Greetings From Montana

Hello everybody...

I'm in Missoula, Montana for Columbus Day Weekend, visiting my best friend Chris from college. Chris, who has a wonderful wife and two boys, works as a Professor at the University of Montana, in the agroforestry arena. Don't ask me to be more specific than that, I just know it has something to do with trees and forests. And there are a lot of them here. While you're all most likely enjoying a late summer, here in Missoula there's been an early onset of winter. We took a drive into the mountains yesterday and already, there are a few inches of snow covering the ground. The scenery was beautiful though; it reminded me a lot of my ill-fated trip to Burlington, Vermont last New Year's, minus the sucky company.

You couldn't find a place more different from New York City than Missoula. It's a cute little town at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, which actually reminds me a lot of Burlington. The people here dress much as they do in New England, where the weather is cold much of the year: a lot of sweaters, L.L. Bean clothes, down vests, hiking boots, hats and gloves. Fortunately, I brought a few of those things with me, even though I left 68 degree weather in New York last Friday. People here are pretty friendly, but I wouldn't say as warm as in the South or the Midwest. There is definitely a New England standoffish edge here too. Not quite that bad, but it's there. Maybe it's because I'm giving off too much of a Joe Pesci in My Cousin Vinny vibe. Fortunately I left the leather jacket at home, not that I wasn't tempted. I love that fish out of water shit. Talk about culture shock though, the first two things I saw when I stepped off plane were a taxidermied Grizzly Bear standing on its hind legs, encased by a wall of glass, and a dude who walked off the plane wearing a jacket tricked out in camouflage bark, grass, and leaves. I was laughing at him until I went to the baggage claim and saw three other people wearing similar jackets. One dude had matching pants. That's when Chris told me that there's a huge hunting culture here. Hmmmm. I knew I should have brought my Elmer Fudd hat.

One thing I like about Missoula though: it's a college town, so there are way too many young girls walking around here for a hound like me. College girls and a single, 40 year-old guy with an overactive Italian libido are a combustible mix. (To my co-workers, just pretend you didn't read that last sentence. I'm sick of censoring myself so much on here.) Lots of blonde-haired, blue eyed Nordic types in heavy sweaters and jeans who ride bikes and jog and stay in shape. A guy could get used to that.

But... After a few days here, I've confirmed that I'm definitely a city guy. No way I could make it here over the long haul. I just wouldn't last, I'm not Missoula material. I like the outdoor activity and all -- today I biked to the downtown to take some pictures and find this wonderful WiFi oasis where I could finally log on and get my Internets fix -- but I'm too much of a city slicker to cut it in a place like this for very long. I need more energy, more diversity, more good places to eat out because I can't cook at all. Beautiful as this place is, it's a sleepy mountain town, give or take the college bars, which Chris and I decided the other night we were too old to enter. And I swear to Jehovah, I've been here three days and I haven't seen a single black person. Or even someone of the Latin persuasion. I have seen a few Asians though -- Chris' wife told me that there is a substantial Mongolian population here, a factoid I found surprising. I saw a few Asians peddling oversized carrots and onions the other day. Other than that, no minorities at all. I'm not saying I'm surprised, I'm just making an observation.

It is relaxing here though. It's required substantial effort to respond to any work email on my Blackberry. The more time I spend here, the more I'm settling into a zen-like, I don't give a shit stasis. It's a little disconcerting that I haven't even though about those two depositions I have coming up over the next two weeks or my lackluster billable hours, or my writing class, or anything. Hmmmm. Maybe there is something to this kind of life, getting off the fast lane, taking it down a couple of gears, and just settling in for the long haul. Maybe I could just get a job raking leaves for people -- there are a boatload of leaves here -- or working as Chris' assistant or something. Maybe I could find myself a nice, young Nordic princess, build myself a two or three bedroom treehouse somewhere in the mountains here (or better yet, get Chris to do it, he's much better with tools than I am) pump out a few kids to help me out in my old age, and just kick back and call it a life. No more Blackberry. No more billables. No more treadmill. No more terrorism paranoia. No more noise. No more first date bullshit with seen-it-all, done-it-all New York women. No more pee-smelling sidewalks. No more stepping over dogshit. No more overheard pretentious conversations. No more "me first." No more sweltering summer heat. No more $5.00 latte frappacinos. No more $3300/month rent for a 600 square foot box. On the other hand, getting off the fast lane would also mean: No more money. No more first adopter gadget purchases. No more designer jeans. No more Gotham writing classes. No more traveling where I want, mostly when I want. No more pizza at 2 a.m. No more hipster chicks with tattoos talking to me at the Rabbit Hole on Bedford. No more New York Times Sunday afternoons. No more Spring Awakening. No more L'Express at 4 a.m. No more sunsets glinting off New York skyscrapers. No more full moons over downtown Brooklyn. No more subway strangers. No more Christmas lights in the city. No more romantic snowfalls blanketing the concrete. Losing my edge. Substituting my overwhelmed New York angst for my underwhelmed Missoula or Sante Fe or Tucson or Moab angst.

Fuck all that. I'll just make more road trips to Vermont (with snow tires!).