I have no filter.
I have no filter. No sensible way of blocking what is thought and what is said. Haha, especially around these kids, it's impossible for me to block expletives or the overactive "that's what she said" machine that is as well oiled as ever.
Now that I'm working with the 5-7th graders, it's almost too relaxed. They joke around, I joke around, they call someone 'retarded', I use the F word. It's give and take, really.
Just today, during our marathon car wash (gotta raise money for the chartered bus trip to the Omaha Zoo), one of the seventh grade girls complained about my water spraying abilities, thinking that it really cramped her washing style. She said "God, I'm just going to wait until you're done squirting", to which I replied, in the perverse section of my head where good jokes go to fester, "THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID." I laughed and laughed a silent, stifled laugh.
I also love little kids who recite the sayings and phrases their parents have been pumping into them since they were born. Little pick me ups or things you say to ugly, untalented kids in hopes of bolstering some self esteem. Usually these sayings manifest themselves at the end of a particularly embarrassing run in DodgeBall or after being called a name (sometimes deservedly so). Sayings usually follow the idea that 'everyone's a winner' or 'beauty is on the inside', in this case, Little Child X had just gotten his block knocked off by a ball when out of his mouth came the drivel that only a parent could utter: "My dad says that every person on the team is important, not just the star--even the not so good players..."
Thanks, Little Child X, now go tell the girl in the wheelchair 'nice throw'.
______
Work is going well, the boss has yet to chastise me in front of the kids, and I've been able to meet up with more friends I hadn't seen yet. Family takes up the rest of the weekend= a wedding tonight, an all day familyfest on Saturday complete with ICubs game, and a Sunday possibly reserved for upacking with a chance of meeting up with Luther Urbandalians long unseen.
Livin in America
I am not apologetic about my 240 lb pile of clothes and junk lying at the bottom of the basement steps. Consider it a badge of honor. I lugged it across an ocean, and due to laziness and errands and a job and friends coming out of the woodwork (hooray), it might be there for a while.
Readjustment to the 'New World' is, as far as I can tell, going swimmingly. It feels, and this is in no way a slap in the face to my Notters or Nottingham or my experience or anything, but it feels like maybe it never happened. Things have picked up where they left off, in many cases more positively, and aside from a churning internal need to spew stories about Florence and Naples and Bath and Stratford and New Maket Square at random points in conversation, it's as if I never left. It completes the whole 'limbo' theory, the liminal space outside of reality that I inhabited with 8 now extremely close friends, and now I'm home, back in The Shire.
Being home has reminded me of the little things that I both love and slightly dislike about this country.
LOVE:
-driving.
-Food Network (I watched Good Eats: French Toast last night at 2am. heaven in my mouth)
-little kids learning how to read.
-puppies that fit in the palm of your hand.
-naive haircutting ladies who struggle to make smalltalk but try so hard you want to pet their hand and tell them it will be ok.
-family in general. duh. but it's true.
HATE:-taxes (a 16 dollar pizza becomes 16. something other than what it was? be honest. ask for what you want. I'll miss throwing the penny away after every 15.99 transaction on The Island)
-humidity. Went for a run (don't laugh) and almost died. It's hotter here in DSM than any part of my spring holiday in Italy or France
Today I embark on a journey most would fear and loathe. Work with little kids- 5th to 7th graders, with a boss who hates my guts, to Shrek the Third. The AC will be nice. Meeting new staff and showing up 3 days after the summer has officially started by Johnston Community School District standards will be a bit tricky, but I'll manage. The cohesion of the staff is critical to a non-shitty summer, so here's hoping they don't suck. To be fair, last year my friendship with Stacey and Heather didn't really pick up until maybe late June or early July, but that's easy to forget. I'm crossing my fingers.
Otherwise, the ball is rolling. New phone on the way so people stop calling my mom on the phone she's using with my old number, I got a haircut that makes me look like a dweeb but keeps the hair off my neck, and I was able to waste 4 hours in a coffee shop hanging out with old buddies while running into a random assortment of the Urbandale crowd. God I love Chibs.
BBQ tonight? Car Wash with little kids on Friday, followed by a step-cousin's wedding, and a quasi-family reunion (in my honor, ahem) on Saturday complete with a trip to the ICubs. Baseball. put that on the LOVE list as well.
Back in the USSA
Gas is over $3.00 a Gallon
It's sunny and warmer than 70 degrees FAHRENHEIT
We have dishwashers.
As much as I've noticed in the last 36 hours, there's a lot that seems slightly off. Like the wallpaper at my Dad's house. Are they suuure it isn't new? And how long has our kitchen table been this long? 9 months away, and the visions are vivid but slightly skewed.
Return has been decidedly undramatic. Save for my time-stopping nosebleed just after customs, our families eagerly waiting just outside frosted glass automatic doors, and a quick huddle to pump ourselves up NBA style (I call Lebron), the trip back was pretty blase. We knew what to expect (except for the Heathrow fire alarm and 240 dollars in extra baggage and overweight fees).
Driving down I80 home was surreal. It looked familiar, but cast in the light from the setting sun that seemed to put a bit of a sepia, old-school tone to it. Like a cheesy imovie documentary, complete with Ken Burns-style fades and voice over. Passing highway signs that were straightforward instead of judgemental ("Tiredness Kills" or "Watch your speed"), stopping in Wendy's at a gas station outside of Albert Lea and wading through white trash highschoolers and commemorative Dale Earhardt cups and packets of peanuts 2 for a dollar (That's only 50p!). It's as if you never understand the concept of 'pure Americana'- cooking out, being rugged, being boisterous- until you leave. God Bless this 16-wheeling, hot dog-eating, Nascar cheering country of mine.
Seeing Dad, seeing Katie, seeing Mom and Matt and Alex, Erin, Parker, Lisa, James- it all seems the same, nothing's changed. And maybe it's better that way. As much as I would have loved to return to a town decimated by the thought of me being gone for so long, it's nice to know that the world revolves without me, and that I have a nice solid rock to return to.
As far as reintegration goes, I haven't really done crap today. I realized that my body thought it was 9am by the time i went to bed, making my 9 hour nap (I just woke up) responsible for my missing my first day of work. To be fair, most of the kids under my watch probably would have drowned, as I'm planning to pass out again soon. After unpacking, going to the bank (Have you seen this money? It's all the same color... and shape.... and it's lame.... and the coins? pussy coins. weak and thin.) I'll probably go for the first haircut I've paid for in 3 years, and try and buy a new cellphone. Consumerism--helping the economy with the best of them.
The next few days are a whirlwind. Meeting up with old friends, family weddings, reunions, trying to look for a second job while retaining the one I have. Damn. Why am I wasting valuable time reflecting and recapping my intense emotions.
side note: goddamn I've missed ReesesPuffs. And ESPN.
Time Flies.
Sept 12. Day 2 in Notts.
January 11. 4th Month?
June 4. 9th Month.
The Long Day Closes
Post 200. Never thought I'd get this far. Especially with the overwrought, contrived drivel (that's being unfair, it was decent) rhetoric of my first few, gargantuan blogs (check out the trip to the North on our first few days in Notts.... it's a dozy).
This whole blog thing has been nice- therapeutic at times, amazing for my memory, obsessively controlling of my day to day activities, but otherwise for the best. Admittedly, it's been creepy to know that some people know more about me now than ever before, and it's been interesting talking to parents on the phone who, thanks to technology, have nothing else to say ("Yeah.... so we already read it on the blog... anything else going on?")
Technology, it's a beautiful thing.
Yesterday, in homage to my sickness, I stayed in bed until 2pm. Woke up, started trying to fix the DVD (add menus, extra videos), and after 5 hours of work, added 50 minutes of extra video to an already 35 minute slideshow with music. I'm proud of it. Unfortunately, it might be too big to burn.... the new version, which finished burning at 1am today, crapped out right around the 20th minute of video.... no rest for the weary.
We took a ceremonial trip to the UK Express for 'the dolphin'- a huge portion of Fish and Chips, complete with Ale from Boozers (although Sunny wasn't there, so we'll have to check back later for our memorabilia)- Having been the only food I enjoyed all day, I continued to feel like crap, all the while packing for home.
I fit all of my belongings into 3, less-than 50 pound suitcases.... excuse me... 25kg... It's a relief, but also signifies that the year really is coming to a close. I've approached packing with a sort of verve, an enthusiasm tainted with regret for things undone, as well as a confusion as to how I ever could have accumulated so much shit, or why I have so much crap in the first place.
As I write, by this time tomorrow, I'll be in Terminal 3 of Heathrow, through customs, buying Bailey's duty free, and saying goodbye to a place that quite literally has become my home. Some of the flatmates have intimated it, but Nottingham in many ways is more special than Luther will ever be. Luther is an institution. It has its quaint details, but it's still at some levels impersonal... Nottingham is a home, it's a city that I've grown to love and grown to appreciate. The cultural idiosyncrasies are what makes every day an adventure. A shorthanded comment on the street, a glance from a Chav teen mom holding her Nike-clad baby, a sip of Real Ale in a pub, the feeling of the sun on your face creeping through a layer of clouds- little, insignificant things that I'll miss.
In many ways, coming to Nottingham was the same as leaving- leaving the familiar, embarking on a new journey. But now I know what to expect- or at least I think I do. And therein lies the danger. With Notts, it was a new experience. Complete ignorance. I was green. With home, I have an idea- a thought of what it will be like, but will it turn out like the alternate history in Back to the Future? Will Biff be running the Casino? Will the Marlins win the World Series? For a more cultural reference, I could say Bradbury's A Sound of Thunder, but I like Leah Thompson and Michael J Fox too much.
Today, for the last time, I'll buy a tram pass. For the last time I'll taste sweet lady Ale, and stumble home. For the last time I'll hit the 'publish' button and feel good about myself. And that's a tough pill to swallow.
The next time I log in, it will be from my old computer, writing about my return to my old life, about the flight, readjustment, and life in the states. For some reason, it seems too far away. Like 5000 miles?
Packed and Ready. Ready?
Saturday we cleaned. And cleaned. And cleaned. 8 am to 4 pm. Scouring, blasting, vacuuming, scrubbing. I was stuck in the pantry, and eventually relegated to my Computer Room. Yes, my computer room. I suppose Anna can lay some claim to it.
Mary and I rushed to finish our DVD before a dinner at Ben Bowers, a restaurant in Notts that serves meals (3 course, of course) for under 30 pounds. Deal of deals! Clamoring to look as hot as possible, the girls put on their Sunday best, while I remained the only guy without a suit coat. Whatever.
The restaurant was fancy. The napkins were paper, but they more than made up for it with soup, lamb, new potatoes, and sticky toffee pudding. I had a few pints to wash down my otherwise classy meal, and the group launched into a conversation on the morality of intervention in Africa. God bless us. Combined with my impending indigestion, I was ready to stab someone. Admittedly, I slipped into kind of a weird mood- again, what Hilary would attribute to stress- but I just wasn't feeling it. I appreciated the meal, I loved the company, but ehhh, not worth re-hashing. I was looking forward to showing the group our hard work on the video, so maybe I was preoccupied.
Carol, too, had been busy the night before. While Mary and I stayed up until 4:30 working on the movie, Carol had been writing awards, sorting out souvenirs and keeping her cutting wit in check. Her sense of humour is interesting- unplanned, she has a subtle, almost ignorant way of being hilarious. I think everyone's like that- the more you plan, the more you over think. Her summaries of our character, how we've changed over the year, what she'll remember of us.... was sometimes a bit dodgy. Ha. I distinctly remember mentions of mine and Anna's 'slightly less than academic' choice of courses this year, after 'scouring the course offerings book'.... references to a 'less than academic interest in Gonads' in respect to Anna's Philosophy of Sexuality course were well received.
I can't remember my awards off of the top of my head, but a cookie dough award, something about downloading stuff, and another award that escapes me. I appreciated her work, and especially the bottle opener shaped like Shakespeare's Birthplace. Just as she sees me: the drunk English Major.
I guess we all have roles to fill.
Mark was true to form- creative, witty, and also well planned. His 'limericks' were incredible. Each person was encapsulated into 5 lines (no easy task) and mine was as follows:
The media man christened Kevin
To this fine group was a levin.
He was a big lad
Who knew every ad
And turned all little hells into heaven.
The video went well. A few technical glitches that needed to be fixed, but otherwise something I am very proud of. Some songs just do it for me. The first few bars of "Come On" by Ben Jelen, and I'm jelly. After the movie, we sat in silence for almost 10 minutes. It reminded me of our time in Bath, when we sat in absolute silence for almost an hour, staring into the night sky, all lounging together on what might be considered the greatest playground in England. It was a moment where, no matter what you said, it wouldn't be as eloquent as what you wanted to say- no way to fully encapsulate the emotions of a full year, let alone the end when emotions are running their most high.
To fully decimate our tear reserves, Kate left at 2:45am for France, a tear-filled exit from a flat where, we're not quite ready to join her as a Nottingham Alum. We said our goodbyes, she signed the flat (a Notts tradition of finding relatively hidden locales and signing them), and we focused on our last two days.
Red Phone Booth of Emotion.
My neck hurts. So does my back. My chest is tight. Hilary calls it stress. Last night, I only left the house for fish, chips, and beer... and a quick inning of cricket in the lawn.
While the rest of the flat was experiencing Nottingham on our second to last day, I was plugging away at the dvd- avoiding food and apparently human contact. I feel like I'm giving into some unknown oppressor- I know I'll miss this place, and adjusting to home will be hard- but am I making myself sick? The human body's crazy i guess... that's why I'm an English major. You can B.S. Poe. You can't B.S. Parkinson's.
Our last nights in Notts have been spent reminiscing, finishing our emotional 'I, traveler' papers, and packing. Thursday night saw the end of most finals, and a solid push to reach the 2100 word mark. The girls and I convened in the computer room for one last all-nighter, Anna being the victor. It was relative, i suppose. As she stayed up the entire night (and complained about how loud the birds were at 4:30 as she brought the paper to a close), I didn't envy her Hindu final at 1 before a scheduled 6 hours of presentations with M&C.
On Friday, I needed a break from thoughts about the year, going home, so I met Aaron and Emily down at Starbucks for some last minute prep work on my paper, conversation, and a 'productive' (for the English economy) trip to H&M. One last purchase - a coat (to be fair, originally 120 US dollars, for 40) before I left this shopper's haven.
They say you're your own worst critic.... Everyone was a little skeptical of their own paper when it came time to present. The idea was: conclude the year, summarize yourself as a traveler, use specific examples. Vague. I was blown away. All very different, all true to the individual. I laughed, I alllmost cried, and I realized how much we've grown, changed, and matured. It's cliche, but so is claiming that things are cliche. It's very metaphysical, that is. It's at the point where we know so much about each other, that the claims in the paper just made sense- no other reading, no other situation could have replicated the same emotional and introspective results.
I don't know how M&C can even approach the idea of grading them. Bare your soul? B- . It'd just be cruel.
To celebrate, Mary's sister and friend joined us on our ceremonial last trip to Pitcher, along with Mark, Carol, and a mission to buy the Silver Lady, a 15 dollar drink mixed with Campaign and entirely too high expectations. Mark and Carol have become more like old friends than professors, more like family than faculty. Talks at dinner, and especially at churches turned into bars, can cover a gamut of sources, and remind me why I love them. We enjoyed the atmosphere, took photos like tourists, and headed home early enough to catch the last tram.
Our tram ride coincided with a recent push to attempt the British accent before we leave... Aaron, Brandon, Ryan and I have slowly worked our way up from 'godawful' to 'pathetic at best', and the tram ride home gave us the perfect opportunity to test it out- a drunk, eager British girl who asked for some life advice.
Scene: we're chilling on the tram, enjoying a healthy buzz laced with nostalgia, when Unknown Drunk Brit Chick (apparently 32 years old, but looking more like 27?) plops down very friendily on a seat nearby and, staring into my eyes, asks :
"Do you think I did the right thing?"
What?
"I just left- did I do the right thing?"
(My eyes light up: It's Brit accent time. prove to the world that you can fit in among drunk emotional girls on the verge of a major life change.)
Uhh.... what happened?
She went on to explain that her mate Sarah, who she hasn't spoken to in 2 weeks, just texted her- this all after Sarah's ex of a year ago started talking to her at the bar and wanting Drunk Girl to buy him drinks. Was she set up? Is it him or Sarah that's doing the setting up? Did he just want some?
At this point, I'm doing great. Brandon interjects a few times and almost blows our cover, but in the end, it was a great experience. At the end of our ride, she realized that she had gotten on the wrong tram (as it was now pulling into the service station) and in a panic, ran up the aisle to yell for a conductor. Maybe you had to be there.
