Songs about Jackson

Every singer/songwriter must have at least one nostalgic song about Jackson... Tennessee, Mississippi, Minnesota. Ballads and odes in sweet remembrance and longing. There's a girl waiting there, the smell of pine trees or some such thing, the color of some polluted river. It's an american archetypal placename for musicians in the same way that Caroline is, though like many others i've never actually met a Caroline.

I wonder if any of those songs are talking about Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I'm leaning towards 'no.' I recently returned to this town and it wasn't due to a two month appetition for its rich edification. It has been two months since i left this place and it certainly wasn't time yet to revisit any old self or previous community. My old partner needed some help moving her things a few states over. I wasn't up to much of anything and volunteered to help.

I rolled into town on the first evening after driving 900 hundred miles in twelve hours. I was looking in the rearview mirror astounded at the long line of trucks behind me and nearly rear-ended the Dodge Ram in front of me. I made it just in time for the sledneck 'hill climb' that draws thousands of snow machiners from all over wyoming, utah, and idaho. Men and women gather around their snow machines and hold epic tailgate parties before ascending the local steep mountain for a record time. This is a laughable rough-and-tumble group that reminds me of a slightly watered down Hell's Angels gathering. The presence of this crowd added with the town's own extreme citizenry reminds me of some dangerous chemistry solution, imagine two vaporous vials mixed to explosion.

I'm in a different mindset this time around and i thought it might be a good time to explore my reasons for repulsion to this area. In the past, decisions and motivations were muddled in the unsuited habitat for optimum growth. Sometimes i like to imagine myself as a cholorophyllic body searching for select niche conditions. This time around i feel more objective and freefloating, not in search of grounding. I was hoping this would allow me to mull things over better.

An epiphany struck me at the Cadillac Grille and Bar. It was happy hour and i had a few beers in front of me and a burger on the way. The place was packed and the noise deafening. I was feeling particularly queer and couldn't keep my eyes off the women in my vicinity. Not a single female soul that i could find was timid to the eye, and i found myself freely staring at women staring back at me. What struck me at first was how i didn't feel a single drop of real connection or sensuality in these episodic staredowns. At first i internally fought this by pointing out to myself that i really wasn't that special, nor much of an apparent catch anyhow and perhaps this was a good revelation. But by further introspection i discovered the true cause of my antipathy...

When i first meet someone, whether they be the deemed future friend or partner, i try to display a panoply of what i think are decent traits. First on my list is sincerity, because even the least intelligent of people with sincerity are worthy friends. The next thing would likely be consideration, show that you're actually listening and interested. These are the top two, and the list definitely goes on... In Jackson, Wyoming people don't care about sincerity in its purer forms. They much prefer to burke the trait or accept some obviously transparent and generic version of it. This immediately cuts my tactic of initial connection with a person. Secondly, you may be holding a light or heavy conversation with someone, but this in no way keeps others (and everyone 'knows' everyone) from at any point crashing the scene. In this way you're left with splintered points and dialogue and you find your company quickly disjointed, attention defecit, in a blink of an eye holding conversation with a newcomer. It's cheap and schizophrenic, and if you're not up to the challenge of gregarious roaming laconic devolutions, then you'll certainly go mad!