An Insightful Trip To My Hometown
I foresee that I will become significantly more skilled with the guitar, as I am enjoying learning to play the various chords, listening to the sound it produces, and limited in my progress solely by the sore throb of my fingers.
I spent the majority of last week cooped up in a small, two bedroom apartment, occupying, for the most part, a single room, eternally frustrated by the imprisonment. Blast the landlord agency, and how long it took them to get their shit together! I'd place a curse upon Jenni's roommate, Olivia, as well, were she not apparently so hexed already, for behaving in a manner that called into question her maturity and sanity. We did not trust leaving Jenni's possessions alone, nor vacating the apartment for any appreciable length of time, for fear of Olivia's meddling with our affairs or the locks of the place. Thankfully, Wednesday night saw myself signing the lease to our new place in Prospect Heights, and handing over the first and last month's rent. At last, we were freeeeeeeeeee! The rest of the humid evening and the early morning of Thursday saw us huffing and puffing Jenni's possessions down the narrow stairwell of the house on E. 3rd st., and into the rear of my Mazda Protege 5, save for the mattress and the box spring; those I carefully and cunningly strapped to the top of the car in fashion rendering no wiggle room. Olivia, for all her bluster, for all of the wonky warnings, threats, and general bullshit, after returning home midway through our moving endeavors avoided us like the plague; this brought us some small measure of joy and comfort, but in a way it proved disappointing. I had expected a storm to break, for her to hit the roof, for the shit to hit the fan, and nearly welcomed it after having days to foster a growing frustration. Release, oh sweet release! Just give me an excuse to verbally tear your head off, please do! The seething, angry undercurrents of my ire roiled fast and hard in my veins that night, and lingered close to the skin due to my weariness, just waiting to burst forth in a torrent of spit and insults; it was not a night in which to mess with me. Alas, all vestiges of rancor vanished, conquered by the soapy blissfulness that enveloped me as I showered for the first time in our new place. Shortly after, I left for Grand Rapids, eager to execute the driving that I had thought would occur so much earlier in the week. Even now I bristle a little when I watch the 9/22/2009 episode of the Daily Show, as I had wanted to be there for Jon's emmy speech, and would have had things gone as planned... but that's life, and true to my credo these days, I must believe that it was for the best.
The rain is playing a comforting staccato rhythm on the roof of my old bedroom as the wind makes soft tambourines of the tree leaves. I am happy to have come home now, before the leaves begin to change and fall; for some reason that would be too painful, although I cannot think why. Perhaps the collective passing of my old life, my paternal grandfather, and the summer would simply be too much to bear.
Two exceptional bonuses to returning home at this time came in the form of a successful Storycorps recording and the first year of the World's Largest Artprize. I dallied downtown today to watch Rob Bliss and co. release colored airplanes above the eager crowds below on Monroe St. while "Olsen, Olsen" played vaguely in the background. Despite there being 100,000 planes, I do not believe the event went as well as anticipated; I think we all thought there would be a greater density of planes filling the sky, enough to rival Times Square New Year's confetti, but this was not so. All the same, people appreciated the effort, and sought to collect a plane of each color. Since I had stood below the release point of the yellow planes, I figured one yellow aircraft was enough to commemorate the experience. Certainly nobody could complain about the weather, as it was an ideal early-autumn day, and you could not have asked for better.
I finished the day walking about the city taking pictures of various pieces entered into the contest. Never had I seen the downtown area so alive and bustling with people, and as beautiful as it was, it made me homesick for New York. Here I was, meandering the streets I knew so well, watching them come alive with artistic appreciation, and I could only feel sick to my stomach. I could mill around Manhattan in great crowds thousands strong feeling fantastic, on top of the world, yet in this small midwestern city, MY CITY, I felt tiny, insignificant, and out of place.
The hotdogs I bought were kick-ass, though, and such a wonderful change from the Nathan's dogs I had been suffering from. City ordinances kept the streets clear of food carts, so only a few kiosks by the B.O.B. were in operation to serve the throngs of people that poked, prodded, and mentally dissected the thousands of entries spread throughout 3 square miles of the downtown area. I soon was exhausted by the stimulus, and my attention span shrank to that of a virus. That, and I couldn't stand any more of the yuppy pretentiousness of many a middle-aged mother that seemed to pervade the landscape. They came from church, no doubt, still dressed in their finest Sunday blazers, yammering on and on about the accomplishments of their children, as they long ago ceased to have lives of their own.
I saw a dry-cleaners in downtown GR advertising that they washed horse blankets, and wondered how many people in the city owned one to warrant the establishment thinking it prudent to meet such a demand.
Slowly but surely I am becoming a New Yorker, but more on that later.
I spent the majority of last week cooped up in a small, two bedroom apartment, occupying, for the most part, a single room, eternally frustrated by the imprisonment. Blast the landlord agency, and how long it took them to get their shit together! I'd place a curse upon Jenni's roommate, Olivia, as well, were she not apparently so hexed already, for behaving in a manner that called into question her maturity and sanity. We did not trust leaving Jenni's possessions alone, nor vacating the apartment for any appreciable length of time, for fear of Olivia's meddling with our affairs or the locks of the place. Thankfully, Wednesday night saw myself signing the lease to our new place in Prospect Heights, and handing over the first and last month's rent. At last, we were freeeeeeeeeee! The rest of the humid evening and the early morning of Thursday saw us huffing and puffing Jenni's possessions down the narrow stairwell of the house on E. 3rd st., and into the rear of my Mazda Protege 5, save for the mattress and the box spring; those I carefully and cunningly strapped to the top of the car in fashion rendering no wiggle room. Olivia, for all her bluster, for all of the wonky warnings, threats, and general bullshit, after returning home midway through our moving endeavors avoided us like the plague; this brought us some small measure of joy and comfort, but in a way it proved disappointing. I had expected a storm to break, for her to hit the roof, for the shit to hit the fan, and nearly welcomed it after having days to foster a growing frustration. Release, oh sweet release! Just give me an excuse to verbally tear your head off, please do! The seething, angry undercurrents of my ire roiled fast and hard in my veins that night, and lingered close to the skin due to my weariness, just waiting to burst forth in a torrent of spit and insults; it was not a night in which to mess with me. Alas, all vestiges of rancor vanished, conquered by the soapy blissfulness that enveloped me as I showered for the first time in our new place. Shortly after, I left for Grand Rapids, eager to execute the driving that I had thought would occur so much earlier in the week. Even now I bristle a little when I watch the 9/22/2009 episode of the Daily Show, as I had wanted to be there for Jon's emmy speech, and would have had things gone as planned... but that's life, and true to my credo these days, I must believe that it was for the best.
The rain is playing a comforting staccato rhythm on the roof of my old bedroom as the wind makes soft tambourines of the tree leaves. I am happy to have come home now, before the leaves begin to change and fall; for some reason that would be too painful, although I cannot think why. Perhaps the collective passing of my old life, my paternal grandfather, and the summer would simply be too much to bear.
Two exceptional bonuses to returning home at this time came in the form of a successful Storycorps recording and the first year of the World's Largest Artprize. I dallied downtown today to watch Rob Bliss and co. release colored airplanes above the eager crowds below on Monroe St. while "Olsen, Olsen" played vaguely in the background. Despite there being 100,000 planes, I do not believe the event went as well as anticipated; I think we all thought there would be a greater density of planes filling the sky, enough to rival Times Square New Year's confetti, but this was not so. All the same, people appreciated the effort, and sought to collect a plane of each color. Since I had stood below the release point of the yellow planes, I figured one yellow aircraft was enough to commemorate the experience. Certainly nobody could complain about the weather, as it was an ideal early-autumn day, and you could not have asked for better.
I finished the day walking about the city taking pictures of various pieces entered into the contest. Never had I seen the downtown area so alive and bustling with people, and as beautiful as it was, it made me homesick for New York. Here I was, meandering the streets I knew so well, watching them come alive with artistic appreciation, and I could only feel sick to my stomach. I could mill around Manhattan in great crowds thousands strong feeling fantastic, on top of the world, yet in this small midwestern city, MY CITY, I felt tiny, insignificant, and out of place.
The hotdogs I bought were kick-ass, though, and such a wonderful change from the Nathan's dogs I had been suffering from. City ordinances kept the streets clear of food carts, so only a few kiosks by the B.O.B. were in operation to serve the throngs of people that poked, prodded, and mentally dissected the thousands of entries spread throughout 3 square miles of the downtown area. I soon was exhausted by the stimulus, and my attention span shrank to that of a virus. That, and I couldn't stand any more of the yuppy pretentiousness of many a middle-aged mother that seemed to pervade the landscape. They came from church, no doubt, still dressed in their finest Sunday blazers, yammering on and on about the accomplishments of their children, as they long ago ceased to have lives of their own.
I saw a dry-cleaners in downtown GR advertising that they washed horse blankets, and wondered how many people in the city owned one to warrant the establishment thinking it prudent to meet such a demand.
Slowly but surely I am becoming a New Yorker, but more on that later.