Orientations of any kind bring out the worst in those people who are already unbearably annoying. I consider myself to be a rather social person, that is, I like getting out of the house and meeting people with whom I can have a decent conversation. I'm not pretentious enough to presume that every one will be life-changing, and I enjoy them nonetheless. However, when people (particularly college students) gather into a group for the first time, there are always those girls (and yes, it's only women) who feel the need to go out of their way to make it around the room and personally introduce themselves to EVERYONE. These introductions are alway done at top speed, the girl in question trying to cram as many names into her head in record time.
The thing that irritates me to no end is that usually during these already painful orientation gatherings, you usually have to go around and say your name individually at some point. There is a way to learn everyone's name in a way that is not... I don't think "vicious" is too strong a word. I personally am much more impressed by someone who comes up to me after I've announced my name to a group and begins the conversation with, "Jordan, right?" than someone who makes me repeat my name for a thirtieth time after it was crowded out by all the others she just HAD to learn.
So, yeah. Today was my first day of orientation. Everyone's American, some seem to be annoying, and the second person I met was from Sacramento. It's pretty much exactly the same as when I started at USF, only this time I had to travel 40 minutes to the misery instead of it living with me. That's a rather negative bright side, but I dig it.
I am now drinking tea in my apartment while my roommate paints in the other room, and I still don't have any money. I wish I could burn banks down long-distance.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
And, for the sake of a real update...
... the roommate I had never met finally came home. It turns out, there was a cancellation in her flight, so she really was supposed to be back on the 20th. So ends my isolation.
I am obsessed with this passage
from David Sedaris' story "The Ship Shape" in the book Dress Your Family In Corduroy And Denim. Although I have no specific reason for loving it, I suspect it is beacause this is the kind of over analysis I am prone to, and I am envious of the way Sedaris applies the analysis to other parts of his life (case in point: the last sentence of what I am about to meticulously type out). Here goes:
My mother and I were at the dry cleaner's, standing beside a woman we had never seen. "A nice-looking woman," my mother would later say. "Well put together. Classy." The woman was dressed for the season in a light cotton shift patterned with oversize daisies. Her shoes matched the petals and her purse, which was black-and-yellow-striped, hung over her shouldder, buzzing the flowers like a lazy bumblebee. She handed her claim check, accepted her garments, and then expressed gratitude for what she considered to be fast and efficient service. "You know," she said, "people talk about Raleigh, but it isn't really true, is it?"
The Korean man nodded, the way you do when you're a foreigner and understand that someone has finished a sentence. He wasn't the owner, just a helper who'd stepped in from the back, and it was clear he had no idea what she was saying.
"My sister and I are visiting from out of town," the woman said, a little louder now, and again the man nodded. "I'd love to stay awhile longer and explore, but my home -- well, one of my homes -- is on the garden tour, so I've got to get back to Williamsburg."
I was eleven years old, yet still the statement seemed strange to me. If she'd hoped to impress the Korean, the woman had obviously wasted her breath, so who was this information for?
"My home -- well, one of my homes": by the end of the day my mother and I had repeated this line no less than fifty times. The garden tour was unimportant, but the first part of her sentence brought us great pleasure. There was, as indicated by the dash, a pause between the words home and well, a brief moment in which she'd decided Oh, why not? The following word -- one -- had blown from her mouth as if propelled by a gentle breeze, and this was the difficult part. You had to get it just right, or else the sentence lost its power. Falling somewhere between a self-conscious laugh and a sigh of happy confusion, the one afforded her statement a double meaning. To her peers it meant "Look at me, I catch myself coming and going!" and to the less fortunate it was a way of saying, "Don't kid yourself, it's a lot of work having more than one house."
The first dozen times we tried it, our voices sounded pinched and snobbish, but by midafternoon they had softened. We wanted what this woman had. Mocking her made it seem hopelessly unobtainable, and so we reverted to our natural selves.
"My home -- well, one of my homes..." My mother said it in a rush, as if she were under pressure to be more specific. It was the same way she said, "My daughter -- well, one of my daughters," but a second home was more prestigious than a second daughter, and so it didn't really work. I went in the opposite direction, exaggerating the word one in a way that was guaranteed to alienate my listener.
"Say it like that and people are going to be jealous," my mother said.
"Well, isn't that what we want?"
"Sort of," she said. "But mainly we want them to be happy for us."
(a couple of pages later...)
We went to Emerald Isle for a week every September and we were always oceanfront, a word that suggested a certain degree of entitlement. The oceanfront cottages were on stilts, which made them appear if not large, then at least imposing. Some were painted, some were sided "Cape Cod style" with wooden shingles, and all of them had names, the cleverest being Loafer's Paradise. The owners has cut their sign in the shape of two moccasins resting side by side. The shoes were realistically painted and the letters were bloated and listless, loitering like drunks against the soft faux leather.
"Now that's a sign", our father would say, and we would agree. There was The Skinny Dipper, Pelican's Perch, Lazy Daze, The Scotch Bonnet, Loony Dunes, the name of each house followed by the name and hometown of the owner. "The Duncan Clan - Charlotte," "The Graftons - Rocky Mount," "Hal and Jean Starling of Pinehurst' -- signs that essentially said, "My home -- well, one of my homes."
My mother and I were at the dry cleaner's, standing beside a woman we had never seen. "A nice-looking woman," my mother would later say. "Well put together. Classy." The woman was dressed for the season in a light cotton shift patterned with oversize daisies. Her shoes matched the petals and her purse, which was black-and-yellow-striped, hung over her shouldder, buzzing the flowers like a lazy bumblebee. She handed her claim check, accepted her garments, and then expressed gratitude for what she considered to be fast and efficient service. "You know," she said, "people talk about Raleigh, but it isn't really true, is it?"
The Korean man nodded, the way you do when you're a foreigner and understand that someone has finished a sentence. He wasn't the owner, just a helper who'd stepped in from the back, and it was clear he had no idea what she was saying.
"My sister and I are visiting from out of town," the woman said, a little louder now, and again the man nodded. "I'd love to stay awhile longer and explore, but my home -- well, one of my homes -- is on the garden tour, so I've got to get back to Williamsburg."
I was eleven years old, yet still the statement seemed strange to me. If she'd hoped to impress the Korean, the woman had obviously wasted her breath, so who was this information for?
"My home -- well, one of my homes": by the end of the day my mother and I had repeated this line no less than fifty times. The garden tour was unimportant, but the first part of her sentence brought us great pleasure. There was, as indicated by the dash, a pause between the words home and well, a brief moment in which she'd decided Oh, why not? The following word -- one -- had blown from her mouth as if propelled by a gentle breeze, and this was the difficult part. You had to get it just right, or else the sentence lost its power. Falling somewhere between a self-conscious laugh and a sigh of happy confusion, the one afforded her statement a double meaning. To her peers it meant "Look at me, I catch myself coming and going!" and to the less fortunate it was a way of saying, "Don't kid yourself, it's a lot of work having more than one house."
The first dozen times we tried it, our voices sounded pinched and snobbish, but by midafternoon they had softened. We wanted what this woman had. Mocking her made it seem hopelessly unobtainable, and so we reverted to our natural selves.
"My home -- well, one of my homes..." My mother said it in a rush, as if she were under pressure to be more specific. It was the same way she said, "My daughter -- well, one of my daughters," but a second home was more prestigious than a second daughter, and so it didn't really work. I went in the opposite direction, exaggerating the word one in a way that was guaranteed to alienate my listener.
"Say it like that and people are going to be jealous," my mother said.
"Well, isn't that what we want?"
"Sort of," she said. "But mainly we want them to be happy for us."
(a couple of pages later...)
We went to Emerald Isle for a week every September and we were always oceanfront, a word that suggested a certain degree of entitlement. The oceanfront cottages were on stilts, which made them appear if not large, then at least imposing. Some were painted, some were sided "Cape Cod style" with wooden shingles, and all of them had names, the cleverest being Loafer's Paradise. The owners has cut their sign in the shape of two moccasins resting side by side. The shoes were realistically painted and the letters were bloated and listless, loitering like drunks against the soft faux leather.
"Now that's a sign", our father would say, and we would agree. There was The Skinny Dipper, Pelican's Perch, Lazy Daze, The Scotch Bonnet, Loony Dunes, the name of each house followed by the name and hometown of the owner. "The Duncan Clan - Charlotte," "The Graftons - Rocky Mount," "Hal and Jean Starling of Pinehurst' -- signs that essentially said, "My home -- well, one of my homes."
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Eine Woche
Today officially marks the one week aniversary of my Berlin solitude. I'm also beyond broke. I haven't cried yet, but if no one comes home by tomorrow, I probably will.
I'm very lonely. I'm also running out of food.
I'm very lonely. I'm also running out of food.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Style
This entire post is me being gay, just a warning.
Here is how Europeans look so stylish: it sounds obvious, but they have good skin and good bodies. Honestly, these two things make you reasonably attractive, unless you're deformed (erm... no offence), and they don't have to adjust their style because of body issues.
As far as specifics, girls in Berlin are wearing sheer, floral printed dresses over black leggings, and keds type tennis shoes. With jeans, a white or black t-shirt with a colored scarf. I've not seen a single girl in a sweatshirt since I've been here.
Here is how Europeans look so stylish: it sounds obvious, but they have good skin and good bodies. Honestly, these two things make you reasonably attractive, unless you're deformed (erm... no offence), and they don't have to adjust their style because of body issues.
As far as specifics, girls in Berlin are wearing sheer, floral printed dresses over black leggings, and keds type tennis shoes. With jeans, a white or black t-shirt with a colored scarf. I've not seen a single girl in a sweatshirt since I've been here.
Are you there, God?
Today was the closest I've ever come to a religious experience.
After reading the reviews in the Lonely Planet book that Deniz gave me for my birthday (yes! I am living in a city and depending on a guidebook!), I decided to check out three flea markets today. Having been to Europe before, I know that not much goes on Sundays, and I didn't want to sit around all day sipping coffee. I enjoy my sleep during the night, thank you.
I biked there on the Bianchi, which in case I haven't mentioned it, is a beautiful salmony pinkish orangish GIRLS road bike that I've taken out a few times. The wheels are going flat, though, which makes it much harder to get around. Berlin may be flat, but it is extremely large.
The ride there was less than pleasant. I had to pull over to the side of the road a few times to look at my map, and that's embarassing and inconvenient for the others biking around me. Plus, it was raining -- Berlin rains about once every four hours, which is fine because it's still warm, but I was having vision-trouble. What I expected to be about 15 minutes turned into 40 minutes, and because I was lost for 2 hours last night, I am hyper paranoid about following directions.
Right as I arrived, the sun came out. There were tons of people there, and everyone was eating french fries, drinking beer, and laying around on the grass. As I navigated through the crowd, I started catching glimpses of the items that were for sale at each booth. I was actually hyperventilating. Kitschy knick-knacks, vintage furniture, 1970's electronics, piles of clothes, bins full of lace, handmade jewelry, records records records, tables lined with shoes, screen printed shirts, old china, and organic soaps. I actually found a table full of cameras, from which I pulled out a Spectra, EXACTLY like the one I have at home!
'Gefällt er dir?'
I was wandering around, talking to myself, and letting out the sort of moans where a passerby couldn't tell if I was in horrible pain or a fit of pleasure. I started feeling really emotional there -- I felt like, if there was a God, and he designed a place where I would feel really content, this would be it.
Not that I would have impressed him enough to deserve such a thing.
What made me feel so unstable is that there must be a place like that for most people on earth, since we base our desires primarily on experience or outer influence, I think. I started thinking about how most people will not find the place that makes them feel like this. It just made me feel so unbelieveably grateful. It was a bit existential for a fucking flea market, but I am very happy. I have the feeling right now like I do when I develop a crush on a person, but this is for an entire city. Kind of like, 'Oh fuck. This is going to end up being inconvenient.'
After reading the reviews in the Lonely Planet book that Deniz gave me for my birthday (yes! I am living in a city and depending on a guidebook!), I decided to check out three flea markets today. Having been to Europe before, I know that not much goes on Sundays, and I didn't want to sit around all day sipping coffee. I enjoy my sleep during the night, thank you.
I biked there on the Bianchi, which in case I haven't mentioned it, is a beautiful salmony pinkish orangish GIRLS road bike that I've taken out a few times. The wheels are going flat, though, which makes it much harder to get around. Berlin may be flat, but it is extremely large.
The ride there was less than pleasant. I had to pull over to the side of the road a few times to look at my map, and that's embarassing and inconvenient for the others biking around me. Plus, it was raining -- Berlin rains about once every four hours, which is fine because it's still warm, but I was having vision-trouble. What I expected to be about 15 minutes turned into 40 minutes, and because I was lost for 2 hours last night, I am hyper paranoid about following directions.
Right as I arrived, the sun came out. There were tons of people there, and everyone was eating french fries, drinking beer, and laying around on the grass. As I navigated through the crowd, I started catching glimpses of the items that were for sale at each booth. I was actually hyperventilating. Kitschy knick-knacks, vintage furniture, 1970's electronics, piles of clothes, bins full of lace, handmade jewelry, records records records, tables lined with shoes, screen printed shirts, old china, and organic soaps. I actually found a table full of cameras, from which I pulled out a Spectra, EXACTLY like the one I have at home!
'Gefällt er dir?'
I was wandering around, talking to myself, and letting out the sort of moans where a passerby couldn't tell if I was in horrible pain or a fit of pleasure. I started feeling really emotional there -- I felt like, if there was a God, and he designed a place where I would feel really content, this would be it.
Not that I would have impressed him enough to deserve such a thing.
What made me feel so unstable is that there must be a place like that for most people on earth, since we base our desires primarily on experience or outer influence, I think. I started thinking about how most people will not find the place that makes them feel like this. It just made me feel so unbelieveably grateful. It was a bit existential for a fucking flea market, but I am very happy. I have the feeling right now like I do when I develop a crush on a person, but this is for an entire city. Kind of like, 'Oh fuck. This is going to end up being inconvenient.'
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
Berlin
My first few days in Berlin have been really relaxing. I'm still jet lagged, but only because everyone in my new house stays up until all hours of the night. Last night I went to bed early, which was 2am, and everyone else was still awake. For some reason, though, I still woke up at 3pm today.
The nights have been really full. It's been incredibly nice, but I think it will tone down now, because Ruth and Johannes went to Norway for two weeks.
1st Day: I arrived at about noon, with one of my bags missing. I got to the house, showered, then went to a big thrift store with Ruth and Johannes. They went to another store, I went home and slept for an hour. We, Lea, and Wilko all ate dinner together, then went to a bar to play foosball and ping pong.
2nd Day: Woke up at 3pm, then went exploring by myself. I walked around an area called Ostkreuz, and found an internet cafe. Came home and everyone made dinner again. After a while, Ruth, Johannes, and I went to a bar on the canal, where we sat on a dock and chatted for a few hours. We came home, and I talked to Johannes alone for a bit, for the first time since I met him four years ago.
3rd Day: Woke up really late again. Read all day and listened to music, for the first time in months. I thought it would be kind of depressing, but it wasn't. Then everyone made dinner together again, and a guy from Spain came over to eat with us. He was really nice, he talked to me a lot, and I found it way easier to understand him than the native speakers.
Today: Woke up two hours ago. Took a quick shower, then went to the shopping center to buy some food, then wen to an electronics store, only to discover that they don't sell adapters for american electronics. At least I got the courage up to ask someone, though, after only 20 minutes in the store.
All in all, it's been fantastic so far. The girls I live with now want to keep living together, which is really cool. They're looking at a few places right now -- one has 4 bedrooms, and the others have 3. If they get the 4 br, I get to move into the 4th. If not, I can look on a website to find some new roommates, which would be fine also. I've been speaking a lot of German, of course, even though my roommates can all speak English really well, and because I'm using my fucking brain so much, I'm constantly exhausted.
I have the use of Ruth's computer now, since she's in Norway, so I'll be online a bit more. I can't use the internet here, because no one knows the password.
The nights have been really full. It's been incredibly nice, but I think it will tone down now, because Ruth and Johannes went to Norway for two weeks.
1st Day: I arrived at about noon, with one of my bags missing. I got to the house, showered, then went to a big thrift store with Ruth and Johannes. They went to another store, I went home and slept for an hour. We, Lea, and Wilko all ate dinner together, then went to a bar to play foosball and ping pong.
2nd Day: Woke up at 3pm, then went exploring by myself. I walked around an area called Ostkreuz, and found an internet cafe. Came home and everyone made dinner again. After a while, Ruth, Johannes, and I went to a bar on the canal, where we sat on a dock and chatted for a few hours. We came home, and I talked to Johannes alone for a bit, for the first time since I met him four years ago.
3rd Day: Woke up really late again. Read all day and listened to music, for the first time in months. I thought it would be kind of depressing, but it wasn't. Then everyone made dinner together again, and a guy from Spain came over to eat with us. He was really nice, he talked to me a lot, and I found it way easier to understand him than the native speakers.
Today: Woke up two hours ago. Took a quick shower, then went to the shopping center to buy some food, then wen to an electronics store, only to discover that they don't sell adapters for american electronics. At least I got the courage up to ask someone, though, after only 20 minutes in the store.
All in all, it's been fantastic so far. The girls I live with now want to keep living together, which is really cool. They're looking at a few places right now -- one has 4 bedrooms, and the others have 3. If they get the 4 br, I get to move into the 4th. If not, I can look on a website to find some new roommates, which would be fine also. I've been speaking a lot of German, of course, even though my roommates can all speak English really well, and because I'm using my fucking brain so much, I'm constantly exhausted.
I have the use of Ruth's computer now, since she's in Norway, so I'll be online a bit more. I can't use the internet here, because no one knows the password.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Zweite Tag in Berlin, Germany
So, after an exciting night out with my current roommates, I woke up at 3pm. I realized, however, that this would be a legitimate time to wake up were I in California (6am). I am currently sitting in an internet cafe, the number on the timer threateningly decreasing as each minute passes.
Since I don't have very much time, I just want to let everyone know how much I love it here. It's absolutely beautiful, I have my own room already, and my roommates are sweet and helpful. Thankfully, there hasn't been much time to miss anyone yet, except the more obvious people.
Since I don't have very much time, I just want to let everyone know how much I love it here. It's absolutely beautiful, I have my own room already, and my roommates are sweet and helpful. Thankfully, there hasn't been much time to miss anyone yet, except the more obvious people.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Last days on earth.
My time on earth is coming to a close. This isn't necessarily true -- it's not a suicide threat or anything -- but I always have to convince myself I'm fine with dying before I step on an airplane. Since the first time I flew at age five, I have been terrified of flying. The weird thing is that no one ever told me it was dangerous or scary; I've just always had a bad feeling about it.
The time I've spent in Sacramento has been wonderful. The weather's been great, I've been going to visit my grandparents' every afternoon, spending the evenings with my parents, then hanging out with Hollis at night. We've gone on some epic bike rides. Tuesday, Troy, Hollis, and I were at her house watching a documentary on conjoined twins. When we all left on our bikes, Troy walked outside and said, "Oh my God, it's raining!"
Hollis said, "Haha."
"No, I'm serious, dude. It's raining."
"Sometimes if you stand under the air conditioner, it feels like it's sprinkling."
"No, I'm in the middle of the street. It's raining."
Raining it was, and the droplets were accompanied by lightening. Hollis and I chased the lightening to Old Sac, then sat on a bench drinking our last beer and talking about Jarrad. The 4th was the anniversary of his death, and we both had a lot to say. It was so comforting. We got kicked out at 2:30 or so, because apparently Old Sac closes.
Now, I just need to pack and fix up my parent's house before I go. I've pretty much trashed it.
The time I've spent in Sacramento has been wonderful. The weather's been great, I've been going to visit my grandparents' every afternoon, spending the evenings with my parents, then hanging out with Hollis at night. We've gone on some epic bike rides. Tuesday, Troy, Hollis, and I were at her house watching a documentary on conjoined twins. When we all left on our bikes, Troy walked outside and said, "Oh my God, it's raining!"
Hollis said, "Haha."
"No, I'm serious, dude. It's raining."
"Sometimes if you stand under the air conditioner, it feels like it's sprinkling."
"No, I'm in the middle of the street. It's raining."
Raining it was, and the droplets were accompanied by lightening. Hollis and I chased the lightening to Old Sac, then sat on a bench drinking our last beer and talking about Jarrad. The 4th was the anniversary of his death, and we both had a lot to say. It was so comforting. We got kicked out at 2:30 or so, because apparently Old Sac closes.
Now, I just need to pack and fix up my parent's house before I go. I've pretty much trashed it.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Friday, August 1, 2008
SPM
Hailey and I are now keeping track of how many of the guys we make out with have tattoos related to Morrissey.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)