MattyG's Blog

Looking out the window at the open blue sky and snow-covered ground I can't help but be distinctly reminded of my hometown; Macedon, NY. My town is very much like Ithaca, the gorges, bustle of a college campus and otherwise hilly terrain notwithstanding. Macedon is a small, rural town about 15 minutes east of Rochester with a smattering of evergreen trees, fields and pastures, big country homes, trailor parks and small developments with raised-ranch houses; all providing to make up a very diverse geographic area for such a small town. There is nothing too much of note in Macedon unless you count the fact that the Erie Canal runs through town or that we share a school district with the town in which the Mormon religion was founded. The transportation through the town consists mainly of back-roads with the exception of the highway that runs to Rochester and beyond. As you can imagine this leaves Macedon with relatively little in the way of area economy. It is not totally desolate as we have some commercial investment such as CVS, P&C, Dunken Donuts, Burger King, McDonald's, a local movie theater and a couple local pizza joints. Our Main Street, however, contains little but one-half block of ever rotating store-fronts which helps make it perhaps the biggest eye-sore in the town. Thinking back on it now I realize just how my feelings for my town have evolved throughout the years. In my youth I was amazingly content hanging out with my friends in the shelter of our little development, but as I progressed in age I grew to feel very confined with the town. My feelings of restlessness were only aided when the state of New York gave me a driver's license and seemingly free reign to explore the world(which really meant the mall and occasionally the city). Upon leaving for college I felt that I would be extending my world even further and in doing so, subsequently leave all traces of Macedon behind. As I am sure everyone eventually realizes, that was simply not the case. Now, whenever I am lucky enough to go home I feel more at home than ever, but I suppose that comes mostly with utter joy of a huge bed and home-cooked food. To me, Macedon feels only a little like how I just described it; I feel like a really small town person, yet I don't particularly like the outdoors, tractors, hanging out at the local pizza place or any of the other things I associate with Macedon and other small towns. I certainly can't say that I am not grateful for growing up how and where I did and while I continue to find things more appealing than those in Macedon, I find myself appreciating it more and more.

Of all the great and glorious aspects of Spring, the things that bring me the most joy are the sights, sounds and feel of the baseball field. There is so much for the player to appreciate out there; the way the bright sun makes you pull your hat down even further over your eyes and the ease that the sun steals the ball from your watching eyes. There are so many colors out there including the bespeckled brown dirt, the lush green grass, the expansive blue sky, the pure milky white of the bases and the same serene white of the whispy clouds. A baseball field has the most peaceful and calm feel imaginable, carrying with it the richness of a 120 year history. That same dreamlike quality has the ability to fade during games, giving way to a fierce competitiveness to be called "kings of the diamond." On our field, games were often played amidst simply the sounds akin to the game; the "ping" of the bat, the yell of the players, the scurry of feet, the pounding of raw leather gloves and the all-important cheers or jeers from the bench. I guess when it comes right down to it there is just something intangible about the field which brings an instant smile to my face and a desire to never leave.

After reading everyone else's brilliant entries, I feel almost ashamed to say that I have never really had any sort of distinguishing experience with a speech, poetry reading or even a harrangue. I guess when I really think about it, the closest I can come are my numerous trips to Dave Matthews Band concerts. If I really wanted to stretch, I can say that music is poetry and since that is true, a concert can be considered a poetry reading, so therefore a Dave concert is something of a poetry reading. I suppose that had I read only lyrics I would most certainly consider him a poet: imagery, metaphors, syntax, similes and form are as much his tools as they are any poet of note. The lyrics are simply able to stand on their own by telling satirical stories, making a political statement, employing beautiful language and displaying equally beautiful images. In concert, these words are issued forth with resounding intensity, emotion, sensitivity and at times a slight detachment. The peculiar mix of guitar, saxophone, drums and keyboard mingle with Dave's vocal majesty to create a distinctively unique "poetry reading". The words then leave the page to take on a life of their own as not only voice, but a slew of other sounds add rhythm, meaning and dimension to the poem. I have been to five concerts in the past two years and amazingly enough, each has been worth the $60+ ticket price. The multitude of drunk collegiates and stoned hippies trying to recapture their youth notwithstanding, these shows have been some of the most amazing three hours of my life. The gigantic crowd with its drunken screams, eccentric dancing and lyrical chant creates an air of excitement unmatched by any other spectacle. Combine that with the intensely personal emotion being eminated off stage and the show leaves one not only hoarse, but also with a sort of intense desire to share an intimate secret with the world. While there is nothing quite life-altering about these experiences, the way that the music moves something deep inside you will keep me spending that $60 for a long time now.

My earliest recollections of language originate aboard my joyful and carefree days aboard the elementary school bus. On those rides I learned various words and phrases that would have more than likely given my mother a heart attack had she heard them come out of my mouth. My explorations with the English language began in kindergarten, as my best friend Brent Footer and I would engage in contests to see who could say "sucks"(because of course the word was considered a "swear" word until about 3rd grade) the loudest without getting caught. As soon as that game wore a little thin, we turned our attention to poor Amanda, whom it was rumored, had undergone a sex-change operation at an early age. While of course neither Brent nor I understood the full import of the word, we nevertheless ridiculed the girl for about a month or so until the novelty of saying "sex" had finally wore off(at least for a little while). With that fun behind us, we now put ourselves to the task of appearing "cool" which meant that we should make-fun of as many kids as there were. And so, for the next year or so, we would pick-on the poor malevolent figure of our early childhood: Chris Packard. I remember him distinctly above all other kids who had a passing influence on my life for numerous reasons: he was always the "dirty" kid; he lived in a trailer park; he had a mouth as foul as his odor; he once threw his shoe and backpack out the window on two separate occasions; he had a nasty relationship with our oftentimes cruel bus driver, Mr. Jordan; and his situation caused heartache to even this sworn enemy, the aforementioned bus driver, as he was forced to announce to us that Chris would be forever taken from his life and forced to live in a foster home. Of all the words I learned those first years on the bus, those two were easily the most pitiful and heartwrenching. Everything that had once been so amusing and comical about Chris was now just plain sad and tragic. The thought of having to leave my home just about scared me to death and even at that young age i learned what it felt like to be truly sad for another human being. Every now and then I think about Chris and wonder just where life has taken him, each time thanking God more and more for where life has taken me.

the first post, how very exciting