northampton, ma

Ahh Northampton. An odd collection of folks you find here. Being from Northern California the only place I could really compare it to is Berkeley. Take a small chunk of Berkeley and plant it in rural Mass and I suppose you have Northampton. Some abbreviate it to NoHo, which really makes no sense - shouldn't it be NoHa? Or maybe just "no-no" as in leave your posh affectations in New York. There's way too much flannel here for that. Here you find lots of college kids, along with bums and hicks and thirtysomethings working McJobs and of course the ubiquitous lesbian. Northampton apparently is the lesbian capital of America. I've seen it referred to, in print, as Lesbianistan, or Lesbianville as the National Enquirer put it. As a single male I wouldn't say the atmosphere is hostile, in fact it's the reverse. I'm hostile. Lesbianistan means my fish pond is a lot smaller. Weezer's "Pink Triangle" might become my themesong.

I wonder what the Puritans would have to say. For more reading on the lesbian-progressive history of Northampton this is a good article.

Now I might have to backtrack and revise what I said about this town not being posh. While I wouldn't call it posh, I definitely would call it bourgeoise. There are plenty of places here too expensive for me to shop in. Galleries and the like. According to this guy, this is the #1 arts town in the US. The entire downtown is very stylized, in the sense that it has a urban chic to it that definitely stands out in comparison to its nextdoor neighbors Hadley and Amherst. Main Street is especially so, almost to an extent that I wish it had more scruff, but I forgive it. It's the main street and it's named Main Street. Just like in the movies. So I cut it some slack. I live on Pleasant Street, the other main thoroughfare in town. My street is quite nice, but with lower bouge-value and price levels. I'm happy to report that I live within a block of six places of ill repute: Silent Cal's, The Elevens, Hugos, Ye Olde Watering Hole, Pearl Street, and Tully O'Reilly's. Two downhome dive bars, one pub with NFL Sunday Ticket, two places with frequent live music, and one place literally ten steps outside my door. I also live next door to the best pizza in town, which actually can suck since I am occasionally driven mad by the smell of deliciousness. Next door to that is a liquor/grocery store, although they only carry Haagen-Daaz and no Ben n Jerry's. They don't know it, but we're in the midst of an ice cream feud.

It's odd here. I'm trying to understand the economics of the place, but there must be 20 restaurants, 10-15 bars/clubs/dives, and 5-10 coffeeshops within a square half mile. All in a city of a mere 30,000 people. I'm not complaining though. This is a great place to be a pedestrian. If you put downtown Northampton in the middle of downtown Sacramento, people would rave about how cosmopolitan Sacramento had suddenly become. I've already seen Architecture in Helsinki and Salman Rushdie. It's just odd to me that I might have better nightlife here in a place 1/30 the size of the place I left. Then again, I've only been here a month. I'm sure claustrophobia will set in eventually. That or hypothermia. But really, there's nothing this town lacks.

Adding to the urbanity, and scruff of my road, is Heroin Road. There's a footpath about 100 feet up the street from my house that apparently is the heroin center of the Valley. Add that to the laundromat and flophouse and you get quite the collection of oddballs. My street, like my place, has character. The Berkeley in Massachusetts. Only the Mexican food is way, way better in Berkeley. I've seen some stuff passed off as Mexican that caused eyeball-induced stomach nausea. Know what I mean? And lettuce does not belong in burritos. Nor does sour cream in jalapenos.

Life here in the Pioneer Valley, which encompasses the towns of Amherst and Northampton (among others) has finally settled down into something resembling a routine. I finally have a bit of time (and a stable internet connection), to do some side writing. Thus I now intend to do something long overdue: write of my first few weeks here in Massachusetts (forever further referred to in this blog as Mass, an abbreviation that I find ugly but useful - Cali just sounds so much better). Enough parentheses.

I find it hard to believe that I've now spent three weeks here. It feels much longer. I suppose I'm used to this compression of time from travelling, yet it still feels eerie and unnatural. Anyways, I just have to say that the whole process of relocating here has been a complete and total pain in the ass. I suppose I brought it on myself, in part, by moving from my first residence (in the dorms on the UMass campus) to this townhouse here in Northampton. By doing so I managed to anger the Fedex, UPS, and UMass gods and for my deeds they rained frustration and misery upon me. But I swear it was worth it: life in the dorm was simply unbearable. Let me give you some imagery to illuminate my prior situation: cinderblock, whitewashed walls; long, dimly lit corridors devoid of life; cold linoleum floors and a single, dim overhead florescent light; water pipes running along the edges of the ceiling. Along with this super depressing scenario were the hundreds of freshly arrived 18 year old freshmen who lived in two 22 story dormitory towers situated right outside my window. In UMass' infinite wisdom, they decided to put the graduate student dorm right next to 44 stories of noise and immaturity. Can you hear the pumping basslines at 1 am? I could. Furthermore, living in the dorm created a sense within me that I too was 18 again, not really sure if I was an adult or simply a big child.

I simply didn't move 2000 miles away from home to go back 6 years in time. I wanted my own place to craft in my image. I wanted a freaking kitchen. Now before I further mislead you, the impetus behind my move was generated entirely my roommate. Not only was my dorm and dorm room depressing as all hell, but I had to share this insiduously creeping darkness with somebody else. I had a roommate, named Sam. Sam was of the same opinion as I about our situation, only he was determined to do something about it. I wasn't exactly content to ride out the situation for the semester, however there is a nasty $350 fee for cancelling your stay, and this acted as a potent deterrent against action. Sam, however, wasn't going to let $350 get in the way of his housing revolution, and went apartment hunting. He returned one evening, more specifically our third evening there in the friendly confines of Prince Hall, with excitement in his eyes - he found a townhouse. With two rooms for rent. I hadn't even seen the place but I knew I was in.

I'm a big fan of residences that have character. This townhouse doesn't just have character in spades, but in clubs, diamonds and hearts too. It features a baby blue paint-job with pink accents. The entire floor of my bedroom vibrates like a minor earthquake when big trucks pass by. I'm on the third floor so this is a bit worrisome. My hardwood floors appear to have been installed by a drunkard on a Schlitz bender, and also feature a silver dollar sized hole in one of the boards that when probed by a pencil doesn't seem to have a bottom. There's not a single section of floor that doesn't slope. To illustrate the Gaudi of my living situation, upon waking every morning I discover that my bed has migrated one to two feet from its original position against the wall. I now have my bed lodged in place by my two-year old Walmart flip flops that have been up close and cozy with the dirt of three continents and now two wheels of my bedframe. In short, I love it here. I do worry about the fraility of the place though when winter comes - the heating bill will likely be pretty unfriendly.

I'd love to write more, and believe me there's a lot more to write, but this nasty thing called "section" requires my planning and thus I have to get to work.