Searching for Authenticity, Orlando

"That day, flying over central Florida, Disney decided that he, not reality, would define what constituted the Magic Kingdom in the minds and spending habits of millions of Americans in the years to come."

I almost stole a magazine from a hospital patient. A woman I know had been hospitalized for over three-weeks with a ruptured appendix. She spent those days laying such pain, it was difficult to read anything. Thus, I thought National Geographic might be a good gift for her. If she was in too much pain to read, she would have brilliant photographs of elephants, sharks and exotically dressed humans to place before her eyes. Of course, if she was well enough to read, the articles are interesting and informative.

As I thumbed through the issue on the bus to Georgetown Hospital, I discovered that city I consider my hometown was featured in an article. It is a surreal experience to see something with which I am intimately familiar gracing the glossy pages of National Geographic. There are articles about the preservation of sharks, the protection of elephants, and a black market of animals stolen from Indonesia. The issue takes you from India, to sub-Saharan Africa, to a computer simulation that retraces an exploding start, to... Orlando - an area so unnatural that one could hardly call a study of it geography.

The article has the typical National Geographic tone - disinterested yet interesting journalistic writing laced with scholastic aptitude, all describing streets on which I have driven, buildings in which I have found an air-conditioned refuge, food I have eaten, and, of course, theme parks (guess which one in particular) I have patroned. The first few paragraphs reveal its accuracy, and the fact that the writer has much of the same puzzles about the area that I have had. I nearly put it in my bag and bussed home. Instead, I gave it to the sick woman, and bought my own copy at a drug store that weekend. Of course, you can read the article for free right here: http://www7.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/0703/feature4/index.html.

T.D. Allman, the article's writer, proclaims Orlando to be "the new American Metropolis." Through him, the reader is treated to a tour of everything Orlando is: the good, the bad and the unnatural. Mostly the unnatural. It's new. "This, truly, is a 21st-century paradigm: It is growth built on consumption, not production; a society founded not on natural resources, but upon the dissipation of capital accumulated elsewhere; a place of infinite possibilities, somehow held together, to the extent it is held together at all, by a shared recognition of high-way signs, brand names, TV-shows, and personalities, rather than any shared history. Nowhere is the juxtaposition of what America actually is and the conventional idea of what America should be more vivid and revealing," he writes. What does that mean? Mega-churches, McMansions and Mickey Mouse. The American dream, made more affordable and seeming more surreal as we become financially prosperous.

One morning last winter, I was driving to work, and I saw an eerie image that typifies much of what Orlando is, and I was happy that National Geographic photographed it. I was on a long stretch of land, land that still had its original trees, but land that you knew would soon be devoured by development. Every year, hundreds of thousands of people follow sunshine and economic opportunity to Central Florida. Thus, there are always houses to be built. I glanced out the right windshield and saw a forest of lampposts. Roughage had been cleared away for row after row of lampposts. No buildings or sidewalks, just lampposts. It looked post-apocalyptic. It was actually pre-neighborhood. Soon grass would be brought from somewhere else, and if the markets are good, and neighborhood, just like the one I call home, will be built. But it doesn't have to look this way. "Don't want to live in a produced, instant 'community'?" writes Allman, "No problem. Orlando's developers, like the producers of instant coffee, offer you a variety of flavors, including one called Tradition."

This is Orlando. The American dream being unfolded and placed on top of land that was deemed useless by farmers. Disney saw its potential, and while his full utopia was not realized, business is booming, and the wealth is spreading to the rest of America. Here in DC, the hip neighborhood is Clarendon, and it carries the eerie oder of palm-trees, orange juice and red lobster. There's some places I love, like Iota, where Ben plays open-mic nights, or Hard Times Cafe, which serves some amazing Chili. Yet, so much of it looks like Orlando to me. All the stores of the local multi-plex - Barnes and Noble, Chiptoles, the Gap. Everything I seem to feel I need. Don't like the increasingly uniform nature of American cuisine? Blame the Darden Corporation, which, according to Allman, is Orlando's first Fortune 500 company, which has been cranking out Olive Gardens and Red Lobsters in a neighborhood near you, particularly new, up and coming neighborhoods like Clarendon. Food is standardize to meet (or to create?) an American palate. These are fine, and I'm told they are great for the economy. But give me a restaurant that grew up with the land, that tastes like what DC, Chicago, New York or New Orleans has to offer me, that represents its people. (I'm sure Olive Garden is working on this)

It would be tempting to write Orlando off as something plastic. Much of it lacks that wood-smelling, perfectly imperfect "something" that we generally refer to as character. Yet, I've lived there, and I can report that within the megachurches and mcmansions, beneath the surface, are genuine people with all humanity has to offer. Allman found Orlando's irresistible ethnic diversity, particularly within its high schools. Go to any downtown nightclub and watch the Latinos dance as if they are made of liquid. Go to any high school and listen to spanish accents speak to southern accents, as differences come together and discover humanity. He also found it in a small Buddhist temple, which seems like a contrast between the megachurches and the parachurch organizations that seem to be the religious choice of a market-driven lifestyle. But visit these churches for a moment and watch the men and women with their hands raised, singing to God above the blaring speakers of the latest sound-system. Watch my father's church, as his community of "McMansioners", lawyers, corporate executives and school teachers rallied to provide furniture and amenities for the local Middle School janitor's family.

There may be a lot to criticize. Allman acknowledges that the "gospel according to Disney is an optimistic message of self-fulfillment of wanting something so badly that your dreams really do come true." So, is Orlando babel? For some people, maybe. But within my dad's church community are people who see these franchise restaurant and well-marketed neighborhoods as means of hard work and existence, knowing full well that the real Gospel is something deeper, is using these resources to help others. The para-church organizations Allman criticizes were the first responders to Hurricane Katrina, providing food, shelter and water to the Gulf Coast as the government and the red cross were falling all over each other. Musically, Orlando is known for boy bands and the Mickey Mouse club. What's more representative of our fair city than the Backstreet Boys - a band designed to sell records and make money? But check out www.theoaksband.com for some music that brings Afghanistan through the lens and poetic thoughts of a native Floridans for some beautiful results. Will they make any money? I hope so. Proceeds from their albums goes to a charity bringing supplies to Afghanistan's poor. A charity based in Orlando no less.

My youngest sister ranks among the most authentic people I know. She moved to Orlando pre-kindergarten, asking where the rides were when we showed up to our sulfur-smelling neighborhood. She grew up in the strangely shaped Florida houses, attended church in buildings that looked like offices and walked on grass that was landscaped by dark-colored, spanish-speaking men whose faces we all too easily forgotten. Yet, as she eats her Panera bread and meets her friends at Barnes & Noble, she finds ways to ornament herself, ways to read, ways to think and ways to believe in God that are unique to her. Her friends are like her. The centers to their jokes and conversations are often about "brand-names, TV shows and personality," but now they all have shared history. Every summer they faced the storms and the heat, every day at high school they intermingled with people who were born with different colors and speak with different accents. Many of her friends grew up as missionaries (often associated with the much-maligned para-church organizations). Florida's schools may not rank well nationally, but I wager that Orlando's kids know as much, if not more, about the rest of the world than any community in America. My sister's a part of that. Her authentic self took root in the un-authentic landscapes of (perhaps overly) planned communities. Orlando may have brought us Red Lobster, Mickey Mouse and the Backstreet Boys. But it's also raising a generation of people, like my sister, who will change the world for the better. I doubt she'll feel any uneasiness when she looks at Orlando and says, "that's home."