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

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.

Is your bed made? Is your sweater on?

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.

this is outrageous, this is contagious.

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.

chasing dragons through echo park.

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.

And count to three...

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!

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

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?

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.

I think 3, large.

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.

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.

People pull the bags under their eyes here.

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.

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.

J'espere que tu m'oublira pas jamais.

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!

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...

bold men.

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.