chiquitita.

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.

radio heart.

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.

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.

don't go out tonight.

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.

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 Golddiggers 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.

ooh-hoo child...

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.

one day I drifted away...

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.

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!

Bread has been proven to be addictive.

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?

A Quick Word on Pictures...

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

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.

C'est geniale.

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.

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...

Ersatz

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.

"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.

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!

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.