Clean as a whistle, Baby

Somehow, I actually managed to clean my apartment from top to bottom, pack, relax, and go to bed at a moderate hour last night. I suspect it had something to do with the two prior evenings filled with laziness and wii. Tuesday and Wednesday I had left-over pizza for breakfast AND dinner, and Wednesday I fell asleep in the bath. I haven't done either of those things since high school.

With help from Alsn and Bonnie (Tim's Grandma), I think I might have rigged up a system to keep my plants alive that involves a lot of double potting (double-bucketing in one case) and a large basin full of water on my breakfast table. I was almost late for work, in fact, because I watered the lemon tree so much that the second pot started to overflow and I had to use three towels to sop it up. The one blemish in my otherwise spotless apartment is the three wet, dirty towels in the bathroom. And I think one of Tim's socks is on the bedroom floor. Not too bad.

Now I just have to get through about 5 hours of work, make it to the airport without running over someone with my ridiculous suitcase, and get home. Admittedly, I feel a little guilty about taking two whole weeks off of work--especially since I have more than one co-worker who only took off one day. But if I wasn't going home to see both of my parents in both Boulder and Crawford, I would probably, in all seriousness, have a nervous breakdown.

Sometimes you just need to go home.

Things I'm most excited about:
Throwing the ball for Buster and being rewarded by having him wake me up the next day with his cold scratch paws on my face.
Walter's saggy kitty belly.
Last minute Christmas Shopping and seeing a movie in an actual movie theater with Dad.
Making Quiche and Cuban Sandwiches with Mom, spending money we don't have on things we don't need, putting together a puzzle.
Eating at Tacomania, PieWorks, and Oyster Bar in Shreveport with Kacie, Seth (if he'll come), Kristin, and Jason.
Reading "Born Standing Up" out loud to Tim on the drive to Plano.
Going to the Blue Parrot with my G-mom.
Maybe, just maybe, Tea and Dessert with Trina and Emily.
AND the White Elephant: bad gifts, drunk old people, and Gallob cooking. Can't beat it.

Perfweetumble

moar funny pictures

Just two more days until I get to go home!! Until then I'm keeping myself occupied with company parties (today was the fourth one) and Wii.

Tim left me yesterday morning and I'm here all alone for the first time. In a way, I love it because I absolutely LOVE being alone in an apartment or house. Maybe that comes from being both an only child and a latch-key kid. Anyway, it's great. In the other, more expected way, it totally sucks because, well, Tim's not here.

Before he left though, we went to see the movie Juno and it was... there isn't even a word for what it was. I guess it was humbly, sweetly, perfect. Perfweetumble. I love any movie with characters with whom I would want to share a house. I wanted to live with all of the characters and watch them talk to each other all day. Except Jennifer Garner, who I pretty much always want to keep at a distance for some--not mean, but sort of instinctual--reason.

Anyway, I've been trying to devise some sort of contraption that will water my plants for me while I'm gone. If anyone has any ideas that don't involve giving a stranger a house key, let me know.

Dance Hall Days Love...

Woke up with a Wang Chung song in my head. That's a good sign.

Tim and I couldn't afford/didn't have room for a Christmas tree this year so we decorated all of my plants with ornaments and lights, creating a festive "Holiday Nook." It's very cheery and bohemian. We also bought Christmas stockings--mine is green velvet with an embroidered cardinal and Tim's is fuzzy like one of those Santa hats--it feels very much like playing house. Even though, you know, we've lived together for two years now...

There aren't any presents under the tree yet because I'm waiting to wrap them until he's in class. Also, I pretty much plan to make a huge mess and wrap a million presents at once, which is one of my favorite things to do on earth.

Tim's been awake for the past 28 hours, writing his paper and driving me out to a Target in Falls Church, Virginia, with a whole lot of season 2 of LOST in between. He's got this one last paper and one final before he's done with this semester. It's very weird. It's also weird that even though he's going to have a major schedule change and it's kind of a milestone, finishing his first semester of graduate school... I'm stilling going to work every day the same as usual. This is kind of like a test for me to see if I'm ready for consistency. I don't know. I'm not jealous of Tim's all-nighters, but I am jealous of his 4-week vacation. Suddenly, a 20-page paper or three doesn't sound like a bad trade for 20 days off.

Maybe.

I'm baking Chocolate Cherry Bread, thanks to Tim's Grandparents, and the whole apartment smells WONDERFUL.

On an unrelated note: I found a 3 prong antler in the snow outside of my building, which is completely, completely weird and unexpected. But oddly, the fact that something weird and unexpected happened... is not.

Snow Bubble

Now, before you make fun of me for being from Colorado and being "used to it" let me kindly remind you that I've been living in Louisiana for five years now AND that I moved there precisely because I wanted to get away from snow.

Well, in my first Louisiana winter I learned that I'm an idiot, because 32 degrees and snowing is a whole different miserable bunny slope than 32 degrees and raining. Not to mention that a 104 degree summer in Colorado is a glorious summer compared with a 104 degree summer in Louisiana where it's so oppressive it should be illegal.

All of that to get to this: I just had my first walk home from work in the snow. It. Is. Snowing. With a capital "S." After five years of not really seeing snow (even at Christmas in Colorado, it was really too dry to actively snow), today I saw tiny snow, haily snow, puffy snow, lazy snow, blowy snow and wet snow ALL IN ONE DAY. This place is crazy.

And apparently, so am I. I HAVE NO WINTER APPROPRIATE SHOES. Not one pair. And especially not a pair that are winter AND work appropriate. I went to the stupid shoe store after work and forgot that I live in a city now where everything costs $100 more than I can afford--and so, I will be wearing my Airwalks to work tomorrow. If I lose a toe to frostbite, I'm sending the bill to Wachovia, for making me repay my loans so damn early.

And that's that.

TiVo your life and replay the good bits

I am not lazy. I am preoccupied with relaxing. And thus, I haven't written a single word about a trip to San Francisco, house guests from far and away, the bizarre and unexpected pleasures and pains of life spent at a desk, or Lars and the Real Girl.

I either have amazing guests who give me an excuse to cook ridiculous food and make my life generally better and happier. Or I take baths, I watch The Simpsons, I read in bed and do dishes. I walk to the metro in uncomfortable shoes and I don't write write in my Blog because it seems... time consuming and maybe a little forced.

I'm thinking about the Peace Corps.
I have two weeks off for Christmas because my boss is a saint.
My first student loan repayment is due in a week and a half.

And if I could get you something for Christmas I'd bake you some cookies, pick out a book, a movie and a DVD you might like, maybe some slippers for you, I'd paint you a small painting and I'd give you a framed picture of us at a party.

I'm glad the holidays are here.

C'est trop tard pour rigoler.

9/22/04

Tori-

This book rescued me. I hope you will read it - ideally aloud with your lover. There's a certain voice offered within the prose that feels, for me, unmistakably familiar as yours. The lyricism and [erased] vision is breathtaking. Please share it with me. I feel you all around me. It's a blessing. I will not be defined by this. I will use time to refine myself. Then I will come home and dance and sing. I will love and celebrate. I honor you.

Always,
Fred.

-The inscription inside my used copy of Michael Cunningham's The Hours.

A little sanity in the situation...

If you've spoken to me at all in the past three months you're aware that I've had my doubts about this big, dirty, noisy city. One of my major issues with living here is that I'm a wuss when it comes to seeing people (or animals) in pain. Between seeing a dog getting beaten with a shovel and watching the homeless people in Farragut Square dig through the trashcans everyday at lunch, it's not always an idyllic paradise. It's no exaggeration to say that if you leave your house at all you will see people who need a lot of serious help, because there are over 12,000 people who live on the DC streets. But the thing is, I'm just watching these things and at the end of the day, I go home.

I'm a poor shlub and not much of a hero, but I feel like there's got to be something I can do, even if it doesn't help with that everyday, day to day interaction where I have to look in someone's face and admit there isn't much I can do to help them.

So Tim and I have decided to walk in the Fannie Mae Foundation's Help the Homeless Walkathon on November 17th. If you're interested in helping the homeless families and individuals in the DC area (and by extension, my sanity) please click here to make a donation. I really appreciate anything you're willing to give, and there are a lot of others who appreciate it too.

If you're interested in learning more, you can visit www.helpthehomelessdc.org. Thanks for reading my whole spiel. For real.

Photos from Assateague Island

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

A gift from the meat gods

I have a meatball problem. I made this meatball recipe a while ago and went nuts over them. I made them again last night and I can't seem to escape them. Since I can't stopping telling people about these meatballs, or thinking about these meatballs, or, in fact, eating these meatballs I should just give you the recipe and shut up.

This is the meatball recipe from Amy Sedaris' I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence with a slight variation--and you don't even have to be on ludes to love them. I could be wrong, but I suspect that if you're like me and you're at all a human being and you eat meat (or even if you don't), you will probably love these meatballs.

If you live alone, half the recipe. You'll still probably be able to eat it all by yourself.

1 1/3 cups bread crumbs
1/2 cup milk

Mix these two together in a large bowl and put aside while you collect:

1 chopped onion (or if you think onions are disgusting, like I do, a chopped shallot)
6-8 chopped, fresh basil leaves
4 Tbsp. parsley
4 chopped cloves of garlic
10 Tbsp Parmesan cheese
salt and pepper
1 lb thawed ground beef

Squish all this stuff together and form into balls. Heat about 3/4" on olive oil in a frying pan while you pre-heat the oven to 400 degrees. I fry the meatballs on all sides for about 10-15 minutes so that they're brown on the outside. Then I stick them in a baking dish (with the hot oil) and bake for ten minutes. Turn 'em once, bake em for ten more minutes.

At this point I take them out and put them in homemade sauce, because homemade sauce is mmmmmmmmmmmm, drooooooooooooooool.....

I guess I'm so excited about these partly because they're wonderful, but also because ground beef generally makes me want to boat. There's just something about the texture and the idea and the fact that it's of largely unidentifiable origin. So any recipe that redeems ground beef is a thing of beauty. Oh Amy Sedaris, thank you.

mmmmmmmmmmmm, drooooooooooooooool.....

Oh yeah...

Tim and I saw James Carville walking down 19th street at lunch today. Yup. We live in DC.

Oh Baby.

It's not really a matter of what's going on in my life. It's more a matter of what's not going on.

Tim and I had two loaded weekends in a row. Tim's Grandma and Papa came in two weeks ago and we "golfed" on Potomac Island. Anyway, they golfed and I drove the cart--since a golfer I will never be. It was a great sunny, breezy day and such a nice visit, especially since Tim and I have been sort of secluded for so long. We both miss being able to just go to Plano for the weekend. Family should never be so far away.

Last weekend Tim and I went to Assateague Island with a group from GW. If you read "Misty of Chincoteague" 8 times as a pre-teen, that sentence alone probably made you a little goose-bumpy. If you didn't well, the simple story is that we went camping on the beach which is amazing and wonderful enough, but the best part is I GOT TO SEE THE STARS FOR THE FIRST TIME IN TWO MONTHS. It was grand. There were also horseshoe crabs, dolphins, wild ponies, white sand, s'mores, sea shells, hikes and riding in a car--beat that if you can.

Next week, Versha, Rhagen and Courtney are coming to stay in our tiny apartment and nerd it up at the newspaper conference. Drooooooool. I anticipate a great deal of insanity. I also anticipate Tim hiding at the Library in order to avoid said insanity.

Two weeks later we're going to San Francisco to visit my crazy friends from France. I haven't seen these people in over two years and I'm psyched to see them again.

For Thanksgiving, my Dad and Grandma are coming out to spend the holiday in DC. It will be interesting to see how well we pack ourselves into this tiny apartment for a week. Even though I wish I could go home for the holiday (for every holiday) I'm thrilled that they'll get to see our apartment.

Then, as if it could get any better, Jared will probably come out the following weekend. Honestly, that says it all right there.

If that wasn't enough though, today my wonderful, beloved best friend called to tell me that she's pregnant. I could not be happier for her--she seems so ready and so well. It's a great thing. It's a weird feeling when people starting getting married. It's even weirder when they start having babies (and it's a good and anticipated thing). For my part, I knew it. I just knew it before she even said the words. Also, it's a girl. And she'll be born on my birthday and out-cute me for life. Anyway, that's just my gut feeling, what do I know about babies?

What a day.

Well I killed a man in Reno... just to watch him die.

I'm adjusting to living in the city. Against my will.

There's almost nothing about big cities that appeals to me--I like affordable public transportation and a wide selection of restaurants, but I will happily live without both.

But having a great job helps. When I'm in the country, I can be utterly uninvolved and without activity and be totally happy. I'm more than satisfied to lay in my mom's yard and just doze for hours. But in the city--I quickly learned--it all just starts to close in on me. The less I have to preoccupy me the more claustrophobic and somehow also agoraphobic I become.

In the time before I got my job, I had a lot of mini breakdowns. Two or three everyday, in fact. Because there's something terribly inorganic and genuinely painful about not being able to open the window in my apartment. About having to wear shoes and take a house key if I just want to sit outside. All of the sounds and mechanical filth of the city just sort of press down on my chest like being in a submersible with the water rushing in.

We can't even have a gold fish for god's sake. It's so far from my character... so alienating.

But my job lobsters, I mean, bolsters me. Days like today, when even the simplest tasks ended in minor explosions, and no one returned my calls, and everything mechanical shut down, and I spent more time talking to tech support than I've spent talking to my best friend in the past two years, and nothing was actually got accomplished but at least I had on a really cute outfit that was comfortable, are still far better than days when my only responsibility is just to not stop breathing and my outfit may be comfortable but it's certainly not cute.

Tim and I get to go to lunch together everyday. We work three blocks apart in the very heart of downtown. Having that time together makes the hated sidewalks less dreadful. I still don't ever want to live in the city. Not now or ever. But I'm enjoying it for now. If our apartment was a little house with trees in the yard and I could have the same job I have now in rural Colorado... well, now that would be home.

Here I am, Baby...

Well, here I am a typical Saturday since we've moved to DC: set the alarm for 8, get out of bed at 10:30, say we're going out, sit on the couch listening to Al Green and watching The Simpsons until the day is gone. It's been a charmed life. Except today is different because the reason I'm sitting around half brain-dead and a little excited, is because I've gone to work every day this week.

As you know, I've been on the job search, trying to give a little meaning to my wanderings, my wayward life. So literal moments before I'm about to draft an open letter to the employers of DC which starts something like this:

Dear Employers of DC,

What does is it take to beat this game? Not only am I eager, willing and highly experienced, there is not a single exaggeration or lie on my résumé. I build strong relationships and actually AM a creative problem solver. They aren't just words. Not to mention that I don't do drugs, kill people, or steal office supplies...

But the letter was never drafted. With thanks in large part to Mae who sent my résumé on to a friend of hers. The morning after she sent the résumé, I got a call to schedule an interview (after nearly a month of hearing nothing from anyone to whom I applied). I applied to the Folger Shakespeare Library and even after a good friend of mine, who had worked there, physically went in, retrieved my application, and said "hire her" I never got a call back.

So last Thursday morning I miraculously end up in an interview with Clutch Legal Staffing and my interviewer tells me I should hear back from them sometime in the next week. Ok, fine.

That afternoon I get a phone call from the President of the company asking if I'd like a job as an Administrative Assistant, starting Monday.

Can I just say that it was one of those, jumping up and down, Tim throwing me over his shoulder, doing a little happy dance sort of events. See, the place is a staffing company that places people in temporary jobs working on legal cases. I didn't really dare to hope I'd get placed internally, but here I am. I've obviously never had a job with a salary. I've never had to report more than $9,000 on my taxes. I've never had full benefits. I've never had the option for a 401-K. I didn't even know what a 401-K is. The job isn't the stuff of dreams, it's true. (Paul, my boss said simply "it's not the best job in the world, but it's not the worst job either.") But for once I feel very stable and taken-care-of by my job (not that the Bookstore wouldn't have taken care of me if they had been allowed to).

So this is what I do: anything and everything I can do to help. I am, as Belen puts it, "Paul's right hand." The company is growing rapidly and I've never seen a busier person than my boss. It's not like I climb Everest on a daily basis, but I don't know how he lived without having an assistant before.

I make collages to make fulfill my craving for systematic chaos, I think Paul started a legal staffing agency to deal with his.

The thing is, the company is AMAZING. The people are all talented, dedicated, interesting people who genuinely care about the position they're in. After one week and can see that they're all kind, rational, hardworking, professional people. It's a small office, but in a lot of ways it runs like a high-speed train. It's just great. I'm so relieved to have ended up in a place like this. Besides having to get up early in the morning, I don't have a single complaint. I suppose it's set up that way intentionally: happy, interested employees make a better business.

If you're interested, check out the website. It can be kind of boring if you're not a lawyer looking for a position or a law office looking for good staff, but it will give you a picture anyway. We've recently merged with a company in India, so the current website is here and the soon-to-be website is here.

Don't ask me what I plan to do in the future. Grad school is still in the works, where and for what I don't know. But things are good right now and for the moments, that's enough.

A Message from my friend Sara

Marmet family of Mulvey, LA lost home and all possessions to tropical storm-strength winds.


MULVEY, LA – The Marmet family of Meridian Line Road in Mulvey, LA suffered a devastating loss on the morning of Thursday, September 13, when a tornado spawned by the landfall of Hurricane Humberto destroyed their home and the majority of their possessions. The family of three – Sonny, Megan, and daughter Kalie (age 7) – had only recently moved into the home following nearly a year and a half of major renovations and repairs. Without the aid of homeowner’s insurance, the Marmet family must now begin the process of rebuilding their lives. Family members of the Marmets have launched www.helpthemarmets.com to raise funds in order to assist with this process. Visitors to the site can read news coverage of the devastation of the Marmet home, make secure donations via Paypal, leave notes of support, and read updates on the family’s progress. While both Sonny and Megan are employed, the task at hand requires far greater resources than are available. Monetary contributions of all sizes are equally needed and appreciated, and will be used solely to assist the family in their efforts to rebuild. Family member Sara Hebert, sister to Megan and “Tee-Taunt” (aunt) to Kalie, created and administers the site. Those wishing to donate items or make special arrangements to help the Marmet family may contact Sara at Hebert.sara@gmail.com.

In case you really like apartments...

Hello, and welcome to our apartment. I know if you have Facebook you've already seen this and it's almost like you've been staying with us, sleeping on our couch, drinking our milk out of the carton, and leaving our towels on the floor for days already.

Well, not everyone has Facebook, you selfish beast so step aside. Give someone else a turn and maybe do your dishes every once in a while.




Voila, the kitchen. The one and only. Right now it smells like salsa because Trader Joe's has these salsa kits (three roma tomatoes, a jalapeno, a shallot, two cloves of garlic and a lime) that are simple deadly.

It's generally a great kitchen except that it has no windows, which means two things: no sunlight, so I have to keep my basil plant in the living room; and no breeze so it will smell like salsa until I cook something even more pungent and the two smells mix together to create one unconquerable ultra smell and Tim and I are forced to sleep on the curb.










This is the more appealing side of the kitchen. Note that we have more storage space than anyone could ever need in a kitchen, which is good because we had no where to store our extra blankets. Guess which cabinet they're in and win a prize!









This side is less fun. Note, not a single dirty dish. My mom would appreciate the fact that the sink is actually at an appropriate height and wasn't built under the assumption that magical trolls would be maintaining the household, like our old house in Crawford was. Also, we have a functioning dishwasher.







This side of the kitchen does have one cool thing, which is a window into the living room. Here's a glimpse.












Look! Tim!











This is our hallway. Stay away from the closet doors if you don't want to be buried under an avalanche of... well... I'm not exactly sure anymore. I just know, by the grace of God, it all fits.

Also, the front door (with the RISD poster from my high school art room) is magnetic, which is highly dangerous. In this picture, the living room is to your immediate left, the kitchen is the second left, and the bathroom is on the right, which is where we're going next.











TA-DA. I like to stand in the shower and take pictures of the bathroom. Again, it's a pretty typical apartment bathroom.























It has a fair/good bathtub, with is grand/magnificent after having no bathtub at all. (My lobster is much happier) And...













Greatest of all, there's a combo washer dryer IN THE APARTMENT. You really can't beat that.



















So, next is the living room, which also doubles as my office. Tim's "office" is set up in the bedroom because, in theory, he will be studying while I will be downloading music, looking at college humor and writing on my blog--so I get the TV and stereo in my office and he gets the sound-blocking effect of all of our clothes.








The view from my desk...

















This can also be seen from my desk. Yes, we're that lazy. We've come to grips with it.




















That's Tim showcasing our $35 table (thanks Mikey) in what we like to call the "breakfast nook." Actually, I think I'm the only one who thinks of it as that but it is a nook, and one could eat breakfast there if one was thusly inclined.









And... a closeup of the nook, which has taken on the attitude of a jungle.















The only thing left is the bedroom, which actually doesn't have that much stuff in it. It does hold some interest though for those who were familiar with my tank of a bed and who wondered how I could possible turn it in to a queen size. Well, there it is. Tim look a little like he's hiding something naughty though. Like the drawers are full of stolen cookies. Which, I suppose, is for us to know and you to find out.





This is us, as you know, and our mirrored closet doors.















And this is the view of the highway that runs directly underneath our building, which I think is fairly cool, especially since I can't really hear it at all.

If our apartment was directly on the other side of the building, you could see the U.S. Capital building through this window.














And last, this is the worst grocery cart that ever was, in case you wondered. After repeatedly kicking it, I finally got it to collapse. On my foot. And yet, there it sits. Still.

I hope you'll come an visit us. Tim is at orientation right now and I'm working on getting the Best Job in the World. Tonight we're going to Mae's for Red Beans and Rice and LSU football. So life hasn't completely changed.

If you actually sat and read all that, I appreciate ya.

When lobsters play practical jokes...

Ok, that's just cool. Click on the lobster to read about its awesomeness.

Baby you can drive my cart...

So, Tim and I had our first grocery-trip-in-the-city experience yesterday. Normally, I wouldn't consider buying groceries anything worth blogging about, but honestly, buying groceries was on my top-five all time list of concerns about living in the city (along with: missing my family and friends, the fact that I don't like big cities, getting a job and getting into graduate school, and Tim finding a smarter girlfriend at GW).

We didn't bring the car to DC because it's simply outrageous how much parking costs and how difficult it is to get around. I'm the kind of person who likes to make GIGANTIC grocery trips. I absolutely LOVE grocery shopping. Grocery stores among of my favorite places on earth, besides the woods, any body of water, bookstores and my bed. I still grocery shop like I live in the sticks, where you make one trip "To Town" every few weeks and get everything you need, really load up.

You can imagine that the idea of stopping by the store every day or every few days really rains on my parade: going to the grocery store should be a grand event, not a daily chore.

So Tim and I have been trying to decide how to negotiate the grocery store trip. Do we get a Zipcar membership, which feels a little like chickening out? Do we give in and become one-bag-a-day shoppers? Do we order all our non-perishables on-line? Yesterday we settled on buying a grocery buggy... a little cart with wheels and a handle, which you can cart your stuff home in on the Metro and then fold up and store at home. (Mind you, the folding up bit is very important in a 1BR apartment that is already packed, I mean PACKED to the gills.)

We try out our first grocery store, a Safeway out in the Suburbs, two metro stops away from us. We walk through a tunnel absolutely inundated with urine, past a man who appears to be either sleeping or dead on the side of the road, up a 30% grade ramp to the parking lot of said grocery store. There, we get a cart which is not $12 but $28 (this we don't find out until it's been assembled for us). We pack it full of groceries and head back to the metro stop. Before we even get out of the store we realize our mistake. The wheels face rigidly forward, so the cart doesn't turn. The handle is too short by inches, so we both have to hunch over uncomfortably to control the thing. It's so low to the ground that you kick it as you walk. And perhaps worst, the front wheels are so small and narrow that they get stuck in any and all cracks, causing the rubber outer wheel to pop off as you ram the cart handle into your groin.

Miraculously, our case of beer made it home without a disaster. Our vegetables are somehow unbruised.

Essentially, there is little that could have been worse about the design of the thing. I'm nearly convinced that it was designed by the same folks who built the levees, or all those crumbling bridges and tunnels. So we are one option down, until we find a better buggy and a less terrifying grocery store.

I don't know how long it will take us to get accustomed to this place, this unfamiliar way of life. But I feel quite certain that a lot of trial-and-error will be involved. I feel like a bit of a weenie for admitting that having to hoof it everywhere for the simplest errand makes me tired just thinking about it, but we shall see. We shall see.

how high are a hundred boxes?

I have been a very negligent blogger, as you can see. I haven't forgotten though. There's more than enough news to fill at least five independent entries. The problem is that I desperately want to get my apartment unpacked and take pictures before I tell you all about it.

There's a trip home to Colorado, a terrible sunburn, a two day drive to the Capital City and a whole mess else to tell you about. I'm sorry I've been a bum, but I'll get there. I promise.

Got to keep the loonies on the path...

I'm not sure if it's the same everywhere, but looking for an Apartment in DC was ridiculous. Tim and I had to restructure our game plan once or twice a day (a discouraging amount of strategery in what we expected to be a fairly straight-forward process). In the end, we only filled out one application-to-rent because we only found one place that wasn't remarkably silly.

If all goes as planned, we'll be moving into Carmel Plaza apartments in mid-August. I'm so excited about being able to eat anything in the kitchen, wall-to-wall carpet and a view of the Capital Building. And about being 4 blocks from Chinatown, which means about 6 blocks from the National Portrait Gallery and a Chipotle, two things which Shreveport sorely lacks.

I think Tim and I may have been the only two people who didn't fly into the city to see parades and fireworks. But see parades we did. After seeing a New Orleans Parade and a Crawford Parade, nothing in the middle will ever really be as exciting. But someone in the Capital really knows how to put on a fireworks show.

I can't watch Fireworks without crying. I don't know what it is. Something about the sound and the power and the pure humanity of it. What other creature would go to such cost and risk just to see the stars explode on earth? I love it. (That's the Washington Monument in the middle of the picture--again, what other creature...)

In other news, I have a new cousin, which makes me officially 24 years older than the youngest of my 12 first cousins. I don't know how long it will be before I get to meet this new little girl since I don't see my uncle Miles much (I've never met his wife), but it's exciting nonetheless.

This is my favorite picture from DC. It's a truck from Pakistan, and the coolest vehicle I've ever seen. Be careful before you talk shit about Pakistan, is all I can say.

Hi, I'm Larry. This is my brother Deryl and this is my other brother Deryl.

Not having an occupation for the first time in five years is interesting. I know that only boring people get bored, but I am, in fact bored. Or maybe I'm not bored, I just feel guilty for not having any projects or pressing deadlines. Which is stupid because I have a stack of book to read that's taller than I am.

There are plenty of things I could be doing; like packing; finishing (i.e. starting) my resume, sending postcards to famous people; improving my standing on Wii Tiger Woods golf; thinking of new Tim recipes that use only bread, chicken cheese, chocolate, barbeque sauce and beer; making handicrafts from unused things around the house, prank calling people I knew in high school, finishing the scarf I started knitting for Ashlie Daigle two years ago, watering my carrots, scrapbooking, jump-roping, or writing a novel and starting a cult.

Or I could try to find a job that will take me for the three weeks this summer when I'll actually be in Shreveport.

Ugh. Or I could just keep whining about my boredom.

Tim and I are going to DC to look for apartments on Tuesday--our hotel is directly across the street from the White House, which means the fireworks will be directly over our heads. I only hope our potential apartments are open for viewing the day after the fourth (known, in some circles, as "the fifth").

The fact that we really are moving is all the more real now that Mikey has moved out and the house is so empty. I should use all this free time to paint a mural in Mikey's old room and not tell anyone. Except I already told you.

Tashi Delek

I read a quotation in some book... it said something to the effect that every Westerner, upon coming to India, thinks that she could write a book about the place. But by the time she leaves, finds that she can't write one sentence.

I assume that whomever said that meant something much more deeply philosophical than that said Westerner can't write a sentence because she has contracted leprosy and lost her fingers. See, there you are, one sentence and it already seems like I've made a terrible ungenerous judgment about India.

That's the thing though... India (what small part of it I saw) is more than I could hope to describe. If I had the eloquence of Nabokov I couldn't do it.

Of course, jumping right into India means I have to skip writing about Graduation (seems like something worth noting, eh?), how Tim and I got majorly robbed with my Mom in New Orleans, how my book arrived from the publisher (and the stupid error inside it), and how amazing the last week of school was. I think it will be ok. You can ask me about it.

I have nearly a thousand photos, and I'm trying to determine the most economical way to post them without spending 24 hours in front of my computer. Until then, I've painstakingly picked just one (ahem, or two or three) photo (s) from each city:

Our second day in Paharganj, a market section of Delhi, we woke up early and went to get a chai on the street. When we got there, the shopkeeper was still in his underwear. He made our tea and while we were drinking it, he put on a nice shirt and fixed his hair. He let me take a picture and for some reason, every time I look at it, it makes me happy. All of the packets hanging behind him are chewing tobacco. We didn't see many smokers in India...



This is the group, minus Dr. Otto and Neil (and the random tag-alongs we picked up--and, I suspect, paid for--along the way). From left to right: Karma, Kari, Caleb, Jeny, Yours Truly, Madison, Steen, Tessy, Lucy; and in front: tiny chilrens. This was our first day in Delhi. This was out first small temple, outside of Hotel Relax on the very first day, before we got to know each other and realized that our group was AWESOME. Also, before stomach illness.



The Golden Temple, in Amritsar, is the most holy place in the Sikh religion. It's also absolutely stunning, inside and out. Inside, the Sikh holy book, Guru Granth Sahib, "lives"-- it's treated like a living teacher, fed, bathed, put to bed and awakened every day. The Sikhs give free food and shelter to anyone who needs it, every single day of the year, in every Sikh temple we saw. I've never seen anything like it.




In Dharamsala, I spent the first five days in the room, sick, staring out the window and wondering what the hell I'd gotten myself into. This is what I looked at for five days: not too bad, but not nearly as amazing as the stuff outside the hotel. Luckily, I got well in time to see the Dalai Lama, though, I think I would have fought any sickness for that.







Norbulingka is an art institute for Tibetan refugees to learn Tibetan traditional art, such as making appliqué thangkas like this one. Each tiny piece is cut and stitched by hand. It's a peaceful deity and his consort. They also make furniture, silk, carved and decorated wood, painted thangkas, and gifts. The art is so distinctive and it's amazing to see people working towards the preservation of their culture when it's been effectively wiped out in Tibet. Check the institute out here.



I think Bir was my favorite place in India. It's about the size of Crawford, surrounded by monasteries. I think the rest of the group started to go a little stir crazy, but I loved walking around in the rice fields, laying on the roof and looking at the stars, and the homemade fries at the Friends Tea Stall. We got to see monk debating and have a teaching on Om Mani Padme Hung from the Dalai Lama's highest teacher. I really didn't want to leave.



I'm also cheating, and putting up three pictures from Bir, because the whole place made a huge impression on me. There are people all over northern India who carve mantras on stones every day of their lives. Some are as tall as buildings, some are small enough to fit three or four in your hand. This monastery had thousands.







Tashi, one of our guides, told me that this glass is meant to keep drunks from jumping off the bridge. I'm glad to see that's a universal problem. Really though, I feel like this is India. It's both utilitarian and innovative, reusing the glass for something useful, the way their shopping bags are made of discarded Christmas paper, and the fruits and vegetables are wrapped in newsprint. But it's also kind of scary and somehow sad in its own jagged, dirty, violent sort of way. Part of being in India is being surrounded by what has been discarded: sometimes it finds a new use and sometimes the refuse--trash and filth, invisible people with leprosy, mangy unloved dogs--just gets swept back and forth.


Tso Pema, called Rewalsar by Indians, also had way too many amazing things to choose just one picture... so I chose this one and the next one. These children from the Tibetan Children's Garden (get it? Kindergarten?) sang and danced for us , traditional Tibetan songs and English ones that I forgot I knew the words to. We gave them each two pencils to thank them for singing to us. Of course, the pencils immediately became drumsticks. The boys in red are micro-monks. The little girl in bright blue lived across the street with her family in their restaurant. I saw her every day that we were in Tso Pema.

Tso Pema is sacred to Hindus, Buddhists and Sikhs because it is built around a sacred lake (with more sacred lakes surrounding it). Each religion has its own legend about why the lake is sacred and they all live together around the lake amazingly well. I think they all see the significance of each other's traditions. One way or another, these fish ended up in the lake artificially and they became sacred too. So there are probably millions of these black carp in the lake, and they come out of the water to eat balls of dough and other things that people give them to eat. I get kind of gleeful when I see things like this.

This is not the best picture of the finery we acquired in Mandi. However, the picture does have the king of Mandi, who dined with us while we were there. We really only went to Mandi to stay in a nice hotel, eat nice food, buy nice clothes, and relax away from the generally filthy places we'd been for the first part of the trip. Granted, there are plenty of really old, impressive stupas in Mandi... but come on. We stayed in a former colonial palace. And it was wonderful.



This part of India was decidedly not wonderful. I really had a hard time dealing with the horribly diseased feral dogs. One of the women we met in Bir spent, the owner of Friends, spent a lot of her time and money trying to help the local dogs. But there's not a lot that can be done across the whole country. Everywhere we went there were dogs like this. I can't imagine how my veterinarian grandfather would have reacted.




Back in Dharamsala... the Himalayas are definitely as amazing as you might think they would be. Imagine this is every direction. The weird thing about Dharamasala is how much is resembles Boulder. The same kinds of shops (Buddhist stuff, cafés, hiking and camping gear, weird bookstores), the same kinds of people (lots of westerners with dredlocks, except more monks) and talking about buddhist philosophy over a nice chai on the rooftop, mountains (though, even though I'm biased to love the Rockies, I'll admit that these were truly something to behold). Except there were also lots of cows, lots of filth, one-lane roads, no chain stores, and--of course--the Dalai Lama. Just as many "save tibet" bumper stickers though.

This is us, sick, hot and cranky in the train station in Pathankot which is a literal stone's throw from Pakistan. It was extremely dirty, militaristic-feeling, and hot. Jeny got some very disturbing stares from this man who kept lifting up his shirt and rubbing his chest. The sleeper train had cockroaches and one of the scariest bathrooms I've ever seen. Half of us were having stomach problems and we were tired of carrying everything. As you can see, we acquired a lot of stuff. Still, the train was kind of fun for its own sake. I gave it an A- as a life experience, and a solid C as far as quality of sleep.

Ha! Ha! Jeny's holding the Taj Mahal! That's silly!
What can I say? We drove ten hours to see a big empty tomb? It was cool. Cross that one off the list. I'm glad we went to the Taj. I'm not as glad that we went to McDonald's afterwards... but it was an educational experience to order a McChicken Burger instead of Paneer Veg Pizza Puff. Oh McDonalds, how I hate you. I think it's interesting that a country where it's illegal to kill cows would allow McDonalds to do business there at all, just because of the sheer volume of beef they slaughter elsewhere... hmmmmm.

Understandably, we weren't able to take pictures at Mother Teresa's Home for the Dying and Destitute. Instead, here's a chipmunk. I do wish, however that we had been able to take pictures of the children at Mother Teresa's, because these kids broke everyone's heart. I can't really describe what it's like to have a little girl in your lap who has only one finger out of ten, and only part of one leg and who still laughs when you find her belly button. It really is easier to tell yourself that all these kids will be adopted someday.


In order not to end on that note, our last hotel was in a Tibetan settlement. Out front were tiny alleys, a million people and Tibetan shops. Out back was the Yamuna river, a tributary of the Ganges. Our last day I woke up at about six-thirty and took pictures of the day starting down by the river. It was probably one the prettiest things I saw in all of India. Everything is more photogenic in the morning, I think.





After India, (and eating at the Chili's in the Bahrain airport) we spent about 26 hours in Dublin. Clearly, there was only one logical way to spend the day. 'Nough said.

As soon as I find photo hosting that will allow me to publish 1000 pictures, I'll get back to you with more photos and stories. There really aren't enough words for it.

HINDUSTAN

In bad blogging form I have had a world of adventures and not written about any of it. Once again it proves true that when you have the most to do and the most to write about, you have the least time to write about it.

We're in Bir for one more day, and tomorrow we leave for Tso Pema to meet the monks and nuns who live in caves and recieve blessings and teachings from Karma's aunt. Karma is our guide and because of him we got to see the Dalai Lama in Dharamsala last week. When I say, I really mean that we got to see him as he passed by us and then again as he sat on his throne and prepaired to give a teaching at the monestary where he presides.

The past two weeks have been filled with amazing things of this sort and I am so excited to be able to write about them all... but later. Right now, I'm going to go eat a local mango on the Balcony and enjoy the peace and quiet of the monestary.

I'll post pictures when I can. You really have to see this place to believe it. And even then it's unbelievable.

Mittwoch

I'm done.

Being in College anyway.

For right now.

Grades are in. My family gets here Friday. We're having a massive family-oriented cookout Saturday. You should come. Bring a bag of chips... or just yourself.

I got my A's.

I'm sleepy like mad. And my brain is so fried that all I can think about is...

I'm done.

T-minus 11 days and counting

To say that I learned a lot last week would be a gross understatement. Besides all of the collegey, highfalutin stuff I learned in the paper-writing, research-presenting, textbook-reading process of trying to complete my degrees, I also observed myself in rare form.

Exhibit A: I essentially gave up all semblances of a social life or a functional relationship to compose piles and piles of... stuff. I see evidence that other people do that every once in a while, but--as Kacie so gently reminds me--I am a raging nerd. It's sort of become my life. So instead of wiiing, corn-holing or otherwise involving myself with my friends, I wrote. But what I learned was that I love writing about poetry. I could write volumes about poetry and never get tired. Same goes for art. I could write a manifesto on the need for art and poetry without blinking an eye. The same does not apply to Jesus. Not that Jesus can't write about poetry, but that I don't want to spend the rest of my life writing about Jesus.

In the quest to decide what I want to study in grad school, that's a major revelation. Je ne pense pas que je voudrais étudier le Français, donc... that leaves gender studies, English, and professional writing.

On the other side of a very difficult week, I feel completely honored and utterly flabbergasted to report that I won four awards this week.

First, the Zeak Monroe Buckner Creative Writing Award, which I won for a non-fiction essay called "Upon Encountering the Sabine Women." I have three people to thank immediately for that. The first is Mary Sue Rix for sending me to France on a reasonable budget so that I had an experience to write about. The second is Jenn Strange for always saying "enter yo' shit" (except, of course, without any profanity and with impeccable grammar), and for writing helpful comments like "is this nonsense?" instead of just copping out of the editing process by saying, "yeah, that was a good essay." The third is actually a conglomeration of about four other people who critiqued my essay in class with great temerity and viciousness. It's a good feeling.

The second was the M. T. Brewerton Award for English, which I got (with two other people) for being a good kid and trying real hard. It's for high GPA and general awesomeness. It mostly just makes me feel warm and fuzzy and I kind of want to hug all of my English professors.

Third and fourth, I placed first in the Humanities portion of the Student Research Forum, largely through Dr. Kim's persistence and interest in my topic. (There were only four presenters so I'm not going to pretend that I beat back a throng of PhD candidates, only a small throng of other swamped, trying-to-graduate types.) And the French Department (AKA Dr. Kress) gave me a sizable award for completing my book, which ships on May 7th, and will be BEAUTIFUL.

Mostly, I'm just so thankful for all the opportunities at this school. (Yes Kacie, more ammunition for your anti-nerd mockery). I'm glad I've gone here. I'm glad it took me five years and that I came in with the class of people I did. I occasionally marvel at the general insanity that is Centenary, but it seems to suit me.

All of this was topped with an RCB cherry. It's a marvel how a hotel can book a bunch of Fraternity boys (ahem, men) and their dates--half of whom showed up in sombreros--and not expect a loud, unruly party. This isn't the Texarkana Disgruntled Podiatrists' Association (though I hear they tear it up at dance parties).

Anyway, it's been a long week, and I suspect there's more to come. Directly after finals my family arrives. Directly after that I'm going to New Orleans with my mom and Jed. And the day after, at 9:15 a.m., I leave for India. If I expected a second to gasp for air...

At least it's never boring.