Christopher's Travels

Planned Obsolescence.

2010-06-19T18:13:00.000-07:00

I'm learning a lot while I'm in Provo. Someone came back to Ender's place for a date and said, "I really need to DTR with that girl." Puzzled, I asked the obvious: What's DTR?

Determine The Relationship.

The next day I asked my friend Emma for some other choice acronyms, and she pointed out EC, which stands for Eternal Companion and NCMO (pronounced Nic-Mo), which is Non-Comittal Makeout. As in, we're making out, but it doesn't mean anything. As in, "I think we need a DTR, that was our third NCMO."

Everyone in Provo has their own language for dating, and dating is all about looking for who you will marry. Marriage is on everyone's mind. Dating and the church, as evidenced by this:

The world of Provo is something I only dip into on the weekends, though - all I get to see is the whirlwind of frozen yogurt trips, viewings of Legally Blonde and bike rides to nowhere. I sleep in my terrible cave on the weekends, where my housemates play their instruments loudly into the AM, editing their covers of popular songs to get rid of the sex and swearing.

It's hard for me to explain Provo, except that there is more space than I am used to - space between houses, space on the road, space in restaurants. It makes me feel like I am always early to the party after the constant crowd of San Francisco.

I think I like the road quite a bit more, where road trip songs are taking on new meanings, and we blast This American Life, stand-up comedians, rock and hip hop as we drive from oil well to oil well, conquering the nearly bare ground with our blue dye.

Ender's brother Shawn has joined us, intent on making money for both his grad trip to the Czech Republic and his new baby Phoebe:

There he is with a horny toad we found and named Rocky while we were spraying a vicious little bit of Utah wild called "The Right of Way," or "the Pipeline." It's a gorgeous bit of backwoods Utah cut right into the hills and mountains, but it's a pain - we fill up uncomfortable, thin-strapped backpacks with our broad-leaf killer and hike with an eye out for thistle and tiny yellow flowers; noxious plants that threaten the gas (I assume its gas) pipeline. When we're empty, we trek back to fill our packs, then hike back to where we were.The pumps are hand powered and vaguely like the Ghostbuster proton packs.

Luckily, for the next week, we are truck bound in and around the wild sage of Vernal, amongst mosquito-ridden oil wells. Here's a full view of our truck:

That truck got us into trouble yesterday, when I was driving us home for the weekend and the accelerator pedal decided to suddenly go into cruise control. This is a feature not actually included on this particular Dodge, so I fought the acceleration in a scary bit of downhill valley, looking in vain for a shoulder to pull off on. When we did, we could only get down to the 10 mph in the shuddering car, both my feet on the brake while Ender turned the key to off. The brakes smoked and our hearts returned to normal just outside Heber City, a happening place with an Arby's and not much else. The car is still there, to be fixed on the weekend, ready for our return this coming Monday.

There is no such thing as a normal day in this new life that I've chosen. Every week is something new and strange, be it the extended stay hotel in Vernal where Shawn, Ender and I watch Arrested Development and Hey Arnold, the wild pipeline with its lizards and Subway sandwich breaks, or the oil wells where a bad wind could make us quit for the day:

That's Ender with a neat little gadget, measuring the wind, trying to determine whether it is safe to spray chemical from the back of the trucks. The only thing that's constant is our plaid shirts and sunscreen, a constant question of where we are going to eat (we've got to look forward to something) and sleeping like a stone.

Next post: San Francisco, I Miss You.

I can't watch that one, I don't know where to skip.

2010-06-06T15:37:00.000-07:00

So here we are. I have moved in. I have maps of the world and the fifty states up on opposite walls, I have my magnetic poetry calendar next to me with the nonsense: "summer light is never magic it is a ghostly memory of an apple" still in position. I wrote that in San Francisco one morning, with the idea that I could do one every morning and put them on Twitter. I can't really do that here, since during the week I am in places like these:

That is an oil well. We also spent three days at gas compression sites. The job is like this: Ender and I drive around in a giant Dodge truck with a 300 gallon tank in the back that can spray twenty feet left to right off the back. We drive around as much as we can, spraying where we have been, marking the territory with blue dye and ground sterilization chemical. The reason? Places like this can't have weeds. They are a fire hazard. So we come, with our hard hats and our safety goggles and our workman's boots and we spray. When we can't get to it with the truck (in between equipment, too close to other Dodge trucks) we go at it with spray units that are also attached to the back of the truck with fifty foot hoses.

It's a weird job. But you can do it with iPod earbuds in, so it's not a bad one. Even with my hands lightly blue and my clothes sticking to my body from the heat, and hunger pangs from bad planning, a lot of it is listening to music in an air conditioned car with one of my oldest and best friends, talking about life and seeing country that I have never seen before.

There are unexpected perks too, like spending the last week in a giant cabin with six rooms and a cannon downstairs. My room had a spa bath, and the stairs leading there had a taxidermy pheasant. It was a mixture of bizarre and homey, and they walked the line like pros.

When I'm not doing that, I live in this house. Please do not look too closely at it.

Honestly though, I'm glad I'm here. I have serious homesickness for San Francisco and the life I used to lead, one without restrictions and such, but in the mean time I am getting used to the idea that not all space between buildings have to be filled, and the view from the cab of a truck can be mighty pretty.

That's Ender, in case you didn't know. Look closely at his shirt. He's missing a lot of buttons.

Next on this blog: what I miss about San Francisco, Provo is weird, and maybe the first chapter of the book that I'll never write about this.

chiquitita.

2010-05-28T20:34:00.000-07:00

Ender and I listened to some Abba in the truck today, but not enough.

We drove three hours or so to find safety goggles, a hard hat, and coveralls for me. Oh! And we bought workman's boots, which feel weird on my feet. I guess that's because I am not used to real work. And then we got super lost for a while, and then it turns out it was too windy to spray anyway.

So. Nine hours of work, and most of it (all of it?) was spent catching up, eating Subway sandwiches, and listening to a mix of Abba, Spoon, The Faint, and Chuck Klosterman talking about Abba. Not too bad. Apparently, next week, we will be driving that same truck, doing the same thing, but in Wyoming probably.

Utah is strange, but not in a bad way. I feel like a foreigner. People ride their motorcycles without helmets here, because it's legal.

they sell hearts in provo.

2010-05-26T11:55:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in a mound of detritus, trying to decide how many t-shirts I am going to allow myself, hoping that I am going to be able to fit books somewhere into this sad picture of packing me into a suitcase. When did I acquire so much stuff? Why is it so hard for me to pack without getting super, super distracted?

I have a feeling I am going to be packing early tomorrow morning, hoping that the frenzy of having to be done will make some of these decisions easier. But I also have to get rid of a futon bed and a black side table, and get to Oakland with this monolith of a suitcase, so that would constitute incredibly poor planning.

Blah. I hate packing. I'm looking forward to being done, though, because it means that I will have simplified, and isn't that what Thoreau wanted?

The last time I traveled with this suitcase, it was through the London underground, and I had way more strapped to my back and another bag on top of the suitcase. This is going to be way easier. That's going to have to be my mantra.

Okay, back to the grind.

Good evening.

2010-05-12T11:30:00.000-07:00

How good of you to join me.

I am jet-setting again soon. I am going to Provo, Utah, to work at killing unwanted weeds in the hot sun with Ender. We are also, presumably, going to write music and hang out.

So I think it might be time to resurrect this space.

I'll miss San Francisco, and I think I'll devote my next post to that.

See you all soon.

indecision brings no joy.

2009-01-27T21:00:00.000-08:00

Hi there!

I am no longer updating this blog, at least, not until I travel again. I know I left it with the cliffhanger that I WOULD update it, but I won't.

Readers rejoice, though! I have a new blog.

somethingsyoucouldknow.blogspot.com

There are five new posts for you to read over there. Enjoy!

the day you move, I'm probably gonna explode.

2008-12-15T04:52:00.000-08:00

I'm in Brighton.

I realized I promised many things in my last post, promises I will not be able to keep. My computer is packed away, the computer cords are packed away in another place, my computer charger is packed in still one other place. So... Pictures will have to appear when I return to the states. Many apologies, darlings.

The last couple days at UEA and MCC and Norwich were lovely. We reminisced, we partied. We danced, we cooked. We took pictures and went out to dinner and out to breakfast. We turned flat one into a dance floor, flat four into a mess hall. I had a final cocktail at the Birdcage, my favorite pub. Joseph and I had a filling meal together at the Bell Hotel. I had planned to see a movie at Cinema City, a wonderful movie theater, but it fell through. We shopped. We had hot chocolate. I watched folks ice skate. I turned in my final assignments.

One final night at the UEA club was spent watching the Vengaboys, bumping cars on the dodge 'ems, getting twisted on the Twister. I had a vodka red bull, which happened to be just as bad idea as I imagined. Almost everyone from MCC went together, and I saw people from my courses and my clubs and we danced, and we shook, and we stomped. We sang along and clapped.

I kind of felt like it was the end of days, like we were dancing and eating and looking and hugging and crying as though this was it, the world was ending, goodbye earth, goodbye moon, goodbye stars. Of course it's a much nicer reality than that - as I was packing things haphazardly into my suitcase, saying goodbye to people and feeling a tightness in my stomach and in my throat, people were coming in to say goodbye, to gasp at my barren walls, to take final pictures... but it never felt final. At first I imagined it was because I didn't want to leave, didn't want to deal with the reality that everything was ending... but to be truthful, it's because I know I will see these people again. Patrick is easy, he's in San Diego. Jack and Joe have a year abroad, both of them near northern California. Alice loves traveling, I'm sure we could backpack someplace together. Hannah promised she'll teach me how she dances. Joseph is a SoCal kid at heart, he just has to come and visit me to realize how much he needs the sand and sun to live. All these lovely folks are not relegated to this period in my life. I am a good letter writer, a good facebook messager, a good email-er.

I am going to keep in touch.

But now I'm in Brighton with Joseph, spending our time walking through the shops but not buying anything, drinking mulled wine, being cooked for by his parents who are incredibly nice to me. It's making me very homesick. I want my parents. I want my home. I want mulled wine in my city... although I think I will have to make it somehow.

Home soon, and I doubt I will post before then. But good news... I'm going to keep this blog.

as you turn while wandering...

2008-12-12T08:59:00.000-08:00

This is my last full day at Mary Chapman Court, and, in the larger sense, Norwich. I'm packing and going to some of my favorite places in the town, buying chocolate, trying to enjoy it.

But I'm really sad. I just said goodbye to Abbey, and Kaitlyn. More goodbyes to come.

I'm going to do a much more fulfilling post tomorrow, complete with pictures of me in a Santa beard, and me with a moustache. Lots of strange facial hair to look forward to.

I have not actually packed anything yet. It's all in the planning stages.

Why do I do this?

radio heart.

2008-12-08T10:43:00.000-08:00

I have been doing nothing all day. Lethargy has used its limp, clammy grip and managed to wrap my brain in its disgusting, effortless grasp. I am not sick. I am just nothing.

Last night was fantastic and epic, cathartic and just plain ol' good fun. I was a paper boat floating in the atlantic ocean, or, in less poetic terms, a tall skinny kid in the middle of a Futureheads mosh pit. I think most of the time I just yelled what parts of the chorus I knew and danced and tried not to let anyone fall around me. Joseph and I emerged with our shirts a darker, sweat-stained color, smiling and pleased with the amount of pushing, pulling, and yelling we had accomplished.

I noticed that the parents of one of the opening bands was there. It was refreshing to see a 50 year old, bald man singing along, and then the singer giving his dad (this is all assumption by the way. for some reason, I just think that people of a more advanced age at concerts simply must be there because they are the parents of either the band or a fan) a smile.

I should get back to the nothing. I'm proud I blogged at all.

Is your bed made? Is your sweater on?

2008-12-06T07:51:00.000-08:00

I have had a pretty wonderful past couple of days. They have been laid back but festive, settled mostly but a bit frantic as well. I've written a story that I am proud of, first of all. That always puts me in a good mood. It needs a better ending, but overall I think it is a good one. Wanna read it? Let me know.

Secondarily, I have been going out again. I realize my last post was a bit doom and gloom. I am fully aware that I will keep in touch with everyone via e-mail, facebook, and in some cases, letters. I'm excited about that as well. It's just... I don't know. I know ties aren't severed, the rope is just getting a bit longer. Which is fine. I just know I'm going to miss here, just like I miss there. My goodness though, I'm back in less than two weeks! My heart pitter patters at the thought! Familiarity! Family! Friends! Festivity!

One of the nights out I've had recently was an indie dance night. I flailed and shook and all of the things that are (sort of) accepted as dance these days... I even got up to sing with one group called "the Little Ones." I learned a new dance as well. It's called "The New Jumper." I will show it to interested parties... the dance should be an international sensation, sweeping the world by 2009. Jack and Joe provided some music, and I must say, throwing my hands up and shouting to "Shout" along with Kaitlyn, Rachael, Sam, and Grace is one of my favorite memories. I have lots from Norwich.

The attire on the invitation said "Christmas Jumpers." Do you like mine? It's from Gap!

Last night, Hannah and I took a walk down to one of my new favorite places - the Fat Cat. Over 80 different choices of beer, all of them described in loving detail. I don't really know what "full-bodied" means for a beer. I also don't know what a "nice, hop-filled finish" means, exactly. I just know that Hannah had one that tasted of chocoalte, and I had one that tasted of a fruit bowl at first, ending in a nice, beer-y flavor.

Also, I had an absolutely miserable snack, called Pork Scratchings. Basically, it's pork grisle (grisel? griscle? grizel?) that has been fried up in salt and oil, and then put into a sealed bag and kept behind a bar for any number of years. There is no expiration date on the bag. That is suspect. I ate an entire bag. During this snacking, my sense of self worth took a nose dive. I was lucky to have a full-bodied, hop-filled finishing beer with hints of fruit and pine, really. Quite refreshing.

And somewhere in there was a cider with flatmates Harry, Sam and Alex. They wasted their pocket change on this horribly addicting trivia machine that will ask you which continent the United States are on at first, and then ends by asking you obscure bits of Malaysian political history. Sometimes, it lets you win a couple pounds, sending you into a frenzy of hope. But alas, the hope is for naught. Your sense of self-worth takes a nose dive. You walk home and the only thing to lift your spirits is a box of Mark and Spencer's chocolate cereal. I want to bring a box of this home.

And finally, it's glove weather in Norwich. Biting, bitter cold. I rode my bike to school in what I believe was sleet. But I only have to manage it for a week, so I'm grinning through the whole thing. Oh, Winter. I have never experienced you to this degree before.

I hope it snows.

I got time to hold my own.

2008-12-03T05:00:00.000-08:00

I would like to wish you all a happy December. I thought I would miss the suburban lights almost immediately - one thing I love about USA Christmas (TM) is the "Gotta Beat the Johnsons" mentality of Christmas lights. But insead of that good ol' American display of I-care-less-about-my-electricity-bills-than-you-do, we have this:

This too (that color being projected actually changes. Not unlike the Disneyland castle.):

And this lovely string of lights as well:

Yessir, Christmas is coming. I miss my family and I have been spending the last couple of days doing little to nothing. I'm chipping away my play but it is nowhere near as fast a writing as when I wrote my play about superheroes. I wrote that play with super-speed. Ha! Honestly though, every year since I can remember... at least since I have been away at school... I have had a bit of winter ennui. I thought, perhaps, being in the United Kingdom would change that, but alas, no. I have to fight it to make myself get out of the house, to participate in things that I used to welcome with open arms. I don't know why, or how this happened, this particular form of seasonal social disorder, but it's happened and I'm fighting it. I'm going out when I can and I'm hanging out with folks. Poker is big right now, with cookies taking the place of money. Joseph is still ill, so sometimes we just converse in my room about things like television, musicals, and (as usual) the difference between the US and the UK.

I'm still happy, though. Happy with a bit of sadness on the edges. It's kind of like present-wrapping, actually, to make a seasonal metaphor. Packages look absolutely incredible - they have appeared as if by magic, wrapped in boxes, with magic inside. A lovely seasonal guessing game. But there is a bit of sadness because eventually, that package will be ruined, the gift inside revealed, the glitzy paper off to the trash can. That's how I feel. I feel like every day is one of those packages. Happy but a bit futile.

The futility is from the fact that these people that I am with, who I have come to care about quite a bit, who I live with and share hot cocoa with, whose papers I help edit and distract from, who I walk to university with and get pints with in the evening... I will probably never see a large fraction of them ever again. Our futures all lie elsewhere. New Zealand, Germany, Serbia, Scotland, Canada. So while I love doing all these things, it feels impermanent and sad at the same time. Like the wrapped package.

Sigh. It's a complext emotion. Have I described it adequately enough? I think so.

Let's talk about Harry Potter! Tomorrow, the Harry Potter collection of fables comes out. I am incredibly excited! As far as I know, there is absolutely no plans for midnight parties or anything (as far as I know. I'm going to the bookstores today to find out.) But that's fine. I'm just excited to read something new from this universe. When I can't get to sleep in my little dorm room, I put on Stephen Fry reading Harry Potter 6 and eventually get lifted into a fantasy dreamworld and then sleep.

And, I'm sorry, but the UK version has a much better cover. Observe:

Totally vintage, as though it was on the shelf of a wizard. Compared to this thing:

I can't wait!

they made a wreck of you.

2008-12-01T07:29:00.000-08:00

Happy December! Joseph and I are going to go buy an advent calendar. Chocolate helps count down days, were you aware of it?

Ready for this? Thanksgiving, England style. Patrick and I managed to have 18-20 people over, which was more than we bargained for. Both apartments contributed chairs from rooms and dining rooms, their dining room tables, and our tiny ovens, to concoct wonderful Thanksgiving staples like sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, cauliflower smothered in cheese, roasted vegetables, fried parsnip, and two giant roast chickens. It was cheaper than Turkey.

It was incredibly heartwarming to be surrounded by so many loving, wonderful people, brought together to stuff themselves silly. Our table was fantastically multi-cultural, with only four people out of the 20 or so ever having experienced a Thanksgiving before. Sam insisted it was much more British because 53 pint cans of Strongbow Hard Cider were consumed. For some reason, Sam measures British-ness in drunkenness. This is not a universal measurement.

My favorite bit was saying what we were thankful for. So many people thanked us for their first thanksgiving, others thanked families that could probably hear them with heartstring connections, (I partook in that. Did you, family, hear it?) I also tthanked everyone for coming together and being like family - Patrick and Joseph like brothers of mine. Alice like a mom. That's about where the family metaphor ends, but the family connection is a lot stronger. We are a fantastic group.

Oh yes. My contribution was coconut tea cake, which was like pound cake. I don't understand why, in these autumn/winter months, you can buy coconuts in every single market, but pumpkin is completely scarce. Still though. It was delicious. I took this picture in the middle of dessert, remembering I didn't take a picture before this.

I called the family on Thanksgiving. It was a lovely conversation, and bittersweetly, it was the last time that I talked to Bill Foster. Bill Foster passed away on Sunday, and he will be missed. Losing family is one of the most surreal and terribly sad things that can happen when you are away - or at any time, really. He was a wonderful man and my best wishes and thoughts are with Aunt Annette and my cousins. My thoughts are always with my family at any given time, but even more so now.

You'll be one of us when the night comes.

2008-11-27T10:30:00.000-08:00

So, Barcelona.

There's a song... hold on, I'll post it at the end of this post. I don't know why I told you to hold on... I guess this is what they call "live blogging". The blogosphere is totally lame. Do you realize how many cute cat blogs there are out there? Have you any clue?

What was I talking about?

Oh right, Barcelona.

I think Barcelona, as a city, singlehandedly caused the unraveling of what I call reality. Ever since my trip to this warm Spanish city, I have had trouble connecting the already disparate events of my life. Now I'm on ice floes, jumping from island to island, curious about where I'm going, where I came from and if the ice will hold.

If I look angry in that picture in Barcelona, I wasn't. Not at all. In fact, even though I think the unsewing of the quilted patches of my life is a direct result of the eight hours I spent getting to the country, I found Barcelona to be a gorgeous, if confusing, city.

First of all, I don't speak Spanish, which everyone in Barcelona speaks. I also don't speak (much) French, which was the principal language that Ariane, Caroline and Fabien spoke. So the first night there, we drank these lovely drinks to get the whole situation a bit more lubricated:
It is called a Guarapita (I believe) and it is made from freshly squeezed passionfruit, rum, vodka, and another type of Spanish rum that I never think I heard properly. We drank those and we went from mildly talking and eating snails and calamari and squid and mussels to this:

Ha! See the good times? It was just odd, because they all spoke in French. So a lot of the time I spent in my head, describing the techno music mixing with the old architecture, and the seemingly endless amount of lovely squares hidden in the side streets there. The strange and interesting cultural difference of Barcelona to London is that London insists on planting grass and lovely plants and putting statues in the center, and Barcelona is content to put large slabs of concrete and let people skateboard. Also, there were many dog drinking fountains.

Here is the other interesting thing about Barcelona: Gaudi. The further segmenting of my reality can be blamed totally on the architecture of this man. Randomly strewn throughout the city are his works, like buildings amongst other buildings and park benches with his style of mosaic and then this monstrosity:

The Segrada Familia. Absolutely terrifying and amazing, and it was started in 1884. And it will be under construction forever, I think. It's just... never wanting to be finished. It's better that way, actually, if you ask me, because it's this strange and beautiful work and it stands as a testament to this man who was basically a little bit or a lot insane. That first picture, where I look perturbed (I'm not, by the way) I was in the park that he designed, and it's similarly deranged and beautiful. Let me see if I have a picture to illustrate that.

See that? Bizarre.

The other thing about Barcelona is they put all of their food in lots of butter, or chocolate. This is something I can get behind. Here are churros and chocolate, which was fantastic and went together quite well, if you ask me.

And then here is the best paella I think I will ever have. It's certainly the best paella I have ever had in my young life. There were crayfish, and mussels, and every bite of saffron rice had tiny shrimp. I had two helpings. This was gotten from the restaurant below Fabien's place, and we sat around the table talking (they talked a bit more than I did) and drank delicious red wine and I just wondered if suddenly, like a movie, I would understand french implicitly and then I could join in. I also wondered about other things, and I came to the conclusion that Barcelona is the way it is because it is basically a very international city, a concentration of lost souls, trying to party away their problems, eating collage foods in a city of mad construction projects and chasing pleasure and fruit.

Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, it's just... strange. My last night and day there I spent by myself because Ariane and Caroline got a plane for the day before. I don't really know how that happened, but Fabien and I went out to a couple different bars drinking pretty bad beer that night, and we tried to communicate why we both felt a little bit at a loss for words. Have you ever tried to communicate a loss for words? It doesn't work.

And on that Monday, I just sort of wandered around with my clothes on my back and tried to figure out how to best amuse myself before I spent another day on planes, trains and automobiles. I ate fruit and drank a mango coconut smoothie in an incredible market where people shouted fast Spanish about their various fresh wares. And I went to that park where I took the lizard picture and I just felt completely lost in the world, too small and too insignificant and I tried to find people who were speaking English and failed, so I just sat and looked out at the whole city and wished for companionship. I felt oddly free and happy though, at the same time. So it was a happy loneliness, which is bittersweet. Popsicles were appropriate though, so I bought one of those and a cheese sandwich and eventually made my way home, via a taxi, a train, a subway, an airport van, a plane, another three connecting metros, and one final train. And my feet. You can't forget your feet.

Quite the winding path.

Barcelona is basically just a product of collages - putting things together and hoping it all works. That's why the band below works - they are 26 people and they are called I'm From Barcelona even though they are from Sweden. After a couple of those Guarapitas, me and Fabien sang this song as we walked the avenues and side streets.

I'm glad Ariane invited me. I hope I get to see her one more time before I head back to the states.

down to the ground.

2008-11-20T16:12:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow: off to Barcelona.

Today: wrote some of my play, watched Wall-e. Twice, maybe. I absolutely love this movie. Maybe I can relate... the traveler, in a new place, trying to tie himself to something he knows.

Wall-E had Eve on the Axiom. I guess I have... well. I used to have an iPod, which was a lot like Eve. Oh iPod! I miss you so! You were a lovely, lovely iPod, and now I have nothing to listen to.

That's like me, dreaming of my iPod.

Now all I have to listen to is the dreary, cold world.

I feel loads better. Today was what I needed. Wall-e, water, excedrin, soup, and salami sandwiches are great healers. But my mouth is all burnt from all the hot soup. I need some sort of spoon that has a heat senser that tells me if my mouth will be happy with the heat. Does such a spoon exist?

Christmas is coming. They finally turned on the lights around town. I'll take pictures when I get back and wow you all. It's like a Christmas card, but real life!

(oh, and no comments on the last post? have I lost you all with my long vacation betwen posts?)

this is outrageous, this is contagious.

2008-11-19T12:10:00.001-08:00

It becomes harder and harder to sum up ones days as things happen and more things occur and this person says this or that to another person and blah blah blah, yadda yadda yadda... and then one day, you have this terrible thought (I call this 'Blogger's Blight) that none of the things you write really matter, and isn't this all a lot like bragging? As in, "oh look at me, I just went to London, and Paris, and London again, and had one of my favorite people in the world visit me in my strange medieval town, and school is awesome and I'm having the best time?"

I mean, isn't that bragging? I don't want to be a braggart, no one does. But I do want to tell everyone what has been happening in my life. So... let's see. About a week and a half ago I saw Vampire Weekend play their songs at La Cigale in Paris:

I told a friend that I was seeing them and she said, "Wow, you are just making all of your dreams come true, aren't you?" And I thought to myself... yes. Yes I am. Seeing Vampire Weekend was a dream come true. I love their music and they are such charismatic gentlemen.

Paris was strange. It was like coming home in some weird way... walking the streets of Paris with Ariane was a return to form, back to basics. I did that my first two weeks away, and it was lovely to do it again.

I also managed to create a moment, in Montmartre, near Le Sacre Couer (I think that's what it's called). It's the park where Amelie gave her blue arrow clues to give the photo album back and Ariane and I sat on the footpath and I got out my iPod and we listened to Yann Tiersen as all of Paris laid out below us. Perfect.

On a perfect day, too. Check that blue sky! Ariane is such an incredible person. She's not just a distant cousin, she's a friend for life. I can't wait for Barcelona this weekend...

Anywho... then I came back from Paris and met Erin in London. We spent a whirlwind day having high tea at Fortnum and Mason, checking out the wares, drinking hot chocolate, pricing old stones and puppies at Harrods, exploring Hyde Park and examining it's barking squirrel population, and staring up from the second row in awe of a strangely british rendition of a very spanish hero... Zorro. Zorro the musical is fantastic. It's even better when it's a mix of spanish to posh british accents.

Then we trained to Norwich, which, I believe, is where I lost my iPod. Sigh. Norwich with Erin was fantastic. I took her to all of my favorite spots, and basically got the chance to renew my eyes for Norwich - it really is a lovely little city and it's sometimes difficult to remember that when you have things looming over your head like playwriting deadlines and books to return. Sometimes it's dangerously close to being just... like... a city, and not an experience. And it's most certainly an experience.

Here is Erin and me, dressed like... me. We both dressed as me for a fancy dress party. Hilarious!

And then we went for a pint with Joseph and Fuchsia at one of my favorite pubs, the Playhouse. I think we spent the entire evening making fun of each other's accents.

And... now I'm just sick. Sick as a dog. I've been watching loads of british comedy television with Joseph, who is also as sick as a dog. I'm trying to rest up for Barcelona this weekend, because I would hate to be sick for that.

I promise to post tomorrow. Even if nothing happens.

sure you're weedy, and kind of shy.

2008-11-16T14:28:00.000-08:00

Erin came to England and we had a wonderful time.

But now I'm sick and I can't find my iPod. My limbs hurt and lights are not my friend. My head is stuffed with cotton balls and I couldn't sleep last night, because I was either too hot and sweating, or too cold and in danger of being too hot again.

Everyone is sick too. What do you do when you're sick but you don't have insurance? Complain, I guess.

More on everything later. I'm here, I'm alive. But barely.

i wouldnt like death if death was good.

2008-11-10T17:03:00.000-08:00

What am I doing here?

Perhaps the point in travel isn't to ask that question.

Or, if you do ask it, to answer in a paraphrase of Edmund Hillary.

"Because it's here."

under new management.

2008-11-05T12:46:00.000-08:00

Would you read a story about a energetic traveler and a Lewis Carrol character cavorting through Cambridge, punting on canals and seeking out first editions, fiendish for Parsnip soup? The same characters would then catch a girl group time traveled from the sixties, and the energetic traveler's heart would grow four sizes as they hugged him. The next day would then be All Hallow's Eve, and the energetic traveler would transform into a silver and blue tinseled moon monster, ready to go scare-mongering with a red tinseled ghoul. They would scare their way through the evening, until the moon monster, transmogrified, would leave with four mismatched friends to visit the sin drenched city of Amsterdam. Transfixed with crooked buildings, misty bike rides, chocolate covered waffles, the tragedy of Anne Frank, the beauty of Van Gogh, and a pink tinged red light district, he would reconsider how he feels about life and his place in the universe. Oh, and the zealousness for parsnip soup would be replaced with pumpkin flavor. The energetic traveler, now weary, would have a leisurely boat ride back, sleeping through synchronized girl group dreams, ready for a day of rest before another rocketspeed adventure to London, and Paris.

Would you read that story?

I'm trying to live it, if at all possible.

don't go out tonight.

2008-10-29T03:25:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I wrote a short story and debuted it to laughter at Workshop, my favorite pub in the world I think. Good thing: the laughter was intended.

Today, Alice and I are going to Cambridge, to see these people sing.

I hope they aren't actually that large, that would be terrifying.

And I'm taking Pierre. Y'all only comment on entries about Pierre, even when I address you specifically. Here he is turning a lion into a statue with his mind.

If it were up to me, this whole entry would be in exclamation marks. I am so darn excited to see the Pipettes. It's not up to me though, exclamation points are boring to read over and over.

A sob story: Once, the Pipettes were going to play a free show in San Francisco. I left three hours beforehand, thinking I would get there two hours early and get a spot up front, because I tend to idolize and idealize bands. The traffic had different plans though. I got there four hours after I left, right as riotBecki said, "Thank you!" and they disappeared.

Tonight, I get my heart mended.

we want the new temptations.

2008-10-28T07:12:00.000-07:00

Last night I saw Alphabeat, and words fail me for the moment so I'm going to watch this...

Mama, I thought you would like them. And Dad, is that changey color effect something you would do in post production? Or are they just doing fun editing tricks?

I didn't have my camera so I can't post the usual tried-and-true blurry photo with light streaks that I enjoy so much. But you should watch that and you can have a mild understanding of the sheer pop ecstasy that they are.

And the bands before, Pandering and the Gol ddiggers and Das Pop were gleefully poppy as well. PATGD was something to look at, I will say that much. And Das Pop were really nice guys.

Other than that, business as usual. Well, I mean... I don't think I have a "business as usual" but I am trying to lead a relatively quiet life because the rest of this week is absolute madness. Joseph and I ate a "pub lunch," which consisted of roasted potatoes, broccoli and carrots, and roast beef slow simmered in gravy. Our repast was at a 750 year-old pub called Adam and Eve, . And we drank "true norfolk ale." Which was good, but only because it came with the meal. I would not drink "true norfolk ale" on its own. Give me cold, on tap cider anyday.

Sunday was a pub quiz and fireworks. Watch the british Office episode called "The Quiz" if you want to know what a pub quiz is... it's exactly like that. I think Aqua Teen Hunger Force has an episode with a pub quiz as well... and now that I have thought about that show, my mind is spiralling out of sanity. We didn't win, by the way. But I realized I know a lot about water, which is handy.

The next couple of weeks go like this:
Wednesday - Cambridge to see the Pipettes (more of that pop ecstasy I so enjoy)
Thursday - Traveling Circus in Norfolk
Friday - Halloween
Saturday - Monday - Amsterdam
Thursday, Friday - London
Saturday - Tuesday - Paris for Ariane and Vampire Weekend
Tuesday Night - Sunday - Erin visits!

Oh and I go to school too. Promise.

This is to answer the healthy eating question. Look at that! I'm eating an apple.

And as far as literary allusions, Father, Harry Potter was set in the late nineties, early zeroes, which is the England I'm experiencing. The literary allusions are indicative of a book based on a culture that embraces its past as well as its present. Also, just last post I referenced A.A. Milne and Kenneth Grahame. ALSO, shouldn't I take my audience into account? When was the last time you picked up James Joyce, Mr. I-Hate-James-Joyce's-The-Dead? ALSO, Jane Austen is spelled with an E.

BAM!

I spent all of yesterday discussing whether or not Joseph was being a cad as defined by Jane Austen over a cup of earl grey. Verdict: no.

chasing dragons through echo park.

2008-10-26T04:58:00.000-07:00

It started with that Knickerbocker Glory. Those of you up on your Harry Potter references will know that in the second chapter of the first book (Philosopher's Stone) Harry decides his day out for Dudley's birthday isn't so bad because he got to have the rest of Dudley's second Knickerbocker Glory. Faced with the choice of this strange treat on a menu, I had to have it. And it was delicious. It's going to be a bi-monthly treat I think, because the cafe is in the Sainsbury center, which is where my art class is, and where I like to sort of... meditate, I suppose. That's the best word for it.

From that fantastic feat of fructose-laden frozen feast, Tuesday to Sunday has been a gag reel of good moments. Like... a caffeine-driven first draft of my play in an evening. Coming out even on the electronic pub quiz with Joseph, Sam and Jonny. Accidentally delicious red-wine sauce pasta. British comedy until 2 am, coffee chats about london and weather, gin and tonic after terrible cinema, pints of cider after halfway decent cinema.

It's difficult to describe the time I'm spending, and I realize that when I leave it this long between telling you all what I'm doing, I make these long highlight reel-esque posts where I don't really explain the fine moments of everything. So here goes:

The sun came out on Thursday, and I found myself on campus with Kaitlyn, faced with a decision. Do I allow her to continue studying and outlining whatever it was she was doing, or do I lure her out of her library tomb to visit the lake. Everytime I see it as I walk to class I think of it as the Hogwarts Lake (named the Black Lake in the fourth film, but I'm not convinced. Those of you truly astute, however, will know that Slytherin's common room is below the Black Lake. Interesting.)

So we ventured, and I had a profound feeling of peace and tranquility along with intense literary triumph for I got to, once again, pretend I was in Harry Potter. I also pretended I was in the Hundred Acre Wood with Pooh and Piglet at some points, and at others I pretended I was with Toad and Mole along the Thames. But at all points, I was supremely happy. In this photo, I am taking the road less traveled by, which led to horses. Fat ones.

Look at that, and the one below. Lovely!

I think it's a testament to the wonderful friends that I have when I have no shortage of people to see bad films (Ghost Town, Eagle Eye) or have a cup of coffee with. Another sign of excellent friend choice was yesterday, in the cold breeze of Norwich amidst smatterings of drizzle, Hannah, Joseph, Alex and I saw a poster for a Book Fair and then spent a good, long time finding it.

That's not Hannah, by the way. In the middle of creepily smiling Joseph and I is lake buddy and all around wonderful companion, Kaitlyn. That was pre-Ghost Town, which is just an awful movie.

Go see it though.

But perhaps the most profound thing of note recently is that I finally have the ability to lose myself in a good book again. This was a difficult thing when I first got here because of all the things that I was seeing/experiencing for the first time. But now I'm settling into life here, for better or for worse, and although I'm not taking Norwich for granted, I no longer stop and skip on the cobblestones. At least, not everyday. On the bus, I get lost in this:

It's really bizarre. Take a look, though, if you like secondhand books, because that's basically what the story is about.

Cheerio, pip pip and all that nonsense.

ooh-hoo child...

2008-10-22T04:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I ate a cake and drank apple/lemon tea with Hannah.

Here's a picture of us, but at an unrelated function:

Yes, I should have buttoned one more button on my shirt. My bare chest is embarrassing.

There was a point to this...

Oh yes. So Hannah and I live in opposite flats. Once or so a day I manage my way through the six doors it takes to get to her place and read a bit from my notebook for opinion. And she does the same. She is an excellent audience and I like to think that I am just that for her. She is a poet trying to do prose, I am... well, I am me. You all know who I am.

Last night was another concert, this time for Blood Red Shoes. We started the night in the raging, dancing, jumping crowd. Then we found our way to the back for a couple songs. Then we fought our way back into that same roiling mass of people. Lyrics yelled together, over and over, that I liked: "I wish I was someone better/ I wish I was someone better." And "How long, how long, how long can you miss someone?"

They are a duo. Like the White Stripes, but in reverse. I think that is a cool picture. Do you?

They brought their own decorative lamps.

I went with Joseph and his friend James. I wore a flagrantly mismatched tie on purpose. Also, Blood Red Shoes' music is much more cathartic live. But, isn't that always the case?

Today is a trip to deconstruct (in paper form) a museum. It's tea with Kaitlyn, it's possibly salsa lessons and definitely script writing. It's drinking more hot chocolate, more coffee, more tea. It's eating more sandwiches and probably riding my bike. It's a Wednesday, in the east of the UK, where I am living and wishing and hoping and playing and working. In that order.

warm fuzzy feeling.

2008-10-21T03:37:00.000-07:00

Sorry sorry sorry I lied horribly and said I was going to blog yesterday. I didn't. I didn't and I'm sorry. Here is a comic from Drew at toothpastefordinner.com to make up for it...

Yesterday, it got really cold and rained on me and Hannah as we wandered aimlessly around Norwich and then into the really neat library they got here in town. I didn't get anything, because I have enough to read/write, but still...

And then we planned our trip to Amsterdam. Joining me is Alice, from New Zealand, Hannah from Canada, and Grace and Jonny from England. So far, our plans are the Van Gogh museum and the Anne Frank museum, and go on the canals. Any other wonderful ideas? I like ideas! Tell me yours. We leave November 1st!

Lemme see lemme see lemme see. My whole life is a blur. Last night Hannah and I also went to a writer's workshop at a bar called "Workshop, a place for writers." There were lesbian line drawings on the wall, spiderwebbed fairy lights from the ceilings, and bookshelves full of books-they happen to have a lending library of their own. It was a sort of preliminary meeting last night, next week we bring new work. I love writer's workshops. Then we went back to Jack and Joe's house for some red wine and music, from no-wave to rap. Did you know rap is an acronym for rhyme and poetry? Jack and Joe talk very well at one another. It's like a british male version of Gilmore Girls. I like the picture below to illustrate it.

And finally, ancient history: I forgot to let you all know that I saw Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead at the Maddermarket Theater! The theater is literally a minute and a half from my place. It's a lovely, tiny place, and my friend Fuchsia and I had great seats. There is a sequence in the West Wing of Josh flipping a coin and it landing on heads every time lifted straight out of this play.

Okay that's it I think. Rain, libraries, pubs, theater, skinny jeaned brits. I think I covered it.

What treasures does today hold?!

one day I drifted away...

2008-10-19T05:47:00.000-07:00

So I went to see The Streets with my friend Samanta the other night. I remember when I bought their first album, at Amoeba, and then tried to play them on the ride home and Dad said, "I can't understand a word he is saying. Why would you want to listen to this?" and I think I have an answer now. I listen to The Streets because I like figuring out what he is saying and when I actually do figure it out, I realize it's a story about a man's life that spins out of control but he always pulls it back somehow. And he has been telling this story via string and horn samples and drums and computer blips and guitars for four albums and now he isn't thinking about the day to day. He has a line on his most recent album, "For billions of years/since the onset of time /every single one of your ancestors survived/every single person on your mums and dad's side/successfully looked after and passed onto you life/what are the chances of that like" which is a nice sentiment. It was a really "wicked" concert. There was this moment where he got everyone to freeze pose for five seconds and the music paused on this synth line that echoed, and then he yelled "DANCE!" and everyone did, like mad people, and I felt pretty gosh darn euphoric.

That was a long paragraph!

Other things I have done recently: researched astral projection, visited a zombie party with Bob Dylan and David Bowie as the soundtrack (so a zombie party from the early seventies?), learned to waltz (not box step) and ballroom jive, jammed with Joseph on ukelele and guitar, crosswords, tea, gin and tonic... It's hard to sum up the life you are leading in a pleasing and entertaining fashion, but believe me, my life is pleasing and entertaining. I should REALLY stop leaving it five days in between updates.

Onward!

This is a path that you can walk on near the Norwich Cathedral, which is a peaceful (if sullenly grey) place. Not that I'm surprised, I'm just commenting. The trees in this picture look as though they had the night out to dance and got frozen and then forced to line this walk for my pleasure.

So I drank a lot of coffee the other day and then got horribly lost on my way to school on my bike because I thought to myself, "Hey there, I left an hour early. This looks like a shortcut." If you are wondering what drinking a lot of coffee has to do with that, it's that coffee makes me believe that all my ideas are not only great, but should be acted on swiftly and without much thought to repercussions.

It was not a shortcut. Of course my camera didn't have batteries, and of course I forgot my water that day, but I found this incredible bikes-only path, where I was almost alone except for cascading yellow leaves on a tree-lined path, broken intermittently by a bridge over a river. One of these bridges had two children with fishing lines in the water, I kid you not. I stopped here to (eavesdrop) look at the water and it was a little boy and girl.

LG: I have actually gotten quite into Indiana Jones.
LB: What, more than Star Wars?
LG: I just think it's a little more real. You know, it could happen.
LB: Show me with hands.

Little girl holds her hands about a foot apart.

LG: I like Star Wars about this much.

She brings her hands another six inches apart.

And I like Indiana Jones this much.

LB: I think I can understand that.
LG: We are adorable!
LB: I know, let's have tea and discuss the queen in this same manner!

Those last two lines of dialogue didn't happend, but my god! What an amazing long-cut!

I went looking for the path and couldn't find it. But here is another picture to prove Norwich is a lovely, chilly little city:
That is all. I promise you, I will update tomorrow.

Oh, also, check out Dylan Moran on youtube. I think he is really, really funny.

why did I never tell you?

2008-10-14T15:54:00.000-07:00

(Pretend it's Monday, please. Not Tuesday. Monday I was exhausted and Finding Nemo was on.)
Okay so I'm not crazy.

Well, I'm a little crazy.

But not as crazy as you may think.

My baby dragon, named Pierre, joined me on my cavorting around London-town. It was lovely, and the coat was mostly not needed, but it definitely made me look like a tough, grizzled detective. And perhaps, in low tones, I narrated the whole trip to Pierre as though we were a team of detectives. And perhaps I pretended like Pierre was like a french Ned, and we were bringing statues to life to tell what happened at the crime scene.

Perhaps.

Here's Ned... I mean, Pierre, making friends with Ben.

This was after a winner's breakfast of water and a lemon meringue tart. This was in a coffee shop in Soho that had a broken coffee machine.

Chelsea and I met up, and she took me to a Democrats Abroad Obama rally. Pierre approved! "Oui, Monsieur Obama!" he said.

Pierre and I went to a 3d movie at the Scien?e [sic] museum. I inferred (that's science talk for guessed) that they did not have any 3d glasses that were his size. He enjoyed it anyway, because Kate Winslet narrated.

Chelsea and I took Pierre to see Spamalot! which was in a different type of 3d. LIFE 3d. It was hilarious and a lot of fun and in this picture it looks like Pierre is going to break down the Palace theater, Godzilla style.

Perhaps one of the best things I did was walk around the Kensington gardens. Pierre was sleeping in my pocket when I finally found the Peter Pan statue. If I look scruffy to you, it's because I AM scruffy. I haven't shaved in over two weeks.

I also took Pierre to get right and cultured after being lost all over London. We found the British Museum eventually and I finally got to take off my coat. That museum is absolutely one of the most amazing things I have ever seen in my life. Ever, literally. I spent five and a half hours in there, and a lot of them were spent in the Chinese Jade room. Jade is as hard as diamonds apparently, but people still work it into amazing things.

Pierre was really interested in the Rosetta stone. So interested that this picture is super blurry.

Not pictured, because the pictures aren't as good as these ones and blogger is starting to fail on me: me and Pierre reading in a pub, Pierre taking over Trafalgar square, me and Pierre asleep in our hostel beds, eating Indian food, shopping at Harrods, learning how to survive, checking out modern art, meeting a finger puppet Van Gogh, and debating art at the Tate.

My trip to London was fantastic. Sometimes it was lonely though, because I am small and London is quite, quite large. My last day, when I was completely lost and my phone was badly in need of topping up and I had a bug bite on my leg from my hostel beds and my hair was in need of a washing and my bag was starting to feel as though I had accidentally switched my clothes for bricks... I had this moment where all I wanted to do was sit in a cafe and read.

And that's exactly what I did, and three hours later, when my book was finished, it was time for my train back to Norwich.

Most of London wasn't like that though. It was 95 percent fantastic, with fantastic art (National Gallery, Tate Modern, Victoria and Albert), incredible museum pieces (British Museum, Science Museum, Natural History museum), great entertainment (Spamalot, street musicians along the Thames, conversations with Pierre), and a whole lot of time to think.

I love being wherever I am, almost all the time.

jokes on you, we still alive...

2008-10-10T08:50:00.001-07:00

So I'm going to visit London with my baby dragon who you should meet when I return.

I will be seeing Chelsea. And hopefully I shall see Mollie.

Last week, we had to write a silent scene for an unnamed play in playwriting. This week, we have to write character studies and plot arcs for each one, as well as the overarching plot of our play.

I'm not complaining, it's just rather unbalanced.

One more note on homesickness: I am not really homesick. It is the only way that I can really describe the feeling that I get struck with for a passing moment. It's ephemeral, like the first fizz on a bottle of soda, or perennial flower blooms. Both of those things are rather pleasant too, if you think about it. It isn't a pang, it's something more... well, I'll write about it on the train.

I have a "young person's railcard". I have Revolutionary Road. I have a Cadbury creme bar. I have a wallet full of this next week's budget (hmmm...) and a pocket full of dreams. I would like to see a show! See the rosetta stone! Take pictures wearing ridiculous hats in Harrod's!

I like being a tourist. I like being alive. Don't you?

See you Monday.

And count to three...

2008-10-09T10:44:00.000-07:00

I guess it's about that time to post, isn't it?

It's been a long time. Since the last time I posted, I have written a dialogue referencing zombies and Christmas for prose, a scene without dialogue for playwriting, had a night in and two nights out.

Most notable was CSS, featuring the Kabeedies. The Waterfront is an incredible club owned and operated by UEA, and I drank a lemonade and watched as the Kabeedies stole my heart with their enthusiasm and jumping, and then CSS wowed with their excellent stage presence and lots and lots of glitter and confetti.

That was Tuesday. It's funny, but that's how I think, "Okay, Tuesday was the night of glitter, confetti and my ears blown off by electro-pop and teen-punk... and then... last night was Milkbar."

Milkbar, with my american friend Kaitlyn, was a bizarre pastiche of indie-dance and Kubrick visuals. Lots of interesting outfits. Lots of mod, all about. Moptops and thin ties and wingtips. I think, sometimes, the best way to experience this all is with another fish out of water (like Kaitlyn) who can stare - politely - at the tiny dresses and long boots that seem to be in style here and wonder, collectively, a resounding, "What?!"

I think I am finally finding routine here. I read and write in the morning, have a tea with my flat when they return from studies, and then bike about, looking for things that interest me, where I either write some more or just go in, look around and think "I'm in England!" This thought process never tires, either. It's hard to really show exactly what I mean, but I walk on cobblestones and look and observe and then I go back home, to this odd little desk and write or lay on my bed and wait for people to return so that I can ask more questions. I may be belaboring the difference between the US and the UK, but I think the point is important. So I sharpen away.

And then at night, people go out. I go out with these people. It is a symptom of being around roughly 20 clubs and 240 pubs. One of the things they use to sell Norwich to tourists is "A different pub every night of the year!" This is a lie. Many of those pubs have shut. But a good 2/3rds hold strong, full of the same sort of lecherous old people and fun-seeking young folk.

I've danced more in the last month than I have in my entire college years. I have also written a lot of bizarre things. I don't like any of them, but I think it's all a symptom, as said above... it's a symptom of just being completely entranced with the world around me that everything I write seems like a love letter to whatever it is I have decided to write on. Tesco's, for instance. Meeting people at the university bar. Time traveling with the ballroom dance society. It doesn't make much sense, does it? But it's happening, and it's happening to me, and if I got it in my head to update this more perhaps I would be able to explain it a bit better.

It's weird though, writing in this blog is a sort of homesickness. And I try not to indulge that side of me very often but I have been away from everything I know for a month and eight days now and sometimes all I want to do is walk on over to the 7-11, buy a slim jim and a cup of bad coffee, walk back and play wii until Kristan comes out and berates me.

Perhaps one of the best things I did yesterday was go to a fellow creative writing student's house and help them write their dialogue. Working with someone, on their laptop, drinking hot chocolate and talking to their housemates... that felt a lot like home.

Another one of the best things, and a bit like home, was eating chili and talking literature with two guys from my creative writing class as they took me to a couple of their favorite places in Norwich. The best was a pub called the Birdcage, where we finished our Chili and went through their back catalogue of magazines. We debated the merits of The Strokes on the top 100 guitar songs, according to Q in 2005.

They are mod guys. They are cool. I am very happy that they found me cool enough to hang out with.

Sometimes, though, like in this picture, I make chocolate chip cookies and I drink milk and I give warm cookies to everyone and then everyone can pretend like this is home. It isn't though... it's a long term hotel.

Speaking of hotels... off to London tomorrow. Adventure!

C'est la vie!

2008-10-06T03:09:00.000-07:00

This is my Dad. I have no idea what is going on in this picture, but he is open-mouth-happy, which is probably the type of happy he will be all day because it is his birthday!

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Not only was my Dad born on an October 6th, but Edith Piaf got married on an October 6th, Jane Eyre was published on October 6th, The Jazz Singer was released on an October 6th, and LSD was declared illegal on one o' them October Sixes as well!

Wild.

If it weren't for my Dad (and Mom, but whose birthday is it?) and his generous contributions to the cause, this blog would not be possible. Nor would this trip. Or my entire college experience really. I like to think that when my Dad celebrates life, he does it by helping other people celebrate life... every one of his birthday's has been a trip to a show, or a trip to Disneyland, or a trip to the aquarium... was that a birthday? I seem to remember that...

Anyway. It's the morning here, but it's an ungodly hour there. Happy Birthday, Dad! I hope the people there surround you with a joyous air and you have a nice day, reminded of how nice it is to be alive.

Colin Meloy was born on an October 6th as well, and this song is called O, Valencia!

Bread has been proven to be addictive.

2008-10-04T08:36:00.000-07:00

So far, my favorite thing that I did today was bake apple/cheddar cheese scones and finish a crossword with Abbey, Sam and Alex while drinking tea. Joseph came in from giving tours and sighed and sat down. We poured him a cup of tea and he dipped his face in steam, saying, "I'm tired of the sound of my own voice." He got the last answer. It was "intent".

I also got myself a ukelele because I missed playing a musical instrument. A ukelele, a case, a pitch pipe and a chord book was about 15 quid.

(I'm trying to use the word quid more. I remember reading Indian in the Cupboard and asking Mom what the word quid meant, and now everyone around me says it. I'm living in a book!)

Last night started at the Ballroom Dance society, where a vivacious woman taught 15 guys and 45 girls how to foxtrot effectively. Natalie, who is on the governing board, told me to come to the intermediate class on Wednesday. That's a compliment! Patrick and I then managed to get to a stand-up show for Mark Watson, which was excellent, and then I ran into folks from creative writing, the eap program, and the ballroom dance society in the university pub, drinking "Snake Bites" (1/2 cider, 1/2 beer, blackcurrant syrup) and joking. A guy named Jabis did graphology on me. Apparently I have loving parents because of the way I write my "y"s.

Thursday was Jess' birthday.

(Jess has her hands over her mouth on the right side.) We classed it up at the British institution "Pizza Hut" and then found our way into an empty club with a british elvis impersonator upstairs and a literally empty dance floor downstairs. Woo, 19!

That Goldilocks script I had to write? I did my scene in a German toy company called "Vunderland" where Alice, from marketing, is telling "Goal D. Locks" to go and talk to the investors. Sometimes I like to pretend I am clever.

A pub on campus is a very strange thing to me. It's pretty much always full, and students are drinking beer and reading psychology textbooks. I'm trying to add more british-isms into my vernacular, like "I can't be bothered," as in, "Will you turn the music down in the other room? I can't be bothered." (Make sure you are imagining that in your british accent.) Every day I endeavor to meet new people, or do something different than normal... today, that was making scones. Tomorrow, it is the rowing society.

On Wednesday I went into the castle museum. It is a museum with a taxidermy (like a polar bear!), a teapot collection, a castle keep display, and modern art. Read: that is a weird museum. I went with a friend from ISS who did not know how to hold a conversation, which made the whole experience stilted and strange. I would ask a question and she would answer and then ask, very quickly "and you?" even if it made no sense to be asked that, or if I had been asked already.

Sample:
me: "It's actually been really great to live in the city center. I'm close to everything. How is it on campus?"
her: "It's fine. It's much different than my old house. And you?"
me: "Yes, my room is different than my U.S. home, but I expected it to be."
We look at the last of the modern art exhibit.
me: "Lots of bright colors, don't you think?"
her: "Yeah, and you?"

Difficult. But look at that! I have another thing to turn in for my script writing class.

I am going to try to start a smaller creative writing group than the creative writing society I am already in. I want to have a smaller group of people read things. Erin? Ryan? Chris? Daniel? Want to come to England?

Cash up front, and direct.

2008-10-01T01:58:00.001-07:00

Whoops!

I completely forgot about the most important moments of yesterday... I wandered (purposefully) into the Creative Writing Society's first meeting. We did four or five excellent group prompts where we wrote about an opera-loving skateboarder, a cocaine deal made through blackmail, cowboys and space... I am going to enjoy that group.

Notable quotes:
-"I went to Essex, and thus developed a penchant for short skirts."
-"Sort of midgey."
"Midgey?"
"Tiny."
"Ah. Midgey means tiny."
"Are you going to write that into your blog as well?"

When the governing board introduced themselves, they all said, "if you have any questions, you can find me in the pub downstairs."

Think what the future would be with a poor boy like me.

2008-10-01T00:57:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Mary Chapman Court. I'm trying to get everyone to lovingly refer to it as "Shawshank". Shall we take a look around?

There's our kitchen! See that washer on the left side? It's a dryer as well! That's what we call a "space saver"!

There's the dining room. There are five of us in here, but only four chairs. The message from UEA is clear: eat quietly alone!

There's my bed! It's probably about 6' long. I'm 6'1" and 3/4s...

And there's the ol' desk. I'm writing at that desk right now.

I covered up the previous British student's graffiti with... all of that junk. Pictures and the like. Those three blue post-it notes have my phone number (it's too long to memorize!), my Pipettes ticket confirmation number, and my Barcelona confirmation number. How exciting!

Patrick says, and I agree, that British graffiti is much nicer than American graffiti. There was a huge sign on someone's garden wall that just said "Hey There!" His postboard had all sorts of encouragement on it. Conversely, Joseph still hasn't put anything on his postboard, and there is a lovely poem urging him to fall into a pit of despair. I don't call it Shawshank for nothing!

This is Patrick and me. We were getting ready to go out. The ties are a big hit, Mom! I'm glad I brought them, despite your raised eyebrows.

This is Joseph. Someone told him he looks like Orlando Bloom. I don't think so.

Life is quieter now that fresher's week is over - on Monday, we had a mildly offensive "French Night" where we drank red wine, ate brie on baguettes, listened to the Amelie soundtrack and drew moustaches on. British accent + french = fun!

And last night, we went to the pub up the road that we are trying to make our own - so far, each night that we are there, we take over one of the rooms and discuss such far ranging topics as CSS, prices at Tesco's, our love of Mary Chapman Court, and the weather.

I don't have class for these first few days of the week, so I have taken to wandering. I have time to write letters finally, and time to cook. The campus has a lovely lake that, I'm almost positive, has mermaids and a giant squid underneath. And every street in Norwich is just too picturesque and quaint to describe in anything other than tired cliches. I'm going to try and explore more of that today with a Belgian girl I met at that awfully loud international students night.

I also have time to go to Barcelona (I bought my tickets yesterday), Cambridge (I bought my tickets last weekend), and Amsterdam (still working on it.) Europe, here I come!

(exclamation mark count for this post: 12)

Emerson, they got you too?

2008-09-28T02:49:00.000-07:00

So this is all a grand experiment. There are many working parts to it, but the main hypothesis is that I can cut out an existence for myself in a foreign country that is not only livable but possibly fantastic - in other words, that I and (by slippery slope logic) most of humanity, can live just about anywhere and be happy.

So far, the hypothesis is true. Let's work backwards.

Last night was the penultimate night of Fresher's week - fresher's week is (as one can probably infer) the week where there are many mixers and icebreakers designed at getting the student population to know each other better. The official drink at this sort of event is red bull and vodka, and the official music usually consists of the usual hip hop and r&b, but everyone dances and sings along to Mr. Brightside by the Killers, Banquet by Bloc Party and I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor by the Arctic Monkeys.

I don't know why everyone drinks red bull and voda. Mixing caffeine with alcohol is bad for your heart.

Last night they added to the mix of dancing plus alcohol a bizarre trio of beatboxers that could get the crowd dancing but didn't seem to care to keep them dancing for longer than 30 seconds. Also included were Fairground rides and a hypnotist that I didn't watch. Patrick and I went with my flatmate Grace and her boyfriend, and an OC obsessed girl who goes by the name created by her initials, Cem.

Patrick was my roommate while I roomed in London, by the way. He is hilariously awkward and is enjoying this experience in a similar fashion that I am - big wide eyes and excitement at even the smallest things: "Is that a british library? Let's become members!"

It was the last in a long series of going out and dancing with people I only mildly know, and it was excellent. I think what really strikes me at all of these things is how I end up tirelessly yelling a conversation with someone that I have just met midway between the dancefloor or bar. It proves to me perhaps what I already knew: I love talking, and the people make a place.

The day that preceded night was a birthday celebration seaside trip to Great Yarmouth for Jonny. Fifteen of us went down and had fish and chips at the seaside and wasted a pound or two at the two pence machines - awful gambling games that you literally feed money into in hopes that it will push more money out. I got a keychain. We ate ice cream and made a sandcastle version of our halls of residence.

The night before, the flat two floors above us made curry and invited anyone who answered their door to come up and talk with one another. Abbey, who lives up there, is a kindred spirit. She likes Pushing Daisies and even though she lives in England, seems significantly impressed and excited by everything she comes across. These are the type of people I really strive to keep around, in case my interest lags for some unknown reason.

Okay.

Now a word on classes.

I had my three classes - one of which is in the museum donated to our school by Sainsbury's, which is a chain of supermarkets. Both creative writing classes - drama and prose - are a step backward for me. They are more like the intro and intermediate versions, respectively, that I took back at UCSC... therefore, their use is going to be the same use as everything else occuring here: meet more people! Talk to them! I am expected to turn in at the end of the semester a 2500 word story and a 20 minute play. These are things I can do.

My playwriting class is loads more witty than the one back at UCSC though. Our first assignment is to write a 3 page scene from a reimagining of Goldilocks and the 3 Bears. I hope we get to read them aloud... british accents saying the words I wrote is going to make me smile.

Onward:

Zane Lowe is a dj that is treated like a god, and I saw him and danced with strangers to him. I went to an ISS mixer where I met people from 22 different countries, but ended up talking to a girl upstairs from Brussels for most of the evening. She told me she felt she was betraying her country because she didn't like beer. Every other conversation was the standard five questions - what's your name, where are you from, where are you living now, what are you studying, and then one free for all, usually "what's that you're drinking?"

The days here are filled with all sorts of things - Joseph and I play music for one another and eat sausages and "brown sauce" that we bought at the Tesco's up the way. I talk to Hannah from canada who is in my creative writing class about the relationship of poetry and fiction and why when they are melded, like in Jonathan Safran Foer, it is quite stunning. I have purchased a bike for myself which I am scared to ride because of my unfamiliarity with roundabouts, but I am still alive. We eat bacon rolls and pasta, we read our required reading. I am still exploring Norwich and meeting people - the phone that I bought here is filling with numbers of people that I am texting randomly to meet for a shared candy bar or a walk around the lake.

Societies I joined:
Smoothie society
Cocktail society
Creative Writing society
Archery Society
Rowing society
Ballroom dancing society

I need to not put such a long time between blog posts - things are happening every day that I can't even begin to articulate. I feel very close to my flatmates. They are lovely, interesting people who seem to like me back. I love going out at night with all of these fresh and different people and talking to them about... well... anything. Universality. Obama. French pop music. Guy Ritchie films. Facial hair. Cough syrup.

The hypothesis, revised from above, is that I can live anywhere and be happy. Seems to be true. I am quite happy. I miss the U.S.A. and walks with Anthony and time with Erin and coffee with Audrey and bothering Max and sometimes I even miss selling shoes. But my goodness I love England.

A Quick Word on Pictures...

2008-09-23T01:11:00.000-07:00

I will be putting pictures on here soon, promise.

I promise!

The only reason I haven't already is that I have taken over 200 of them and I have not been on my computer long enough to sort through them and everything, and once I have, I won't have a backlog of 200 pictures any longer, so picture posts will be more frequent.

But this is already the longest I have spent at a computer in ages, and when I sit down to it, I keep getting interrupted to do something like go to an indie club nicknamed "Mustard" and dance to Noah and the Whale and The Ting Tings (listen to Five Years Time and Great DJ). Or drink a cup of tea.

The British don't make jell-o from powder, but highly concentrated jell-o cubes melted and then reconstituted.

Question time:
-the sheet is from Primark, the British version of Target, I suppose.
-I am taking drama writing (stage and radio version), prose fiction, and museums and exhibitions (the final project is our own art exhibition at the university art museum which was donated by the food market Sainsbury's!)

I have a story I am going to write. I think I will wait for Friday to really start on it though...

I think 3, large.

2008-09-22T11:20:00.000-07:00

So I finally have internet after many empty promises from the UEA ITS.

So... my god, what has happened? I should scurry to my journal but I am going to be a bit vauge instead, I suppose.

Last night a bewildering Kaiser Chiefs cover band played a set at the LCR (lower common room). I went with almost all my housemates, who are:

Joseph: from Brighton, into indie rock, blues guitar, and literature
Alice: from New Zealand, into baking, world music, travel, and developing countries
Grace: from Portsmouth, very bubbly, quite excited, and into being a doctor

Alex didn't come with, but he is from Slovenia/Serbia, into movies, and often gets lost.

I feel like a freshman all over again, participating in all of the freshman things, like the icebreaker last night, and the internation students reception (where I was in a conversation with people from 15 different countries at one point!), and rubbing my hands together in anticipation for the societies market, where you literally shop for the societies you would like to join. So far I am going to join the Internation Students Society, the Creative Writing Society, the Archery society, the Rowing society, the Travel society, and the Wine and Cheese society.

I only have class on Thursday and Friday and have decided to make a foray into London next week to see a show and so forth. It is only 8 pounds return to get there and there is a student price for about 15 pounds to see anything good, like Jersey Boys, Spamalot, or... something else. There is a stage version of Rainman with Josh Hartnett that looks interesting.

Norwich is best described as a british town if Disney designed it - the street layout has not changed since medieval times, and the streets themselves are cobbled and narrow, only big enough for a single car. The open air market in the very center of town has been operating since 1066 and it is hemmed in by a magnificent castle that doubles as an art museum and a very imposing church.

My room is prison-like. The Resident Tutor described it as Shawshank Chic. I put a king size sheet up on one wall to help lessen the oppressiveness, but the bed is quite small... I woke up twice last night banging my foot on the end bar, startled by the cold and the metal.

So I won't spend much time in my room. But I wasn't going to anyway. I'm eating a cadbury chocolate waiting on a pizza we all ordered, and Joseph is asking if I'd like a tea. And I would, really would.

With alacrity, I sink.

2008-09-17T15:50:00.000-07:00

I remain incredibly moved by timely handclaps.

Two nights ago it was brought on by a synthesized voice asking to put up your hands and clap, while strobes and spinning beams of light pushed us closer together. As I clapped and danced next to other EAP chums I wondered if my heart was beating fast and hard or if the bass was just that strong.

Last night handclaps were asked for (and received, albeit a bit off beat and drunken) by a British cover band while they sped up versions of Video Killed the Radio Star and Yellow, sung in a gruff voice probably fueled by too much Guiness and, of course, cigarettes.

And just a few hours ago it was in complete joyous unison at the Globe Theater, as the characters of The Merry Wives of Windsor took their bow and sang about being merry. Shakespeare was meant to be performed. I contest reading his words in books. But, honestly... Falstaff got what he deserved.

The energy in this group of EAP kids is electric and a little bit off kilter - a group of 20 somethings right on the precipice of a few months away from what they know. We cling to each other in pubs, follow one another down wrong pathways just because it is difficult to be a leader. A lot of laughter, though. A lot.

I did, however, manage to see Kensington gardens at leisure with an excellent group, posing ridiculous for a photo scavenger hunt in front of a robo-t-rex, a Princess Diana memorial fountain, and other various/sundry bits of interest. And I faux psycho-analyzed an entire table of us at the Naked Chef's british retaurant while eating delicious polenta atop mushrooms and ragu.

I want to storytell like the beefeaters at the London Tower. I want to have the comic timing of Messr. Ford in Merry Wives. But most of all I want to settle in tomorrow and see what lies in store at the hallowed halls of UEA.

confession:

2008-09-15T07:28:00.001-07:00

I wasn't sure I was going to tell you all this, but why not?

I pretended that I was on the Hogwart's Express the whole time I was on the train.

It was supposed to be so easy...

2008-09-15T07:20:00.000-07:00

Things I learned in Paris:
-a city can be seductive
-macarons are delicious
-the french language is more complex than I could have imagined
-I acclimate well

I am typing like an idiot. Why oh why did I get used to french keyboards?

Things I learned today:
-travel light
-seriously, seriously. travel light.

I just took my eighty pounds or so of luggage up roughly 4523 flights of stairs. I am on the topmost floor of a building with no elevator. I have not sweated that much since running the mile in eighth grade.

But, I did have a latte with a nice korean woman. And I read a Douglas Coupland book on the train while the woman next to me read seventy pages of her children's novel. Is it wrong to feel superior because of reading speed?

I am so comfortable in my own language, like sinking into an easy chair. I keep talking to people just to show myself I still can, without stumbling. But I keep apologizing in french.

Sortie.

2008-09-14T23:15:00.000-07:00

As we drove down a french freeway in Yanne's convertible, Ariane turned and said, "See? That was kind of like time travel."

She referred to our afternoon in the gardens of Versailles. String music played out of hidden speakers, allowing someone with a royally inclined imagination to pretend their was a string quartet following him around, continually playing his favorite song (the music was on repeat). I even drank my Orangina like a king - through a straw. Only peasants drink straight from the can. Right as we were about to leave, the fountains turned on, forcing me to make a royal decree: all fountains should have water out of jets, not statue's mouths. Water jets out of a statue's mouth is not pleasant.

Then another Orangina, again like a king, near a modern art museum with Caroline (who should be reading this now. Hi Caroline!)

Ariane and I traversed the streets of Paris one last time before dinner with Paul, Jean, Ariane, and Yanne. I had scallops, then créme bruleé. And everyone sipped nice wine and either talked in english about Paris, music, the weather in England, and literature, or in french about war and... banking? Resolution, and I know that I have probably typed this before: I will return to Paris, french vastly improved.

And now I am repacked and showered, with an address for the english cab driver and pounds in my pocket instead of euros. London Orientation awaits.

I want to be your bootlegger, want to mix you up something strange.

2008-09-13T16:32:00.000-07:00

So... where was I?

Paris is tragically romantic. Tonight I counted six couples kissing, three couples fighting, and one guy sitting on the floor of the phone booth, yelling what I can only assume were french swear words. Girls wrap themselves in their boyfriends on the metro, couples share cigarettes outside of cafés, guys write in moleskine notebooks in three languages about love found and lost.

All of this (poetically) in view of the Eiffel Tower, the most common structure used to indicate love.

The tragedy does not come from love lost and found though, or the constant reminder that if you are not in love in Paris, you should be, or if you are in love, perhaps you can be more in love... the tragedy, to me, comes from the poor souls who have forgotten how loveable, eccentric and beautiful this place is.

For example, two nights ago, Ariane and her friend Guillaume and I drank a pint in a bar called "Some Girls" without a girl in sight... instead there were two Christmas Story burlesque lamps and leopard print cushions. Or a couple days ago when I saw a dog alone in a meat shop, looking with lust at his surroundings.

Herman Dune loved it here too. They played a sweet little show in a sweaty music hall at a trendy radio showcase. After every song, David (the singer) would say "Merci beaucoup" and smile for a moment.

Today, I ate lots of cheese on bread and avocado, had Sushi with Yanne, Jean and Ariane, ate a little macaron from Pierre Hermé (a macaron is not a macaroon. remember this and your life will get better, especially if you get the chance to have one.) and asked symbolic questions to the friends of Ariane.

And we saw Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band who played with vim and vigor and strummed with passion. I love his lyrics and I love good harmony and I love when a singer shakes with the power of what they are saying, which Conor does. I was also glad he got a haircut.

I think I have had a bit of alcohol every day since I have gotten here. A beer at least. I don't think this is a bad thing, either... but I certainly won't continue this practice. Paris is a vacation. Norwich will have more direction.

My head is clear currently. Ariane's neighbors have their television loud and Ariane is about to go to sleep. I have a story I would like to write and blank postcards to fill. And cheese to eat. And life to love.

My goodness, do I have myself a life to love.

Get out of Cape Cod.

2008-09-12T09:21:00.000-07:00

Good modern art is tragic.

Bad modern art is at worst boring and at best a little funny.

But after you see Braque, Chagall and Picasso, you kind of wonder if there are really any new ways to see the world. Because art seems to have been trying to catch up to them ever since.

Anyway, thanks Beaubourg! You certainly are a weird building with weird things inside!

After Beaubourg there was ice cream. Gelato, really. Nutella flavored. Perhaps ice cream is the greatest art of all.

Mom:

2008-09-12T03:11:00.000-07:00

My thoughts are with you today.

I love you.

Dad, take good care of her!

My thoughts are with you too.

Breaks me is better.

2008-09-12T03:03:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I tried to act surprised in a french commercial for xBox. I was forced to wear a stupid red hat, Ariane was forced to wear a stupid grey shirt.

Then thai food. And shopping. And italian food. And a drink with Guillaume on the most bar-filled street in Paris. They pack them like matchboxes next to each other.

And Be Happy was quite happy and quite british.

Last night on the metro back to the very chic end of Paris a group of drunk people sang a song they all knew in french. I wanted to join in but of course I didn't know the words.

One more thing:

2008-09-10T10:52:00.000-07:00

I just read that previous post out loud to Ariane.

Her thoughts: "Nice. I like it. You didn't talk about my cowboy boots."

Ariane bought cowboy boots after Le Louvre. I am not allowed to say their price.

People pull the bags under their eyes here.

2008-09-10T10:21:00.000-07:00

Last night, I ate a hamburger with a fork and a knife while debating the english-ness of occassion versus opportunity. Caroline had used occassion, Ariane corrected her. I can't remember the sentence, but I thought both worked. And who is the expert?

We talked about other things but I think I had a stronger sense of the fact that no matter how much you travel, your thoughts come with you. Your ghosts stay firmly in the pockets of your jacket, ready to be brought out accidentally while you search for a 2 euro coin. Cobbled streets and cafés on every corner are not eternal sunshine for spotless minds, they are just new places to think about them.

The only thing that manages to make those ghosts more opaque are new people. Like Caroline, who likes to make faces while she does impressions and should quit her job (apparently). And Julien who has had a bad year but an excellent apartment and looks a bit like a model.

Yesterday we went to a self-indulgent art exhibit on dreams which I enjoyed for all of its post post post modernism, and got to play a bit of bad guitar. And then Ariane took me to the canals which reminded me of the part in Amelie when she drops (litters) her empty fishbowl.

Lovely, for a Tuesday.

And Wednesday was another trip to that creperie that made me a believer in flat food covered in sugar and citrus (I was just a little bit skeptical before).

And then... Le Louvre. With La Jocund and Victoire à Samonthrace and a (painting of a) table covered in hacked open seafood being set upon by a barking seal, and egyptian hieroglyphics (in two places). Lots of art. Arty things. We were breezy, talking about anatomy depiction and the strange inability of dutch painters to paint interesting things, and the sheer ugliness of most women and babies in nearly all paintings. Sara: I'm afraid some of the art was lost upon a philistine like me, but I still had an excellent time.

Tonight: Be Happy!

That's the movie we are seeing and a general directive.

Discount sale on gargoyles.

2008-09-08T23:36:00.000-07:00

A recipe for an excellent parisian evening:

First, un voyage à la supermarché. (Flight of the Conchords reference... sort of...). We bought (Nous avons acheté) du jambon (ham), cheese (la fromage), du pain (bread), avocat (avocado), and chocolate (chocolate).

Then we ate that and listened to Lindstrom in Ariane's apartment.

Then, add Charlotte, who lived in San Francisco for her teenage years and therefore has a perfect american accent when she speaks english. We went to a bar for wine and conversation.

Add Philou, Marie, and Jane. Drink and talk a little, go outside and smoke a little.

This was the evening, and it was good fun. I think my favorite part of the evening was talking to Jane, who speaks very little english, and trying to get her to understand my terrible French. I told her that Ariane said she was a "chanseuse" which means "lucky one". I meant "chanteuse", which is singer. But perhaps she is lucky too, who am I to say?

I also bought a baby dragon. And took the metro by myself at 1 AM.

Oh! And we got those Herman Dune tickets.

C'est geniale.

2008-09-07T23:25:00.000-07:00

Strange thing about Paris: everyone smokes inside their apartments. This is odd!

"Chouette" means cool. Or it meant cool. I think it's like how radical used to be cool. Now, people say "super" (soop-air) and "geniale".

I think I am spelling all of that right.

Yesterday, Paul took me and Ariane to Virgin records. He asked me to choose three cds for him... so I found him She and Him, Of Montreal, and Belle and Sebastian.

So... we shall see. He gave me a best of collection of George Brassens and Françoise Hardy, and I love both. Also, Françoise Hardy is cute!

Today, a little shopping? a little trying to get Herman Dune tickets? a little more of Paris?

J'espere que tu m'oublira pas jamais.

2008-09-07T09:12:00.000-07:00

No one says "chouette" anymore.

Last night was another evening spent in the company of Ariane's friends - some of the most attractive people I have ever seen. All well dressed and stylish, but in some sort of easy fashion that I can't exactly put my finger on.

I keep telling Ariane I am having an excellent time. She was right, I was always going to fall for Paris.

Before the rendezvous with Ariane's friends we ate a three course meal with my uncle Paul and Katherine, and my uncle who I had never met before, Paul's brother, Daniel and his wife Ann. At "Le Clos des Gourmets". They gave me a menu in English, to my dismay.

And this morning we spent another hour in a cafe with Julien, and ate Japanese cuisine in an open air market.

Every day my resolve grows to learn French and return.

Now, we are off to meet Paul in a Virgin records. He likes Vampire Weekend and would like to buy their CD.

Hey Porter!

2008-09-06T08:30:00.000-07:00

Some highlights:

-Paul... my uncle(?) giving me a tour of Paris with Johnny Cash playing in the background.

-Paul's theory on Parisian girl anatomy, featuring darwinism.

-A room full of Ariane's friends talking, drinking, switching funny hats and sunglasses and rapping along to Sugarhill Gang and Li'l Jon.

-A real crepe in a real creperie that was wizarding-world-like in its hideaway-ness.

-The constant banter between me and Ariane.

-Observing five friends talk amongst themselves in a language I don't fully understand on a slightly drizzled, yellow-lit Paris street.

Perhaps I should learn more french and settle in Paris. I definitely have a crush on this city - it could even be that we are sweethearts. Tonight, we listen to a wailing singer in a french bar called La Feline after a dinner with Hermelins...

strange things.

2008-09-04T15:43:00.000-07:00

Hey, who knew that I liked observing as much as I liked conversing?

more tomorrow.

Ersatz

2008-09-04T00:22:00.000-07:00

Here is what you do: go into youtube, type julien doré, and click the song "les limites". Done?

Okay good. Now we are listening to the same music.

I got lost near the Eiffel Tower yesterday, and used everything I could remember from French class to talk to Yanne at breakfast and order a coffee for when I was lost.

Ariane and I walked the streets of Paris again, and I think my eyes were cast upward most of the time. Although, I also looked down to not get hit by one of the many tiny cars of Paris. Vintage Mini Coopers are commonplace. L'Arc de Triomphe is quite stunning... as architecture and as a miserably intense traffic pattern.

In a café that I cannot remember the name of we met many people, and one dog who wanted attention and would get it by lumbering into the cafe and sticking his nose in people's laps. His name was Gum.

And we watched terrible short films projected onto a screen in a parisian park.

and I bought the CD of that guy I had you search for at the beginning.

hold up. wait wait a minute.

2008-09-02T09:21:00.000-07:00

"cheesy is romance for dogs." - Ariane

Paris is more incredible than I could have imagined. How do people fall in love here when there is the city to fall in love with? Or, maybe that's the problem... people fall in love with the streets and cafés on every corner and mistake it for love for the person they are with.

Eleven hour flights are miserable. I listened to half of every album on my ipod... that's the manner my stir craziness manifested itself. That, and an awful new story about a boy who wants to be in love with a mermaid.

More later. Ths keyboard is unmanageable.

bold men.

2008-09-01T07:40:00.000-07:00

So I have been hanging out with my parents. We ate excellent food (bacon wrapped filet mignon, freshly grilled chicken), saw the Batman movie, and bought things for my trip. We talked and joked and I played them Vampire Weekend and Herman Dune. I made a salad and tried to get them to go to California Pizza Kitchen. They bought me a backpacking backpack and a huge suitcase that can do a 360.

I love them. I'll miss them.

I also saw Devon. and Chelsea. Old friends who will never seem old. New experiences all the time. I'm going to miss everyone here.

And guess what? I'm going to miss the good ol' USA.

Goodbye country (state) I know. Hello new worlds.

more!

2008-08-29T09:24:00.000-07:00

The horn blasts in Cursive's Happy Hollow make me want to walk around this neighborhood and point at every thing that Tim Kasher is singing about. It's like a deranged marching band.

Today, I am productive. I am going to do many things. Many of them are artistic, one of them is monetary, and I already started it by eating half an avocado on toast and two eggs. Would a deep-fried hard-boiled egg be good?

I think I will leave with that question hanging in the air.

no explanations.

2008-08-28T19:17:00.000-07:00

So Anthony is gone. Yesterday, he had a harrowing tale of tried-and-failed opportunity. But, at least he tried. No regrets! No regrets!

We went to the Getty, and there was art there. As expected. There was marble busts of people with filligree on their clothes. Marble filligree. Think about that for a moment... and now think about it a bit more. I do not have the commitment nor mental patience to do something like marble filligree. Do you? Probably not.

Then we went to the Apple Pan and I ate apple pie and a swiss cheese sandwich and Anthony had a hickory burger and fries and (no surprises) our fries are already better. Then we went and had margaritas with Devon at El Cholo and I had a weird moment of an old friend meeting a new one.

But it was pleasant.

And then we drank Red Stripe at Devon's. And played Cranium and watched the moon landing to be proven as fact.

When Anthony and I woke up this morning, we drove to Pink's. I mean, other things happened in between that but they are uninteresting. So we went to Pink's and that was enjoyable, and then we drove back and Anthony left. I think I showed him a good time.

I still don't like Los Angeles.

It's Thursday. The next leg of my journey is soon. I ate dinner with my parents and now my mom is participating in an on-line course and my dad is playing tennis and I am here.

i have a lot of blogs.

2008-08-26T23:47:00.000-07:00

So today, I first took Anthony to Ralph's where we bought really large sandwiches. We both were awake and thought the other was asleep, so it was a late start.

Then we went to Venice Beach and ate our sandwiches on a boat that I think was originally sand. And it was by a dragon with a drippy nose. We were accosted for walking on a bike path. Anthony got checked out. It was a lot like Santa Cruz, actually, but hotter. And more sand.

Then we drove in real LA traffic and went to see Tropic Thunder at the Arclight Dome. Before that, we went into Amoeba. Matthew Sweet was playing, and he was fat. Tropic Thunder was... really funny. Can Robert Downey Jr. do no wrong?

I did not eat all of my sandwich. That's how big it was.

So... um...

2008-08-26T11:23:00.001-07:00

I went from Santa Cruz to Santa Clarita Valley, care of Anthony. We traveled for a long time, which was interesting, and we were attacked by a Ventura sun, which was awful.

My mom made us dinner, and we walked around Suburbia and watched a movie based on a board game called Clue.

Today, I'm going to show him Venice and Melrose and probably Amoeba Records too.