Hometown

Bayou La Batre, Alabama

Chapter One

There are all sorts of unflattering things I could say about my hometown. I know because I've practiced. You might even say it was my major course of study during my high school years.

Eventually I graduated and, finally, had the whole world in front of me and no obligations to hold me back. So, naturally, I immediately married a hometown boy with family ties deep enough to be genetically suspect.

It was not at all unusual to be in the Walmart with Gary only to find that every single person in the store was a relation of some sort or another. With no living family to speak of and only one half of one generation residing below ground, you can imagine how thrilled his family was to add me to their tree. When we got married, Gary's mother, Irene – an aggressively thin woman with hard gray eyes – told me that their family bible had been lost during hurricane Frederick, but I'd always suspected she'd hidden it rather than add my name to that most sacred of genealogies. That was actually fine with me, since I have terrible handwriting and never had developed a satisfactory trademark signature.

Everyone suspected that I was pregnant when we made the announcement (complete with short engagement period) about a week after I graduated, and my size did little to dispel that rumor. It was Mrs. Harris, my friend Jolene's mama, who convinced me to lose weight before the big day. She said that my wedding photos were the most important pictures I would ever have taken so it was important to look as much like the movie stars in the magazines as possible. She's a hairdresser and has been married three times, so has a lot of experience with weddings.

For the six weeks before the wedding I worked my ass literally off and, on the big day, I managed to close the zipper of that size twelve dress. It was the thinnest I had ever been. I thought my improved appearance might help ingratiate me with my stick-thin mother-in-law-to-be, but instead she'd been horrified by each dropped pound. My decreasing waistline could only mean that I was not, as she suspected, knocked up. Gary was not marrying me out of some noble, if misguided, sense of duty or responsibility. He had, as she saw it, simply settled.


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If My Life Were A Reality TV Show

When I was a child, my parents would often find me delivering a monologue to my stuffed animals, the bathroom mirror, a blank wall, etc. When asked what I was doing, I'd explain that I was “addressing my home viewing audience.” This was in the late 70s/early 80s, before the prevalence of both Reality TV and juvenile psychiatric medications. And, yes, my parents are saints for having put up with me.

However, as the years have passed and with “Reality TV” now a reality, I've had to face the fact that I'm much less interesting than when I was five and that my adult life yields few “must see” moments. I rarely walk around my house in full makeup and heels. José Eber has never come over to do my hair. Movie stars and professional athletes don't drop by to drink and dish. I have no secret children/spouses/identities. I'd never waste good (or even bad) wine tossing it in someone's face. I cannot sing and will not eat bugs.

My daily life as Reality TV:

• The Real World: Middle Age
  
• Iron Chef Microwave
  
• The Real Housework of Albany
  
• Survivor: Trader Joe's at 5:30PM on a Friday
  
• Dancing with the Swiffer Mop
  
• The Amazing Race For a Parking Spot on Solano Ave.
  
• American Idle: I Catch Every Yellow Light on Van Ness Avenue
  
• The Biggest Loser: Eyeglasses
  
• American Picker-Upper and Puter-Awayer
  
• Keeping Up With the Cat Hair
  
• Dustbusters
  
• What Not To Wear
  

Today's lesson: I really hope my husband never sets up a “nanny cam.” (Me: Walking around the house singing the theme song to "Goldfinger," substituting the word "snöflinga.")

Next: It Gets Worse: The Power of Positive Pessimism

How About Them 'Niners

According to the New York Times, on this day in 1850 “Henry Clay introduced in the Senate a compromise bill on slavery that included the admission of California into the Union as a free state.” As would eventually become the hallmark of the state's politics, this did not happen quickly, easily, or without controversy.

This new 31st state was separated from the rest of the United States by large swathes of wilderness known as “territories,” one of which had the rather descriptive title of “Unorganized Territory.”* One of the chief reasons lawmakers were so interested in acquiring this stretch of land over 2500 miles away was the 12 million ounces of gold being pulled from its rivers and streams.

Welcome to California's first cycle of Boom-and-Bust: The Gold Rush

In 1848, gold was discovered at Sutter's Mill near Placerville, CA. The land's owner, John Sutter, planned to keep this information secret in order to preserve his dream of an agricultural empire known as “Little Switzerland.” Local merchant Samuel Brannan, who, as it happened, had just gotten into the mining supplies game, put the kibosh on that by running up and down the streets of San Francisco with a vial of nuggets shouting “Gold! Gold! Gold from the California River.”**

The California Gold Rush led to the largest mass migration in U.S. history, bringing over 300,000 people from all over the world. In 1849 alone, approximately 90,000 people arrived in California.

One in twelve 49ers perished, due to mining accidents, disease, or homicide. The native California tribes fared much worse, falling from an estimated population of 150,000 in 1845 to fewer than 30,000 by 1870. According to the state government, 4500 of those deaths were due to violence.

On average, half of gold seekers made a profit, occasionally spectacular, but mostly modest. Many, especially those who arrived in later years, were less fortunate. Merchants and other businessmen made far more money than the majority of miners. Companies like Levi's, Armour Meats, Studebaker, and Wells Fargo all grew out of California's Gold Rush. At the time, the wealthiest man in California was merchant, publisher, and local loudmouth Samuel Brannan, who is considered the first millionaire of the Gold Rush.

Gold was sent from California to points around the globe. A sidewheel steamer, the S.S. Central America, sank off the coast of the Carolinas while carrying 10 tons of California gold, valued at over $2 million. The gold was retrieved in 1987 using a remotely operated vehicle and now has an estimated value between $100 - $150 million.

California has long had a high cost of living. In 1849, an egg could cost the equivalent of $25 in today's terms, a pound of coffee $100, and a pair of boots $2500. According to my informal research, today a single egg costs roughly $0.28, a pound of Starbucks is $13.95, a pair of boots is $2500.***

Today's lesson: I've been hearing a lot about the 49ers this week.

Next: Maybe something about lip syncing... or wardrobe malfunctions... or beer commercials...

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*Much of this area would later be known as “The Big 12.” Make of that what you will.

**Thus making prostitution California's fourth oldest profession, after farming, mining, and marketing.

***A girl can dream, right?