August 18th, 2010

This morning, 6:04AM: The alarm goes off, gets snoozed. It goes off again, and I drag my carcass out of bed and into the shower, in a hazy of sleepiness.
6:38AM: I leave the house, noticing that my bike helmet has gone missing somehow -- probably left it at Raj's place.
6:49AM: I arrive at the hotel, lock the bike, and go inside to change, only to discover that I don't have my shirt or name tags or anything at all. I will get in big trouble if I go out there without it.
6:55AM: I arrive back home, sweating and panting, and get the shirt, and run back out the door.
7:01AM: After biking like a bat out of hell, I pull into the parking lot of the hotel and suddenly remember that the schedule, as last I saw it, has me working from 1800-2200 today. That would be 6PM-10PM, ie, I wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place. The air, suspiciously, turns blue.
7:06AM: Straggling home, I realize that I also have a dinner date tonight with our friend Nancy, who really helped Hilary and I out in getting started. The air turns even more blue. I also start to really wish this is a dream, and I'll look down and realize that I'm not wearing any pants, and in a flash of horror, wake up.
7:15ishAM: I finish straggling home, really sweaty now and still frustrated as hell, and get on the phone with the restaurant. Fortunately, it seems likely that I can get the shift covered.
7:36AM: Somewhat reassured, I decide that, since I am still barely awake, the best thing I can do now is fight back against the world by boldly going to bed.

I was asleep for a good three hours, a time filled with disturbing, strange, anxious dreams that I can't remember a lick of now. After that, I decided I could probably face the world again, and spent a low key time hanging out -- I also talked to my mom for a bit, which always helps.

We are now at one week until Asheville departure. I still haven't even thought about packing -- though I have thought about thinking about packing and I have thought about how I DON'T want to think about packing.

It's funny with a blog -- I'm not really sure how much I want to say here that doesn't involve me -- I guess I'm still old school in that I don't trust the internet one bit, and I don't want to compromise anyone -- and in some cases, I'm just not really sure how much information about what I think I want out there. I guess I assume that if you're a close friend, you'll know about it. And should I even bother hemming and hawing about it then? In any case, I just wanted to say that the big gaps and the "don't care to elaborates" will probably stick around for a bit, so don't feel left out, you probably aren't alone. E-mail me or something if you really care to know. I'll also keep my more scathing opinions of things to myself, because they don't do anyone any good and most of them are of the moment and become less true with time. I keep a policy of being kind and even over the internet -- what a thought -- I will keep that.

I'm sorry. I'm still tired. This past week wasn't very kind to me or my memory (as this morning will clearly attest). Also, at the moment, and quite unrelated, I really, really want to take out my contacts. However, I can't, because I'm at work, and I need to see for the rest of the week. I can't imagine sleeping for three hours with them in helps with that.

Yesterday was the first day all summer excepting our trip to Atlanta that Raj and I had the same day off, which was lovely. We spent most of it -- after sleeping as late as possible -- shopping. We ended up wandering around Lowe's for more than an hour with his roommate, looking at fridges and discussing the merits of stove tops and wall ovens. It was wonderful, in a strange kind of way. Some guy in one of those motorized carts stopped to chat with us for quite awhile -- he told me he had multiple sclerosis and also gave me some very kind compliments (and in very good taste), so that was cool. We then moved on to goodwill and spent at least another hour or two there. I picked up a few pieces that I really like, so that was nice. I also found this vintage book called "les rues de Paris", which is this little book that with maps of all the arrondissements, a directory of anything you want to find in Paris pretty much (like Churches, post offices, museums, hell, even a justice of the peace), and a giant pull out map. It's amazing. I saw it and I was like, MUST HAVE.

After another lovely dinner of spaghetti and red wine, cooked by Raj's roommate (who actually is in culinary school), I headed back home with a box fan and bookshelf in tow (the roommate has a car(!)). Of course then there was the debacle this morning, but we can just pretend that didn't happen, right?

In any case. I must move on, keep clicking, moving, and see where life brings me next.

Until next time.

EDIT,10:56PM: At which point I would like to say that there are very few problems that good wine, good food, good company, and good conversation can't fix. We met our friend Nancy and went to the fresh market, along the way trying to decide something to cook. I suggested feta cheese, and the menu exploded from there. We ended up making a fabulous Italian-ish dish, by sauteing mild italian sausage with onions, garlic, and olive oil, then separately sauteing roma and heirloom tomatoes with the same, and adding both to fettuccini and crumbling feta cheese over the top. We had yellow tomatoes and fresh mozzerella balls for the appetizers (served, if you wanted, on crackers), and paired it all with garlic bread and some good white wine (though we had half a glass of red to finish off the meal). We finished the whole evening with a mix of chocolate hazelnut and blackberry cabernet gelato, and I must say, it was probably one of the best evenings of food and conversation we've had all summer. It was incredibly good and incredibly fun, and after about two and a half glasses of wine, the world just doesn't seem so scary.

I suggest that recipe, by the way. It doesn't disappoint. If you need details, e-mail me.

August 16th, 2010

T Minus -- I don't want to think about it. I still have to worry about packing and that's terrifying enough on its own, without everything else that goes with it -

I cannot think today. It's been -- I think -- 11 straight days without an off day and all but two of them required me to be awake at 6 (the other two I got to sleep until 8, big whoop). Since then I worked essentially three jobs, one unpaid and highly stressful (but nonetheless rewarding), ran around, biked a lot, and despite getting enough sleep -- for the most part -- it's been an all out war to get out of bed the last two mornings. Along with the fact that it's dark now at six, which I disagree with. I already lodged my complaint with god, so no worries.

Today not even coffee and a lot of sugar could wake me up. I've been a zombie all day. I found myself reading the newspaper in the wait station, and finally looked up and noticed no one was there, and went out and saw I had two tables to be bussed -- it was like I'd just gone off to another planet for several minutes, no awareness whatsoever of where I was and what I was supposed to be doing. Thankfully it was slow, or we'd all have been in terrible trouble. I tried to put napkins in the trash at one point, too, lost track of what I was doing reliably once every half hour, and yeah. I think it's probably because I'm so tired, but I was also worrying the Entire Morning, which is really stupid and gets you nowhere, but that's what I was doing, so whatever. Things look worse when you can't think straight.

These last couple weeks -- days almost now -- I'm trying to catch up with a bunch of people because I thought I had all this time and suddenly I don't. Last night Hilary and I had pizza with our friend Janet, which was lovely. I also had coffee with my Brazilian co-worker -- he is a video producer (used to be a journalist in Brazil), and is working on an online video magazine for Asheville, so he was showing me all of his work so far and we were talking about how he might go about getting it off the ground. Also caught up via telephone with a few other friends in the past week, so that's been really nice. It's hard to keep in touch with people and I'm very bad about it as it is, so it's always good when I remember and when I actually get to chat with all those wonderful people who are a part of my life.

Another co-worker sent me a quote the other day, from Kurt Vonnegut, which I love -- "In Bokonon, it is written that 'peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God.'" I think it's beautiful and fantastic and I do hope that I get my own dancing lessons.

The other day after Terpsicorps opening night - which, to everyone's surprise, went fantastically -- Raj and I went wandering into downtown and by chance ran into a high school friend of his mom at Pasana, and ended up hanging out with her and an elderly gentleman who was with her. It was absolutely fantastic -- they were wonderful people, very kind, and interactions like that remind me why I still have faith in humans. They did seem to think I had a lot of energy, which I found kind of funny, because I was really dead that day from work and a stressful afternoon rehearsal. Ah well, at least I fake well, right?

In any case, I'm leaving Asheville a week from Wednesday. There. I said it. Yikes. Yay.

Until next time.

August 11th, 2010

It is two weeks to the day until I leave. It's not as far as I thought it should be, and I have the feeling that it's going to feel a whole lot shorter than that. I think I can say honestly that I don't want to go and I desperately want to go, exactly at the same time. (If you think it's impossible to do that, I point you in the direction of everyone; human beings are remarkable in their ability to want opposite things equally).

Went dancing again on Saturday night -- I was exploding at the seams with energy after a short little power nap, and finally got in touch with the boy. We ended up at BoBo's gallery for a bit, then the Haywood Lounge, notable for the fact that it was mostly empty, 2 in the morning, and we were the only white people there, right smack in the middle of the dance floor. I have the feeling the people watching were probably laughing at me, but I also think I managed to hold my own pretty well. In any case, by the time we actually went to sleep, it was about four. My alarm went off at six, and I dragged my carcass up the Clingman hill and into work, where I drank coffee like water and somehow managed to survive perfectly. I even managed to meet Hilary at Malaprop's and have an intelligible conversation before returning home and sleeping for three hours.

We ended up going to Shakespeare in the Park on Sunday night; they just opened "Troilus and Cressida", which is actually about the Trojan war and is a little performed play. I really like the story of the Iliad anyway (probably more than the Odyssey, which I realize makes me highly bizarre), and it was very clever and funny, so I quite enjoyed it. Troilus and Cressida is actually somewhat of a subplot, of a love affair between Priam's youngest son and a somewhat capricious Trojan woman who ends up in the Greek camp (where she falls in love and causes poor Troilus no end of heartbreak). There were some takes on things that I wasn't too wild about, but I thought the cast did a good job and took an interesting interpretation, so that was cool. Hilary and I also found our latest motto, which we quote to each other at every possible moment, whether or not appropriate -- it is from Achilles, who is trying to explain something, then stops, shrugs, and goes, "I know not, 'tis trash. Farewell!" And walks off the stage. Hilarious. Raj and a friend joined us for the first act - they had promised food, but were delayed by some accident involving a car and a neighbor's fence, and so Hilary and I ate a bag of chips and a candy bar apiece from the concession's stand for dinner. Mmm, healthy.

This week I'm assistant stage managing again for Terpsicorps, this time a show called "The Dream Project", which is essentially dance interpretations of people's dreams. The prop list is insane, and has been described as a "clusterfuck", and with opening night tomorrow, we have still not run through the entire show with lights and sets. I probably shouldn't tell you that. Oh well. In any case, I wasn't sure if I was going to be helping out, since I hadn't heard anything, but it turns out that just no one had time to get back to me, so when I e-mailed the stage manager, he basically said that whenever I'm not working would be a good time to help out. I have rehearsals all day today and tomorrow, and shows tomorrow night, Friday, and Saturday. Oh yeah, and I don't have an off day from work. So this week, including two jobs and the Terpsicorps project, I will be working roughly 70 hours. Fun times. Ah well, no one can say I didn't sign up for it. I just want to be able to sleep in for a change.

Since I'm not leaving quite yet, I won't say all of my impressions of Asheville -- I think some of those are best left to when I'm no longer actually there. But it does seem incomprehensible to me that my summer is almost at an end, and even less so that I will be in Paris in about three short weeks. (Good lord.)

Until next time.

July 26th, 2010

the cicadas are burning

in the shivering sweat
humidified
(the rains ate all the world)

they are screaming
(There was nothing left but them)

==
It is oppressively hot; it’s almost like the sun has changed its mind about its benevolence and is instead maniacally attempting to fry us humans off the face of the planet, or at least off the face of the concrete here in Asheville. The humidity has got to be somewhere around ninety, and a cunning combination of window-shutting, shutting doors, and turning on fans barely keeps the apartment tolerable, if by tolerable you don’t include a propensity for sweat-gland overload if you move anywhere (but it remains cooler by the window, sort of).

As for me, I’m sitting here, by the window, surprisingly, eating a lightly toasted plain bagel covered in fresh black bean hummus (open faced, of course), and listening to playlist on iTunes labeled “summer 2010” and is no way, whatsoever, autobiographical. I will not, for various reasons, talk about what songs are on there (not like it would matter, seeing as it is not, most emphatically, autobiographical).

The internet is gone again; either the phone company providing our lovely neighbors with their router are swindlers, incompetent, or the neighbors actively repel technology, but either way I have already sent a text (three hours ago) asking for it to be reset and received no response, confirming my suspicion that no one is home, and thus it could be a very long time until the internet returns, a source of no end of frustration and continued boredom on my part. (Holy cow, run on sentences. Dear reader, I apologize). I just finished reading Jitterbug Perfume, by Tom Robbins and was quite delighted by it, but I believe that may the extent of brain power I have available for the moment, due to a weekend packed with late nights, a remarkably messed up sleep schedule, and at least a gallon of coffee (I may be exaggerating slightly on that last, but not by much). I don’t feel really qualified to complain too much about my situation because it was all self-imposed, but nevertheless, since I can, I will probably do so anyway.

Bele Chere, meaning “Beautiful Living” in some old Scottish tongue (according to the brochures, that is), is nothing more or less than one giant energy suck (that was unkind – replace that with “street fair”) that takes Asheville by storm the last full weekend of July. In the case you are unaware, that would be this weekend, the one that just finished, or that will finish at roughly midnight tonight. Streets close, parking becomes a rare jewel, and thousands of people swarm the streets carrying the beer sold rather cheaply to anyone wearing a wristband, proving they were born after July 23rd, 1989 (which, unfortunately, does not include yours truly). Artists sit in tents and attempt to sell their wares to the sweating tourists, and children clutch funnel cakes and snow cones. Mr. Bojangles – or rather his restaurant - sells 32 oz sweet teas for $2 apiece, and Greek pitas and spanakopita abound. At all hours, at one of three stages, there are bands playing for their souls, and when the sun sets you can find oppressively large crowds gathered, all bobbing to the same beat, a phenomenon that I still find to be one of the most beautiful in the world.

Although at least fifteen – more like twenty – bands played during the weekend, I was only attendance at two, both at the Battery Park Stage, where multicolored lights spin across the stage and people hang over the edges of the parking deck and wave at the performers. On Friday night, it was “Yo Big Fat Momma’s Booty Band”, a jazzy rock kind of sound, and on Saturday, it was “Toubab Krewe”, a kind of African rock mix, or at least that’s what Mountain Xpress said; I just thought it was good music. I can’t describe music well. (I didn’t need to say that; you already knew). On both nights, I was by myself for the beginning and by the end had been joined by a certain friend named Raj and an old pal of his. Here is where I’ll have to split apart the nights, although they followed remarkably parallel paths – progressing from music to food to dancing – the places and times differ slightly (Though I suppose you hardly need all the details).

What the hell; on Friday we went to the Hookah Bar and then went dancing at Bobo’s Gallery, attracting a small crowd and earning adoration for our moves: on Saturday we just got organic nachos (yes, you can raise your eyebrows), a large cup of coffee (needed for a certain member of the group who had received a grand total of four hours of sleep the night previously due to a pressing need to be at work the following morning), and then went to Club 828. The Friend (for lack of a better term currently), who knows everyone in Asheville or so it seems, knew the DJ and thus we found ourselves on the stage, cutting several rugs, while the Friend made at least half the club fall in love with him, leaving me to be the gracious sidekick and swallow my pride (in showboating, the Friend is absolutely unmatched). Soaked in sweat while the prospect of yet another early morning called, I left the Friend to party on and returned home to sleep in the restless heat, waiting for the alarm to go off. Remarkably, the common theme of the weekend seemed to be dance; whether it be grooving in a large crowd of people, salsa-ing in the coffee shop, or in the club/bar.

(“We can dance until we die, you and I, we’ll stay young forever…”)

There is a reason coffee was invented, and I’m sure it has something to do with conquering the universe; I made it through both days (including today, which involved a meeting organized, I’m positive, for the sole purpose of repeating things we’ve been told previously and attempt something called discourse, stifled by everyone’s determination to go home), though it would not have been possible without a great amount of artificial energy coursing through my veins at all times. Upon arriving back at the apartment on Saturday afternoon, I slept for three full hours, and today, two, then decided that in order to continue to pay my respects to the night, I would drag myself from the bed. I have accomplished in getting a crick in my neck, but am still awake, so I consider this all a success.

I have spent the afternoon waiting hopelessly for the return of the internet, complaining about life, and staring at the walls. My services are currently be required as a hairdresser, seeing as my sister is dead set and determined to dye her hair, and who am I to deny her these pleasures. The week has been a melée of activity; I received my placement for my homestay and have yet to get about composing an e-mail in French to introduce myself. I also discovered that, in addition to rent coming up and a ravaged checking account thanks to a plane ticket to Denver, I have to afford a non-refundable housing deposit to the tune of 720 euros (900 dollars) by August 8th, which should be a bundle of roses and if I have five dollars to my name by the time it’s over, I will consider myself lucky.

Besides the usual wrestling with the unfortunate human invention known as money, I have been on the wavering edge of a meltdown, and while I would much prefer to not go into details for the privacy of the victims, I think it has very much to do with the impending act of starting all over again – again, for the second time in about three months, which rather gets in the way of things. I have the ability to, when I know there is nowhere else I should be, sink my roots into the places I am, make friends, meet people, generally get accustomed to the things around me. And I also tend to get remarkably stressed when I can’t place my head in the next place I will be – for example, in a foreign country in which I have never set foot. And on top of all that, leaving this time is a little different because of a slightly distressing/awesome reason. I expect it will be resolved one way or the other after the 800 pound gorilla in the room is addressed, and no, I don’t care to elaborate.

The other day, by the way, I was told by the universe, by way of a voice in my head that was rather sure of itself (I would prefer it if you did not stop reading here to call the insane asylum), that I am going to Paris to get lost.

I will leave you to meditate on that, and if you figure out what it means, please e-mail me or leave a comment. Also, if you want updates on when I post, which is erratically, I suggest you become a follower.

Until next time.

July 19th, 2010

...

Seriously, though, I don't know where to start. Well, because I'm sure you want to know: the consulate did not laugh at me when I presented my documents, in fact, they seemed to have everything they needed, just with one problem -- I didn't have a certified envelope from the post office, which is apparently what they meant when they said "self-addressed pre-paid envelope." So they hemmed and hawed a bit, but I left the envelope I had with them and said I would try to make it back before they closed -- at 1:30pm -- with the certified envelope.

(Wow, I'm getting ahead of myself. It is so amazing how much STUFF you can fit in a weekend).

Well, Raj and I then boogied out to the car and promptly got lost -- we found the post office, all right, but there was apparently no possible way to get in the parking lot, and so we made a couple of harrowing turnarounds and some rather dangerous maneuvers, only to try and turn into the parking lot again and end up on the highway. All things added up to no post office or certified envelope before 1:30. So they HAVE the other envelope -- I've tried several times to call them, but will keep doing so just to make sure they will actually send the passport back to me.

Yes, so Atlanta is confusing. It's a beautiful city; I swear when we plundered along the highway and swung around a turn to see the downtown, with its skycrapers and lights, my heart just opened. Asheville is beautiful, but there are no real tall buildings except for the BB&T tower or whatever it's called, and at night the sky isn't alight with window stars like in the big city, and I guess I didn't realize how much I missed NYC until I saw another big city. I suppose if I knew the city better it wouldn't be such a problem, but I swear over the weekend we needed to make at least five U-turns, and completed about four complete circles.

Also, it is HUMID. The air just hangs over you like a net, and more often than not walking outside is like asking for a sweat bath (lovely). The food is fried and people spend their days -- weekends, at least -- chilling out during the day, drinking beer and eating, then moving out for the night to the bars. Yes, I am generalizing and stereotyping. But there is a certain lifestyle.

I guess I should tell you what we did before I start whining about it, but you should know that it was an amazing and fantastic weekend. What I wanted to say was that as great as it was, it just taught me that without a LOT of getting used to, I don't think I could live in the South. It's probably just that I'm not used to it in any way shape or form, but being here -- and especially in Atlanta, which is much more patently southern than Asheville so far as I can tell -- has reminded me that I really am a yankee at heart. I need my coffee shops and the rhythm of life to click along; Denver and New York City are separate planets but in my mind they're both much more like home. I do miss Denver, though I wonder how much of that is just nostalgia -- but I miss the wide open blue sky and the sunshine, the dryness, and the way the mountains explode from the horizon when you land at Denver International Airport. And of course, New York City. As you know, I've been in love with that place for awhile now (not so long as you might guess, perhaps a year and a half).

Again, I don't know where to begin. Do I need to tell you that Enterprise had a problem with the fact neither of us had insurance or credit cards and refused to rent us a car, so we spent at least an hour and half panicked hours on the phone until Raj's dad decided to be wonderful and lend us his for the weekend? (You saved our butts, Raj's dad, THANK YOU!!!). That it was dark on the way down and I drove most of the way, while Raj played the ukulele and read John Steinbeck's Tortilla Flat out loud (clearly, not at the same time)? Or that we got lost at least three times on the way home and stopped for barbeque in Waynesville, drank coffee that tasted like water and Cheerwine, while I was educated in the arts of the different barbeque sauces? Oh but I have to tell you how on Saturday night in the bar Raj and I hung out in the Elvis shrine, made in an old bank vault, and talked until the show went on.

Well, the details are the best, I suppose. I'd be happy to write down hour by hour what we did after the stress of Friday morning was easing off my back, like how went to the pool and sat drinking budweiser and singing along with Raj and his ukulele, and then later danced the night away at a gay bar, while people kept bringing me drinks and at 1:17am, I stopped being a teenager, then spun home and crashed on a twin size air mattress. Saturday night we went to a bar and saw a friend of Raj's friend (and his, of course) play a show, then went back to the neighbor's place, danced, and drank until 4:30 or so.

We stayed with one of Raj's friends, in a giant warehouse like loft, with one skylight and no windows, high ceiling and open air, looking very much like the sort of place you'd find crazy artists. Very nice -- but the lack of windows was slightly off putting for me, the person who rearranged their entire dorm room so that the bed could be by the window.

So now I'm back in Asheville, for the short time that remains, attempting to be as present as possible. Hilary and I had my little birthday celebration last night, a day late. It wasn't a big deal, just some cake and a few cards, a nice quietly wonderful night to complement the craziness of the weekend.

Until next time.

July 15h, 2010

T Minus 1 day.

I would like to tell you that I'm perfectly calm, and I'd be halfway truthful (whatever the hell that means).

I slept in this morning, making it a good eleven hours of sleep last night or something ridiculous. I did the dishes, showered, and once more, got on the consulate website and once more, checked the requirements for a student long stay visa against the documents I have prepared. I walked to the copy shop in the Grove Arcade -- walked, not biked, seeing as I can hardly move after a lot of biking and a ballet class last night -- and got the remaining copies made, then spent a bit of time at Malaprops, chilling out and reading "Heroes of the Valley" by Jonathan Stroud, who in addition to being a great writer, also writes some damn good stories. They are young adult books but I promise you will like them. So there.

In any case, since then I've just been home, packing, reading, and in a bit I'll go roll around on a tennis ball in an attempt to unknot the disaster that is my back. I'm at last somewhat confident that I have everything required for the consulate; the next step is to get there, on time and ready to go, and end up with the visa. I just want it to be over by this point; though I am, I admit, still a little stressed. Less so than before (progress!!).

Oh, and by the way, Raj can come with me. So while we're at it, we're going to stay in Atlanta and chill until Sunday. Celebrate my birthday on Saturday in grand fashion, as grand as can be considering I'm only turning 20. So that should be fun. After Friday I'm just along for the ride.

It hit me a few days ago when I pulled out my cell phone calendar and counted, that I'm only in Asheville for six more weeks. Only six -- and I've been here about seven and a half. The thought is exciting -- but scary -- and a little saddening. I've become amazingly settled here -- I do have a way of doing that with places, especially if I know that there's no real other option to be anywhere except exactly where I am, and that was the case with Asheville. Having no other option, I just sit down and sink in my roots, and I always find it hard to yank them back out. It's just that it seems like all I can remember is here, and seven weeks is such an impossibly short time, but I've already done so much, lived so many moments. I've made friends, found a guy, and though we're hardly around at the same time, learned again to live with my sister. We've always been best friends, but we do have to get used to being in the same space, and now that we are, it will be so STRANGE to not be. It's just comforting to know she's around, and I know she feels the same way. But we'll just have to get used to it how it is, move our separate directions and live. We've always been good at that.

In any case, it is a little startling, even though it means that life is, as it always does, moving on. Now is only right now and forever means very little -- if there is one truth about life, it is that it's never (ever) static. Although it always seems like where you are is where you have always been, because each moment, each day, for heaven's sake, could be it's own lifetime, but they all add up in little increments and moments and consecutive nows to bring us to this exact second of being. And so always we grow, change, and learn. It's how it should be.

I have often wondered how much of life people miss, caught in the throes of guilt or what if or living in the past or the future, and I have to ask, yet again -- you'll get tired of hearing this question -- if anyone has ever truly lived?

In the mean time it's been a great week -- lots of baseball (including TWO walk off wins by the Tourists) -- and I've somehow managed to meet all sorts of interesting people, which is always fantastic. Also, why does it seem like half the people I meet here are from New York or have lived there at some point? Quite bizarre.

In any case, we should be heading out here pretty soon, so I'm going to sign off. I'll update you soon. :)

July 10th, 2010

Of course, some days you have to get through with some help, such as (several) healthy doses of ibuprofen and a cup of dark coffee with some hazelnut creamers. Some of the fault is my own, some of it is just organic chemistry that I have no control over. The coffee takes care of the former, the ibuprofen the latter.

So I decided to just screw worrying about sleeping--I get off at one, after all, so after I got off the second job of the day, I pedaled over to west Asheville in the dusk, foggy from the rain, the air sticking to my skin and water flecking my calves. The fog slowly burned off as the evening wore on, and I spent it on the porch with Raj and his brother, drinking dos equis while some determined cicada shouted in a nearby tree. It was pretty late by the time we finally wandered inside and headed for bed, and I wasn't asleep for at least another hour, up thinking about various things -- mainly Atlanta.

I discovered that Raj may not be able to get off work on Friday, thus not being able to drive down with me, thus resulting in me, driving down to Atlanta by myself. The thought is pretty terrifying, but it is out of my hands. What am I going to do, force him to come down with me? Hardly. I must live with faith that if he can't get off work, then the universe needs me to go by myself, or with my sister if she can get off. Either way, I'll figure it out. I'd just -- obviously -- like to not have to.

However, yesterday a number of things fell into place, not the least of which was my award letter from Columbia financial aid. I don't want to go into specifics, for a variety of reasons, but basically without a HUGE boost from Columbia, there would be no way that I'd be able to pay for my year abroad. My parents can't help me financially whatsoever, and I'm lucky to be able to save a couple thousand by the end of the summer. However, thanks to my aid advisor and the team over there, I am incredibly relieved and delighted to announce that I WILL be able to pay for at least most of the year. It was a huge, huge load off my shoulders and the shoulders of my parents, and has eased my mind considerably. I will probably have to take out a small student loan at some point, but for the moment things are looking pretty good.

Anyway, with all of that running around in my head, I got roughly four and a half hours of sleep, and then was awakened for a predawn ride up the Clingman hill to work. It was long before the heat, and actually fairly cool (until I started climbing of course), and I would probably have appreciated it much more if not for the waves of intense pain in my abdomen. Such is life. In any case, we were busy at work, and with twelve ounces of said dark roast with hazelnut creamers, I could have conquered the world (at least, as soon as the ibus kicked in).

Upon (finally) getting off, I hopped on the bike and came home and promptly crawled back into bed and slept for two solid hours. I woke up to a stunningly sunny Saturday afternoon, not really too hot for a change. Hilary is out at the Tourists, so I'm by myself for the evening, but equipped with a new book, courtesy of Hilary, and a computer with internet (did I mention it's fixed?!?!?!) and a subscription to MLB.TV, I think I'll be okay. I never like being alone for too long in the apartment, but there you have it. Maybe I'll take a little walk or something, just to get outside into the gorgeous sunshine.

So at the end of all of that, it's been a strangely wonderful day, despite everything, though I suppose I should say including everything. It's a week till my birthday, and T minus 6 days till visa madness.

Until next time.

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.

May 28th, 2010

Note: No. I am not in Paris yet. I'm just working on getting in the habit of blogging, and the diary this summer is mostly for my own benefit. But if you are curious as to how I'm spending my summer, knock yourself out and keep checking in.

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I reek of insect repellent. It must be sinking into my pores by now. I wonder if my blood tastes like it…but I thought it necessary upon discovering a bite on my ass. It heartily disturbs me to think of a bug crawling around under my shorts without my knowledge, and as such I made sure to rub a thick coat of that disgusting stuff around the edge of the cloth to dissuade any other creepy crawler from getting ideas and sneaking up my pants. Very immodest of the thing, I tell you.

I couldn’t sleep last night. Hilary and I finished talking about 12:15, and I was still wide awake when I checked my cell phone at 1:36. Or maybe it was 1:38. I can’t remember which, but I expect two minutes doesn’t make a difference in the long run, unless we’re talking about the end of the world. In any case, I was lying in this beautiful little green room in a twin bed in a creaking old house, looking at the light of the full moon stream through the shades I’d pulled to guard against the morning sun. I like light in my room at night; even now I’m terrified of the dark (though to be honest I can’t remember being afraid of it as a child. I must have grown into it.)

My mind was going about a million miles a minute, thinking about this new strange place called Asheville that life has set me in for the summer, accompanying my sister (who also happens to be my best friend) as she starts a life here. Asheville is good for her; it is quiet, calm, and peaceful. Things happen, don’t get me wrong, but there is a pace of life that belongs firmly in the South.

It is so strange for me to think about: So much about this place charms me: the porch swing on the deck of the woman’s house we’re staying at while waiting for the apartment to be emptied so we can move in (she is my high school physics teacher’s sister), the houses, the gardens, and the fireflies – Hilary says I’ve seen fireflies before, when we lived in Ohio, but I can’t remember since we left when I was seven, so their little lighted behinds are such a wonder to me. It’s charming, yes, and I have to wonder if I could live here, maybe; there’s dance, there’s theater –

But I don’t think so, and I can’t figure out why. I miss New York City terribly. Everyone tells me that I won’t miss it next year, when I’m in Paris, and that’s probably true, but I don’t know how to tell them that I miss it right now. I miss the skyscrapers, the subways, the beat of the city. As strange as it is, I miss the business. How crowded it is, all the time ----Hell, even the thunder charms me ---though that seems to be such a strange thing to miss. But I do.

Still. Why not here? People are busy, and happy. They ride their bikes, they kayak, they go contra-dancing (three people in the span of two days have introduced me to the phenomenon, and I expect once we’re settled I will have to check it out). I could, I think, live here. I shouldn’t say never.

But I don’t love it in that strange, visceral way I love New York. The way it looks from forty floors up. If you know me, you’ll know how I feel about being up above the city like that.

For a second I thought an entrepreneuring mosquito bit me on the butterfly tattooed on my back. I would have been very angry indeed; my butterfly is not for chomping.

Microsoft Word doesn’t recognize the word “entrepreneuring”. I tried to ask Hilary if it was actually a word, but her headphones are firmly in. I don’t understand how she does that. I like to know what’s going on around me, and whenever the headphones go in, I either have a paper due or I’ve had a bad day.)

I’ve spent most of the day sitting on the porch swing or the bowl chair on the porch, reading. Sometimes with tea and scone, sometimes with water. Look Homeward, Angel is the book, and I find it remarkably dark and gothic, as though it is trying to be terribly mysterious. But written so well, and so I will keep after it. I imagine it gets better. It was given to me on the last day of my internship this past semester – at an off-Broadway theater company, as I like to say so people think I’m more important that I really am – by my boss, a very dear gay man who became my friend over the ten weeks we worked in the same office, not just a supervisor.

(Janet – the woman we are staying with – just came in with three fresh raspberries apiece for Hilary and I. I would die happy eating raspberries).

On the inside of the front cover is written, For my Gillian, and a wish for luck and happiness as I venture through the South. I don’t need to read the rest; the first three words are enough to make me smile.

I suppose it’s no wonder I couldn’t sleep; I’ve been restless for several days now. I hate this waiting game; waiting to move in, waiting to hear back about jobs, waiting for whatever else it is. (There is someone in a truck outside, who periodically blows his horn. I can’t figure out what he’s waiting for). I don’t like to be doing nothing. It looks bad on me, like an ill-fitting outfit. I need to have things to do to be happy.

But I keep getting told – by my parents and sister – that this is my time to rest, and after a year during which I took a total of 44 credits and performed in four shows, you’d think I need it. But my body just moves at the pace of the city --- though I must learn to go slowly now, for the three months I’m here.

I was thinking about jobs, about this new place – and about the man – young man – I met two weekends ago and the ensuing weekend, a little bubble of – I don’t know what it was, but it was good – that has separated from the little pink wand and has floated away, a perfectly self-sufficient eternity that now has very little to do with my present. It wasn’t planned – are these things ever? – and I’m fine with how it happened and the fact that it’s over – but apparently, when I can’t sleep, I think about it. I miss him right now, so now I sound all sentimental and sappy, but I would hope to quickly dissuade you of the notion. I just ended up liking him a little more than I thought I would, which was kind of annoying, apt to make me abruptly melancholy, but I believe has passed for the moment.

And not to mention that I’m sick, which makes everything seem far more melancholy. I could hardly breathe last night and woke up at nine – after which my body refused to allow me to return to sleep, so I have spent the day in somewhat of a pathetic, snotty haze. I just made some Emergen-C (with enhanced zinc, so says the label), and will try to be in bed early tonight, in order to kick this thing quickly.

I did manage to get out and try the new road bike that I may buy from Janet -- $50, as opposed to a used (!) $250 job I’d get from the bike store in downtown. (Oh God, it smells like rain – even my poor beleaguered nose can smell that –and I love, love the smell of rain.) It’s very strange after riding mountain bikes my whole life – so light, and a little unwieldy. You can’t really brake unless you hold on the drop downs, which is an adventure in itself, and seeing as it’s an old bike, the gear shifts are on the bike frame itself, not on the handlebars, so – while pedaling, or going uphill, or various other tricky maneuvers – you have to reach down and pull the little handle just so to change only one gear, at peril of pulling it too far and having the bike suddenly clunk down three gears, a somewhat alarming thing to have happen. Also, it goes very fast. This is good in some ways and somewhat terrifying in others. I think I’ll get used to it. The one thing that worries me is that there are toe clamps, the kind you insert your foot in, whatever they are actually called. Getting the first one in is fine, it’s just the second one that’s a little scary; the bike has a nasty tendency to wander while I’m futzing with it, which could be frightening not only for me but whoever has the misfortune to be in a car behind me during this whole process.

Ah well, by the end of the summer I’ll be a pro.

The internet here works, but can be a little spotty; I find myself banging repeatedly on the same icons until it randomly goes, at which point the next page loads extremely fast. It’s apparently just jumping the gaps in hyperspace that confuses the thing.

Janet is making dinner; we were planning to cook for ourselves, but she says at least tonight we can eat together. She has been impossibly kind, and we’ll have to think of something to get her in thanks. I think maybe the ‘nothing’ won’t bother me so much in this house; just sitting on the porch swing has an inherent ‘something’ in it for me; maybe it’s the constant motion.

(I’m sorry for abusing semi-colons, I like them).

I think I am going to end this entry here. I’m sure there is more to be said – there’s always more to be said, that’s why I hate blogging – but such is life, and if I think about it I’ll update again sometime this summer. Journaling has never been my strong suit, but I have to get in the practice because I’ve promised at least a dozen people that I’ll be chronicling my year in Paris.
Until then.