Weekends, Obies, Syracuse, Self-Analysis

So first things first: Mlle. H. F. Spencer, known in some circles for her early (if temporary) retirement and fabulous globetrotting lifestyle, recently graced the city of Buffalo, and myself in particular, with her presence. Some noteworthy anecdotes from this trip include:

- A trip to perhaps my favorite area bar, Allen St. Hardware. We hung out for a while, but it was crowded and we grew tired of waiting for a table. We left to find a spot with both beer AND chairs, but outside ran into a group of local teachers, two of which currently teach at my old high school (and one of whom was my actual English teacher for a while). They invited us back in, and bought us all drinks. See, in college it was not unusual to see professors out having a beer. But this was more than a beer... this was partying. And they’re my high school teachers, so they’re stuck in time. On the one hand I can’t quite believe that I’m old enough to be thought of as their peer, on the other hand, I’m young enough that seeing older people who are still single and hitting up bars freaks me out a bit. I think Dan summed this up best when he turned to Hannah, Ang, and myself and shouted above the din: “This could be us in ten years. Cheers.”

- A party. We played a rousing game of musical-charades until others arrived. Later, upstairs, the hookah was knocked over, lighting the carpet on fire. Dan threw a jug of spring water at the smoldering embers, though unfortunately the jug landed on its base and then tipped to one side, spilling only a little bit of water, all of it on my shoe. The fire was eventually extinguished. And as an aside, I would like to add that they just don’t make brown shag carpet like they used to. Or at all, for that matter. We will have to be cunning in our attempts to hide the damage.

- A trip to Rochester. We decided to visit Ryan, and also decided that we would not call him first (as he’s notoriously tough to get a hold of). On the way, Hannah introduced me to a delicious coffee beverage at a Thruway rest-area Starbucks. I must get this beverage again in the future, possibly tonight, on my drive. I found Ryan’s house—from memory, having been there briefly over a year ago—with a speed and efficiency that stunned even myself. We knocked on the door (insert R. Kelly joke here)--no answer. So, we proceeded to plan B, which was to walk down to the Eastman School of Music and start asking everyone if they know Ryan. Thankfully for us, and, I suppose, for him, we ran into him on the sidewalk en route. We had tea, listened to music, talked about future plans that may or may not involve Brooklyn and crappy hourly jobs in the catering industry. I suspect he had many other things to do, as his recital took place this past Saturday, but I was glad he made time to see us.

Indeed, good times were had by all. You, too, can have good times in Buffalo, if you visit me. I love having guests.

This past weekend I discussed the cost of rent in Brooklyn with a recent defector (it seems almost unimaginably high), and played a gig with Dan at a bar in Angola. Angola? I think that’s where it was. It was pretty far out there, anyway. Regardless, the money wasn’t great, but the people were nice and we had free food and drink for the duration of the evening. The whole band! For the whole night! Wings and beer for all!

Okay, now we’re all caught up.

Today I leave work a little early to drive the two-and-a-half hours to Syracuse for an interview. This is the last of my grad-school visits, and is likely to be the shortest, as I will leave promptly to drive home in time to get up for work tomorrow. I must confess: as much as I love a good drive, I’m not particularly looking forward to this one if only because of the sleep deprivation I imagine will be involved. I hope something comes of all this grad-school nonsense, and I hope that I hear about it soon, whatever it is.

And on a thoroughly unrelated note, I found out on Friday that someone who made fun of me back in my early Buffalo years committed suicide fairly recently by driving his vehicle into the Niagara River, noted locally for its swift current and whirlpools, and internationally for its waterfalls. My initial reaction, which was something along the lines of “can’t say I’m sorry he’s gone,” surprised me. My attitude has since tempered somewhat, but still, am I really that vengeful? I came to terms with certain aspects of my childhood long ago. My moving around a lot as a little kid brought me into a new school at a time when most kids had known each other for years, and it took me the better part of elementary and middle school to get over the social obstacles laid out for me in those first few weeks of third grade. This, I now know, had very little to do with me and much more to do with the social construct in which kids interact. I (my actual person) was not the target; rather, the target was The New Kid (who just happened to be me). But if I have such an understanding of this in my head, then why such callousness toward the guy? I don’t consider myself to be all that spiteful, but perhaps I have an overly optimistic view of my own personality. I guess the lesson to be learned here is that one’s emotional memory is a force to be reckoned with: it retains feelings longer than one might think, and is stronger than any ex post facto rationale one constructs. Unfortunate, that.

Over and out.