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My purpose in relocating to Rochester, MN from Iowa was to work for the World Famous Mayo Clinic, making the crucial statement that I'd be here temp, and then move on to bigger and better, thus sealing my fate as a lifer. Sucked into the vortex of doom.
From conversations with a varied and diverse population of individuals, some who I consider friends, or family, have made the statement, that I should leave, Rochester is less than par, I need to move-blah, blah, blah.
Valid statements of the general course of environment, will be taken into account. A professional white colar town with an influx of international temp residents, mixed in with hard-valued Midwest Minnesotians, from small towns that don't register on a GPS system.
There is no Trader-Joes, or World Market. I'm shocked that Nutella is sold in the grocery store, but I have a feeling I'm one of the few who buy it. There is no gay-bar, which for some singles the end of civilization, and the bar tonight played current top forty...from the year 1985, and not the techno remixes either.
Then why do I stay? Surely being a gay man, in a soccer mom world, isn't conclusive to my development as a person.
I stay because the post office worker knows my name, It is a 15 to twenty minute communte to one side, to the other, because of the airport, the distance to I-90, because my neighbor plows my driveway ever time it snows. Because I'm never bored.
I take risks, and try things new, break rules, form new ones, and seek out the underground world that lurks beneath the clinic, the subway, the sky-way, the 21 y.o. twink bars, where Abercombie Clad men try to score with the skanky locals.
I stay because there is life outside your apartment.
From conversations with a varied and diverse population of individuals, some who I consider friends, or family, have made the statement, that I should leave, Rochester is less than par, I need to move-blah, blah, blah.
Valid statements of the general course of environment, will be taken into account. A professional white colar town with an influx of international temp residents, mixed in with hard-valued Midwest Minnesotians, from small towns that don't register on a GPS system.
There is no Trader-Joes, or World Market. I'm shocked that Nutella is sold in the grocery store, but I have a feeling I'm one of the few who buy it. There is no gay-bar, which for some singles the end of civilization, and the bar tonight played current top forty...from the year 1985, and not the techno remixes either.
Then why do I stay? Surely being a gay man, in a soccer mom world, isn't conclusive to my development as a person.
I stay because the post office worker knows my name, It is a 15 to twenty minute communte to one side, to the other, because of the airport, the distance to I-90, because my neighbor plows my driveway ever time it snows. Because I'm never bored.
I take risks, and try things new, break rules, form new ones, and seek out the underground world that lurks beneath the clinic, the subway, the sky-way, the 21 y.o. twink bars, where Abercombie Clad men try to score with the skanky locals.
I stay because there is life outside your apartment.
