Add 'Here' to 'Places I Don't Belong'

You know what, I kind of give up trying to be a New Englander. Not that I was trying all that hard in the first place, but now I’m going to stop all efforts completely. I want to go back to the Midwest where people are normal and don’t make fun of me when I talk.

I knew when I moved here I would have to prepare myself for some adjusted vocabulary. I knew, for example, that I would have to train myself to say ‘soda’ in public instead of ‘pop’ because New Englanders have apparently never heard the term before in their lives and have no idea that it refers to a delicious carbonated, caffeinated beverage. I was also aware that the word ‘wicked’ would creep into my vocabulary with increasing regularity and it would not refer to the musical.

But enough is enough. I do not enjoy being looked at like I am completely insane if I mention a word or phrase in all innocence believing all people here can’t be morons, they must at least get the gist of what I’m speaking of even if they don’t use the language themselves, and then being proved horribly wrong. Everyone here apparently is a moron and my faith in humanity is shattered.

New Englanders think they are so progressive and open minded, also that they are better than everyone else because they live on the East Coast which is the only civilized land in the world. I’m serious, if it is west of Worcester, Mass, it becomes the Great Beyond. A land of mystery and danger and people who should be pitied.

They take vacations to other places in New England. They go to New York if they’re feeling particularly charitable toward the rest of the world. They cannot comprehend someone living happily somewhere else. If the rest of the country fell off in some sort of cataclysmic earthquake, or were attacked by North Korea, it would take them over a month to notice.

It is like they are stuck in colonial America and do not recognize that we have added some territory since 1781. Well, this is my open letter to New Englanders: The map above does not include the entire country. There is more out there. Deal with it.

Fair to Middling

Being a good Midwestern girl, I love the county fair. I look forward to it every year, mostly for the deliciously awful food, but also to see animals and crafts and displays of how hick people become during that one magical week a year when it is completely socially acceptable. Granted, many of them are that hick year-round, but let’s move on…

Naturally, when I moved to New England, I believed the glory days of fried food and barns were behind me, happily I discovered this was not the case. The hillbilly-repressed Bay-Staters also take one week a year to embrace their unpolished side and revel in products of the great outdoors. They too highlight livestock, produce, and continue the fight for a high national weight average. It is very comforting to know they are not so different from their Midwestern cousins.

So it was on Sunday last, I drove my little car to meet friends at the Topsfield Fair: America’s Oldest Established 1818. And so it was the East Coast fair culture shock began.

In all fairness, the general principles remain the same: eat a lot, look at animals, look at produce, eat some more. It’s the general feel and attitude that is really different. For one thing, the Topsfield Fair is generally held at the beginning of October as opposed to the Midwest where fairs usually take place in July/August. Topsfield also resembles more of the state fair feel rather than your typical county fair. It’s much bigger (though not as big as a state fair) and many more people attend because this is one of the only fairs in the state. People come from all over New England and even Canada making the midway much more crowded and the atmosphere less happy and jovial and more…well…more East Coast-y.

The names for some things are different of course (elephant ears = fried dough) and they have never even heard of Lemon Shake-Ups (travesty, I know). It is more just a week of play then of actually showing what agricultural strides have been made in the previous year. The whole ambience is just off.

I still had a good time with the friends I went with and I got my funnel cake, which is all I really needed to achieve. I also got to see a pumpkin that weighed over 1,600 pounds, which in itself was worth the price of admission. It was not the county fair of my childhood, but as long as I can get my once a year funnel cake, I think I can deal with it.

…and I keep hearing strange music…

The Twilight Zone is a real place, and I’m pretty sure I live there. People say the Midwest is a freakish place where people smile at each other on the street and everyone is polite and is somehow home of the happiest people on earth not on Prozac. I am here to tell you that there is a land that makes the Midwest look like inner-city LA and it is called New England.

When I moved to the East Coast, I was concerned about many things but I did not consider preparing for a siege against Pleasantville pre-technicolor. Apparently, I should have.

The first thing that probably should have tipped me off is that every square inch of this part of the country looks like a freaking post card. It’s idyllic to the point of creepy; like Mayberry and Stars Hollow and Hooterville rolled into one.

Then there are the towns themselves…and the townies. They make me with my sweet, Midwestern upbringing look downright rude. Cars stop so pedestrians can cross the street, and not only at the crosswalks or at stop signs and traffic lights, but wherever the pedestrian has deigned appropriate. In the Midwest we have strict driver/pedestrian etiquette. If you are driving a car and you see someone trying to cross the street, as long as no eye contact is made, you can keep driving unless said person is already in the crosswalk in which case you grudgingly slow down trying to time it so you do not have to come to a complete stop and glare at the person who has dared to impede your progress. Said pedestrian must cross the street as fast as humanly possible, also avoiding eye contact, and realize they have just taken their life into their own hands.

New England families walk their children to school. I live across the street from an elementary school, I have witnessed this phenomenon. Whole families and the dog walk the children to school. Both parents. Siblings. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. The man who runs the dry cleaning shop. The woman behind the counter at the convenience store. Together. Walking the kids to school. Yeah, you keep denying the existence of the Twilight Zone facing that knowledge.

Still think you need more proof? Visit New England. Spend 10 minutes in a downtown area. You will find enough irrefutable evidence that you will run away begging for the eerie tune to stop permeating your skull…