Wal*Mart(insville): The Low Cost of High Fun

My first experience and taste of Martinsville, Virginia was the local Wal*Mart Supercenter. While in other towns the designation of “supercenter” means very little beyond “big-ass store where you can buy anything,” in Martinsville it takes on special significance. Not only is the story truly super, in size and powers to draw masses of people, but also it seems to be the center of life to people in Martinsville. I doubt this can be argued against -- it was, after all, the first place that I was taken upon arriving. There is a NASCAR racetrack in town, Martinsville Speedway, that I’m sure some would say is the cultural center of the town -- but this is hardly worth saying, nor does it refute my point. I think we can all agree that NASCAR, racetrack, and Wal*Mart all have the same meaning in cultural terms. They are practically interchangeable.

As we entered the store through the Garden Cetnter door we were greeted by a huge-ass inflatable snow globe, which encased Santa Claus and, I think, a snowman. Not even in the doors yet and already I could have gone home completely fulfilled and entertained for the evening. But then we went inside.

And it was packed -- packed "like a can of sardines," I bet some of them would say. But not with little fish; indeed, there was hardly anything little about these folks. They were moving from aisle to aisle, well-practiced in the art of avoiding each other, filling their carts with all things imaginable (such as Jeff Gordon cologne), and of course, at low-low prices. Whatever language they spoke, I could barely make it out as some derivative of broken English, but the children, the "lil-uns" as I heard them called, were fluent in it. To call it an accent or a dialect seems to diminish the beauty and autonomy of this truly wondrous communication they’ve no doubt worked so hard to develop.

Every one we came into contact with, child and adult alike, looked either half-drunk or completely pissed off. And all of them were wearing camo-coveralls and big red fluffy Dale, Jr. jackets -- all of them. One of the kids, running backwards down the main aisle of the store, almost ran into me, after which his mom yelled at him, “Kenny, you turn youself around and stop playing like a fool.” My response to this: “Kenny! His name is actually Kenny!” People here name their kids Kenny, folks.

As we left we came across the plastic and light-up figures with which people arrange nativity scenes in their front lawns, and we paid our respects to baby Jesus. And just to be sure, we gave equal respect to both the white and African-American baby Jesuses.

I know a lot of people have problems with Wal*Mart, and they want to shut down the huge mega-corporation for all the evils that it afflicts on both the local and global economies of the world. And I’m pretty cool with that, for the most part. But if they are ever successful at beating the beast that is Wal*Mart, I hope that they will consider allowing the Martinsville Super Center to remain open -- it is a cultural icon and national treasure. They could charge admission, or set up viewing booths to watch the locals in their natural habitat -- kinda like Colonial Williamsburg, but with camouflage and hard liquor.

I know I’d visit. At least twice a year.

Uncommonly Wealthy...

It's snowing...

Huge fluffy flakes of ice in unique patterns, falling ever so gently from the grey and clouded sky, which ends only as it disappears behind the red and orange mountains that surround Roanoke Valley.

I'm still in Virginia, still in Salem, still sitting at Mill Mountain Coffee and Tea. But now I sit alone.

Except, I'm not alone, but surrounded by people, who I'm guessing (or actually hoping beyond hope) are regulars at this cafe.

I'm surrounded by people, but not crowded. I have no sense of "crowded-ness" here in Salem, here in Virginia. I doubt they ever have crowds here, but only gatherings of people. People crowd at Starbucks, they gather at Mill Mountain. It's clouded, but not crowded.

Earlier it was crowded, but only for a moment. Dana was still here, and seven sixth grade girls came in, because school let out early, and I'm guessing they needed a place to hang out until their parents could pick them up. They came in, dragged a table next to ours, and began talking to us. To be fair, I started it, asking them if they were in the fourth grade -- an insult they quickly forgave, as they took control of my computer and started talking to my friends on Instant messenger. They were exhausting, but only because they were full of life. And very happy...

After they left, and Dana as well, a guy from London, England came over and asked for my help with his computer. In the deep British accent reminiscent of James Bond, he said, "I saw you with your Apple computer and I was wondering if you could be of assist me with my iTunes." I then spent the next several moments working with his PC laptop, deleting and rebooting and reinstalling files. When we finally got it working, he said, "Ah, brilliant. Can I buy you a cup of coffee for your trouble?" ( I would have given almost anything if he had offered a spot of tea instead), and his Music Store was set to pounds, and the clock on his computer was set to London times, and on the wallpaper of his desktop was a picture of a Great White shark leaping from the ocean, just off the coast of South Africa, where he had recently gone diving to view them. His wife is from Salem -- as I'm guessing all real people are. He is here for "holiday," which I know is the way you spell it, but I'm using the scare quotes to highlight the way he said it -- and note the lack of an article. Brilliant.

The light outside is growing dim, snow is falling from the sky, and my keyboard is being lit by the white lights that are hung on a Christmas tree right behind me. I just reached back and touched it. I have books all over my table, and a cup of coffee right next to my computer. I just took a drink. It's snowing outside.

A little boy with blonde hair just ran by me, stopped to say "hi", then pressed his face up against the window, before announcing, "It's snowing!"

I may never leave this place, the Commonwealth of Virginia...

Making Mountains Out of Coffee Mills...

I'm in Salem, Virginia, sitting at a local coffee house called Mill Mountain Coffee and Tea. Out the window I can see the people of this small town go about their day before Thanksgiving business, and the people inside talk and read newspapers. Dana struggles to do the Roanoke Times crossword puzzle.

After eating my raisin bran muffin, and as I sit here drinking my coffee and feeling a bit weighted by the stress of major papers and PhD applications, it occurs to me that I could live in a town like this for the rest of my life. Get up early in the morning, come down here for coffee in the morning, read and write, and minister at a small local church. Know the people, know myself, know peace and life in a way I never have. And never be known outside the bounds of this little town. Never to be famous or have any form of notoriety.

At least until my blockbuster, Pulitzer Prize winning novel is published, which starts a movement in the lives of people, and eventually accounts for my receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, and being called the greatest writer of the 21st century.

Then I'd probably be famous.

The Course of Life

High my spirit aspired, truly, however, love
Pulled it earthward; and grief lower still bows it down.
So I follow the arc of
Life and return to my starting-place.

-- Friedrich Hölderlin