jawn /jôn/ noun (chiefly in the greater Philadelphia metropolitan area) used to refer to a thing, place, person, or event that one need not or cannot give a specific name to. Jawn is a neutral, all-purpose noun used to reference any person, place, situation, or object. In casual conversation, it takes the place of the word ‘thing’. Example: “These jawns are very inexpensive.”
jawn one.
On a recent Facebook post I created regarding Pres. Biden’s political announcement that he would not be seeking re-election, I noticed a comment from someone that raised my eyebrow. It went exactly like this: A military state financier from our tax dollars, a pharma advocate delivering lies and and a general puppet to globalism dismantling safety and stability within this country to obscure insight and resistance. The right is playing the same game through different vernacular. All we have to do is look at the funding of JP Morgan and Thiel behind the picks. We are gonna have to be a little more critical in thinking otherwise it’s just gonna be worse. Corporate globalist level communism and transhumanism makes Lenin look like chicken s**t. And I lived in that Marxist mess for a while. After I read it, I realized I was very confused. To even begin to understand what it was that the person was actually saying, I thought to myself, I’d have to either be a whole lot more informed than I am on these kinds of things… OR… I’d have to be walking that razor-thin tightrope between doctor prescribed micro-dosing and full on Jim–Morrison-in-the-desert-at-night-ing. That isn’t to say that I’m making fun of the commenter or disagreeing with what they were saying either. It’s just to point out that I have this gut feeling that a lot of politics and agendas and blah, blah, blah goes over a lot of people’s heads. Including mine. I work hard. I’m blue collar, kind of book nerdy, and pretty familiar with many parts of both world and U.S. history. I have always voted according to what I think would best benefit us as a nation not hellbent on throwing other people to the curb so we can benefit ourselves. If that’s being a snowflake or woke or an idiot or whatever/ I can accept that on the grounds that I feel lucky and happy to be able to make up my own mind. But when it comes to expecting others to really have a super intense grasp of the behind-the-scenes ebbs and flows of what really drives politicians, I have to stop you mid-soliloquy and say this. No. We don’t need to know that. We don’t have time to know that. Hell, I’m not even sure that what you’re saying we should know is even actually the truth. You know, it probably isn’t, is my guess. Politically speaking, I need to speak my mind this once. I think it’s okay to want to vote for candidates that wish to make life a little better for everyone and not just ultra rich powerful c***s and their dirt poor shoe-licking disciples. Even if just below the shiny surface they really don’t want to do good for all, it’s like this. If you THINK they do and you BELIEVE that they do, then what else is there really? I think that personal satisfaction is enough of a requisite to earn a fellow human being’s vote. Listen. I don’t know who funds JP Morgan. In full disclosure, I don’t even know who JP Morgan is. Is he a TikTok guy? Is he the father of Bitcoin? (I also don’t know what Bitcoin is. Oh boy.) Either way, I don’t care. I’m not reveling in ignorance either. I’m simply pushing back against your definition of it, homie. Hard.
jawn two.
Whenever I’m picking up dog shit in my yard from my two dogs who shit at least 40 times a morning, I am reminded of how humble and small I am. It isn’t a bad thing, although I could probably get the same feeling from picking mushrooms in the forest or collecting old bottle caps from the b-ball courts without the baked in holding-back-vomit that comes along with my particular lot in Humility-ville. When I’m out there underneath the sappy white pine, late afternoon, sun slashing down on the back of my neck like a 5th grade heat wave slap, I stoop my lumbering body down with a flimsy red Sheetz bag on my hand as a glove and a liquor store bag in my other hand to store the craps in, and I pretend things that could never be true. I pretend in order to achieve some kind of a level of balance, you know? Like between total shame and abandonment of all human pride and some other kind of remarkable qualities that I fear I have never possessed and never will. For example, a real go-to version of myself that I like to “explore” on my “journey” of picking up dog shits is that I like to pretend that I am a smokejumper fighting one of the many wild fires out west. And during our dangerous flight out over the rolling pine hills ablaze, I spot a family of four or five down on the ground/ surrounded by flames on all sides/ waving desperately up at us for help. The turds are the people, as you probably already guessed. And I’m up in the chopper looking down. This has to happen fast and we have to be pinpoint accurate. I holler back at the pilot to take her down and he thumbs up me and says into the cool little radio earpiece I am wearing: “Get this one and beers are on me tonight, Chico.” Because my name is Chico and I’m 22 and I have a Tom Selleck mustache and I’m bound for glory. We lower then, and I can feel the overwhelming oven opening/ my eyes going dim from the sizzling atmosphere/ and as the chopper slowly descends/ I crook my knees and hear them pop/ and I pretend that’s the sound of some anti-establishment backwoods militia man shooting at me from the burning forest! But fuck him! This is happening and later on there will be accolades and soaring pride in the Bigfoot Cafe back in town and so I lean out of the chopper (squat like I’m about to take crap on top of my dog’s crap) and hold my hand down as far as I can towards the family who are mouthing the words “Thank you so much, beautiful man!” (pick up the shit with my bag glove) and holler at them to hold hands with each other right before we have to ascend out of this collapsing hell-scape (drop the shit nuggets into my liquor store bag). Then we fly off into the higher clarity of a life that offers never-ending accolades and pride and backslaps and probably grassroots Republican office if I want it at some point (I gag and semi-wish I was dead).
jawn three.
There is something tremendously rewarding about growing things from the Earth. I know that lately there are a lot of younger people who are making funny memes about loving gardening in a way that used to be reserved for older folks (coffee cup in one hand at 7am watering flowers or tomatoes or whatever), but there is honor in the smiles behind it all, I think. Gardening, or even just growing a single hot pepper plant or a lone pot plant on your fire escape, is a powerful way to intoxicate yourself for a few moments with the magnitude of the universe and the wonders of nature. Arle and I gave up on vegetables a few summers ago because, frankly, we spent a lot of time and loot for what amounted to, like, one head of broccoli and a couple of zucchini. It just wasn’t worth it in the end. But we do have some cool flowers coming up around our house this year and that’s something that we both really dig. And no, we aren’t gardening experts by any stretch of the imagination. Again, much like with politics, people tend to go too hard at something and kind of ruin it for themselves and others sometimes. I don’t want to understand all the nuances of conjuring flowers from the sacred dirt. I just want to dump some wild flower seeds on the beds around the front porch in spring and watch lovely colorful flowers come up later on. It is an ancient ritual and one any of us can experience if we want to. You don’t need a green thumb. You only need to get off your tired lazy ass and step away from the screen and walk out into the world that loves you and misses you so.
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Serge Bielanko lives in small-town Pennsylvania with an amazing wife who’s out of his league and a passel of exceptional kids who still love him even when he’s a lot. Every week, he shares his thoughts on life, relationships, parenting, baseball, music, mental health, the Civil War and whatever else is rattling around his noggin.
