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November 27, 2012 9:20 am

CULTURE SHOCK: Powell, I await your apology

Written by Dante Geoffrey

Powell, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it.

I’m mad at you.

You’ve done nothing but fail to live up to expectations since the moment I arrived.

I moved here almost six months ago prepared to struggle with how you treated me. I was ready to experience what it was like to stick out in a town full of gun-toting cowboys ready to dismiss me as an in-over-his-head intruder from the city.

This was supposed to be hard, hence the “Culture shock” title of this column. But there was ZERO shock! How inconsiderate can you be? I feel as if you could have at least played to type a bit, just as a courtesy.

But you’ve made moving away from (I’d say my comfort zone, but I don’t know that I’ve ever been truly comfortable) the only state I had ever called home so easy that I don’t really have anything to say on the topic anymore.

This is obvious, as I think I’m about eight columns (who has time to fact check?) removed from discussing the adjustments, or lack thereof, I’ve made since moving here from Sacramento.

Anything I could come up with now would probably come across as forced and disingenuous. I don’t want to feel like a hacky comedian with one go-to bit.

“Hey, did you know some things in one place are this way and then over here they’re another way?! It’s like, whoa! Pump the brakes! Another thing, sometimes I feel like women are Macs and men are PCs. Also, airline food isn’t always the best! Git-r-dun and stuff!”

But, as I’ve mentioned before, things aren’t so different. I adore Powell. I’ve made great friends. On walks I will look longingly at “For Sale” signs on the front lawns of Powell’s quaint little homes, fantasizing of planting roots and living in a place that three or more people could fit into.

I’m in it, Powell. I enjoy living here and I feel as if I belong here at least just as much as I felt I belonged in Northern California.

And thanks to the complete absence of conflict, I’ve been writing about some of the more abstract thoughts that come into my head, and unfortunately for you, most of them are just about myself.

Hey, if you don’t like it, just know you’ve brought this upon yourself.

Powell, we had a perfect arrangement. You were going to be the cute little town stuck in its 1950s ways and I was going to be the mysterious outsider from the coast. It’d be like Footloose without the dancing, but much more freaking out in the woods.

But now look at what you’ve done! You ruined the arrangement we never had. You proved yourself to be a perfectly normal town. Except better.

I’ve fit in fine, made friends and have become involved in the community.

No one even looked at me funny when I registered as a Democrat (cat’s out of the government-funded bag) and people have been more than helpful when my general ignorance of the outdoors has shown.

The great people here at the Tribune have been the best welcoming party I could have hoped for, providing guidance as I entered my new work environment and friendship as they have gotten to know me.

My stomach is weak, so if you, as a city, continue to inspire this gross, grateful, sappy nonsense, I’m going to mess up your pristine pretty streets.

See, now I’m left to non sequitur asides that are mildly humorous at best, and painfully dull at worst.

But it’s either that or more of my crazy lefty opinions about not striking children, reserving judgment on that which you don’t understand and other thoughts I hope infiltrate your children’s minds and accelerate the crumbling of American society.

More importantly, I have to come up with another title for this column. “Culture shock” is dead. Because the only thing shocking to me about Powell’s culture, is that there’s no shock at all.

I hope you’re happy, Powell. I am.

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