illusions of greatness

About a month ago Albuquerque had one of those rare weeks where it rained off and on for several days in a row. Besides making everything green, it also made the snails come out.

One of the snails got stepped on and his friends were eating him. I wonder how knowing that your friends will eat you upon your death changes your perspective on life?

I am currently sitting at the Satellite Cafe in Albuquerque’s “Nob Hill” district—about a mile-long stretch of Route 66 that runs from the intersection of Carlisle and Central to right around where the University of New Mexico starts.  For as long as I can remember, this relatively tiny span of our city has been home to a myriad of cool, quirky local businesses.  I’ve spent what probably amounts to weeks of time in this very cafe and have been roaming this corridor of Central before I even moved to Albuquerque.  It is a place that is near and dear to my heart, chock full of memories and stencil graffiti and homeless beggars.

With few exceptions, the area has been mostly occupied by local, non-corporate businesses.  When you walk down the street, there’s a very distinct sense of difference in the air.  Sure, the heat and pollution and all the classical city elements are there.  But it doesn’t feel the same as everywhere else in the city.  In most burgeoning neighborhoods—all over Rio Rancho, for instance, one of the fastest growing cities in the nation—you can’t spit without hitting a franchise: Starbucks, P.F. Changs, and McDonalds are planted every six or seven feet blocks.  Nob hill is different.  It’s not like that.  Sure, we have a Starbucks, but it took over the building owned by Arby’s.  And it is an exception to the rule.

In the past year or so, though, changes have been set in motion that threaten the very sense of place that sets Nob Hill apart from everywhere else.  A lot was bought by a developer and a massive construction project began about a year ago right in the middle of everything.  Business space on the lower story, with two or three stories of loft apartments above.  The lofts are priced in such a way that the demographic of the neighborhood is going to undoubtedly change.  It’s prime real estate, located smack dab in the middle of the quirky, funky Nob Hill area.  Any proud hipster would be happy to reside here, in the midst of this young, fresh neighborhood.

The problem is that this development, along with others that are starting to crop up, threaten to undermine the quirky, funky nob hill vibe that makes this corridor so appealing.  A sign was recently posted letting passersby know that an Urban Outfitters was going to occupy a space beneath the lofts.  Let’s just stop delaying the inevitable and plop down a WalMart, shall we?

I realize that I sound like an angsty Bohemian lamenting the inevitable flow of capitalism.  And I guess that, in a way, I am.  Outside of one store that will most likely be nailed by the presence of Urban Outfitters, called Toad Road, there are usually a couple of employees outside jamming on their guitars.  This is the essence of Nob Hill: the delightful combination of nuances that are unique to this one place.  You see things that you don’t see in subdivisions and planned developments here.  And I’m pretty sure that there isn’t a measure in the Urban Outfitters corporate handbook that allows employees to jam on their guitars outside of the store.

And that phenomena explains precisely what I’m going to miss.  The smelly hippies that haven’t showered for weeks will all be gone because they can’t afford to live here, as will the starry-eyed idealistic student activists and amateur cafe philosophers.  The flailing musicians that work in a shop to buy studio time won’t be allowed to loiter outside of their store with instruments because it’s against corporate policy.  The stores with the overpowering smell of incense creeping out of their open doors will shut down and reopen with chain stores catering to young girls that like to dress like Paris Hilton.  Real culture will be replaced with the much more profitable gentrified culture. The money will be great.  The neighborhood, though, will be gone.

It dawned on me a few days ago that I would be turning 25 in just a few months. This depressed the hell out of me. The idea of being a quarter of a century year old just doesn’t sit well, sort of like when you eat too much sushi.

It doesn’t help that my life has been somewhat of a train wreck as of late. After the break up with N and finally deciding to go to graduate school, I’ve been trying to get my shit together before I start studying philosophy in a really, really serious way. By getting my shit together, I mean getting some financial ducks in a row, mostly. This has proven far more difficult than I initially thought it would be.

Somewhere down the line, I got old. I don’t mean “old” in the chronological, distance-between-birth-and-now way, but the whole coming-to-terms-with-what’s-expected-of-someone-my-age way. At some point, you eventually realize that there are certain things that are and are not socially acceptable for someone who is almost 25 to do. If you want to remain a respected, well-regarded member of society, you have to really keep these things in mind to avoid being lumped in with the carnies and 40 year olds that make fries at Wendy’s.

Acceptable:

• think about a career
• go to bed at a reasonable hour
• look into buying a house
• discuss your 401(k) with your acquaintances over beer that everyone is pretending to like because it costs five times more than Natty Lite

Not acceptable:

• put off deciding on a career by going to school
• stay up all night reading bad fiction/watching zombie movies
• ponder moving to Eastern Europe
• consider the viability of finding a woman 20 years your senior who is financially stable enough to support the aforementioned items on the “not acceptable” list

About a year and a half ago I was on to something. I was just about to graduate, had fantastic visions of becoming a world-renowned cultural critic, and was getting ready to go to throw every ounce of financial and emotional sensibility out the window to go live with my girlfriend in France. I woke up yesterday and found myself frighteningly close to regretting all of that.

What the fuck happened?