Lessons from Cincinnati suburbia
I want to be completely honest with you up front: I live in Greenhills, just southwest of Forest Park. I’m married, have an 8-to-5 job, an 80 pound weimaraner that likes to chew on rawhides in my backyard, and a Honda Accord. I read the Drudge Report every day, I sometimes iron my jeans, and I know that the Lowes down the street from me has way better prices on top soil than the Home Depot. My television is as big as my wall, thanks to Best Buy’s 36-month no interest offer, to which I proudly gather my Sunday brunch guests around, randomly interjecting such phrases as “I have no idea why the iPhone isn’t on Verizon” and “I prefer watering my grass in the mornings to avoid pythium” into the conversation while sipping on Starbucks’ newest blend of burnt coffee. Our house might as well have a white picket fence. I couldn’t be more suburban if I took dancing lessons… which, yes, I’m considering.
While this self-deprecating assessment of my lifestyle is meant mostly for your entertainment, this also characterizes the only lifestyle I ever knew growing up with friends. Our evenings were Wendy’s and a movie, and then we parted. We hardly ever went to downtown Cincinnati… actually, we complained about driving from West Chester to Springdale. We went to enormous high schools, we vacationed in Cancun. We were the middle-class, predominately white, obscure, indistinguishable residents of the suburban Midwest, perpetuating the immortal reach of contemporary consumerism. Quantity over quality. Aficionados of bland. Purveyors of the dull and oversaturated. American cars, always. Blink 182, Coldplay, Dave Matthews Band, always. There’s nothing inherently wrong with this stuff. There’s a time and place for things in the name of convenience, including the mundane and the cheap. It could be because you’re eating lunch on the road today, and you only want to spend two bucks. Or when you don’t necessarily care about what you’re watching on the TV because you’re done thinking for the day. I get it. I own all of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, too. I chose to live where I do solely because when I want to get away from downtown, I can. Also I want a yard. I understand sanctuary from a restless society. But I also understand how much it bothers me… no, not bothers, traumatizes me, is that after all of my aligning, my genuine empathy displayed to those I wish the best for, after all of the pleading with to try new things and to explore, the laudations and proclamations of intense joy and satisfaction awaiting from the adventure, the experience of our fair city… after my rant is complete, I witness a jaded cynicism in the faces of the ones I love that reveals a sometimes apprehensive, often oblivious desire to remain… static.
Unchanging. Unflinching. Ineffective.
When it comes to food, it’s no secret to my closest friends and co-workers that I live on a sociopathic plane. My mother sympathizes often that the level at which I love food is a sin, a lamentation I quickly rejoice to. I also accept my own vested interest in this: the affirmation from my peers. The feeling of sharing something new and delicious like andouille or boudin from Kroeger and Sons with an excited, eager family, or to see a friends’ eyes light up at the realization that this mouthful of figs and prosciutto pizza works amazingly well, to impressively state the difference between finocchiona and felino, or to experience the magic that is Kentucky Bourbon Barrel Ale while devouring one of those embarrassingly overpriced but delicious hipster dogs at the Senate… only to receive in reply to my excitement and encouragement what amounts to blank stares and snickers full of mockery. I actually get made fun of for proselytizing growth and discovery. A friend’s most agonizing response.
I have no illusions about my egomania and tendency for melodrama. Those same friends will lovingly tell you that I am a walking contradiction and a glutton… which is riotously true. Regardless, what caused me to change from a one-world view to this standard of openness was the eventual rejection of indifference. I refused to remain in the unknown, and to appreciate what I had. If I have any insatiable desire, it is to perform with the knowledge that this could be my last day alive and that every joy I experience is a gift. Even the wealthiest of us are among those who take it for granted and often live lives of unfulfillment or violence. For me, it’s not enough to waste every day, not knowing or caring what happens outside of our version of society. That’s why it’s not worth getting pissed over a latte that’s not “just right”, or when you have to wait five minutes to get it. I apply this philosophy ad nauseam. There are bigger, even better, often more important things going on than what’s right in front of me, and that is relevant as well to my community. So I challenge the suburbanite within me to travel beyond my property line. “Who is this Shepard Fairey everyone’s talking about? You know, I’ve never been to the symphony… or Findlay Market. I want to only try things at Taste of Cincinnati this year that I haven’t had yet.”
My mission, and I believe my responsibility, is to defeat the perfunctory, mechanical “meh” in my life. I’m no expert; I haven’t experienced even half of what this city has to offer… but I want to.
Also, for the record: Blink sucks and Coldplay’s alright, but DMB kicks ass.
Nathan is a Cincinnati videographer and graphic animator by trade. He’s also a food lover, a social commentator and an audiophile. You can follow him on Twitter @npenny or email him at nathanppenny at gmail dot com
Related Posts
Tags
Share This
Welcome to the fold Nathan. Glad to have you.
Great post. From a fellow suburbanite, I couldn’t have said it better myself.
Excellent post Nathan- was really cool to see this other side of you! I really liked the whole suburbia perspective. What’s wild is that after working with you on the Clermont Chamber Event last year and spending some time over authentic Greek food in Reading, I never would have pegged you as a suburbanite. Love the way your mind thinks and the picture you paint with your words. Thanks for taking us readers along on the journey. And btw, we need to schedule that 2nd lunch- maybe meet at Findlay market!!