Group vs. Community

"I love individuals. I hate groups of people. I hate... a group of people who have a common purpose. 'Cause pretty soon they little hats, y'know, and armbands and fight songs... and a list of people they're gonna visit at three a.m." -George Carlin



Of all Carlin's choice witticisms, these words speak most directly to my soul. Groups creep me out, whether they're organized religions, political parties or social clubs. Trust me, I've experimented with all of these things. But "getting involved" with a crowd of like-minded individuals inevitably leads to me becoming deeply self-conscious and saying something awkward. I do well with a couple or a a few other people, but conversing with a larger assenbly stresses me out. When my daughter was born, many cool, intelligent women would say, "You should join a mommy group," and I would say, "Oh, what a great idea," as I shuddered internally. I don't necessarily think all groups are inherently bad, they're just not for stalwart introverts like myself.

I recently wrote and performed a monologue about my experience being a polite northerner living in the south. I talked about feeling that I don't belong in either my native Michigan or here in Chattanooga and that I was starting to give up concept of belonging. I really meant those words when I said them, but then the next week came along...oh, brother, what a week. By the time it began, Michigan was suddenly on the verge of becoming a so-called "Right to Work" state. A few lame duck Republicans helped pass that and a slew of other conservative measures that wouldn't have passed in January. That knocked the wind out of me and many people I love. But as depressing as it was, I found the vehement response from Michigan workers just as moving. 12,000 people protested in Lansing that Tuesday. They made me proud to be from a place where people push back even when they know they won't win, because that's what you have to do. I followed the protest online, but I wished I could have been at the capitol with them.

The tragedy at Sandy Hook elementary school happened a few days later. There's too much to say about that. My words are insufficient at this moment. I feel a deep sense of mourning for the victims and also a need to evaluate my part of this American culture of violence. Many of the people I interact with online have expressed similar emotions, and that comforts me. Granted, some cope by way of their soapboxes, which can be annoying. But most of that indignation comes from a place of sensitivity. I'll take sensitivity over its alternative any day, but especially on that day and the many long ones that followed.

That gut-wrenching week also saw the sudden and too soon passing of a highly esteemed friend in Michigan, the patriarch of a wonderful family I first met twenty years ago. They're a very smart, funny, creative lot and seem to draw all sorts of interesting people into their circle. This was especially apparent from the outpouring of heartfelt condolences and sweet remembrances shared on Facebook alone. From my point of view here in Tennessee, that was FB's finest moment because it allowed me to be part of this beautiful, intricate tribute to a man so many people loved. It made me very sad, but (at the risk of being a bit too earnest) it also helped me find a space in my heart I didn't know existed.

In the midst of so much heartache, that experience made me realize that I do long for a community, something I don't currently have here in Chattanooga. And that makes me wonder, how do communities form? Why do some places work for me while others don't? I lived in Ann Arbor, MI for nine solid years but never felt at home there. Sure, I met some great people, made friends, had a couple cool jobs, lived in a student co-op. I belonged to several loose, unorganized crowds, usually comprised of transient individuals (students, mainly). But I didn't feel part of a rooted society. And that's very similar to the way I feel right now. Again, it makes me wonder if I'm just incapable of communal kinship.

But now that I have Michigan on my mind so much, I remember that I did feel a sense of community when I lived in Ypsilanti. Ypsi is Ann Arbor's smaller, humbler town next door. I adore it, as I have since the day I first moved there. Even now when I go back to Michigan and wonder, "What the hell did I miss aboout this place? The endless winter? The roads? Everyone being broke and depressed?", I'm always happy when I find myself back in Ypsi. That was the place where I actually got to know my neighbors. We'd run into each other while walking our dogs or at the food co-op. Sometimes we'd meet up for trivia or karaoke at the bar down the road. And when a bunch of them were unjustly fined for not shoveling their sidewalks (they had, by the way), I went to a city council meeting to support them. To me, that signifies community - giving up a Monday night at home in the middle of February to fight the man on behalf of your neighbors.

Like groups, I suppose that communities tend to form around shared passions and ideals. In Ypsi, my neighbors and I felt a common pride and affection for our sweet little underrated town. Now there's a nice, broad area of interest. It allows for a wide range of types, ages, backgrounds, styles. You don't have to spend a lot of money or dress a certain way to love a place like Ypsi. You don't have to believe in the same god as the next guy, or any god at all. You can be a loner and be a part of something bigger than yourself at the same time. I was able to do it there. I want that opportunity again.

I'm hopeful that it'll happen, maybe here, maybe somewhere else. I sometimes fantasize about moving back to Ypsi and reclaiming my battered home state, but life isn't likely to move us in that direction. And if it doesn't happen in Chattanooga, I won't take it personally. Maybe communities are like friends - you hit it off with some folks and not so much with others. It isn't that those non-friends are bad people. They're just not your people.

I'm grateful for at least knowing what I want. And until I find it, the internet is proving to be a surprisingly good proxy.

The Surprise Center of Everything I Miss

In just eight days, we'll pack two tons of baby gear and one baby girl into a rental car, drive ten hours north on I-75 and spend a week in our beloved, mitten-shaped homeland. During that time, we'll be lodged in exotic... stunning... Livonia, Michigan.

The first image on the City of Livonia's "Community Profile" page.

No kidding, I'm honestly geeked to be staying in this grid-shaped expanse of strip malls and post war subdivisions. Growing up in Dearborn, my primary association with Livonia was the old Ladbroke DRC where we'd go to watch horse races. That was the only reason I ever went there. But now I see it as a rather ideal locale, for several reasons:

Proximity to a slew of southeastern Michigan hotspots We've got must-see people and destinations in Ann Arbor, Ypsilanti, Canton, Dearborn, Dearborn Heights, Detroit and Huntington Woods, not to mention a pair of dentist appointments in Bingham Farms. That's three counties, y'all! Livonia may be the most central location, which never occurred to me until we booked our room. Apparently, it's also a haven for traveling businessmen, as our hotel's complimentary breakfast includes "traditional Japanese items" - ooh la la!

There's a Costco there You may be thinking, "Costco? Ha ha! Tara has officially turned into a boring mom." Fair enough. I just recently became a card-carrying member, but I feel as if Costco and me were always meant to be. What's not to love about prodigious free samples and cheap, organic, frozen burritos by the dozen? I can get Dubliner cheese for six bucks a pound! The little cafe in the front sells giant, hand-dipped ice cream bars for $1.50. It's like Ikea for people who enjoy food more than furniture (though they also have furniture, and clothing, and car tires). I hate shopping, but I love going to Costco. We'll have a kitchenette in our room so being this close to one is rather practical. After all, we can't live on traditional Japanese breakfast items alone.

There's a secret oasis of bucolic grandeur there Our friend J is a longtime Livonia resident. Hopefully, we'll get a chance to hang out with her and her faithful Labrador/Chow mix, who looks just like a little black bear when he stands on his hind legs. She introduced us to the lovely hiking trails at Rotary Park. Those woods are quite serene. Right about now it's probably strewn with wildflowers. It's a cool respite on a hot, sunny day and a natural shelter in light rain. Once, I saw someone on horseback there. If you enjoy nature walks and find yourself in the vicinity, I recommend checking out this place. I foresee at least a couple jaunts with our baby and our dog.


It's Metro Detroit, and that's good enough for me I know my audience, so I'm careful to include the word "metro". People from SE Michigan bristle when suburbanites say they're "from Detroit", because everyone is so aware of the difference between the mostly African-American city center and its much whiter suburbs. But consider this - while the city population has dipped below 800,000, the metro area is about 4.3 million. That's a significant number of people in a specific area that I think we may as well call Detroit. Whatevs. Chattanooga's metro population is 500,000 and it's the biggest city within a one hundred mile radius. I miss the advantages of living in a more densely populated region. More so, there are quintessential Metro Detroit things I crave. Like, for instance, choosing from dozens of possible routes between points A and B. "Should I take I-275 to I-94 or just head down Ford Road or Michigan Avenue?" - you don't get all those options when you're surrounded by mountains and ridges. I miss the long-established immigrant enclaves, and eating delicious Greek, Middle Eastern, Indian, Chinese and Mexican food. I can't even find good pizza around here. I miss AM 580, this funky Windsor oldies station that still plays pop tunes from the 1950s, as well as an inordinate number of Guess Who hits (to satisfy Canadian content minimums, no doubt). Now that I live far away, I realize that particular combination of things doesn't exist anywhere else. So it really doesn't matter where we hang in that vast cement grid where the mitten's thumb meets its palm. As long as we're with people we love and a short ride from a Coney Island, it's all home to me.

Being Back in Michigan

This nomad's life is weird. I don't feel like I belong in Chattanooga, but I don't feel like I belong here, either. That's actually a good thing, because I was worried that seeing the friends and family I miss so much would set me up for a big post-vacation bummer. I'm not so concerned about that now. Hanging with so many loved ones has been a blast, but now that I'm finally up here, I'm almost overwhelmed by the sense that I shouldn't be here instead of Tennessee.

Let's just get it over with and talk about the weather. Surprise! It isn't the worst thing about being here. The cold honestly hasn't bothered me, mostly because it hasn't been that bad since arrived last Friday (and it was about this cold in Chatt the week before we left). Even the greyness hasn't been getting me down because there's a certain beauty in the vast, quilted sky that I don't get to enjoy in sunny, mountainous, southern Tennessee. I love the way barren, ebony branches and tree trunks look against that backdrop, especially when placed behind an uninterrupted field of white snow (which is far prettier than brown grass).

There is much loveliness to enjoy in a Michigan winter but I had forgotten about the seasonal dirtiness - the dry, stuffy indoors, the perpetual snot and chapped lips. The roads are the worst part. I saw a woman sitting on a bus bench by the side of Washtenaw Avenue in Ann Arbor. She sat just inches from the slush spray that emanated from the 40mph traffic, her legs ankle-deep in the black-streaked drift. That image broke my heart, though (or because?) I had been in her place so many times. And I had forgotten how cars turn into hideous, hulking sludge monsters. We haven't been able to see clearly through our windshield since Cincinnati. As soon as you wipe it down, it films over with that special blend of dirt and precipitation. Driving feels like walking around with filthy eyeglasses.

Culturally speaking, I think that southeastern Michigan has Chattanooga beat, hands down. The metro-Detroit/Ann Arbor food and beer scene is way more tasty, diverse and affordable, probably because there is a much larger and more diverse population in this region. Also, I've been able to do things here that I could never do in Chattanooga, like go to an art house theater (in a once-abandoned elementary school, no less) or hang out in bars where white people and black people and even people of other races mingle. I've longed for these things. It's also really exciting to be around a large population of Jewish people again.

I do find myself missing the friendlier, more upbeat attitude you find in Chattanooga. Yes, people seem nicer there. I like to say that in my experience so far, southerners tend to be more polite about everything except their racism and religion. My Louisiana-bred Michigan friend W got a big "Told you so!" kick out of that. There have been occasions when some pleasant bit of chitchat in the Chatt took an abrupt and nasty turn (in which I found myself responding, "Actually, I don't have a church," or "Actually, it's not cool to say that you 'Got jewed'.") Allowing for a reasonable level of self-expression, I'd rather that believers keep their views to themselves, but when it comes to racism, I just don't know. Is it better for people to be mask their bigotry in polite terms? I had a very typical SE Michigan conversation the other day, during which a woman told me how she had to move her family out of an inner ring suburb because "the neighborhood had changed". She didn't explicitly say that black people had scared her away, but that's exactly what she meant. I got that familiar "Oh, boy. Here we go," feeling and made my social escape as quickly as possible.

Of course, one's feelings about polite racism have everything to do with one's race, so I'm not going to suggest that impolite racism is the same or better. I will say that from my point of view, racist people everywhere make assumptions about my beliefs and it's annoying. Blunt southern racism is shocking, but the sentiment is nothing new to me.

When people ask me if I'm enjoying Chattanooga, my usual response is something like, "Sure." I guess it rates about a 7. I love the mountains and vistas the most. I miss being close to a big city. In some ways, this new-town experience reminds me of being in my twenties. The overarching theme of that decade seemed to be, "I don't always know what I want, but I'm figuring out what I don't want." I guess that sounds a bit bleak but I don't see it that way. When we first moved to Chattanooga, I was desperate for it to be our Forever Place because I couldn't stand the thought of packing another truck. Fortunately, the memory of the move is fading and I know I can do it again and even again, if necessary. Being a nomad feels weird but it isn't necessarily bad, especially if it makes me hungry for more world. In the meantime, there is more Scenic City exploring to be done.

At the Start of My Last Week in Michigan

We were supposed to leave on Tuesday the 27th, but it looks like it will be Wednesday instead. So now begins my last week in Michigan. Usually at these turning points - leaving a job, saying goodbye to friends, moving - I get caught up in a lot of sentimental reflection, like one of those corny flashback montages at the end of a TV series. But this change is so BIG, encompassing all three of those aforementioned shifts (and so many more), that I don't have time for my usual sap. That's probably a good thing. But I do have a couple of quiet minutes at the top of the day, so I thought I would jot down a few observations about getting ready for the grand exodus.

Nothing has ever made me so popular as moving. Getting married came close. I remember that warm feeling at my wedding, when I got to see some of my closest friends and family meet each other and celebrate on my behalf... that was pretty fantastic. Amazingly, I've been feeling that same warmth almost every day for the last month. Particularly since the start of July, my free time has consisted of a nearly non-stop parade of friend visits and a series of fun local adventures. By the time we leave town, I think I will be able to say that I saw every person I needed to see. But more than that, I've had the pleasure of spending more time with those whose company I probably should have enjoyed more often - really cool coworkers and friends that I took for granted because they live nearby. Of course, this can lead to a sense of regret, which will probably hit me after I've been in Chattanooga a couple weeks. But really, I'm not big on regrets. I knew that I had a limited window to hang out with all of these wonderful people and I made the most of it. I'm even a little proud of myself.

I've been having good luck with timely reunions. In the past two weeks, I've been able to hang with my two oldest friends (meaning those I've known the longest - M and S, you know who you are), as well as their lovely spouses and Dan's best friend from high school, J. In a weird way, I feel like old friends are inherited through marriage, so if you add it all up I got to hang with five buddies from way back, none of whom live in Michigan. In addition to that, my mom is hosting a family reunion this weekend during which I will be able to see five of my six siblings. That's one of the many reasons I'm feeling lucky.

Packing is way better when you don't have anything else to do. My last day of work was on Friday, so my only job right now is to visit with friends and pack. What luxury! The last time I moved when I wasn't working was when I left home at age 20, and back then I had barely enough stuff to fill half a bedroom (also I was moving from Dearborn to Ann Arbor, a distance only 1/15 of my upcoming journey). I don't have that combined sense of panic, frustration and exhaustion. Not yet, anyway. I'm able to approach packing in an organized fashion, which appeals to the obsessive librarian in me. I hesitate to say... it's kind of fun. I'm excited for this morning's project - watching DVD reruns of Star Trek: The Next Generation while I clean out the closet!

I'm guessing the next time we move will be in Chattanooga, from our new apartment to a house, but who can say what the future holds? I can't imagine moving to the west coast - I would just want to throw everything away and start over, rather than pack and haul it all. As it is, I can't believe all the shit we've accumulated in this one bedroom apartment. I used to take pride in the art of the three carload move (I used to not need more than that) and look at me now! I'm starting to worry about fitting all this into a ten foot truck. I don't know how people do this with kids, but they do and we will, too, if need be. I guess the point I'm getting at is that I suspect I'm enjoying certain luxuries that won't be available next time around. And I can definitely say that I won't be sharing that last week with the same set of fascinating people. That's why I'm trying to enjoy it while it lasts. There's simply no time for the montage.

Accepting Summer's Limitations

I always get a little bummed out this time of year. Seems ungrateful, right? I daydream about my unclothed limbs and sleeping with the windows open all winter long and now that summer is here, I have the nerve to complain. Alas, I guess I'm just a spring and fall kinda lady, though I did love the sound of the storm passing over my house this evening, and the lightning and firefly display before my living room window. Maybe I am better able to appreciate these things because I resolved this morning that I must accept summer's limitations if I want to be happy.

In a previous blog post, I talked about my friend S's resolution to accept winter's limitations and that, in adopting that philosophy, I was able to find some peace during those brutally cold months. The circumstances are different, even opposite, but the overall challenge is the same - how do I deal with extreme weather and its potentially negative impact on myself and others?

Springtime, with all its new life nectar, feels like constant, drunken exhilaration and summertime feels like the inevitable hangover. Literally, many people I know seem to be perpetually hungover during the summer. And when people are in that seesaw mode of nighttime stupor and daytime headache, they tend to have volatile tempers. This is the best explanation I've found for the phenomenon I call "Summer Crazies". Every year, I notice that there is a much higher propensity for drama in June, July and August - at work, amongst friends, in my brain, on the bus, etc. For instance, very bad things happen every summer at work (not only at my current job, but at pretty much every job I've had since I started working seventeen years ago). Last summer, these bad things ranged on the scale of lost jobs to lost lives. Of course, not all of these unfortunate events are alcohol-related. Some can only be chalked up to the tough-luck drama that life randomly hands us at times. But it doesn't help when the players are overdosing on mind-altering substances and sun. Too many of my acquaintance eagerly throw themselves into the cauldron because admittedly, the Summer Crazies can be very entertaining. But mostly I find it exhausting and I would rather just read a book. Honestly, I think that's the best I can do. I can't control the way other people react to unfortunate situations. I can't keep them from acting out or making it worse for themselves. But I can control my own alcohol and drama intake, and choose to amuse myself with fiction, instead.

In doing so, I just have to remind myself to read those words... very... slowly. Just as my brain starts to shut down when the temperature is below 10 degrees Fahrenheit, it has a similar reaction to temperatures around 90 or above. I get frustrated when my mind isn't as sharp or quick as I want it to be, but again, I must surrender to the elements and just accept that I may need to reread that paragraph a second time or that it might take longer to find the right words to say. I take some comfort in knowing that everyone has this problem. Oh, and conversation? Waste of time. No one seems to have the attention span for it. Several times in the last week, I've been talking to a friend and mid-sentence they'll randomly say something like, "Hey, look at that squirrel!" I was getting annoyed about it until I recalled the number of times I totally zoned out when someone was talking to me. Just like a meal on a blazing hot day, it's best to keep the chit chat light.

In my quest to keep the season from getting me down, my most surprising discovery is my new appreciation for afternoon naps. I'm like a little kid. I never want to go to sleep because I worry I'm going to miss some fun. But for a whitey like me, that period between 1:00 and 5:00 pm on a hot summer day is no fun at all. Unless I arm myself with a tank of water and a thorough layer of SPF 50, stepping outside equals instant sun stroke and blistering. On recent days off from work, I've found myself snoozing on the couch in the afternoon and it's absolutely glorious! I get to skip the harshest part of day and feel completely refreshed in the evening and nighttime, which is the best part of a summer day, anyway. I guess this is what the "siesta" is all about. It's freakin' brilliant. Obviously I can't do it all the time, but I'm going to take advantage of it as much as I can.

I'm curious to see how people behave in a place like Chattanooga, where the summers are much hotter, but the people are more used to it. Are we like the southerners we mock in the wintertime? You know, the ones who shut down their towns when they have an inch of snow because they don't know how to deal with it? Are we missing some basic summer coping skills that southerners know instinctively? Perhaps that's why I'm more inclined to embrace this season despite all the mischief it brings. Now that I've learned to live through and even like a Michigan winter, I'm ready to take on a Tennessee summer.

People Acting Like Jerks for No Good Reason

Last Sunday, I decided to take my dog Dulce to the park. As we turned from our front walk to the sidewalk, I noticed a somewhat sketchy dude walking about 50 feet behind us. That's no big deal as I often see sketchy dudes walk by my place to get to the liquor store on the corner. But after we turned down Forest Street toward Frog Island, I noticed the same man behind us. As we were approaching the narrow part of the walkway that spans the bridge over the river, I slowed Dulce down and tried to interest her in a stinky pile of dirt so the guy could pass us. As he walked by, he muttered something to me. My initial reaction was to smile at him, because I figured he must have been commenting on Dulce's cuteness. After all, she looks like this ~



But once I glanced at his grumpy mug I was able to make out the exact words behind his bitter snarl. "Are you walking that dog or is he walking you?"

I can think of so many better ways to let a person know that they're in your way. "Excuse me" would have worked. Even the more abrupt "Could you please move?" would have been better than his snide comment.

A month ago, I would have been thoroughly desensitized to this nonsense, but then I went south to Nashville where I made the most pleasantly shocking discovery. The people there were polite to me all the time. Some were even downright friendly! At some point in the midst of my brief trip, I realized that not one person acted like a jerk for no good reason. Now that I'm back in Michigan, I have to say that dealing with this "no good reason" jerkiness is the hardest part of being here.

But who am I fooling? I'm not so obtuse as to believe that there's no good reason for the cloud of depression hanging above the mitten state these days. Honestly, this place is screwed. If you haven't lost your job and/or your house yet, then you probably know at least five other people who have. And it isn't going to get better any time soon. I think our best hope is my friend S's theory that global warming will make this an agricultural hotspot in about 20 years (and judging by our recent good weather, and the much worse blizzard conditions in typically warmer states this winter, she may be onto something). What else do we have?

I used to think that if I had a perfectly stable source of income, I would want to buy a house and stay here for good. I've made a lot of wonderful friends here and I think this is a beautiful place. But I'm done, y'all. Living here has become a severe bummer trip and it's killing my spirit. I've become especially disheartened since I noticed that a sweetly springy four-day heatwave hasn't overcome the general social grumpiness that I would have traditionally attributed to winter. If anything, it's just made everyone behave worse.

Accepting Winter's Limitations

My friend S. came up with a very smart new year's resolution last year. She told me that she was going to be at peace with winter's limitations, and that's been my cold weather mantra ever since.

I think the most important change that came out of this philosophy is that I now allow myself both ample time for donning layers and the freedom to look like a complete freak. I don't care how unsexy my blue marshmallow coat, two scarves, baggy jeans and long underwear are. When the temperature drops below 15 degrees, I have no concern for fashion. I'm stunned by the number of hatless people I see walking around in unzipped jackets. They all look miserable, trying to fool themselves that winter can't overpower their day-to-day habits or their style. But the cold will get the best of them and mess with with their minds and spirits. I honestly believe the most important key to beating winter depression is to accept that looking dorky is way better than freezing.

But I figured out a couple of other things, too. Like yesterday, I was contemplating what it would be like to be a bear and hibernate. What if Dan and I gathered a bunch of food, stayed in, and just ate and slept all the time? Then I realized, that's exactly what I do when it's this cold outside, which inevitably leads to me feeling like a loser (as a bear probably does not). But so what if I don't go out as much in the winter? I'm saving money and at least half of the time I'm doing something creative like writing or cooking. I admit, when it's this numbingly cold I get into regrettable, low brainwave habits like watching "Matlock" reruns via the digital antenna (and even looking forward to it) or obsessively composing Youtube music video playlists. Yet I know I'll shed those lamer pastimes along with the unsexy layers once the weather gets better. In the meantime, here in the middle of winter, my brain is just not peppy enough to do it's usual batch of thinking so I seek simple, mindless activities.

Accepting that winter limits my brain power hasn't been easy. I get really frustrated when I make little mistakes at work, which happened a lot this week. But there's nothing to be done about it. I take some comfort in the fact that everyone is a little stupider these days, so I'm not facing a unique disadvantage. I like to pretend we're all drunk or drugged, like one of those Star Trek episodes where an alien force infects the ship and all the crew members get loopy and have sex. All I'm saying is that I think there are some good laughs to he had out the situation.

So that's how I'm keeping myself afloat on these single digit days. I'm also going to the gym more often. In fact, I need to go so I can assemble my skin-covering mosaic of workout layers. I think I'm going to go for the look Dan describes as "homeless track star". After all, if there's any place where I always feel comfortable looking like a complete freak, it's the gym.

No Justice, No Piece of Pie

On the last Saturday in July, Dan and I attended Pie Lovers Unite at the Ladies' Literary Club in Ypsilanti. It was an affair as awkward as it was tasty.

The entry fee for the event was either $5 a head or 1 pie per family. Of course, we had to bring one of Dan's fabulous pies, with his one-of-a kind crack crust. Before Dan started making crust, I always thought that pie was pretty lame. But that's only because most crusts are disgusting. The common myth is that you must use shortening (a.k.a. the world's least enjoyable fat). The key to Dan's pie crust is butter, just a little lard, and coarse sea salt. Yum! A good crust may not be the best tasting part of a great pie, but it is always the most valuable player.

Slow Food Huron Valley sponsors Pie Lovers Unite. In keeping with their mission, they encouraged entrants to use only local ingredients. Even though you can't grow a lemon in Michigan, we decided to bring a lemon meringue pie. Screw it. What's a pie contest without lemon meringue?

And so we set out for the Ladies' Literary Club, citrus pie in tow. The Club was packed by the time we got there. The atmosphere was sort of like a church hall gathering crossed with a Jane Austen drawing room scene - lots of little old ladies, attractive young people and questionable manners. The front parlor was crowded with self-proclaimed pie lovers seated around a dozen small card tables. We wound up in the back dining room, which was really the best place to be. The judges sat at one end of the room, sampling bits of every pie, all of which were stacked high on a massive table in the center of the room. I was perfectly content to stand there, ogling the pies and sipping a cup of coffee (from the aptly named Mighty Good coffee company) as the more formal ceremony took place in the adjacent parlor.

It was a pretty weird program. The emcee, though mild-mannered and pleasant, seemed to enjoy the microphone more than it flattered her. She spoke of pie passion in a humdrum monotone. She tried to rile up the crowd with a battle cry, raising her voice just a smidgen to say

"Pie lovers"

to which three people responded, "Unite"

"Pie lovers"

"unite"

And that was that.

The next order of business was the pie-ku reading (yep, haikus about pie), followed by the pie walk. I'd heard of a cake walk before, but never really knew what it was. For the pie walk, participants gathering in a circle around the pie table and marching clockwise to some polka music. There were paper signs taped to the floor, each with the name of a local farm on it. When the music stopped, so did the participants. Then the emcee called out the name of one of those farms, and whoever happened to be standing on that farm's sign won a prize. I could totally get down with that.

But since there wasn't enough space for everyone to compete in a single pie walk, there were several. And then, the emcee came up with random and bizarre qualifiers, like "If you're wearing sandals, you get to be in this pie walk!" The most annoying qualifier was, "If you keep chickens in your backyard, you get to be in this pie walk!" I hate the way the slow food movement alienates working class people - renters can't partake in that pie walk!

If I ever host a pie walk, I'm going to come up with qualifiers that get you excited about the not-so-great details of your life like, "If you've ever had an abortion, you get to be in this pie walk!" That way, everyone has a chance to feel good about themselves.

Perhaps it's jokes like that that make me a pariah. I must have had the word "avoid" tattooed on my head that day, because I saw several co-workers at Pie Lovers Unite and only two of them spoke to me willingly (I tip my hat to HM and LG for being so kind). One woman averted her glance when I smiled and waved and another bolted when I said "Hello". I really try to not take this stuff personally, but it's getting to be a little tough.

My favorite awkward moment of the night happened when LG (who was one of the judges) gave me some very thoughtful feedback on the only lemon meringue pie in the competition. She swore that the whole panel was impressed with the "jiggle" of the meringue, and that the filling was considered well set. I gushed, "LG, I feel like I'm on Iron Chef!" And just as I was starting to feel at home at PLU, a thoroughly obnoxious woman approached us. She knew LG, but I knew her, too. I'll call her Bertha. Bertha volunteers at the theater where I used to work. She's a nightmare, one of those townies that you can never get rid of. Terrible manners, loud, crass, dumb.

In spite of all that, I tried smiling and waving at her, too. We're all pie lovers, right? She ignored me, until she was just about to walk away. Then she turned to me, stared down her bulbous nose and said, "Hey, you look familiar. Where do I know you from?" I connected the dots to the theater, and she replied, "Oh, I haven't seen you there in a long time." Then she turned on her heel and wobbled away.

Alas, Dan's entry did not win a prize, but we did get to eat a lot of pies - savory, sweet, some well crusted (though many were not). I got a pretty wicked sugar rush that night, right before I headed down to the karaoke pub. All in all, it was a pretty fab Ypsi night, despite all the social awkwardness and unfair pie walks.