Talking to Strangers I

this new project i'm taking on (because apparently i'm starving for things to do, currently spending much of my free time reading the classics that i once barely tolerated but now genuinely enjoy or scanning classic old emails from girls that used to like me and now merely tolerate me) came packaged in two separate parts of inspiration. while at williams, i was fortunate enough to land an interview with gregory david roberts, author of the epic shantaram. after hours of conversation, roberts excused himself to answer the door of his hotel room in new zealand. i could hear in the background familiar greetings, and upon his return was surprised to hear it was room service. when people are cleaning your goddamn toilet and shower for gods sake, you gotta look after them and theyre people you know? i want to know their names, their lives and while i was held captivated by these simple words and unconscious gesture, he picked up right where we left off, telling a story of johnny depp playing a game of sitcom charades in the bahamas.

in addition, it is inspired by a girl - the catalyst to all great endeavors according to roberts' himself. in this case, by an adorable ko-ed who left an impression on me after meeting her for the first time at a friend's "christmas" holiday get together years ago; someone i've never really gotten to know, but one of those of whom you can immediately sense their positive energy. for an art class, she was interviewing locals with whom she routinely bumped elbows and wanted to know more about. as a local, i was ashamed i didn't know half of what she uncovered.

i've often told others that the more of yourself you invest in a place, the more aware and knowledgable you become about a locale and its people, the stronger the bond. moss point is a special place, with its own simple miracles, iconic landmarks, ingrained issues and typical problems. i'm fairly sure i won't stay here much longer, but now that i've committed to one more year i owe it to experience to let the accent of marsh grass, the fisherman's religious forecasts, the grits, fried-chicken, mint juleps and ford trucks to seep into my soul just a little more than i already have ...

at least twice per month, i hope to sit down to talk with someone i've had minimal prior interactions with ... maybe the woman who bags my avocados at the market or the old man that walks his dogs on the beach every night. my own story corps.