Overground

"Got to give up life in this netherworld
Gonna go up to where the air is stale
And live the life of pleasantries
And mingle in the modern families

Overground- for normality
Overboard- for identity"
-Siouxsie and the Banshees "Overground"
1978

So the biggest change (of the many changes) in my life in 2007 was moving. Leaving behind the seedy depths of the disenfranchised, urban poverty center where I grew up, and moving on up to bone-white Placer County. I'd left before of course, but I had always ended up back in the grimy, well worn streets of North Sacramento, lovingly known by locals as "the Flats". It was a move of convenience, and of desperation, this time. The 40-mile a day commute to Roseville played havoc on my central nervous system, and given my propensity for road-rage induced strings of creative, lurid profanity delivered at ear-splitting volume to my fellow motorists, it left me hoarse by the time I arrived home each day, nearly an hour after I left work. My living situation was also draining. My roommate (a relative) is a deeply depressed alcoholic, who lives a bizarre hermetic existence that I was clearly horning in on. So I packed my bags, traded up to a super-literate, urbane, and delightful new roommate and headed to the burbs.

For those not familiar with Northern California, Placer County is to Sacramento County as Orange is to Los Angeles; the upper-middle class, boorish, Republican neighbor. I'd always viewed my new town as the enemy, the ivory tower that kept me and my disadvantaged people down. The year I started high school, we left the ghetto for new digs in a similarly predominantly white neighborhood and the culture shock left me reeling, so I thought I knew what I was in for. But to my surprise, and horror, I kind of like Roseville.

Sure there are things that irritate the hell out of me. The retail excess is nearly unbelievable. There are entire streets, constructed for the sole purpose of erecting giant farms of warehouse sized versions of all the major chains. Local businesses are few and far between, yet the Great Satan (Wal-M***) has 2 giant stores within 2 miles of my present location. And on the subject of racial diversity, well, it looks like Sweet Baby Jeebus dumped a boat load of Clorox on the whole town. And if I see one more middle aged woman in a Juicy sweatsuit, with her highlighted ponytail held back by a fitted baseball cap, I may go completely mental. Politically, the town is deeply conservative, though the last congressional race was marginally closer, mostly due to the fact that our Congressman, one John Doolittle, is a corrupt scumbag who is a hair's breadth away from being indicted in the Jack Abramoff scandals.

That all said, my neighbors are friendly, warm people. The whole town is clean as a fresh sheet, with unobtrusive, well-designed trash containers every few feet. My electricity is delivered by an inexpensive, publicly owned utility company. The parks are not just grassy playgrounds, but have wonderful community centers, skate parks, even libraries on the grounds. And, as much as my bleeding, liberal heart hates it, I am within walking distance of every possible need I could have. Have I been wrong all along? Is there something to suburban living? Maybe the ideal of a culturally diverse, community owned urban center is just a liberal fantasy that doesn't work in the real world. Am I becoming gentrified by the glorious excess that surrounds me? Am I becoming a cog in the Man's machine? Am I losing my edge?

I don't know, but I'll definitely think about it over a half-caf, double non-fat latte at Peet's before I pop into Harper's Ferry for some designer egg cups then rush over to Crate and Barrel and see what's on the post-Christmas sales, and if I'm there I should rush over to Borders and....

BX