My Dear Readers,
What an adventure I’ve been having. Where to begin, where to begin. I didn’t have the 90 travel time that my friend Dustin had due to flight delays, but I would have gladly traded my experience for his, since he had someone to meet him at the airport and an apartment to crash in. When I last wrote, I was about to board the plane in Atlanta to fly to Moscow, so let’s start there, shall we.
I boarded the plane anxious to see who I’d have the pleasure of sitting next to for the next 13 hours. When I arrived at my seat in 36D, there was no one there. My hopes were that the seat next to mine would remain unoccupied. No such luck. The captain announced that today was a sold out flight, and soon an elderly lady took up residence in the seat next to me. We didn’t talk until later in the flight, at which point I found out she had had brain surgery and had trouble speaking even in Russian, her native language. The brain surgery certainly explained her pacing up and down the aisles and the blank stare on her face. Last year I had sat next to a portly Russian man who worked at the embassy, who had imparted some advice to me as to how to avoid jet lag. His advice was to drink until you pass out and then when you wake up you’re in Moscow. It worked last time, but this time was different unfortunately. The food and beverage service was very slow, so it was impossible to get enough booze in my system to fall asleep. When I did manage to get good and tired, I shut my eyes and almost fell asleep, but the two men in front of me would not shut up. They were the only ones on the plane talking, and in a moment of anger and bad judgement, I accidentally shushed them. They turned around and glared at me. I realized I would need to not make those same sorts of mistakes in Moscow, as they could turn out poorly.
One of the men I shushed spent a good deal of time standing up and talking to the girls he was traveling with, all the while staring me down, or so I thought. I was fairly certain that when I stepped off the plane, I was going to be beaten into a bloody pulp. After finishing his conversation he came up and approached me. Uh oh. Luckily, he actually just wanted to make conversation with someone and turned out to be quite friendly. He was a gymnast who had lived in the US for 16 years and was more than willing to help me practice my Russian and correct some mistakes. The experience reminded me that perhaps I should be less of an asshole.
I had tried to keep a low profile as an American the entire flight, but when we landed I was herded into the custom line for foreigners with the other Americans. Behind me was one of those organized mail order bride tour groups. A man sporting a beer gut, mustache, and a fishing shirt kept asking me for advice in a slow drawl. He told me he was in Russia to meet “a lady.” I wondered how much he had payed to correspond with her, and what his “lady” looked like. I felt pretty sorry for the women that were desperate enough to leave their lives behind to marry a man who knows nothing of their language or culture.
After customs it was off to buy my tickets for the Aeroexpress. I decided to go this route rather than pay $45 for a cab. In hind sight, that $45 might have been well worth it. But this is Russia, I had to suffer.
After purchasing my tickets, I waited for the train in a Starbucks, because they had free wifi. I ordered a parfait and a juice, but both for some reason tasted terrible so I discarded them. I had been purposely trying to avoid eating to minimize the chances of a bathroom emergency, but this was now coming back to haunt me. The nausea I discussed earlier was gnawing at me, so I found someone I felt I could trust and had them watch my bags while I went to the bathroom. I had forgotten about the condition of some Russian bathrooms, and was greeted by a terrible stench when I entered. Not much got accomplished in that bathroom.
After Starbucks, it was time to board the Aeroexpress. I took my seat and after a few minutes the train lurched forward and we began our journey. I looked out the window, and that’s when the lack of food and sleep began to first get to me. I had not slept in about 24 hours, and things in the window began to blur every once in a while, and in general it seemed like a bad acid trip. I felt like I was going to throw up. Luckily, the train stopped right before I was about to do that.
Next was going to be the hard part of my journey to the hostel: navigating the metro with 85 lbs of luggage (did I mention I overpacked?). Other than feeling stupid, and lugging around a heavy bag, the metro went fairly smoothly. I had done this before with two bags, so one wasn’t quite so bad. Also, it’s hard to get lost in the metro seeing as how it is a contained space and has definite stops and a map. When I got off of the metro, well, that’s different.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Arrival, part 2
The hostel had put directions from the Kitai Gorod station on their website, but they didn’t seem to match up with the street exits you could access from the metro. I emerged from the underground and tried to find my first landmark, but was not successful. Every once in a while I would stop and ask someone for help, but not a lot of people seemed interested in helping. Sometimes I would get pointed in a direction (often the wrong one), but most people said they didn’t know where I was going. It didn’t help that the street had a fairly long name and I had written it down poorly. After about an hour I stopped and was going to hail a cab, but I didn’t see any. My throat was so dry that because of my heavy breathing, I almost threw up. I tried once more to ask someone, and luckily he was also a foreigner from Italy living in Moscow, so he understood my plight and helped me find the street. I found the address number of the hostel, but the address was for a restaurant and I walked back and forth up the street looking for the hostel but somehow didn’t see it. A car rolled down its tinted window and inside sat a typical Russian mafia man, watching some sort of monitor mounted to his dashboard. Oh great. He suggested I go up a different way, and having nothing to lose, I followed in the direction he pointed, and found the entrance to the hostel. After lugging my luggage up about 8 flights of stairs, I was safe and not so sound in the hostel.
The girl at the front desk was somewhat rude and showed me to my room. I was ever so pleased to find out that the bed I was going to be sleeping on came with free bloodstains. She said she’d give me my sheets later. I guess I wouldn’t be getting any rest at that moment. I needed to eat anyways, so after stuffing my bag in a locker, I strolled out in search of food. I had my heart set on buying a cheap shashlik, some Moya Semya juice, and having the meal of my life. I was unable to find either, and in hunger I settled for McDonalds. I was going to be sick no matter what I ate, at least I knew what to expect from McDonalds.
I ordered a Big Tasty and some chicken mcnuggets and then sat down. I got down a few mcnuggets before I began to feel really, really sick. I must have looked terrible because this young girl kept looking at me. I thought at first that possibly she was in love with me, but I realized she must have thought that I was going to pass out then and there. I then returned to my hostel to hop on my laptop to assure some people that I had arrived safely, but to my horror I discovered that I had forgotten to pack a US 3 prong to US 2 prong converter, and my power transformer only took two prong. Luckily the hostel had a public computer I was able to use.
After using the computer, I gave myself a little tour of the hostel. It was certainly not nearly as nice as others I had stayed in. It was quite dirty, the bathrooms smelled and swarmed with flies, and in general just wasn’t a friendly atmosphere, unless you like living in a bar. After that I decided I should probably switch hostels soon, but in the mean time I hopped on a metro and explored the city. My first stop was the Yelesevsky grocery store, which is in a mansion. I unfortunately was unable to find Moya Semya juice there, so I trudged on to Red Square, which I had been avoiding. After several failed calling attempts (Russian numbers are tricky), I finally got in contact with Benjy’s uncle. He explained to me that the next day (when I would be moving in with him), he would not be back until 8 pm, so I would have to try to get the people at the hostel to let me stay past the 12 o’clock checkout time.
After that it was back to the hostel, where I met a Russian from Siberia, who I then later went out exploring with. He was not a very enthusiastic explorer I must note. We returned to the hostel and I explained my situation to them, and they said I could leave my suitcase at the front desk, but if I stayed until 8 they’d have to charge me another day. Whatever. I got my sheets from the new and much friendlier desk girl, and went to bed. While I was falling asleep I realized I had not slept in about 40 hours. I was tired.
The next morning I awoke at 10am and was greeted by the sound of rain. I sluggishly got all of stuff together and attempted to pretty myself up in the claustrophobic bathroom. I discovered that some of the liquids (soaps) I had packed had began leaking, luckily I had put most of them in plastic bags in anticipation of such an event. I went to the front desk, checked out, put my valuables in my locker, grabbed my bag and headed out the door. I couldn’t stay in the hostel, but I couldn’t move into my new place until 8 or 9 at night, so I had a whole day to kill, and nowhere really to go. If I wanted to overdramatize things by quite a bit I could claim I was homeless for 8 or so hours, but that’s not exactly true.
The previous day while in Red Square, I checked the times the Lenin Mausoleum was open, so I hopped the train to Ploshad Revolutsii and got in the nonexistent line to see Lenin. I guess no one wants to see a dead man while it’s raining. I was glad to get to see Lenin at long last, but it seemed a little anticlimactic. Because of the fact that we didn’t get to see him last year, I had waiting over a year to see this man that had ruined so much for so many. I certainly don’t think he deserves the prominent position he has on Red Square. Having Lenin interred in state is roughly the equivalent of having the leaders of the Khmer Rouge or Kim Jong Il preserved for all to pay tribute to. Maybe not quite that, but you get the idea.
Because it was pouring and freezing, I often sought refuge in the metro stations. Sometimes I would just sit on the platforms for a half hour or so and watch people go by, and sometimes I would ride the trains just to ride them. I developed a game where I would pick the most interesting person and get on their train, and then get off where they got off. It was a good way to explore the city. I also stopped in as many supermarkets and alcohol stores as I could in search of my favourite vodka, and some Moya Semya juice. I found the vodka, but have still yet to find the juice. Guards by the way, do not like when you just browse in stores. I got followed around more than a few times.
After realizing I hadn’t eaten yet, I stopped in a restaurant around 2 or 3 and had lunch and was able to use a free bathroom. Woo! It was there that my phone died, which I wasn’t happy about because I needed to get in contact with Benjy’s uncle later and my charger and converter were at the hostel with my stuff. I walked around some more and hoped that maybe I would run into a group of American tourists I could latch onto and translate for in the hopes of wasting some more time or making friends/connections. As luck would have it, I ran into a group of girls from Stanford who were lost. I unfortunately couldn’t help them, and they didn’t seem interested in hanging out because they were late to meet their group, so we parted ways.
The girl at the front desk was somewhat rude and showed me to my room. I was ever so pleased to find out that the bed I was going to be sleeping on came with free bloodstains. She said she’d give me my sheets later. I guess I wouldn’t be getting any rest at that moment. I needed to eat anyways, so after stuffing my bag in a locker, I strolled out in search of food. I had my heart set on buying a cheap shashlik, some Moya Semya juice, and having the meal of my life. I was unable to find either, and in hunger I settled for McDonalds. I was going to be sick no matter what I ate, at least I knew what to expect from McDonalds.
I ordered a Big Tasty and some chicken mcnuggets and then sat down. I got down a few mcnuggets before I began to feel really, really sick. I must have looked terrible because this young girl kept looking at me. I thought at first that possibly she was in love with me, but I realized she must have thought that I was going to pass out then and there. I then returned to my hostel to hop on my laptop to assure some people that I had arrived safely, but to my horror I discovered that I had forgotten to pack a US 3 prong to US 2 prong converter, and my power transformer only took two prong. Luckily the hostel had a public computer I was able to use.
After using the computer, I gave myself a little tour of the hostel. It was certainly not nearly as nice as others I had stayed in. It was quite dirty, the bathrooms smelled and swarmed with flies, and in general just wasn’t a friendly atmosphere, unless you like living in a bar. After that I decided I should probably switch hostels soon, but in the mean time I hopped on a metro and explored the city. My first stop was the Yelesevsky grocery store, which is in a mansion. I unfortunately was unable to find Moya Semya juice there, so I trudged on to Red Square, which I had been avoiding. After several failed calling attempts (Russian numbers are tricky), I finally got in contact with Benjy’s uncle. He explained to me that the next day (when I would be moving in with him), he would not be back until 8 pm, so I would have to try to get the people at the hostel to let me stay past the 12 o’clock checkout time.
After that it was back to the hostel, where I met a Russian from Siberia, who I then later went out exploring with. He was not a very enthusiastic explorer I must note. We returned to the hostel and I explained my situation to them, and they said I could leave my suitcase at the front desk, but if I stayed until 8 they’d have to charge me another day. Whatever. I got my sheets from the new and much friendlier desk girl, and went to bed. While I was falling asleep I realized I had not slept in about 40 hours. I was tired.
The next morning I awoke at 10am and was greeted by the sound of rain. I sluggishly got all of stuff together and attempted to pretty myself up in the claustrophobic bathroom. I discovered that some of the liquids (soaps) I had packed had began leaking, luckily I had put most of them in plastic bags in anticipation of such an event. I went to the front desk, checked out, put my valuables in my locker, grabbed my bag and headed out the door. I couldn’t stay in the hostel, but I couldn’t move into my new place until 8 or 9 at night, so I had a whole day to kill, and nowhere really to go. If I wanted to overdramatize things by quite a bit I could claim I was homeless for 8 or so hours, but that’s not exactly true.
The previous day while in Red Square, I checked the times the Lenin Mausoleum was open, so I hopped the train to Ploshad Revolutsii and got in the nonexistent line to see Lenin. I guess no one wants to see a dead man while it’s raining. I was glad to get to see Lenin at long last, but it seemed a little anticlimactic. Because of the fact that we didn’t get to see him last year, I had waiting over a year to see this man that had ruined so much for so many. I certainly don’t think he deserves the prominent position he has on Red Square. Having Lenin interred in state is roughly the equivalent of having the leaders of the Khmer Rouge or Kim Jong Il preserved for all to pay tribute to. Maybe not quite that, but you get the idea.
Because it was pouring and freezing, I often sought refuge in the metro stations. Sometimes I would just sit on the platforms for a half hour or so and watch people go by, and sometimes I would ride the trains just to ride them. I developed a game where I would pick the most interesting person and get on their train, and then get off where they got off. It was a good way to explore the city. I also stopped in as many supermarkets and alcohol stores as I could in search of my favourite vodka, and some Moya Semya juice. I found the vodka, but have still yet to find the juice. Guards by the way, do not like when you just browse in stores. I got followed around more than a few times.
After realizing I hadn’t eaten yet, I stopped in a restaurant around 2 or 3 and had lunch and was able to use a free bathroom. Woo! It was there that my phone died, which I wasn’t happy about because I needed to get in contact with Benjy’s uncle later and my charger and converter were at the hostel with my stuff. I walked around some more and hoped that maybe I would run into a group of American tourists I could latch onto and translate for in the hopes of wasting some more time or making friends/connections. As luck would have it, I ran into a group of girls from Stanford who were lost. I unfortunately couldn’t help them, and they didn’t seem interested in hanging out because they were late to meet their group, so we parted ways.
Arrival, part 3
After a few more hours of wandering around in the cold, I headed back to the hostel and was able to charge my phone and get ahold of Benjy’s uncle. By now he seemed a bit annoyed about my phone situation and my general incompetence. He told me to meet him at a restaurant across from his apartment building in an hour and to use their phone. Ok. I wrote down his directions and hopped the train to his stop. I again was navigating with my 85 lbs of luggage, which was not fun. I got off at the stop he had told me to get off at, and looked for the street he had mentioned. This is where it of course got hard again. Streets in Russia are not always clearly marked, and sometimes a street with the distinction of a boulevard is just an unmarked alley. That happened to be the case this time, but I wouldn’t find that out until later.
I asked several people for directions, and as before, got either no help, or was pointed in the wrong direction. I was amazed at the amount of people who didn’t even know the name of the street we were on, even though they worked on it! I had been making good time but being lost took all of that away, and I certainly didn’t want to be late to meet Jim, as he had already gone out of his way to help me and did seem rather annoyed with me. I was getting more lost with every step, so I decided to hail a taxi because I knew that wherever I was, I was only a few blocks away from where I needed to be, I just didn’t have time to wander through every alley in search of the correct one. He had specifically told me not to get in a taxi because of a traffic jam he had been stuck in for two hours, but I was lost, and the streets looked pretty clear. I stuck out my arm and immediately a car hopped across a lane of traffic and pulled up alongside of me to ask me where I was going. In my haste I had completely forgotten that if you stick your arm out, you are not always going to get a real taxi, but instead a random person who wants to make a few bucks. Most people will tell you not to do this, and in the US this would probably be called hitch-hiking, but I didn’t have time to waste, so I got in. I told him where I was going and told him I’d give him 200rubles ($6.25) to take me where I was going. He put my stuff in the trunk and we were off!
The man had a GPS unit in his car, so I felt good about that, because that meant that we might actually get to where I needed to be, and that he probably did this often enough so I wasn’t in grave danger. I didn’t talk much to the man other than to get his name. I didn’t have much to say to him, and I wanted to minimize my obvious foreign-ness. The traffic had apparently cleared up, which made our trip quite quick, and in 5 minutes we reached are destination. I told him I’d give him another hundred rubles if I could use his phone, as Jim had told me not to use my American phone to call him because it could possibly charge him, and it was a waste of whoever was paying for the call (my parents).
Jim answered the phone after two rings and I told him I was there. He luckily was not there, which was good for me because I did not want him to see me getting out of a car, especially a strangers car, since he had told me not to take a taxi. Also, riding with strangers is stupid, and I needed him to have a good first impression of me. Jim told me to order him some soup and then dragged on about something or other, and I could tell the driver was getting impatient. After we were done talking, I gave the phone back and we unloaded my bags. I thanked him, and he drove off. Note to Benjy: Don’t tell your uncle about this.
I was now safely delivered to where I needed to be, and after slightly angering the wait staff by dragging in my suitcase, I sat down, ordered Jims soup, and then browsed the menu for myself. Jim showed up after about five minutes, and I realized I looked like complete shit compared to his business suit. I’m not sure what he thought of me. Later when I looked in the mirror, I saw the face of a dead man looking back at me. Or something of the sort. I also discovered that I had already worn a hole in a brand new pair of socks from walking around the city. I came to two conclusions: Either I needed to buy better socks (but they were Haines?), or not walk around a city for 9 hours in dress shoes.
I guess that brings me to the end of my arrival. I wrote entirely too much, so sorry for the bricks of text. I’m having a much better time, and Jim has a super nice apartment with a great view, so I’ve been living well. If ever I was going to pretend to be rich and hire a high class escort, this would be the time to do it, but luckily I’m not that kind of person. The complex is guarded by both people and a barbed-wire fence, so I’m pretty safe. I’ll update in a few days as to what sort of things I’ve been up to, but for now I’ve written more than my fair share.
I asked several people for directions, and as before, got either no help, or was pointed in the wrong direction. I was amazed at the amount of people who didn’t even know the name of the street we were on, even though they worked on it! I had been making good time but being lost took all of that away, and I certainly didn’t want to be late to meet Jim, as he had already gone out of his way to help me and did seem rather annoyed with me. I was getting more lost with every step, so I decided to hail a taxi because I knew that wherever I was, I was only a few blocks away from where I needed to be, I just didn’t have time to wander through every alley in search of the correct one. He had specifically told me not to get in a taxi because of a traffic jam he had been stuck in for two hours, but I was lost, and the streets looked pretty clear. I stuck out my arm and immediately a car hopped across a lane of traffic and pulled up alongside of me to ask me where I was going. In my haste I had completely forgotten that if you stick your arm out, you are not always going to get a real taxi, but instead a random person who wants to make a few bucks. Most people will tell you not to do this, and in the US this would probably be called hitch-hiking, but I didn’t have time to waste, so I got in. I told him where I was going and told him I’d give him 200rubles ($6.25) to take me where I was going. He put my stuff in the trunk and we were off!
The man had a GPS unit in his car, so I felt good about that, because that meant that we might actually get to where I needed to be, and that he probably did this often enough so I wasn’t in grave danger. I didn’t talk much to the man other than to get his name. I didn’t have much to say to him, and I wanted to minimize my obvious foreign-ness. The traffic had apparently cleared up, which made our trip quite quick, and in 5 minutes we reached are destination. I told him I’d give him another hundred rubles if I could use his phone, as Jim had told me not to use my American phone to call him because it could possibly charge him, and it was a waste of whoever was paying for the call (my parents).
Jim answered the phone after two rings and I told him I was there. He luckily was not there, which was good for me because I did not want him to see me getting out of a car, especially a strangers car, since he had told me not to take a taxi. Also, riding with strangers is stupid, and I needed him to have a good first impression of me. Jim told me to order him some soup and then dragged on about something or other, and I could tell the driver was getting impatient. After we were done talking, I gave the phone back and we unloaded my bags. I thanked him, and he drove off. Note to Benjy: Don’t tell your uncle about this.
I was now safely delivered to where I needed to be, and after slightly angering the wait staff by dragging in my suitcase, I sat down, ordered Jims soup, and then browsed the menu for myself. Jim showed up after about five minutes, and I realized I looked like complete shit compared to his business suit. I’m not sure what he thought of me. Later when I looked in the mirror, I saw the face of a dead man looking back at me. Or something of the sort. I also discovered that I had already worn a hole in a brand new pair of socks from walking around the city. I came to two conclusions: Either I needed to buy better socks (but they were Haines?), or not walk around a city for 9 hours in dress shoes.
I guess that brings me to the end of my arrival. I wrote entirely too much, so sorry for the bricks of text. I’m having a much better time, and Jim has a super nice apartment with a great view, so I’ve been living well. If ever I was going to pretend to be rich and hire a high class escort, this would be the time to do it, but luckily I’m not that kind of person. The complex is guarded by both people and a barbed-wire fence, so I’m pretty safe. I’ll update in a few days as to what sort of things I’ve been up to, but for now I’ve written more than my fair share.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Trepidation, Trepidation
I'm not nervous, I'm not nervous. Unsure? Yes. But mentally, I'm fine. However, my brain hasn't told the rest of my body that everything is ok. My palms are sweaty, my mouth is dry, and I no matter how much Immodium I cram into my system, I just can't shake the nausea that has been bothering me since yesterday. Perhaps it's due in part to the vitamin C that I've been taking in an attempt to ward off the inevitable cold that always seems to strike me down within days of my arrival whenever I fly. I attribute this completely to the perpetually sick old people who should be coated in Purell before being allowed to board. Or perhaps I should coat myself in Purell. I can't decide. But alas, I've digressed.
So here I sit, in concourse E of the Hotlanta (sorry) airport. Concourse E is the last concourse in the busiest airport in the US. To access it requires one to navigate through a maze of moving sidewalks, half finished hallways, escalators, and of course the worst: slow people. There was probably some sort of express train I have a feeling I missed....
From what I can tell so far, I am one of two Americans at my gate. The other being a man in his mid forties who is dressed in an outfit that screams "I'm an obnoxious idiot and possibly a pedophile." This ensemble consists of a pair of faux-croc Sketchers, paired beautifully with an oversized coat that looks like it was patched together from cured human skin, interspersed with patches of fox fur. At present our hero is trying to convince a beautiful young Russian girl and her mother that the former would be perfect for the circus, or ice skating. He is also regaling her with tales of a model he discovered who could put her leg behind her head. He is posed with one leg on a chair so that his package is perfectly placed directly in front of this poor girl's head.
It is rather strange to be going through the same procedures and walking the same hallways as I did when I first flew to Russia a year ago. Only this time I am completely alone, and I have a feeling the loneliness will start to get to me in a few days. I will be shacked up with my friend Benjy's uncle for a week in a great apartment on Starii Arbat, one of the nicest streets in Moscow. I'd almost rather stay in a hostel however because it provides me with the opportunity to meet people. I said almost. I'm guessing the novelty would wear off and I'd become annoyed with the communal lifestyle. I'm unfortunately not a true Soviet.
I am trying to blend in as much as I can with the Russians around me, but Delta has already foiled my plan by asking anyone who doesn't hold a Russian passport to come check in at the desk. Bummer. Anywho, this is my last post before I arrive in Moscow. I hope all goes well. I have already planned exactly what I am going to do first, which is to find a shashlik stand and some Moya Semya juice. I heard they have pear, which I'm interested to try. Then it's off to that supermarket that is lodged in an old mansion. They sell $6,000 bottles of booze. My bottle of booze will be considerably cheaper.
Well it's time for me to board, so I will see you in Moscow my dear reader(s?). До России, давай.
So here I sit, in concourse E of the Hotlanta (sorry) airport. Concourse E is the last concourse in the busiest airport in the US. To access it requires one to navigate through a maze of moving sidewalks, half finished hallways, escalators, and of course the worst: slow people. There was probably some sort of express train I have a feeling I missed....
From what I can tell so far, I am one of two Americans at my gate. The other being a man in his mid forties who is dressed in an outfit that screams "I'm an obnoxious idiot and possibly a pedophile." This ensemble consists of a pair of faux-croc Sketchers, paired beautifully with an oversized coat that looks like it was patched together from cured human skin, interspersed with patches of fox fur. At present our hero is trying to convince a beautiful young Russian girl and her mother that the former would be perfect for the circus, or ice skating. He is also regaling her with tales of a model he discovered who could put her leg behind her head. He is posed with one leg on a chair so that his package is perfectly placed directly in front of this poor girl's head.
It is rather strange to be going through the same procedures and walking the same hallways as I did when I first flew to Russia a year ago. Only this time I am completely alone, and I have a feeling the loneliness will start to get to me in a few days. I will be shacked up with my friend Benjy's uncle for a week in a great apartment on Starii Arbat, one of the nicest streets in Moscow. I'd almost rather stay in a hostel however because it provides me with the opportunity to meet people. I said almost. I'm guessing the novelty would wear off and I'd become annoyed with the communal lifestyle. I'm unfortunately not a true Soviet.
I am trying to blend in as much as I can with the Russians around me, but Delta has already foiled my plan by asking anyone who doesn't hold a Russian passport to come check in at the desk. Bummer. Anywho, this is my last post before I arrive in Moscow. I hope all goes well. I have already planned exactly what I am going to do first, which is to find a shashlik stand and some Moya Semya juice. I heard they have pear, which I'm interested to try. Then it's off to that supermarket that is lodged in an old mansion. They sell $6,000 bottles of booze. My bottle of booze will be considerably cheaper.
Well it's time for me to board, so I will see you in Moscow my dear reader(s?). До России, давай.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
The Death of Godga, part 1
The Death of Godga
My Relationship with Gaga and Why She Must Die
I was inspired to write this half out of boredom and half because I had come across an article by Camille Paglia entitled, “Lady Gaga and the Death of Sex” on the UK’s The Sunday Times website (http://www.thesundaytimes.co.uk/sto/public/magazine/article389697.ece). The tagline states that in her article, Paglia “demolishes an icon.” That’s a rather large claim coming from someone that in 30 years no one will have ever heard of, especially when that icon is Lady Gaga. Paglia’s article reads more like an opinionated, jealousy inspired tirade rather than actual cultural commentary. At first I disagreed with everything Paglia had written, but the more I thought about it, the more I began to agree with some of her points, though I still disagree with her larger conclusions. Paglia attacks Gaga’s sex appeal and also tries her best to attack Gaga’s relationship with her fans, which is rather low because Gaga does genuinely inspire people. Perhaps Paglia is right that Germanotta was not a misfit, but that doesn’t mean that Gaga isn’t. You also don’t have to be a misfit to inspire those who feel they are to be proud of themselves. Gaga’s Little Monsters are an eclectic and loyal group who do indeed look up to her. I see nothing wrong with finding solace and inspiration from a woman who doesn’t pay attention to the mud that people like Paglia sling at her.
I also wrote this because Lady Gaga has been popping into my life a lot recently. My Russian friend Anton demands we listen to “Lovegame” everytime he gets in my car, she just won 8 VMA’s, I’ve been listening to her music in my own attempt to understand electronic and club music, and the other night I had a dream that Ms. Gaga was my best friend. Perhaps it was the fact that it was the first dream I’d had in a while due to my sleeping issues, but when I woke up I was legitimately disappointed that I wasn’t friends with Gaga. This fantasy is probably intensified by the enigmatic cult of personality that surrounds her. Rumors persistently abound that Gaga is a man, battling Lupus, strung out, and even an agent of the illuminati.
For me the mysterious case of Lady Gaga is intriguing because I don’t pay attention to current trends in music at all and generally have no clue who any of your favourite bands are, but I care about Gaga. I actually shelled out the $5 to buy the issue of Rolling Stone that featured an interview with Gaga (though the cover shot wasn’t bad either). I have an immense amount of respect for Lady Gaga, which is strange considering I detest the current state of music and its commodification and mass produced stars. But perhaps for me Gaga is different because she did exactly what I wanted to if I ever got the chance to pursue music seriously, which is to invent herself as an over the top character that she plays in front of the entire world. In a period of only a year or two, Stefani Germanotta completely transformed herself from a relatively unknown, seemingly normal NYC teen to the most popular musical act in recent history. Britney Spears didn’t blow up like this, nor did N’SYNC, Hanson, Backstreet Boys, etc.
In a strange way I feel like I know Gaga, even though I’ve never met her and know very little about her. This could be simply the intended effect of her character and the mass commercialization of Gaga, but I’d like to think it’s not. Maybe it’d be better to state that I feel like I understand Gaga, though I could be completely wrong in that regards as well. Like I previously mentioned, Gaga is doing what I have always wanted to do. While she is most often showered with comparisons to Madonna due to her gender and music, I feel her closest kin lies in the Ziggy Stardust persona played by David Bowie in the early 70’s, though perhaps because of my Bowie obsession I’m a bit biased in that assessment. Madonna changed her name, but never really transformed herself to be a larger than life, almost cartoonish character in the way that Bowie and Gaga did.
But there is a danger to attempting to invent a persona that you live 24/7 because eventually the line between oneself and the character becomes blurred and the two lives merge. This really isn’t surprising considering that often people who do this are using the characters they create to overcome, or compensate for, some sort stage-fright (Bowie), confidence issues, or other personal problems. These characters can often be seen as a mirror which reflects the dreams and aspirations of the actors who play them. And more often than people would think, some of the most outlandish stage personalities are quite reserved and even shy in real life (Freddie Mercury for example). In an out-of-character interview, Steven Colbert once mentioned that he keeps himself as distant from his character as possible, and that one should always be able to wear their character lightly, and be able to slip in and out of it like a glove. When an artist begins to let their character consume them, the need for change becomes inevitable. After all, “when the kids had killed the man he had to break up the band” (David Bowie – Ziggy Stardust).
My Relationship with Gaga and Why She Must Die
I was inspired to write this half out of boredom and half because I had come across an article by Camille Paglia entitled, “Lady Gaga and the Death of Sex” on the UK’s The Sunday Times website (http://www.thesundaytimes.co.uk/sto/public/magazine/article389697.ece). The tagline states that in her article, Paglia “demolishes an icon.” That’s a rather large claim coming from someone that in 30 years no one will have ever heard of, especially when that icon is Lady Gaga. Paglia’s article reads more like an opinionated, jealousy inspired tirade rather than actual cultural commentary. At first I disagreed with everything Paglia had written, but the more I thought about it, the more I began to agree with some of her points, though I still disagree with her larger conclusions. Paglia attacks Gaga’s sex appeal and also tries her best to attack Gaga’s relationship with her fans, which is rather low because Gaga does genuinely inspire people. Perhaps Paglia is right that Germanotta was not a misfit, but that doesn’t mean that Gaga isn’t. You also don’t have to be a misfit to inspire those who feel they are to be proud of themselves. Gaga’s Little Monsters are an eclectic and loyal group who do indeed look up to her. I see nothing wrong with finding solace and inspiration from a woman who doesn’t pay attention to the mud that people like Paglia sling at her.
I also wrote this because Lady Gaga has been popping into my life a lot recently. My Russian friend Anton demands we listen to “Lovegame” everytime he gets in my car, she just won 8 VMA’s, I’ve been listening to her music in my own attempt to understand electronic and club music, and the other night I had a dream that Ms. Gaga was my best friend. Perhaps it was the fact that it was the first dream I’d had in a while due to my sleeping issues, but when I woke up I was legitimately disappointed that I wasn’t friends with Gaga. This fantasy is probably intensified by the enigmatic cult of personality that surrounds her. Rumors persistently abound that Gaga is a man, battling Lupus, strung out, and even an agent of the illuminati.
For me the mysterious case of Lady Gaga is intriguing because I don’t pay attention to current trends in music at all and generally have no clue who any of your favourite bands are, but I care about Gaga. I actually shelled out the $5 to buy the issue of Rolling Stone that featured an interview with Gaga (though the cover shot wasn’t bad either). I have an immense amount of respect for Lady Gaga, which is strange considering I detest the current state of music and its commodification and mass produced stars. But perhaps for me Gaga is different because she did exactly what I wanted to if I ever got the chance to pursue music seriously, which is to invent herself as an over the top character that she plays in front of the entire world. In a period of only a year or two, Stefani Germanotta completely transformed herself from a relatively unknown, seemingly normal NYC teen to the most popular musical act in recent history. Britney Spears didn’t blow up like this, nor did N’SYNC, Hanson, Backstreet Boys, etc.
In a strange way I feel like I know Gaga, even though I’ve never met her and know very little about her. This could be simply the intended effect of her character and the mass commercialization of Gaga, but I’d like to think it’s not. Maybe it’d be better to state that I feel like I understand Gaga, though I could be completely wrong in that regards as well. Like I previously mentioned, Gaga is doing what I have always wanted to do. While she is most often showered with comparisons to Madonna due to her gender and music, I feel her closest kin lies in the Ziggy Stardust persona played by David Bowie in the early 70’s, though perhaps because of my Bowie obsession I’m a bit biased in that assessment. Madonna changed her name, but never really transformed herself to be a larger than life, almost cartoonish character in the way that Bowie and Gaga did.
But there is a danger to attempting to invent a persona that you live 24/7 because eventually the line between oneself and the character becomes blurred and the two lives merge. This really isn’t surprising considering that often people who do this are using the characters they create to overcome, or compensate for, some sort stage-fright (Bowie), confidence issues, or other personal problems. These characters can often be seen as a mirror which reflects the dreams and aspirations of the actors who play them. And more often than people would think, some of the most outlandish stage personalities are quite reserved and even shy in real life (Freddie Mercury for example). In an out-of-character interview, Steven Colbert once mentioned that he keeps himself as distant from his character as possible, and that one should always be able to wear their character lightly, and be able to slip in and out of it like a glove. When an artist begins to let their character consume them, the need for change becomes inevitable. After all, “when the kids had killed the man he had to break up the band” (David Bowie – Ziggy Stardust).
The Death of Godga, part 2
Gaga is no longer shocking, and the public is only going to find her eclectic outfits interesting and exciting for so long. The scripted character of Gaga also lacks the offstage excitement and spontaneity of a Mick Jagger or even Britney Spears. As Paglia mentions, every move Gaga makes is a specially choreographed maneuver that she completes with the aid of dozens of people. Her recent appearance at the VMAs seemed to reveal a rather hollow Lady Gaga. During a red carpet interview Gaga’s eyes seemed rather empty, and one could tell that the discharged servicemen flanking her were almost like part of an outfit to her. I can’t criticize her for championing social causes such as ending “don’t ask, don’t tell,” but this came across as rather insincere. Gaga’s acceptance speeches at this past Sunday’s VMAs were delivered in a nasally monotone, as she vacuously proclaimed that her Little Monsters were now “the cool kids at the party,” and revealing the name of her next album didn’t illicit much of an audience reaction either (and really why should it?), at least not until she broke into song.
For Gaga, a new transformation is going to be necessary in the coming years if she plans to stay as relevant and cutting edge. Actually to be quite honest, I don’t find anything about Gaga’s character to be cutting edge at all. Unfortunately Paglia was right in that regards. Her character is a mix of glam rock fashion, 80’s synth driven pop, a 1970’s prog-rock stage show, and a cult of personality that challenges royalty. The only real novelty about Gaga is the amount of creative control she is able to exercise over her music, image, shows, etc. The fact that she supposedly writes most of her own material and actually has an excellent singing voice is a breath of fresh air as well. That being said, I’m not confident enough to claim that the Gaga character has reached her climax yet, however it’s coming soon and I think Gaga can feel it.
This is getting to be a bit long winded, so I’ll wrap it up. I hope for her sake that Gaga does reinvent herself in the next few years. It’s not necessary for her to completely kill Gaga in the way that Bowie killed Ziggy because Gaga’s character is human, Ziggy was not. However, if she wants to prove critics like Paglia wrong, she is going to have to become more than a pop singer in wigs and heels that were never meant to be walked in. Gaga, and people like her, eventually have to become comfortable with their true selves rather than continuing to live vicariously through a character. I think Gaga would find a much needed breath of fresh air if she were to allow a little bit more of Germanotta show through before she becomes suffocated under the weight of being Godga. I hope she finds a way to continue staying successful because I truly like Gaga. I wouldn’t consider myself one of her Little Monsters, but I like what she is doing and the fact that she is challenging the current norm of the music industry. The current Gaga character is inevitably destined to die, no matter what Germanotta does. Her future depends on what direction she chooses to take Gaga, and I think the next incarnation of Gaga could be even more exciting if she decides to press forward in new directions. I believe in you Godga.
For Gaga, a new transformation is going to be necessary in the coming years if she plans to stay as relevant and cutting edge. Actually to be quite honest, I don’t find anything about Gaga’s character to be cutting edge at all. Unfortunately Paglia was right in that regards. Her character is a mix of glam rock fashion, 80’s synth driven pop, a 1970’s prog-rock stage show, and a cult of personality that challenges royalty. The only real novelty about Gaga is the amount of creative control she is able to exercise over her music, image, shows, etc. The fact that she supposedly writes most of her own material and actually has an excellent singing voice is a breath of fresh air as well. That being said, I’m not confident enough to claim that the Gaga character has reached her climax yet, however it’s coming soon and I think Gaga can feel it.
This is getting to be a bit long winded, so I’ll wrap it up. I hope for her sake that Gaga does reinvent herself in the next few years. It’s not necessary for her to completely kill Gaga in the way that Bowie killed Ziggy because Gaga’s character is human, Ziggy was not. However, if she wants to prove critics like Paglia wrong, she is going to have to become more than a pop singer in wigs and heels that were never meant to be walked in. Gaga, and people like her, eventually have to become comfortable with their true selves rather than continuing to live vicariously through a character. I think Gaga would find a much needed breath of fresh air if she were to allow a little bit more of Germanotta show through before she becomes suffocated under the weight of being Godga. I hope she finds a way to continue staying successful because I truly like Gaga. I wouldn’t consider myself one of her Little Monsters, but I like what she is doing and the fact that she is challenging the current norm of the music industry. The current Gaga character is inevitably destined to die, no matter what Germanotta does. Her future depends on what direction she chooses to take Gaga, and I think the next incarnation of Gaga could be even more exciting if she decides to press forward in new directions. I believe in you Godga.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
I Dun Goofed
Mondays suck. Who the fuck invented these things? Lately, for me Mondays have been a never ending catastrophe. Usually these tragedies occur while I'm at work, and are on the behalf of our very eclectic group of customers, the most annoying of which I suppose you couldn't even call customers since they don't ever purchase anything, yet take it upon themselves to make sure I have a bad day in the most interesting ways possible. Monday really brings out the crazies. Like a full moon, only 4 times a month. Whether it's homeless people playing 70's rock tunes to me for 3 hours, guitar teachers yelling at me for giving their students advice, or the crazy mother who, seemingly unaffected, came in two days after her son blew his brains out to sell us all of his guitars (she uses a rotation of circa 1975 metal lunchboxes as her purse and is following Todd Rudgren around).
Well yesterday I made the biggest blunder in all of my 8 years there. I should have known yesterday would bring bad luck the moment I awoke and saw my dad lounged out in our living room grading ACTs. Since when does he grade ACTs? He fell asleep during his. On Mondays my morning is a very tightly choreographed routine because Monday is the one day I can't be late to work because I'm supposed to be there to open in case the bossman has to take his kid to school or something like that. I certainly didn't need my father or the old people driving slow in Upper Arlington to interfere, but they did anyways. But I still got to work on time.
Actually, for a Monday it was fairly uneventful. No homeless people, no screaming. Only a toothless man trying to sell us steaks, a bad tasting Chipotle burrito, and the mother coming to stuff some consignment money we had for her into her Scooby Doo lunch pail. But then I dun goofed. After doing my best to help a Mexican family that didn't speak English, I got to talking with a lady who wanted to put $200 down on her $1000 balance. I entered it into the computer and then we got to talking about whatever. It's not often we get intelligent customers, and the conversation was making the day go faster. Well our conversation was winding down and I realized I hadn't run her card so she handed it to me, I swiped it, and looked at the computer screen. Balance remaining: $800. Ok, let's just key that in there and hit enter.......oh shit. oh no. oh fuck. There had been such a disconnect between my entering the payment in the computer and my actually taking the money that I had mistakenly charged her card for the balance remaining. I did my best to force a refund to her card on our machine, but it didn't show up on her online banking (it probably takes a day). Luckily she seemed fairly affluent and said she would transfer money into the account, but I could still tell she was pissed at me. It's my last week though, so at least she only has a few more days left to come in and attack me.
But as to not end on a negative note, the day actually turned out pretty well. Over the past month and a half I've become friends with a group of Russian kids who are here for a summer work program. They are super cool and have provided me with the opportunity to do a lot of cool stuff I wouldn't have normally done this summer. Unfortunately one of them lost her passport and had been very upset about it so last night she and I drove to Tuttle Mall to look for it and luckily the people at Panera had found it. She cried when she got it back, so I felt good about being able to help. I've never lost my passport or been in a foreign country when I wasn't part of some sort of organized program so I can't even imagine what a nightmare it was for her to lose it, but luckily everything is better. Then we went bowling which was a lot of fun. I remembered myself being good at bowling but apparently I remembered incorrectly because I sucked. But I think I'm going to go again tonight because I love bowling and hadn't been in years.
To the more than one but less than five people that might stumble upon this blog, I apologize for the boring content. I'm working on getting it to be more exciting, because I don't like whining either. In the future there will definitely be pictures, personal essays, maybe some parts from a novel I'm thinking about writing, and maybe some embarrassing personal stories, like the time I went into the porno shop in Siberia. Later I plan to post a response to a Gaga article I read. And Karen Hobowsky has requested "dick pics and hj's," so I'll see what I can do to please my audience. For now Karen, enjoy these Dick pics:
And to anyone interested in the origins of I dun goofed, check out this guy Hulking up and helping his daughter fend off a group of internet dorks who had been harassing her:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scyGo7tkC4I
Well yesterday I made the biggest blunder in all of my 8 years there. I should have known yesterday would bring bad luck the moment I awoke and saw my dad lounged out in our living room grading ACTs. Since when does he grade ACTs? He fell asleep during his. On Mondays my morning is a very tightly choreographed routine because Monday is the one day I can't be late to work because I'm supposed to be there to open in case the bossman has to take his kid to school or something like that. I certainly didn't need my father or the old people driving slow in Upper Arlington to interfere, but they did anyways. But I still got to work on time.
Actually, for a Monday it was fairly uneventful. No homeless people, no screaming. Only a toothless man trying to sell us steaks, a bad tasting Chipotle burrito, and the mother coming to stuff some consignment money we had for her into her Scooby Doo lunch pail. But then I dun goofed. After doing my best to help a Mexican family that didn't speak English, I got to talking with a lady who wanted to put $200 down on her $1000 balance. I entered it into the computer and then we got to talking about whatever. It's not often we get intelligent customers, and the conversation was making the day go faster. Well our conversation was winding down and I realized I hadn't run her card so she handed it to me, I swiped it, and looked at the computer screen. Balance remaining: $800. Ok, let's just key that in there and hit enter.......oh shit. oh no. oh fuck. There had been such a disconnect between my entering the payment in the computer and my actually taking the money that I had mistakenly charged her card for the balance remaining. I did my best to force a refund to her card on our machine, but it didn't show up on her online banking (it probably takes a day). Luckily she seemed fairly affluent and said she would transfer money into the account, but I could still tell she was pissed at me. It's my last week though, so at least she only has a few more days left to come in and attack me.
But as to not end on a negative note, the day actually turned out pretty well. Over the past month and a half I've become friends with a group of Russian kids who are here for a summer work program. They are super cool and have provided me with the opportunity to do a lot of cool stuff I wouldn't have normally done this summer. Unfortunately one of them lost her passport and had been very upset about it so last night she and I drove to Tuttle Mall to look for it and luckily the people at Panera had found it. She cried when she got it back, so I felt good about being able to help. I've never lost my passport or been in a foreign country when I wasn't part of some sort of organized program so I can't even imagine what a nightmare it was for her to lose it, but luckily everything is better. Then we went bowling which was a lot of fun. I remembered myself being good at bowling but apparently I remembered incorrectly because I sucked. But I think I'm going to go again tonight because I love bowling and hadn't been in years.
To the more than one but less than five people that might stumble upon this blog, I apologize for the boring content. I'm working on getting it to be more exciting, because I don't like whining either. In the future there will definitely be pictures, personal essays, maybe some parts from a novel I'm thinking about writing, and maybe some embarrassing personal stories, like the time I went into the porno shop in Siberia. Later I plan to post a response to a Gaga article I read. And Karen Hobowsky has requested "dick pics and hj's," so I'll see what I can do to please my audience. For now Karen, enjoy these Dick pics:
And to anyone interested in the origins of I dun goofed, check out this guy Hulking up and helping his daughter fend off a group of internet dorks who had been harassing her:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scyGo7tkC4I
Sunday, September 12, 2010
My first adventures into the blogosphere
Where to begin where to begin. I've wanted to start a blog for a while because I like reading the blogs of others. Sometimes people I do know, sometimes people I don't. I especially liked reading the blog of the one and only Kitten Meow Meow. Anyways, I didn't start one because everytime I would sit down to write something, it would just be me whining, and really, who wants to hear another middle class white kid whine about something? Not me, but unfortunately I'm stuck with myself 24/7 so I get to hear a lot of whining from that demographic.
Now onto the whining. These past couple weeks have been pretty stressful for me because I moved out of my apartment and back in with my parents after having not spent even one night under their roof for a full two years. It hasn't been nearly quite as bad as I expected it to be, but it's still not fun. At first it was pretty bad because I had absolutely nothing to do, but that has gotten better with the addition of cable and a tv to my room, and their birds finally learning to shut up so I can read (my parents started rescuing stray birds after theirs flew away in June. They have 6 of them in our dining room). Really the worst part has been that I've been suffering from a huge lack of sleep which has in turn caused me to develop jaw clenching and backaches which I really could do without. I now subsist on maybe 3-4 hours of uninterupted sleep per night. The lack of sleep is due to noise and heat (they keep our house at 78 degrees) and some other factors. I also really miss playing music. For me it's a love and hate relationship because I love doing it, but I am a perfectionist so any little slip during a live performance and for me it's ruined, and anyone who saw any of our early performances definitely witnessed me throw more than my fair share of tantrums (telling Corey Feldman to fuck off, trying to quit my own group in the middle of a set, etc). Our early performances sucked anyways because I never actually learned any of my lyrics and I was learning to play bass on the fly. I'm bummed that we had to quit playing right as I began to shape up, and when people started to notice we existed and weren't a David Bowie cover band.
But hopefully all the stress will be over soon because in a week I will be departing indefinitely. I lost my job and I live with my parents, so I figured now would be a good time for me to set out into the unknown. I've lived in Columbus for 22 years and it's frankly not good for my mental health. Looking out my window at never changing emptiness of suburbia makes me a bit sick to my stomach. There's nothing left for me here, I'm being stifled and I can't grow as a person. I've been pretty good about keeping my departure a secret because frankly my friends have been flaky lately so I didn't really care. I didn't want to tell people I was leaving and have them pull the "oh no we should hang out before you go!" card. I was here all year and that wasn't conducive to your schedule apparently, so I'm not going to change mine so I can pretend like we had a blast this past year. If you're a good friend of mine and have seen me in the past month, I've probably told you. If I didn't...well....
I think the biggest reason is that I didn't want to pull a "see you I'm outta here and never coming back!" and then end up right back here in 6 weeks like that time sophomore year when I told everyone I was moving to NYC. whoops...
Anyways, that's probably all for now. This blog will presumably get much more exciting after I leave because I can update it with pictures (note to self: buy camera) of my trip to wherever I may end up. Maybe Florida, maybe Alaska, maybe London, maybe to the moon. I also plan to just add links I like here as to keep them off of facebook, random thoughts, songwriting diaries, etc.
Now onto the whining. These past couple weeks have been pretty stressful for me because I moved out of my apartment and back in with my parents after having not spent even one night under their roof for a full two years. It hasn't been nearly quite as bad as I expected it to be, but it's still not fun. At first it was pretty bad because I had absolutely nothing to do, but that has gotten better with the addition of cable and a tv to my room, and their birds finally learning to shut up so I can read (my parents started rescuing stray birds after theirs flew away in June. They have 6 of them in our dining room). Really the worst part has been that I've been suffering from a huge lack of sleep which has in turn caused me to develop jaw clenching and backaches which I really could do without. I now subsist on maybe 3-4 hours of uninterupted sleep per night. The lack of sleep is due to noise and heat (they keep our house at 78 degrees) and some other factors. I also really miss playing music. For me it's a love and hate relationship because I love doing it, but I am a perfectionist so any little slip during a live performance and for me it's ruined, and anyone who saw any of our early performances definitely witnessed me throw more than my fair share of tantrums (telling Corey Feldman to fuck off, trying to quit my own group in the middle of a set, etc). Our early performances sucked anyways because I never actually learned any of my lyrics and I was learning to play bass on the fly. I'm bummed that we had to quit playing right as I began to shape up, and when people started to notice we existed and weren't a David Bowie cover band.
But hopefully all the stress will be over soon because in a week I will be departing indefinitely. I lost my job and I live with my parents, so I figured now would be a good time for me to set out into the unknown. I've lived in Columbus for 22 years and it's frankly not good for my mental health. Looking out my window at never changing emptiness of suburbia makes me a bit sick to my stomach. There's nothing left for me here, I'm being stifled and I can't grow as a person. I've been pretty good about keeping my departure a secret because frankly my friends have been flaky lately so I didn't really care. I didn't want to tell people I was leaving and have them pull the "oh no we should hang out before you go!" card. I was here all year and that wasn't conducive to your schedule apparently, so I'm not going to change mine so I can pretend like we had a blast this past year. If you're a good friend of mine and have seen me in the past month, I've probably told you. If I didn't...well....
I think the biggest reason is that I didn't want to pull a "see you I'm outta here and never coming back!" and then end up right back here in 6 weeks like that time sophomore year when I told everyone I was moving to NYC. whoops...
Anyways, that's probably all for now. This blog will presumably get much more exciting after I leave because I can update it with pictures (note to self: buy camera) of my trip to wherever I may end up. Maybe Florida, maybe Alaska, maybe London, maybe to the moon. I also plan to just add links I like here as to keep them off of facebook, random thoughts, songwriting diaries, etc.
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