Inspirations and aspirations 2

Apologies for using the phrase "fabulous deals" in the last post. Even though I am not sure if I was serious, that's still unacceptable.

Things I did not mention about last night:
1.) There was a morbidly obese woman at our table. She seated herself in front of the only plate of truffles and proceeded to eat them all.
2.) It is useless to care whether one is rich and how to behave at such a function. That was covered in the early part of the twentieth century and all those thoughts still stand today. Nevertheless, I enjoy feeling like a social climber.
3.) Because it was Charleston, there was a NASCAR or something parked outside the black-and-white event. Of course we took pictures.

Inspiration and aspirations 1

Today had everything pointing toward pretty great. It started out with Ray espousing opinions similar to mine on molecular gastronomy and Pitchfork reviewing the band that has is most likely my favorite ever. I wrote Devin about this earlier, knowing it can only get better. While work was boring, it was interrupted by fried chicken and Kat assaulting me midday with the promise of classy tickets for the evening.

While I could not find anyone at work to take classy tickets during the day, Kat approached me over postwork beers, hawking said classy tickets and telling me their true value. I took them, gathering a coworker along for the ride. I went to the Daniel Island Club to the classiest event I will ever attend, parked my '95 Civic next to a Mercedes and headed into a world with which I was never familiar before.

It was real champagne and pate, knowing my prettiest dress didn't even stand up to the rest of them all, lingering in a world of old money. There was a silent auction and a vodka bar, a live auction and stunning dessert. I couldn't even think to bid thousands of dollars, although I thought of Cary Grant in North by Northwest (possibly the greatest movie ever made). After an hour or so, I realized that these people were actually getting fabulous deals on things like playing golf in Scotland and luscious Charleston weddings: for $4,500, an entire wedding at the greatest of places.

This was when I looked at the man at the cowboy hat and the lady in the crazy white head feathers.

I thought that maybe I was right feeling out of place, asking the man next to me, "What do you do?" and knowing it was an irrelevant question. Maybe it was the free very good champagne and the chocolates with raspberries, but I should have felt more comfortable, having been raised in the upper middle class, but I still felt like the girl who never got to go to Cotillion. Even though it had all become completely irrelevant.

More on this tomorrow, when the champagne hasn't been pounding at my head an hour later, but here is what I learned:
1.) It would have been so easy to crash this party.
2.) I now know what "Soft spikes only" means.
3.) Money would be wonderful, but only if I can still make people uncomfortable with the way I talk or dress. (Thank God I didn't wear a bra and asked all the wrong questions.)
4.) I know of no proper way to behave.
5.) Dear God I could do that again.

On Where I Am

Let me preface this by saying Kristal told me NPR said that today is the most depressing day of the year. I wrote this not meaning to depress, although I was a bit tired.

It is natural to reflect on where you are. At this point in your life you could have been anywhere else, but you chose where you are.

When it rains in most cities and it’s fairly warm, it’s very dizzying and romantic and it seems like either growing new greenery or washing away the dirt. When it rains here in Charleston, I can barely even stand looking out the window of the pretty little attic where I work. I know that the streets are flooded downtown and the pastel houses are all dissolving and the drivers don’t turn their headlights on but their brake lights blink incessantly.

I do not understand it here when it rains because I cannot stand the way people drive.

The rain makes it grey, and I figure that I don’t like it because it takes away the complication. It is easy to dislike somewhere when the streets are flooding.

But I am planning to leave once it has gotten pretty again, and the girls will wear clothes that are too small for their bodies, but it will seem endearing. There won’t be rain for a couple of months and only sangria and sun. And I’ll go to some of the last smoky bars in the country and I’ll probably sob. These will be sweet months of farewell.

Get Over What I Said Before.

I find myself wondering: why does everything taste so good this year?

Is it because of my current stable position, my accumulated knowledge, my pickiness and my reservation of love that until now seemed so wise? Is it because I have gotten over that jadedness and pushed myself over into productivity? Have I been divinely inspired? Is it because I cannot stop talking now?

Now I cannot stop talking and writing and loving it all.

Am I hopeful again? There are political rock stars rising on the horizon, new musicians in my bedroom, new spaces where I can fit, new paintings on my wall.

Did everything just get better? I feel like it did. Or does this happen to everybody?

Why do I like these movies and these stories and these bands so much? Why is Silent Shout so marvellous? Why can I not keep myself from thinking about Volver and Children of Men? Why do the Long Blondes and Love Is All keep me on my toes and I feel like I did ten years ago? Why did that YouTube link about the ducks jumping from a tree rupture such a vein of happiness?

Any insights into this would be extraordinarily helpful. In the meantime, I intend to update at least three times a week and figure it all out.

Last night I dreamt of taking innumerable Irish car bombs, never getting drunk and blocking off the exit to West Ashley via arson (I'm not sure what I torched, but it was something). (The exit to West Ashley is actually a bridge, but it was an exit in my dreams.... however, the Waffle House was still there.)

Now: making Valentines for my students, thinking of a Valentine BINGO game, listening to the Modern Lovers. I bought my 8 year-olds inflatable whistles! Pretty cool, huh?

Earlier, I applied for teaching fellowships in Philly, Texas, and Chicago. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps...

And I'm so glad I'm not in Brooklyn right now. In Charleston, I can barely see my breath! (What is it about the weather?)

at present, I'm writing my personal statement for the Texas Teaching Fellows program, realizing how egotistical I sound (all the time), trying to churn this out, trying so hard to make my life work and seem and be meaningful. is it working?

we'll go for a "jesus, I don't fucking know..." with that one.

jesus, I don't fucking know.

"sleep the clock around": song of the first 2 months of 2006. as I wrote craig in an epistle composed while procrastinating earlier this evening, I don't have to get up before noon most days. thus, I don't.

in the "get out of town" update of 2006, I am applying for:
-teaching fellowships in Philly, Austin, Chicago
-teach abroad programs that I'm wary of
-publishing jobs in any city except NYC or Boston
-jobs of which I am capable in any city except NYC or Boston

things I am over:
-serving at an Irish pub
-my shitty apartment, including my dirty room, this fucking couch

still keeping me steady:
-third graders
-the ambition returns
-the fingers feel marvellous on the keys
-studying for something, even if it is only the GRE

it is still pretty here, although going down to freezing right about now for the first time in a while. during the day, I don't need a coat. at night, when I have to wear one to smoke comfortably, I complain to myself. there's the "my weather is better than yours" for this time around.

aight, cigarette (cold) then writing the last 300 words.