July 6th, 2010

I love the fourth of July, for a variety of reasons. First of all, for very simple reasons -- I love fireworks. Explosions of color and the bang bang you can feel in your stomach. Plus I love July, because it's my birthday month, and before it gets too hot but when the colors are still saturated and the sky's still violently blue. Sparklers late at night, fireflies winking in and out of existence, ice cream, bare feet on a baseball field -- those so patently summertime bubbles of life that you can't possibly resist.

Also, I love thinking about Independence Day at the beginning, before America meant Manifest Destiny and Imperialism and banning same-sex marriages, before it meant the stock market or the economic crash -- no, back when America was just a dream, the brain child of a bunch of brilliant, agnostic, philosophical men who were daring enough to dream of freedom, where life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness truly were unalienable rights. The philosophy of the Declaration itself, the culture of colonial America, the events that forced a group of reluctant old Englishmen to declare their King a traitor -- I think it's fascinating to think about/study. It was why I misguidedly considered a political science major for some time.

(I have been biking/walking/standing sooo much. My legs are quite upset with me).

Anyway so Hilary and I really had to celebrate on the fifth, seeing as I worked the 7a-1p, 5p-10p shift on Sunday (that was KILLER), and we both had the day off on Monday (well, I had to be at work at 4p, but most of the day). We have hardly seen each other recently, what with her at the Tourists and me at the theater, so it was fantastic to get to just hang out, which is something the two of us do well -- when we have the time. (Rarely). So we slept in late, and decided to go kibitz about downtown for awhile.

We decided to check out Woolworth and Co, the old F.W. Woolworth 5cent store that's now been renovated into Asheville's largest art gallery, with all local artists. We must have spent a forty five minutes at least wandering around and bemoaning that we couldn't afford art -- but really, there were some incredible pieces in there. I am absolutely wild about color, and there was plenty of that, especially at the booth selling paintings in the style of "New Orleans Jazz Expressionism", which was amaaaaazzzzing. Some of the photographs, too, plus these incredible gothic pieces that I just about had a cow over.

After we checked out all the art, we decided to get lunch at the 50s style soda fountain/diner thing in the building, and bought grilled cheese sandwiches and shakes - chocolate for Hilary, hazelnut mocha for me. We sat on red plastic chairs and looked at the menu, with handdipped ice cream and vintage coca cola bottles, "The Saturday" version along with a Sundae. I don't know why, but I love that old 50s style and food -- all terrible for you, of course, but we all have our vices.

We then meandered out into downtown, and found our way to the park just beyond Pack Place, and stuck our feet in the fountain there, mingling with all the little kids in swimsuits, trying to predict which fountain is going to go off next. Just beyond is a little amphitheater with a walkway in the back with a grid of warped metal on the top -- to the left are the county court houses, to the right is the fountain, and in the front are the blue ridge mountains, absolutely lush and treed. With the sun on my back, just looking around, I was just so happy. Life really is wonderful.

We wandered back through downtown and found an AWESOME knick knack shop on Wall Street -- at least, I think it was Wall Street, but I would be back for sure if I had money (that old tired refrain), then headed home and I went to work shortly thereafter.

The evening shift has been pretty fun to work, even though you don't make as much money -- the restaurant is pretty dead at night -- but the one waiter that I've been working with is named Rey, a short Brazilian gay guy (yes, I know, the recipe for amazing). We just spent the evenings chatting about guys, life, music, and anything else that came to mind, and on Sunday night the cook got bored and decided to make us dinner. It was reallllly good. Also, we had a rush both nights, and on Sunday it was enough that I got to help out a lot -- bring food, get drinks, etc. Rey is great that he lets me help out so much -- sometimes with the other servers I feel like I would be stepping on someone's toes if I do too much. But I think I'd really like waiting tables -- but if I make more money bussing, then lord knows I won't make too much of a stink over the fact that no one has been honest with me about whether or not I'm even allowed to be trained.

In any case, I am now just waiting for the mail to come and crossing my fingers that somewhere in there is my social security card -- however, I just spoke on the phone with someone from the consulate, who spoke with a heavy French accent, that said I could use an alternate form of proof of residence. I will probably bring everything I can possibly think of, such as a copy of my lease, a pay stub, etc, etc. So that's cool. Now all I need to figure out is the financial guarantee and we should be golden. Yay.

I am starving, so I think I'm going to go make some pancakes for lunch and curl up on the couch with my new book -- it's called Angelology, by Danielle Trusson, and I got it free from Malaprops after I saw it on the shelves, thought it looked interesting, and went to go see if anyone at the front desk had read it. They hadn't, but they had a damaged copy in the back they gave to me. Wahoo.

Tonight I'm thinking about going to a dance class at a studio Raj referred me to, a modern class. I'm a little reluctant to at the moment, because it involves me getting off my butt and getting over there this evening, but it would probably be good for me, seeing as I'm not dancing nearly enough.

Anywho. I'll figure it out.

Catch you later.