On the way there

We're in traffic right now so watching the scenery pass to The Decemberists is not a very inspirational prospect. We're driving to Knox College in Illinois for the Love Your Body Conference (hosted by SASS- Students Against Sexism in Society). We = me, Anat, Rachel, and Julie.

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"Do you know what time it is!?" was what woke me up my first morning in Providence. I jolted up and saw Lauren standing over me.

"No, what time is it?"

"12:30!"

Usually that shit bothers me. I remember one time in Boston Leonor woke me up by running a finger along the inside of my exposed bicep. I, ticklish and jumpy in my sleep, did not appreciate that.

But now somehow, incoherent and on the verge of heart failure, still trying to get out of my dream, whatever it was, I didn't mind.

I hadn't meant to sleep that late. But I'd been up for a few hours in the very early morning, probably not used to a lack of air conditioning and no lack of natural sunlight streaming in through the windows. I'm so spoiled in Queens. (Except, of course, for having to sleep on a couch in my mom's living room.) It's no wonder I never go out anymore.

But on this particular morning- or rather, afternoon- that of Sunday, August 14, 2005- I was itching to go. And find me some air conditioning.

After lauren made me coffee and we talked about how she's thinking of moving down south and I'm thinking of moving back to providence (part 10,000 of that conversation), she left for work and I took a cold shower.

I walked, from her flat on Broadway all the way to the Cable Car on South Main. Heat is one thing, but finagling Rhode Island buses on a Sunday is quite another.

It was a nice walk anyway, through downtown, across the river. I am assaulted with such a plethora of memories no where else. And certainly nothing close to the span of time.

Look, there's the lot where me and Erin used to go hang out with that guy who worked there when it was a gas station, circa 1997. And the fire station, where we took the middle school kids to on a tour, in 2001 or 2002. And harc!, Trinity theatre, where I interned in 1998-99, and the Brewhouse on the back, still with that brilliant sign: Beer Pool Beer Pinball Beer.

And then the RISD auditorium, where I spent a lot of time that week I volunteered for the film festival in 2000. And alas, here we are at the Cable Car, my favorite cinema in the world, where I saw Jyothi for the last time, my last week in town, August 2002. Where I saw "Ghost World". And "Far From Heaven". The newest version of "The Importance Of Being Earnest". And where I will now see "The Baxter", the Michael Showalter film, as part of the 2005 Rhode Island International Film Festival.

After the film I got another coffee and talked to a couple after the man got on my case for chewing my nails. He hit me on the head with his umbrella whenever I'd even look at my nails or stick the umbrella in my face between my mouth and hands. It was so bizarre, so unlike anything anyone would even consider doing in New York. It made me love Providence even more.

According to Sinn Fein News (random, I know, they were highlighting Dublin, naturally).

1. Tokyo, Japan
2. Osaka, Japan
3. London, United Kingdom
4. Moscow, Russia
5. Seoul, South Korea
6. Geneva, Switzerland
7. Zurich, Switzerland
8. Copenhagen, Denmark / Hong Kong, China
10. Oslo, Norway
11. Milan, Italy
12. Paris, France
13. New York City, NY, United States / Dublin, Ireland
15. St Petersburg Russia
16. Vienna, Austria
17. Rome, Italy
18. Stockholm, Sweden
19. Beijing, China
20. Sydney, Australia

from How not to get hit by a bike, and other stuff they forgot to tell you about Amsterdam.

under "what is amsterdam?"

"And this is not about the Netherlands. I'm not writing about Amsterdam as a key to the Dutch cultural experience or something. For me the Netherlands can be sniffed in oh let's say an afternoon train ride to Enkhuizen, and then you can extrapolate from there. But that's just me — I'm a city lover and not a nation lover. People ask if I'm American, I'm like 'well not exactly, I'm from Boston.' So my apologies to the beautiful sensible Dutch with their glorious maritime history, startling modern architecture, world-renowned civil engineering, their groovy windmills and endless fields of tulips and cabbage and 4.8 million cattle and 96 million chickens. I just prefer Amsterdam. Amsterdam you could explore for a thousand years — assuming it lasts that long.

"My hypocrisy isn't lost on me. I know very well that the comforts of this city are mere foreground constructs of the landscape behind it. And that if this were the Hunger Winter of 44-45, I would be singing a whole different tune.

"I was first smitten at 17, just out of high school and floating around Europe on the cheap. I was zigzagging by rail all over the continent and kept snapping back to Amsterdam. This place just felt right to me. When I went home, I left part of my mind here. Then I went on a 27-year tour of being a grownup. I had work, art, adventures, relationships. But I kept wanting Amsterdam. I took so many little trips here that people began to think I liked travelling. I hate travelling. Finally I ran out of excuses and just moved here. Here I am."

*

from "how you get here"

"A bored person in a booth checks your passport and, unless you're a wanted fugitive, waves you through."

Which is exactly what happened to me... I didn't even get a passport stamp, he just looked at it, but not at me, not really, and nodded me through.

The darkening sky is threatening to put an end to my holiday. Gray clouds are gathering and literally falling, rushing to cover the remaining white bits. The seagulls are hectic, quickly flying willy nilly, rushing to greet with some preparation the impending storm.

Behind me are a plethora of school buses and high rises. In front of me, a plethora of water and sand. The boardwalk serves as a definable border between these two unlikely neighbors. I’ve never seen Coney Island look like this—the sky this dark, without the lights of the parks it looks even sketchier. It is losing its glow and spark and gaining a ghostly air.

I finally made it to Brighton Beach. That’s where I train’d in. Pretty much exactly like Astoria’s main streets only Russian. But I didn’t come for that, not really. Straight to the water, follow your nose. Hot sand, cold water, and the first time I’ve been able to breathe in a while. I didn’t eat at Moscow Restaurant but at a place right next to it. A waitress outside talked me into it. And sure enough, I’d been sitting there only a little while when a man came up to me and said something in Russian, something that sounded like a question. “Sorry?” Again, Russian. I think he said, “You don’t speak Russian?” shaking his head. “Sorry, no.” Off he went nodding.

Due to my hearing problem, a lot of times when I hear a different language, at first I think it’d English and that I just can’t hear it right. (This isn’t uncommon when people speak English.) The closer the cadence is to American English (or British English), the more time it takes to realize it isn’t English.

Tonight one of the dancers in one of the shows I tech'd was the spittin image of Colin Meloy (lead singer of The Decemberists)- hipster-nerd glasses and everything. Only thing was he was lighter-haired. His name was Colin. I'm serious. I just stared at him all night. He probably thought I was weird, but he never said anything or anything. So either I got away with it or he just thought, "Aw, cute, the techie has a crush on me, but I'm not interested so I won't say anything" or whatever.

When I introduced myself as Vee, his dance partner Erin asked if it was a nickname. I said yea. Colin said, "Do you know my roommate Jimmy?"

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*

Today I bought a hat for $10 on St. Mark's. I'd had my eye on it for a while. It's a black fedora with pink pinstripes.

On the 6 train riding home tonight, two men got onto the train and one of them was wearing pink trousers and a pink tie. I thought, my hat would look good with that outfit.

Not long after the train started moving again the man in pink said to his friend, "That hat would look good with my outfit." I smiled but said nothing.

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This is a tiny (“wee”) dictionary of just a few Scottish English (or more generally British English) words, terms, and concepts that I was exposed to during the four and a half months I lived there. I chose the ones I chose based on a few factors: a) their representation of Scottish (or more generally British) culture from my American lens; b) their interesting parallel—or lack thereof—to American English; c) their particular interest to myself; or d) their funniness.

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If there's one thing living in the UK has taught me, it's not to be too picky about my coffee. Oh, sure, it'll be grand to get back to the States so I can get my comfort drink proper again, but it's nice to know just how adaptable I can be.

Paul says, "Milk is milk and coffee is coffee."
Ha! The poor boy, if only he knew...

*

I've heard people are applying to emigrate out of the States in record numbers since fuckhead got reelected. I can only imagine how weird it is over there. Here, no one cares too much- and those that do, they got it out of their system by ragging on me the first few days. I understand; they had to take out their aggression/frustration, and I just happened to be the nearest American. My motto became- "I voted for KERRY in OHIO; I am not to blame, for anything!" (Considering, of course, that my absentee ballot went through ok... :P)

Last weekend, Joe (the new chef) said he was so shocked that I actually got irony- he and Kevin (the other chef)'s ragging on me nonstop like. "You must have spent enough time in Britain." I laughed and explained no, it was probably due to all the British comedies I'd watched back home. I decided not to get into the mess of stereotyping Americans as having no sense of humor and then being shocked when one doesn't fall into said stereotype, when stereotyping a people as large and diverse as Americans is pretty thick, even thicker than stereotyping a smaller people.

Next day after work, waiting for the taxi which took a fucking hour, I was getting all frustrated and figgity, and my Northeast thing was coming through big-time. These two guys who'd sat with us (me and Karen) were getting a total kick out of me. I told them what Joe had said and they said- "It's because you live in Queens!"

I've written a lot whilst in Scotland (been here since 24 August). Some of it's interesting.

My First Weekend As A Bar Wench
On Journalling/Chronicling
Work Experience Rachel
"Nobody Becomes An Artist Unless They Have To"
Americans/ Politics/ Comfort
The Comfort Of Recognizable Character Traits
Being An American Bar Wench In Scotland Is Fun!

“Scotland!?” Jekka inquires in her Nashville lilt, still a bit evident after all those years in New York. But maybe it’s just me.

“That’s what I said,” I say.

“Christ, woman. That’s a little random.”

“Not really.”

“What?”

“Johnny’s here. My third cousin? I’m staying with him.”

“I thought he was Irish.”

“He is. He just lives in Scotland.”

“Why?”

“He wanted to get away from Ireland, this was as far as he got.”

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Paul told me about a lunch he served, a group of six- including an American and he thought, "Yes! American! Tip!!"

And, indeed, as they were leaving, the American, when the Scots weren't looking, put a £10 note on the table.

It was nice to hear him speak kindly of Americans for a change.

A middle-aged man, surrounded by other middle-aged men and a few younger attractive twentysomething men.

Man: "Care for any of these boys?"
Me: "Er..."
Man: "Are you from Kirkcaldy?"
Me: "No, I'm American, actually."
He and those around him laugh, almost sinister.
Man: "So you're not local then?"
He and those around him laugh, definitely sinister.

Dude. I just went to the Anne Frank House.

"Zo och na 'Habla con ella'. Dag hoor. -Annelie Frank, 09/11/02"

I could be anywhere.

I came all the way to Amsterdam to see an Alabama bluegrass band! (In an Irish pub!)

"I like your dragonfly," Mick said, and pretended to fly.

A Note from Collins, passed secretly in the bar, read: "You probably should be a filmmaker."