Salad Days, page 1
~INTRO~
Musings and journalings from the pages of my green-hued notebook. (Or from those of a small white legal pad when I leave the green book at home.)
I often think myself emotionally stunted these days, I think as a result of finding close friends in younger people. Likely also of my slow development in the romantic relationship genre. I also often think of myself as philosophically stunted, and, as much as I relish the chance to engage in lofty conversation, I tend to find myself ill-prepared for it. But since I've been here, I find myself journaling more and more, and on a broader, deeper range of topics than I am used to ponder. Is it the nature around me or the mountain air breezing past? Is it the isolation I feel heightening my individuality and increasing my need for self-conversation? Is it the absence of a "list" and thus freedom from romantic stratageme? Perhaps all of the above. In any event, my pen is working overtime, and I hope that these ponderings, musings, observings, questionings are not mere side effects of "the college experience" but signs of growth and transition from the salad days of youth to the mental / emotional / spiritual / philosophical life of maturity. (Not that I seek to rid myself of my immaturity, naivete, or childhood. No, far from it; I cling to them. But neither do I with to be fully a child forever.) I was once told that my purpose in life is to observe, that in the afterlife I will be called upon to give account of what I've seen. It is a role I already knew on some level was mine. So, from the seat in the back corner of the room, from the invisible cafe stool looking over the street, from behind the plate glass window of my Ivory Tower, here I am. Are you interested in what I say? Perhaps not; but it's somehow easier to write with an audience in mind. And who knows -- I just might say something worthwhile.
4/4/08
My trip to Boulder (the word "ostensibly" keeps butting in right about here) was first to research in the Byron Journal. It was second to perhaps procure an audience with my famed Bookstore Boy, P---, whose name I until recently had forgotten (for shame). But a third purpose has arisen, and that is to solidify UCB as my first choice for PhD studies.
I feel at home here like I haven't felt in quite some time, not since LSU. At DU, I never felt at home; I always felt an outsider, granted temporary access to its walls. This place, though, has a charm -- no, too frivolous -- it is enchanted. I set out wandering and I passed a lamppost on the sidewalk marking a short stone staircase, leading only to a small paved square and then nothing. Not even lawn, but grass and trees and shade that made me think of "the grotto." No wonder, then, that this boulderian grotto rested at the feet of a rather castle-like building which had loomed over me only moments before. I set out wandering, because four hour's research had gotten tired and because my Bookstore Boy didn't answer his phone. A good idea, I thought, as I could be spending time here. Even from those first steps through the library's revolving door { :D }, I could feel the welcome coming.
---
"I'm sitting in a place of 'integrity.'" (giggle) "What do you mean?" "The benches here have positive attributes beneath them, carved into the stone." "Oh. I've never noticed." "I guess it takes a visitor to notice."
---
The flowers here (that I saw on my journey) are purple and gold. The buildings are a blend of the two -- the red tile roofs of LSU, and the copper-roofed castles of DU. The sequence, too, makes sense: private, public, private, public. Is is because it is a public school that it feels so much like LSU? The people, not trust fund babies or future lawyers or socialites. The sprawling campus, easy, in contrast to DU's mid-urban closeness, it's pent up, tight, protestant feeling, too constricted, too controlled, streets too straight and paths not winding enough. Perhaps it is the trees, the lack of trees on DU's campus -- they don't cluster but are on display, each one labeled and diagrammed, the entire campus a tree museum. UCB winds, it's prone to wandering, and I like that.
---
When oft through campus walks I wind...
---
UCB has a better civilian culture, too. So much bustling activity just off campus, so much like the Chimes and Highland that I know. I somehow found my way to "the Hill" and after trekking to the top (or near it) I found a coffee shop so much like one I've been longing for. Eclectic and independent as my own heart, my soul. Liquid Culture Espresso Roma Cafe. It is the Highland Coffee that DU doesn't have. And the chai is good! It's small, but cozy in a far-from-cottage way. I sit inside, the only interior customer, but just on the other side of the glass are two Boulder hippies playing chess. (South Park be damned.) The clientele I've seen come and go are the kind of people I like to be surrounded with -- no yuppie Denver crowd here; Starbucks is an eternity behind us.
Hm, in inspecting the cup, it seems this is a chain. No matter -- it isn't at least a whore of Babylon selling on every corner. Berkeley, Emeryville, San Francisco, San Diego, Santa Barbara, LaJolla, Seattle, Eugene, Las Vegas, Boulder, Davis, Los Angeles. For the most part, Boulder stands in good company. As do I.
I think I could like it here.
---
- Mouse Parade -- have I heard of them?
- what is ATLAS?
- hm, an LSU in the mountains?
---
I wonder if I could make this place, this cafe, my Ivory Tower?
"Why don't you sit outside like everyone else?" "I can see more from in here."
And my purpose in life -- so says the palm reader in the Quarter, and so I'd always and will evermore have done -- is to observe. The reader said that my purpose is to observe an to report my findings to a celestial committee upon my death. (Okay, his message might have conflated with Bill & Ted, but the point is the same.) I've always liked sitting in the back of class, I always take the corner seat at dinner, and I'm always attracted to the quiet guy watching everyone else. I like noticing. And yes, being noticed is nice, too, but not at the cost of being blinded by the limelight. The cafe sits on a corner, with panes and panes of windows on the two walls. Cafe customers flank them on the outside, and the intersection hums with cars and passersby. (Though skateboarders frequent the walk today. And why not? -- it's beautiful.) So yes, I can see this as my Ivory Tower. Scribbling at my journal or taking notes, occasionally glancing through the glass. Maybe even working nights behind the counter. Never a barista! But the Starbucks jargon reaches not here, and this is a place, if any, to wait for all the world to walk by. And who knows... maybe one day my Lancelot will walk through the door.
---
(This place is inspirational.)
Musings and journalings from the pages of my green-hued notebook. (Or from those of a small white legal pad when I leave the green book at home.)
I often think myself emotionally stunted these days, I think as a result of finding close friends in younger people. Likely also of my slow development in the romantic relationship genre. I also often think of myself as philosophically stunted, and, as much as I relish the chance to engage in lofty conversation, I tend to find myself ill-prepared for it. But since I've been here, I find myself journaling more and more, and on a broader, deeper range of topics than I am used to ponder. Is it the nature around me or the mountain air breezing past? Is it the isolation I feel heightening my individuality and increasing my need for self-conversation? Is it the absence of a "list" and thus freedom from romantic stratageme? Perhaps all of the above. In any event, my pen is working overtime, and I hope that these ponderings, musings, observings, questionings are not mere side effects of "the college experience" but signs of growth and transition from the salad days of youth to the mental / emotional / spiritual / philosophical life of maturity. (Not that I seek to rid myself of my immaturity, naivete, or childhood. No, far from it; I cling to them. But neither do I with to be fully a child forever.) I was once told that my purpose in life is to observe, that in the afterlife I will be called upon to give account of what I've seen. It is a role I already knew on some level was mine. So, from the seat in the back corner of the room, from the invisible cafe stool looking over the street, from behind the plate glass window of my Ivory Tower, here I am. Are you interested in what I say? Perhaps not; but it's somehow easier to write with an audience in mind. And who knows -- I just might say something worthwhile.
4/4/08
My trip to Boulder (the word "ostensibly" keeps butting in right about here) was first to research in the Byron Journal. It was second to perhaps procure an audience with my famed Bookstore Boy, P---, whose name I until recently had forgotten (for shame). But a third purpose has arisen, and that is to solidify UCB as my first choice for PhD studies.
I feel at home here like I haven't felt in quite some time, not since LSU. At DU, I never felt at home; I always felt an outsider, granted temporary access to its walls. This place, though, has a charm -- no, too frivolous -- it is enchanted. I set out wandering and I passed a lamppost on the sidewalk marking a short stone staircase, leading only to a small paved square and then nothing. Not even lawn, but grass and trees and shade that made me think of "the grotto." No wonder, then, that this boulderian grotto rested at the feet of a rather castle-like building which had loomed over me only moments before. I set out wandering, because four hour's research had gotten tired and because my Bookstore Boy didn't answer his phone. A good idea, I thought, as I could be spending time here. Even from those first steps through the library's revolving door { :D }, I could feel the welcome coming.
---
"I'm sitting in a place of 'integrity.'" (giggle) "What do you mean?" "The benches here have positive attributes beneath them, carved into the stone." "Oh. I've never noticed." "I guess it takes a visitor to notice."
---
The flowers here (that I saw on my journey) are purple and gold. The buildings are a blend of the two -- the red tile roofs of LSU, and the copper-roofed castles of DU. The sequence, too, makes sense: private, public, private, public. Is is because it is a public school that it feels so much like LSU? The people, not trust fund babies or future lawyers or socialites. The sprawling campus, easy, in contrast to DU's mid-urban closeness, it's pent up, tight, protestant feeling, too constricted, too controlled, streets too straight and paths not winding enough. Perhaps it is the trees, the lack of trees on DU's campus -- they don't cluster but are on display, each one labeled and diagrammed, the entire campus a tree museum. UCB winds, it's prone to wandering, and I like that.
---
When oft through campus walks I wind...
---
UCB has a better civilian culture, too. So much bustling activity just off campus, so much like the Chimes and Highland that I know. I somehow found my way to "the Hill" and after trekking to the top (or near it) I found a coffee shop so much like one I've been longing for. Eclectic and independent as my own heart, my soul. Liquid Culture Espresso Roma Cafe. It is the Highland Coffee that DU doesn't have. And the chai is good! It's small, but cozy in a far-from-cottage way. I sit inside, the only interior customer, but just on the other side of the glass are two Boulder hippies playing chess. (South Park be damned.) The clientele I've seen come and go are the kind of people I like to be surrounded with -- no yuppie Denver crowd here; Starbucks is an eternity behind us.
Hm, in inspecting the cup, it seems this is a chain. No matter -- it isn't at least a whore of Babylon selling on every corner. Berkeley, Emeryville, San Francisco, San Diego, Santa Barbara, LaJolla, Seattle, Eugene, Las Vegas, Boulder, Davis, Los Angeles. For the most part, Boulder stands in good company. As do I.
I think I could like it here.
---
- Mouse Parade -- have I heard of them?
- what is ATLAS?
- hm, an LSU in the mountains?
---
I wonder if I could make this place, this cafe, my Ivory Tower?
"Why don't you sit outside like everyone else?" "I can see more from in here."
And my purpose in life -- so says the palm reader in the Quarter, and so I'd always and will evermore have done -- is to observe. The reader said that my purpose is to observe an to report my findings to a celestial committee upon my death. (Okay, his message might have conflated with Bill & Ted, but the point is the same.) I've always liked sitting in the back of class, I always take the corner seat at dinner, and I'm always attracted to the quiet guy watching everyone else. I like noticing. And yes, being noticed is nice, too, but not at the cost of being blinded by the limelight. The cafe sits on a corner, with panes and panes of windows on the two walls. Cafe customers flank them on the outside, and the intersection hums with cars and passersby. (Though skateboarders frequent the walk today. And why not? -- it's beautiful.) So yes, I can see this as my Ivory Tower. Scribbling at my journal or taking notes, occasionally glancing through the glass. Maybe even working nights behind the counter. Never a barista! But the Starbucks jargon reaches not here, and this is a place, if any, to wait for all the world to walk by. And who knows... maybe one day my Lancelot will walk through the door.
---
(This place is inspirational.)