Count your blessings

Hick story Part 2

Where was I? Oh yeah, drunk driving........ So the three of us are getting ready to leave the bar. I have had two beers, they have had, I don't know. Who's driving? Not me........Super crisp Mullet decides he should drive his own car and I agree though I feel bad about the fact that I am about to get into a car with someone who is knowingly intoxicated. We all make choices..... So, we start off. I will say that the driver of the car is handling himself very nicely and we are driving at a pace no faster that driving miss daisy. Twists and turns and hand shakes and High fives and I have a thirty pack of beer on my lap. I am crunched in the back seat so this may be the best position for me in the event that we crash into something. Fingers crossed, someone mentions something about a goose. A goose? I have no idea what to think of this and I do not really give it much thought. We must be getting close to the house.

Goose.
We pull up to the house DUI free and All with our feet on the ground. I hear what must be a goose somewhere in the distance. Holy shit I think, will I die? What have I done? I say my prayers before going any further and walk towards the house.......To my left is a goose squawking it's head off and doing it's best to be a guard goose. I may never see sunlight ever again......... We walk by the goose and into the house. We don't have to take off our shoes......

Immediately, there is an old man on the couch with no shirt and watching TV. His name is Steve, I hope his hands are clean. I have to take a piss.... I look around at my surroundings to see if I am in psycho ville........Big screen TV, OK furniture........Maybe things will be OK...... Who knows.....Food is being ordered, because the taco place downtown that my hosts thought was open, has been closed for quite some time....... Into the basement.

Hats.
Friends, this is where this story takes a strange turn, I made it out alive and I made it out with my wits about me. Though at the time, I wasn't sure what was going to happen. So like I was saying on the ceiling, were hundreds of hats. I see a dart board lit up like Hollywood, and I see the bar. There is stuff strewn everywhere, there is a sink and next to the sink is a cutting board with a rolled up bill. No surprise there as to what that is...... So I crack open a beer and we are all talking about different things. The man with the golden mullet it talking about being eccentric which translates into being crazy as far as I am concerned. A lot more talk about nothing and then the food arrives. I won't die will I? They wouldn't feed me pizza then kidnap me and go all pulp fiction zed on me right? So, we eat, more talking and talking of respect and respect my house and respect my dog and goose. The dog, on a side note, has been trying to hump my leg and get better acquainted with me. Then, the ashes. I forget how now, but some way or another his wife that has recently passed comes up and Mullet man asks me if I would like to meet her. I am trying to get out of this situation with a smiling grin before I start running like hell out the front door so I say yes. He brings over a marble looking box and He says " this is Pat" I put my hand on the box and hold it there a minute or so. All the while the Golden mullet man is staring me down in the eye and keeping up with his talk of respect and all that sort of thing. After I am introduced to the ashes, Our poor host, takes the box back to it's place and proceeds to talk to the box. I guess it helps him through. He comes back over to where we are and is talking some more but bursts into tears. I see his friend tell him things are going to get better and he gives em a hug. Maybe I'm not in danger after all. We start playing darts, I keep hearing these strange inside joke type things that could easily be directed at me as some strange form of foreshadowing of things to come........or maybe I am just paranoid. So more talking, finish the game of darts, I see my out. If anything is going to happen it would be now or if I stayed a little longer. I decide to go. I start making my way up the stairs and put on my coat and I can see the door and I am not going to lie, my heart beat speeds up just a little bit. I have flashes of horrible things If I had been kidnapped etc...........But there is the door and I am walking past the guard goose and out into the night. A free man, in shock of the journey I had just been on. Words only describe so much. This place had to be seen, smelt, touched to realize the full eeriness of it all. I awoke from a dream in a way.........

No stress Pancakes!

The Hick Story Part one.



It starts out at a place called Cherokees bar. Inside is a fairly large bar and lots of Nascar signs and all kinds of things. Directly in front of you when you walk in the bar is a stage with red carpet and a air brushed eagle with an American flag with a saying Watching from above. I played guitar up there the summer that kids don't do drugs was written to maybe like five people. So I am sitting at the bar and I am having a beer. I don't get lost, I just like beer. The main reason I came to the bar is to people watch so I could mine the shit out of it for short stories. Well I got one, missing teeth and recently departed cremation ashes. More on that in a minute. I am minding my own business watching the somewhat deformed bartender serve drinks. She has a good heart so I'll leave her alone. Next to me a man who I have no doubt likes hair bands from the eighties, looks at my red checkered shirt, and says to me through drunken slurs, Chicken! I say what? That shirt makes me think of going down to the lake and having a chicken picnic. I just smile and sip my beer. This is what I came here to do. This man's name is Steve. He continues to slur at me and I can only understand a few things that he says. Something about living in Austin and partying with Stevie Ray Vaughn and then how his farm house was burned down......I keep sipping my beer and glance every so often at a woman who looks like her face was mashed in. She is wearing purple and drinking a Diet Coke. I feel bad for her and want to know her story but I can only be so much of a vampire. I decide to leave her alone too. Sitting down two stools from me are two guys that are friends of Steve's. They say something or other to me and we laugh. They start talking about my Cardigan sweater and ask me if I am Mr. Rogers. I say no, but that Mr. Rogers had a bunch of Tattoos from when he was in the navy, and that is why he wore them. One of the Guys says he thought that was part of the act. The other guy has, and I kid you not, The most perfect mullet I have ever seen. This isn't Joe dirt pantie-waste, This is loud muffler truck glory even though the truck is an S-10. I mean we are talking about missing tooth smiles and auburn glory. A truly remarkable example. More banter back and forth and one or two cigarettes smoked. Somewhere along the line talk of a thirty pack and playing some darts. Being just arrived in town with nothing better to do, I take them up on their offer. This could be a big mistake but life is about taking risks. End of Part 1

Amerika

So, this goes out to all of you who are not reading this. I have not posted since October so I know that no one is even looking. Which is fine by me because It will probably be March when I post again. For those of you who are not reading this and did not know, I have recently been in France. It was a wonderful time and I enjoyed myself. I will not go into all the details because Hathaway Classics is not really about My personal life, it is about what I see out there and what I think about it. If you can't stand the Heat, people in hell want Ice Water.

Amerika.
So, Back in the Wonderful United states of America. Where all are free to not give a shit and do think pretty much whatever they want. This is not everyone. A few people out there take themselves way to seriously and push it down the throats of all us fun loving people here in la la land and they make things very difficult for us. A few of us, Don't think about anything at all. Who am I talking about?
Insert your favorite political pundit or congressman here. Throw in a little stir pot mess of big business and Celebrity Circus, Voila! You have our wonderful system of Demockeracy(For the record, this miss-spelling is intentional). I plan on being as vague and ambiguous as possible, this way I can go quietly cry by myself when someone leaves a comment that I don't like. But I don't really have to worry about this because no one reads this. Problem solved!

Obama.
Our most wonderful example of Presidency ever attempted towards ipod peoples everywhere. I have never voted and do not plan on registering any time in the near future. Please hold while the gasps and shock subsides........that is much better, now I have your attention. What do I think of the president? I don't know, what can you think of an almost Christ like superstar celebrity that makes policy and deals with the Yo-Yo's in congress? I have respect for the fact that he is at least acknowledging the problems that face us as a nation. That he is calling both parties out on their grand failings and inability to actually do their jobs. Aside from all of this, I am looking to buy land in the woods so that I may shut myself off from the world and blog (heehaws, I can't believe I have a blog) by the power of wind generation or solar technology. I don't have much faith in the political system at all. When you get rid of Corporation financing contributions, Special interests, Think tanks, Lobbyists, and senators over the age of 45, I will be down at the voter registration booth as fast as you can say "Daniel Boon"!!! What's that you say? Not going to happen? Sorry, I have been ingesting a lot of water from the tap lately and eating High fructose Corn Syrup. Oh yeah, and magnesium food from A particular fast food place that I will not name unless they would like to contribute to my contribution to their downfall. (Did you get all that?) I am also a firm believer in the fact that the constitution is incapable of handling the current population. There were no Adjustable Rate Mortgages when those fine "Radicals" were signing the constitution. Further more, George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, etc. would be patriot acted immediately. In addition, they owned slave and gun alike. A double Whammy Amerika! So, Politics? Until I see something other than the real images I am seeing or hearing from my electronic drug collection, I will continue to be cynical, unrealistic, and non-party affiliate. You won't find me at any tea party or protest. I don't like police aggression and I also don't like exercises in futility. If I wanted that, I would go vote! I know, your disappointed and shocked. Consider this a lesson in how not to be according to your views and beliefs.

Tomorrow, No stress Pancakes and Free Massages!

The path the romans........

Friends And Lovers,

Forgive me for taking my time since I last spoke to you. The transition to a foreign country is not always easy and jet lag is never fun. So, since we last spoke or rather, read, I have been staying up late and waking up early. Tired, wandering the streets of Besançon (where I live) and stumbling here and there to order coffee, buy bread or have a beer, has had a strange effect on me. The reality of the situation creeps in when you are walking and then realize,I am a wandering 27 year old child in the adult world of France. For those of you who have not had this experience, I highly recomend it. Nothing cures the American Blues, like the humbling truth of not being able to easily order a coffee or buy bread. It is coldly efficient in prioritizing the things you have to say, and puts the ego in check. I love it. Though, I must say, your author is not without moments of inner frustration that screams: " I just want coffee and where is the bathroom"!!!!!!!

This, was the old me. This, was me a few days ago before I had a little walk in the countryside that the romans took a long long long time ago. After which I felt a whole lot better about all that I am doing here. I will be working on the history details of this trip, and I soon hope to be a good blogger and have photos, video, tweets, txts, DNA samples, smells, and anything else that may help me come into my own into the world of technology which to avoid this, I have been trying to hammer boards on the windows of "I'm old fashioned". (I listen to tapes on my walkmen and I usually do all of my writing on an Adler J2 Typewriter)

So, let me start at the begining, a little picture into the life I have been living here.

In Besançon there are wonderful cafès' shops etc. There is one shop that I have come to really enjoy. This may not seem like it has anything to do with a walk in the countryside, I assure you it does. This shop, Is a junk shop. Which those of you who know me, know that this is where I find most of my magic and wonder and unique treasures of life. The other day was no exception. So I walk into this store with my American colors coming out of my ears and say "Bonjour". I then go directly to the section where they have the cassette tapes.(Yes I know what you are thinking, Cassette What?) There are all sorts of gems in this box. From Kenny Rogers to German leiter hosen bands. Any and all can be found here. And like most individuals that listen to tapes, nothing makes the heart soar, like a truly buried treasure of old recordings with voice or music from long ago. Well my friends, I found in the depths of this bin, my very own personal holy grail. By random accident of chance, I am now the proud owner of a recording of a church service from some unkown church all the way back in New Orleans Louisianna, from the year of our lord, Nineteen Hundered and Eighty Nine. This tape has everything, Soulful preaching (samples coming soon) A rendition of amazing grace which only southern churches can manifest, and the best part of the tape, dixieland style music by a band all the way from switzerland. What more could you want from a random tape bought from a junk store in france? I tell you, the planets were aligned that day. Which brings me to the next part of the story.

The Climb.
Friends and Lovers, I told you the story of the Church tape, because it is the best way I know how to set the tone and mood of my travels here and the things that I am seeing. What is life without a bit of magic and providence? Boring! Let us take our cues from Socrates and examine this life, further.
The Day was Tuesday. (Mercredi en Français. Also, right now as I am typing this, some children are walking below my window singing, just thought I would let you know) It was a very nice day as far as the weather was concerned and I was inside planning on being tired and not doing anything but doing the best job I could do playing sloth. (one of the seven deadly) I then get a phone call from my girlfriend Julie.(who I am staying with and one of the main reasons I am here.) She told me the weather is great and that I should go outside. As I had said, I was already well on my way to having to ask for forgivness in my slothness. (our father......who art thou.....) I decided to take her advice and see what was out side. I got ready, left my camera behind on purpose and went down the stairs and out the front door. I set out with no direction in paticular except away from Besançon. I made my way out of town and start seeing signs for hiking trails. These looked to have promise, so i start off in the direction of something called the Chapelle des Buis. The Chapelle was about 3km away and this was up a bunch of hills and 300m above sea level.(?) Anyway, it was high up. So I am walking along these trails and it is in beautiful countryside. The paths are either made of rock or overgrown pathways all of which I still have no idea of where I am going. Eventually I find my way to the Chapelle des Buis. It is a tiny little place but the view from outside is great. So I venture inside. Turning the handle to the church, I hear my pressence become known in this holy place. Much to my shock, there is no one inside. Not a soul. This would never happen in America. I expected security guards armed to the teeth like the houses of the holy in New York or Chicago. You would think that God would not need security officers but then again, God can't be everywhere. So I walk around the sanctuary and turn the book of prayers to the right day and sign the guest book: "what a nice surprise to get here after a long journey, Hathaway". Like I said, I did not know where I was going so it was great to stumble on to this tiny holy place after finding the church tape earlier in the week. So I head outside and look for where to go next. There are signs pointing just up the way to the Notre-Dame de la Libèration. This place was even stranger than the last. This is what it looked like:

Then down steps which you cannot see in this photograph, is the crypt where ther is an alter and a bunch of chairs surrounding that. Needless to say, I was shocked again when I found myself alone in this place. So I hung around A while and looked at some of the names and lit a candle for my visit there. All very strange things. I then left this place and continued walking towards the town of Morre. Following the path through the woods and up and down the hills, was all adding to the wonderful events of the day until I reached a certain point on the path where you come to a very nice scenic point looking down upon the town of Morre. This is where you can look accross the way and see a wooden cross high up just like where I was. I start off down the path towards the town and it becomes a bit rocky. Then it gets steep and even more rocky and unstable. Then I realize after slipping, that I am not on the path that I should be on and I have to be careful. It is this point that I pause to count my blessings for my hiking boots. I looked up and looked down and had to think about which direction to take. Do I risk falling again and cimb up? or do I very carefully make my way down the steep hill and possibly risk losing my footing and slide into a tree and break my leg etc.? I decided to risk falling and continue down the hill. Like a survivalist and good hiker, I made my way down in a zig-zag pattern using trees to hold onto as I looked for a safe place to continue walking. After a few minutes using my agility and increasing the pace of my heartbeat, I made it back onto the path. I am not going to lie, for a few minutes I did not really know what to do. Here I am a foreigner in the woods on a strange path and I have nothing to tell people where I am. But, I found the path, all was not lost and it was at this point that I had a tiny little mental spark. It was this moment on the hill where I did not know to go up or down that I look for in my life. Life forcing me to make a decision. Moments like this, push us all forward or backwards after the dull everyday motions that seem to sometimes drag us into lethargy or boredom, spur us on. As I may or may not have stated, this trip is happening now for many reasons. I guess I came here to try to break a shell of doing nothing that has surrounded me. To break free from the mental cement I have been building. Most of you don't know a lot of the things I have been doing these last few years but I have been wandering around the united states with barely any money and have been scrutinizing everything I see. I have been taking pictures, making music, and writing books. I have been a traveling hermit with good reason. More about this later. Back to the path on the hill, So here I am safe from danger and now heading towards the village of Morre. I arrive in the village, which is small and pretty much dead which I thought funny seeing as how the village is called Morre. A touch of Irony here now as I just had a small brush with danger on a radom journey only to end up in the empty village of Morre? While thinking about these little bits, the bar, which was closed, opens, I have a much needed beer after having walked five or six km up and down hills, reflect on the days travels, then walk another five or six km back to Besançon knowing that I am a different person. I realized as I found myself nearing the town, that I had punched a good size hole in the mallèble shell that surrounded me. I could smell fresh air and feel a bit of my anxitey towards the future being released to the universe to go where all anxiety goes, wherever that may be. The day was brighter even though it was cloudy and overcast, and I felt pressures eased. Friends and Lovers, I urge you to go on a similar quest. Maybe it won't be in the mountains, and maybe you won't find secret churches, but you may find something you have needed to wake you up from a slumber. It may be that final push to get you out of a rut. Or, it could be a eureka moment that has been elluding you. Or maybe the fresh air would do you good. Whatever it may be, I hope I have not wasted your time with this little story, but that it was an entertaining little break to your whole universe that is swirling and exploding around you at this very moment. Go enjoy, our cells only explode for a certain amount of time, today could be your cinematic hollywood moment.

Four thousand miles from small town USA

Four thousand miles away from Small Town America and I have just seen a ghost. My ghost. No, I am not dead, it was the ghost of who I was, who I would have been. And who am I now? Lets let the voters decide. Miles away with feet and hands and mouth, tied. Funny thing on the way to my life, this morning, one thirty to be exact, I am in a strange place of limbo that always seems to follow me wherever I go. Are we ever concrete on the ground though? With a hollywood reality always lurking around every corner, or in every new handshake of pleased to meet you. Death or life always in a shroud of taken for granted. Dear Dali Lama, I am really trying to live everyday in the now and to be at peace. Moving forward and moving back, will it ever make sense? What does it feel like to be in the place that you feel you are supposed to be? Sometimes I get the feeling that I have opened my mind up too much. That I've read too many books, that I am to open minded and not stubborn enough. That must be it. Damn, I was supposed to become like the weeping willow, bending with the changes that came my way. It seems though, I grew traveling roots.

Deep Breath and that is what oxygen is for
make ok the use of my lungs
beg and here is money in your pocket
and we converse about breathing easy again
night is really day to me and the time zone is what is making me equal here
they do not understand me and I do not understand them
I woke up from the dream and went to school naked
what is to get?
the books behind me remember that we once moved mountains
but the mountains have been moved away.
crimes against nature
ever gone to the wrong door with the right key?
force the lock open and then the key will fit.
at least to you it will.

Hathaway in the oh-nine (france)

night ladies and gents

le monde from the other side(mon yeux en français)

So, first off, hello. this will be the one's and zero's account of my new life here. those who have been to europe raise your hands. those who have not, stop what you are doing, get a shitty job that pays you nothing and save your money. Besides, the United States is pulling itself apart at the seams. So, to repeat, get a shitty job, save your money, plane ticket, etc. It really is good medicene. You must forgive me in this first post. I am twenty seven years old and now live in France. Yet it seems that upon arrival, I realized that I should have been here a long time ago. And who would have thought that the matrix, while on the one hand being a supercharged hollywood story that went on to become a gamers wet dream (sorry gamers)(no I am not) would also be a great representation of how I felt upon arrival in paris. As if my eyes had never seen and all the tubes and wiring of the united states corn fed hot dog machine of consumerism, were ripped from my body and I was left with no belongings, at a paris cafe doing the typical coffee, cigarettes, and eating a baugette all at once. This new life is coming easy and you will be here everystep of the way. Won't you?

so in closing, I am a horrible speller, I don't speak french, I miss you all.

Hathaway