Why leave the motherland?
My family came to America sometime in the early 1800s, from what I understand. We don’t really talk about it anymore, though I’m sure it wouldn’t be too hard to trace back and I would be willing to bet that some far flung great aunt or second cousin has already pulled it off. However, what little I do know about my family lineage shows that most likely, the original immigrants were from around Freiburg, Germany. I know this because most everyone in my tiny hometown has stemmed from the founders of Fryburg, PA.
Now, I want you to pay special attention to two things about these places. I will illustrate with graphics:
In Freiburg one would be about 5 hours or less from numerous European cities, including Paris, Zurich and Milan. Not to mention great domestic places like Frankfurt and Berlin. That’s because Freiburg sits right on the border of Germany, Switzerland and France.
By comparison, Fryburg is in the middle of fucking nowhere. You’ll notice points of interest on the map like Oil City, Union City or Butler. These are not places where anyone sane would actually want to go, which you know if you’ve ever been to western PA. Unless, of course you want to buy crystal meth or heroine or have a hankering to see the remnants of 1960s downtowns that have been decimated by poverty and WalMart. Five hours in the car will put you in such exotic places as the outskirts of Philadelphia, the Chesapeake Bay or the flatlands of mid-Ohio.
To further compound my consternation with my ancestors’ decision to move, I’ve been hearing from the interwebs and real live Germans that Freiburg has become the sustainable gem of the Black Forest. Germans like going there because it’s relaxing, beautiful and progressive. So much could not be said of home. And, this article from today’s New York Times only rubs salt into the wound:
Germany Imagines Suburbs Without Cars
This would NEVER fly in Fryburg. I’d move to Germany but it seems that my forefathers didn’t think it necessary to continue speaking German. Or even to stay in touch with anyone from their home country.
I know what my first stop is when my time machine gets here.
I was going to review Depeche Mode’s new album, Sounds of the Universe but no. I’d rather profess my love for Violator, the 1990 record that I picked up just last night. I know, I know – not sure how I was living without it. 
The Eastern Shore is the hottest place I’ve ever lived. This is a fact: it is usually 10 to 20 degrees warmer here than it is at home in Western PA. It’s no end of fun to remind my family of this when they are buried under sixteen inches of snow or getting frost-bitten at negative twelve. And it’s really enjoyable to get Spring in the middle of March as opposed to the middle of May. 
