why I had moved. I had found refuge in my friends and my life in Corpus, had tried to let their love fill the hole inside me, but after all this time it was still there. So here I am, "homeless" for now, but determined to feel at home in my own skin once and for all so that I will be at "home" wherever life takes me. Wish me luck!