Humbling how quickly
nature's wrath, wind, and waters
hurt yet unite us.
Friday, September 17, 2004
Sunday, September 12, 2004
Weekend Highlights
Getting out of the apartment and finding cool girls to hang out with.
Returning home after failing to find a bar in another town, only to discover we were a half block from the bar.
Hearing the musical entertainment at Chick's play "Hey Joe," and having my friend comment, "Oh I love Jethro Tull."
Having a girl clean my kitchen at 3 am while I go into the other room to check the FSU-Miami score.
Confirming that Miami, FSU, and Georgia, individually and collectively, suck.
Two words: Free. Dinner.
Finding Italians who refer to tomato sauce as "gravy."
Boxing until I thought I gave myself a hernia.
Three more words: Dave. Attell. Album.
Realizing I can-- and will-- be just as big a Gator fan 1,000 miles away from the best stadium on Earth.
Discovering that Penn State students get free Napster.
Using free Napster to play the new Jimmy Eat World over and over and over.
Finally killing the kitty litter funk from my apartment.
Returning home after failing to find a bar in another town, only to discover we were a half block from the bar.
Hearing the musical entertainment at Chick's play "Hey Joe," and having my friend comment, "Oh I love Jethro Tull."
Having a girl clean my kitchen at 3 am while I go into the other room to check the FSU-Miami score.
Confirming that Miami, FSU, and Georgia, individually and collectively, suck.
Two words: Free. Dinner.
Finding Italians who refer to tomato sauce as "gravy."
Boxing until I thought I gave myself a hernia.
Three more words: Dave. Attell. Album.
Realizing I can-- and will-- be just as big a Gator fan 1,000 miles away from the best stadium on Earth.
Discovering that Penn State students get free Napster.
Using free Napster to play the new Jimmy Eat World over and over and over.
Finally killing the kitty litter funk from my apartment.
Saturday, September 11, 2004
Anniversary
It feels different this time. There aren't any feelings to shout patriotic cliches or sing a song or shed a tear. Now the reminders bring ill feelings, reminders not only of what happened three years ago, but also reminders of the reality that we are participants in a war, of the mystery of what happened to our quest to take revenge on Osama, reminders that this election has caused us to fight as much with each other as with our enemy. I'm sick of George W., I'm sick of John Kerry, sick of Michael Moore, Swift Boaters, Chris Matthews, Zell "Pistols at Dawn" Miller, and this whole election season.
What happened to the cliche, "United We Stand"?
What happened to the cliche, "United We Stand"?
Sunday, September 05, 2004
I Now Know What a Nittany Lion Is
To say life in Pennsylvania is different than my time in Florida would be a gross understatement. In Gainesville, seeing anyone above the age of 35 or below the age of 16 made you do a double take. Now I live in a building that until this year was reserved as a retirement community. I have neighbors with names like Ethel and "Old Bill" who walk together through the parking lot, if you consider the snail's pace they keep walking. You could cast Adam Sandler to do one of his fish-out-of-water comedies circling around my change in scenery, and it would top out at $100 million. Unless the movie sucked, which it most certainly would.
It's not just that I'm dangerously outnumbered by senior citizens. Gone are the sports bars, Ford F-150's, and Baptist churches. They've been replaced by pizzerias, barber shops, and cemeteries. In the three weeks since I left Gainesville, my home state has been hit by TWO biggin hurricanes. Harrisburg has no worries about hurricanes, but we have instructions on how to find out if the blizzard has cancelled classes for the day. The buses I'm accustomed to from UF would have little value here; for Harrisburg, it's either by foot or by highway.
The hardest part of this transition has definitely been my sudden change in social life. I don't yet have friends to just come over whenever I feel like. I return from a long day on campus to a single person apartment, make meals for one, and go to sleep at a reasonable hour. Did this ever happen in Gainesville? Of course not. Here it will be much harder to maintain a social life close to what I had in Gainesville (and I wasn't exactly a Hilton brother in Gainesville, either). Fewer people my age, fewer opportunities to meet these people, and fewer outlets for sophomoric fun with these people.
But that's a poor reflection of the opportunities I expect to have here. I'm fortunate enough to be getting paid to get my master's and avoid sliding into the red for a few more years. I'm studying stuff that I absolutely love-- real issues-- and am getting the chance to join something at the ground floor. I'm meeting different kinds of people: people from different backgrounds, people in different stages of life, people living different stories than I'm used to. And I've already been on a quasi-date, though I confirmed she had a boyfriend around the time dessert came.
This move is much different than when leaving home for college. In many ways it is similar: I moved to a place I was unfamiliar with but eager to see, and I left all my friends in another city. But while I'm making a similar journey, nobody else is, and that's the key difference. Moving into East Hall in Gainesville, we were all in the same boat. We all had left our homes simultaneously and were grouped together, meeting people from all over the state making the same leap. Now, I'm meeting people whose lives are already established. They have jobs to attend to during the day, and they go home early to spend time with their spouses and fiances. And the people I've left behind, they're not making the same jump either. I won't be going home on Thanksgiving to a round-robin reunion, all of us sharing tales from our first months in this new, strange place. The other guys are either still completing the undergrad step, or they've already found their comfort zone.
My friends can listen and empathize with me, but they're not doing what I'm doing at this moment. I've made this move without them, walking face-forward, carrying my own bags. It's something that needed to be done. This is what I wanted: a journey to call my own.
It's not just that I'm dangerously outnumbered by senior citizens. Gone are the sports bars, Ford F-150's, and Baptist churches. They've been replaced by pizzerias, barber shops, and cemeteries. In the three weeks since I left Gainesville, my home state has been hit by TWO biggin hurricanes. Harrisburg has no worries about hurricanes, but we have instructions on how to find out if the blizzard has cancelled classes for the day. The buses I'm accustomed to from UF would have little value here; for Harrisburg, it's either by foot or by highway.
The hardest part of this transition has definitely been my sudden change in social life. I don't yet have friends to just come over whenever I feel like. I return from a long day on campus to a single person apartment, make meals for one, and go to sleep at a reasonable hour. Did this ever happen in Gainesville? Of course not. Here it will be much harder to maintain a social life close to what I had in Gainesville (and I wasn't exactly a Hilton brother in Gainesville, either). Fewer people my age, fewer opportunities to meet these people, and fewer outlets for sophomoric fun with these people.
But that's a poor reflection of the opportunities I expect to have here. I'm fortunate enough to be getting paid to get my master's and avoid sliding into the red for a few more years. I'm studying stuff that I absolutely love-- real issues-- and am getting the chance to join something at the ground floor. I'm meeting different kinds of people: people from different backgrounds, people in different stages of life, people living different stories than I'm used to. And I've already been on a quasi-date, though I confirmed she had a boyfriend around the time dessert came.
This move is much different than when leaving home for college. In many ways it is similar: I moved to a place I was unfamiliar with but eager to see, and I left all my friends in another city. But while I'm making a similar journey, nobody else is, and that's the key difference. Moving into East Hall in Gainesville, we were all in the same boat. We all had left our homes simultaneously and were grouped together, meeting people from all over the state making the same leap. Now, I'm meeting people whose lives are already established. They have jobs to attend to during the day, and they go home early to spend time with their spouses and fiances. And the people I've left behind, they're not making the same jump either. I won't be going home on Thanksgiving to a round-robin reunion, all of us sharing tales from our first months in this new, strange place. The other guys are either still completing the undergrad step, or they've already found their comfort zone.
My friends can listen and empathize with me, but they're not doing what I'm doing at this moment. I've made this move without them, walking face-forward, carrying my own bags. It's something that needed to be done. This is what I wanted: a journey to call my own.
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