Bullet Sourced

Minnesota Mindset to Oregon Bliss

By Joseph Friedrichs, 9-17-09

	The adventure continues.

In the past month I’ve had my life threatened at least once.  It was a serious threat, like the kind a husband makes to his wife of 35 years when he tells her to clean the kitchen sink. Were it not for my evasive tactics, I’d likely be dead by now.

With a little of my help, most of my friends from Montana, Oregon and other western states have been consistently scolded for unruly behavior during recent weeks. There have been ejections from public establishments. Lives, one friend tells me, have been ruined.

Yes, it’s been an interesting trip back to the West.

I’ve spent the past year of my life on the north side of St. Paul (yes, Minnesota) getting into crazy amounts of trouble and boring myself into a metrolized nothingness. I did get to see Bob Dylan in concert at the University of Minnesota on election night. And I did get to meet Levon Helm backstage at the Fitzgerald Theater. Other than that it was pretty much a busted experience. I drank too much and had little respect for my physical health.

I held my job as a reporter with Minnesota’s Press Publications for 11 months and 17 days. Most of that time I sat in a tiny cubicle with shabby carpet under my feet and mice running through the ceiling above my head. It was a strange office and my ability to create was hindered by the environment. I now understand what Hunter S. Thompson meant when he said “My blood is too thick for California. I’ve never been able to properly explain myself here.” It turns out my blood is too thick for Minnesota. I couldn’t explain to myself what was going on there.  So I left.

Last month I decided the land of 10,000 lakes and I should officially part ways. I issued my two-week notice at the newspaper. Three days later I was let go and shown the front door.

I wasn’t crushed. It was time to investigate what was happening in the West, where I had been living for the previous eight years before the Minnesota debacle. And truth be told, it’s fine to be back. I no longer coordinate my direction by large buildings and Highway 61. I’m back to finding my way by gazing to the mountains.  Each day is a new adventure.

For example, I caught an abundance of trout in Montana. Some of the fish were plump, golden browns. Others were mighty rainbows with jaws like salmon. That’s interesting to you, isn’t it?

Also on my trip back I was nearly strangled to death by a man running for mayor in a town near Helena. He gripped my throat with his greasy paws and my eyes nearly exploded from the pressure.  After escaping his grasp the mayoral candidate roamed the streets searching for me. He held a brick in his right hand with the intention of throwing it through my windshield as I drove past. Fortunately I wasn’t driving that night. Is that interesting to you?

In recent weeks I’ve seen elk and deer grazing in the magnificent pastures that expand and create and are the West I love. Quite a creature, those elk.

Did I mention how last week my friend stabbed and flattened my tire with a knife? It only took him an easy motion with the blade, he claims.

But I’d rather talk about the environment than myself, so here goes: The planet has been here 4.5 billion years. It’s not a bad place to be. There are mountains and there are large buildings. I prefer mountains and reading Cormac McCarthy. Others prefer lots of concrete and Garrison Keillor. It’s all a matter of taste. No one is perfect.

Speaking of imperfection, several days ago the Missoula Police Department sent an officer at 5 a.m. to shine a light through my back windshield.  My Minnesota plates were apparently grounds for suspicion. Turns out the police were in pursuit of a small-scale thief. He (the thief) bolted past me on foot at approximately 5:12 a.m., not far from my vehicle.  According to my sources and police reports from The Missoulian, the kid was never picked up. Maybe the thief will come around and get his life on the right track, maybe not. Unrealistic hope isn’t the right phrase, but it’s the first one that comes to mind.

There’s obviously no real message to this opening article other than the fact that it is my Declaration of Returning. It’s been a strange ride and even in the darkest of times, such as being hospitalized with an injured liver and going to jail for urinating on the side of the road, things have always been comical.

For example, I just got off the phone with my 31-year-old ex-girlfriend who now lives near Ashland here in the great state of Oregon. She is retired and several months ago got married to a man who is 23 years older than she is. That would make him 54, in case your math skills are lacking. Most of my other friends and associates here in the West have become entangled in similar strange situations. A few of them have jobs, most of them don’t.

So I’ve returned to clear the air. Shake things up. Conduct some investigations and then write about them.

So let it be written, so let it be done. 

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