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Maybe I shouldn’t be reading Nick Reding’s Methland.
Brilliant if uneven book, the natural companion piece to Michael Pollard’s equally brilliant Omnivore’s Dilemma. But so-o-o depressing, not just because of the methamphetamine epidemic it chronicles – which evidently was the missing piece in the puzzle in my own observations of those dying and dead little towns I traveled through on the circus – but also because it chronicles, in equally harsh terms, the death of America’s working class. What’s really wrong with Oelwein, Iowa is not meth but the consolidation of the value chain so that the same 10 giant companies control all aspects of production, distribution and retail and there's nothing left for people to do but go to work for minimum wage and become consumers. Or go to college and become professional servicers...
And so you get these towns… seventeen percent unemployment. Dirty skies, empty storefronts, a Toyota dealership torn down, a few zombies shuffling aimlessly on the sidewalks. The marquee of a landmark theater advertises that they're selling off the seats.
Should I really be reading about this when it’s ten degrees out there and I’m pushing the Sisyphusian boulder of my sorry personal finances up that ever steeper hill, dying of cabin fever?
Probably not.
###
Though I did go out yesterday. I’d reached a degree of cabin fever where I really felt I was going to go mad if I had to sit in the cement bungalow for one more second watching lake effect snow and ice congeal on the inside of the windows. I won’t even tell you what my gas and electric bill was last month.
Suffice it to say this house has no insulation, and although I dutifully put plastic and light reflectors over every window in October in a frantic attempt to keep the heat in, I’m not sure it helped much.
Met up with Garrison Keillor Lookalike Swain in the forlorn little town of Dryden. The cute counterculture coffee house was closed, so we rendezvoused in Dunkin’ Doughnuts. Girl behind the counter told us she’d been there since 3AM. “My feet hurt so much I’m like to keel over.”
“Three am?” I said. “Are they paying you overtime at least?”
“Nope,” she said. She was a very young girl, couldn’t have been more than 20. Half her teeth were already gone and she was already locked into a life that required her to get up at 2 in the morning to be at Dunkin’ Doughnuts at 3. I wanted to cry.
“Hey, they give us one doughnut for free every shift and I ain’t a doughnut girl. I’m givin’ you these for free,” the girl said.
I was itchy for exercise so I suggested we go exploring. Was Dryden ever a place once, something besides a bedroom community for the nearby learning factories of Cornell, Ithaca College and SUNY Cortland? I suppose it must have been. GK Swain and I tromped through one foot snow banks peering at buildings, trying to imagine what they must have been like 100 years ago. There was a George Bailey Insurance Agency! (George Bailey, for those of you with short memories, is the name of Jimmy Stewart’s character in It’s a Wonderful Life.) We spent a hour or so tramping around through one and a half foot snow banks peering at the – what do they call them? – those keystones on old buildings telling you what year they were built.
Yes, yes, I am a loser – this really is my idea of a good time.
“Listen,” said the GK Swain when we finally parted ways. He’s smarter than I gave him credit for. And less judgmental. “In four years you can collect social security, right?”
“Right,” I said. “And I’ll get a lot. Because I made a ton of money for many years."
“So, it’s really just a matter of getting through the next four years. You can do it.”
“Can I?” I asked.
“Listen,” he said. “It happens to everyone. If it’s not the financial reversal thing, it’s cancer. Or a heart attack. I grew up on a farm. I know. Send me your resume. I know everyone in SUNY Cortland’s human resources department. I’ll shop it around.”
I was freezing when I got home. Stood under a scalding hot shower for half an hour. Couldn’t warm up. Ben came by to drop off Robin; I felt the old regret but it mostly had to do with he knew me when…
“The Girlfriend fed you, right?” I asked Robin.
Robin made a face. “Fish. And rice.”
“Yes. Well. Heart disease runs in your father’s family. I don’t feel well. Do you mind…?”
He didn’t so long as he had Internet access. I crawled into bed, teeth chattering. My chest ached. Watched a bad movie, My Summer of Love – sixteen year old Lesbian fumblings in an improbably scenic Yorkshire setting – woo woo! Fell into a hypnologic trance.
And in the middle of this, my front door opened and Abe walked into the room.
“What the fuck…?” I said, bolting erect.
“Shhhhh,” said Abe. “I’m not really here. But you know, I wanted to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye? But you just got here? How did you get here?”
“Shhhhh…”
“Wait!” I said. “I’ll come with you.”
“You can’t,” he said. And was gone – poof!
This morning I’m feeling much better – thanks! – but am tortured with curiosity: should I be worried about Abe? But how can I be? When I’m so worried about myself? Women and children first, sez the Titanic captain!
Brilliant if uneven book, the natural companion piece to Michael Pollard’s equally brilliant Omnivore’s Dilemma. But so-o-o depressing, not just because of the methamphetamine epidemic it chronicles – which evidently was the missing piece in the puzzle in my own observations of those dying and dead little towns I traveled through on the circus – but also because it chronicles, in equally harsh terms, the death of America’s working class. What’s really wrong with Oelwein, Iowa is not meth but the consolidation of the value chain so that the same 10 giant companies control all aspects of production, distribution and retail and there's nothing left for people to do but go to work for minimum wage and become consumers. Or go to college and become professional servicers...
And so you get these towns… seventeen percent unemployment. Dirty skies, empty storefronts, a Toyota dealership torn down, a few zombies shuffling aimlessly on the sidewalks. The marquee of a landmark theater advertises that they're selling off the seats.
Should I really be reading about this when it’s ten degrees out there and I’m pushing the Sisyphusian boulder of my sorry personal finances up that ever steeper hill, dying of cabin fever?
Probably not.
Though I did go out yesterday. I’d reached a degree of cabin fever where I really felt I was going to go mad if I had to sit in the cement bungalow for one more second watching lake effect snow and ice congeal on the inside of the windows. I won’t even tell you what my gas and electric bill was last month.
Suffice it to say this house has no insulation, and although I dutifully put plastic and light reflectors over every window in October in a frantic attempt to keep the heat in, I’m not sure it helped much.
Met up with Garrison Keillor Lookalike Swain in the forlorn little town of Dryden. The cute counterculture coffee house was closed, so we rendezvoused in Dunkin’ Doughnuts. Girl behind the counter told us she’d been there since 3AM. “My feet hurt so much I’m like to keel over.”
“Three am?” I said. “Are they paying you overtime at least?”
“Nope,” she said. She was a very young girl, couldn’t have been more than 20. Half her teeth were already gone and she was already locked into a life that required her to get up at 2 in the morning to be at Dunkin’ Doughnuts at 3. I wanted to cry.
“Hey, they give us one doughnut for free every shift and I ain’t a doughnut girl. I’m givin’ you these for free,” the girl said.
I was itchy for exercise so I suggested we go exploring. Was Dryden ever a place once, something besides a bedroom community for the nearby learning factories of Cornell, Ithaca College and SUNY Cortland? I suppose it must have been. GK Swain and I tromped through one foot snow banks peering at buildings, trying to imagine what they must have been like 100 years ago. There was a George Bailey Insurance Agency! (George Bailey, for those of you with short memories, is the name of Jimmy Stewart’s character in It’s a Wonderful Life.) We spent a hour or so tramping around through one and a half foot snow banks peering at the – what do they call them? – those keystones on old buildings telling you what year they were built.
Yes, yes, I am a loser – this really is my idea of a good time.
“Listen,” said the GK Swain when we finally parted ways. He’s smarter than I gave him credit for. And less judgmental. “In four years you can collect social security, right?”
“Right,” I said. “And I’ll get a lot. Because I made a ton of money for many years."
“So, it’s really just a matter of getting through the next four years. You can do it.”
“Can I?” I asked.
“Listen,” he said. “It happens to everyone. If it’s not the financial reversal thing, it’s cancer. Or a heart attack. I grew up on a farm. I know. Send me your resume. I know everyone in SUNY Cortland’s human resources department. I’ll shop it around.”
I was freezing when I got home. Stood under a scalding hot shower for half an hour. Couldn’t warm up. Ben came by to drop off Robin; I felt the old regret but it mostly had to do with he knew me when…
“The Girlfriend fed you, right?” I asked Robin.
Robin made a face. “Fish. And rice.”
“Yes. Well. Heart disease runs in your father’s family. I don’t feel well. Do you mind…?”
He didn’t so long as he had Internet access. I crawled into bed, teeth chattering. My chest ached. Watched a bad movie, My Summer of Love – sixteen year old Lesbian fumblings in an improbably scenic Yorkshire setting – woo woo! Fell into a hypnologic trance.
And in the middle of this, my front door opened and Abe walked into the room.
“What the fuck…?” I said, bolting erect.
“Shhhhh,” said Abe. “I’m not really here. But you know, I wanted to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye? But you just got here? How did you get here?”
“Shhhhh…”
“Wait!” I said. “I’ll come with you.”
“You can’t,” he said. And was gone – poof!
This morning I’m feeling much better – thanks! – but am tortured with curiosity: should I be worried about Abe? But how can I be? When I’m so worried about myself? Women and children first, sez the Titanic captain!
