News from afar

Like a stranded motorist thrilled with an oasis of toxic waste, I siphon up stories of my hometown like delicious, delicious gasoline.  My ex is married.  My other ex is married?  Gabe from 8th grade got arrested?!   And four months later acquitted?  Oh, no, I just found out four months later.  A week later, got it.  

If it wasn't for this meaty, yet wispy tidbit, I would have probably completely forgotten about Gabe from 8th grade.  Or, if I still lived at home, I would also know every detail of the arrest and the acquittal, who he is dating, if he bought a new shirt, and I would hate it.  I really don't care that Gabe got arrested (and acquitted).  I don't feel bad for him or glad.  If I were home and forced to hear the stories of Gabe, I would be just as pissed off as when the grocery store lines force me to know Brangelina is pregnant and Rachel Ray is having man trouble.  I DON'T CARE!  I don't want my mind to know these things.  I don't even know the capital of New Hampshire, I should learn that while I wait to buy my groceries.  

But because I don't live at home and I miss my family and the place, I crave the pathetic gossip that ties the town together.  I ask for it from anyone I can get it.  If I never hear if Gabe rejects the drug dealing lifestyle that got him arrested, no biggie.  Someone else I used to know will make police blotter status or have a kid or an affair and I will cling to that factoid instead.  I miss my hometown and the people I love who are still living in it, but I secretly love how late the daily drama reaches me.  It somehow makes me feel more in control of it.  I know about Gabe's inland northwest arrest because my People.com-reading friend from DC heard and then bounced in back to me in Portland.  I asked for good gossip and it was delivered--it wasn't forced upon me like it is a part of my life.  I am fabulously separate, but still intrigued because I sort of know Gabe and his family...and most of the people he sold to.  Oh the glory of a small town.  

All I have to do to be successful is not be the juiciest story traded from mouth to ears to more eager ears.  And to really dream big all I need is to be that hushed story people jealously roll their eyes at.  Ah sweet success.