Happy New Year

Wow, our first New Year's Eve celebration here in Germany. Cherie, Travis and I joined most of Cherie's co-workers at Stephen's house. Despite my designated driver status, I had a good time.

It was also another layer of complexity added to my feeble understanding of our current home. I understand that I am dealing in generalizations; but since I lack empirical data, they will have to suffice. For a people who seem to be reserved to the point of iciness, they can celebrate with abandon--at a fest, in a beer tent, or, like last night, in their neighborhoods.

I was blown away by local folk's celebration of New Year's. Church bells rang, people cheered and each block seemed to have at least one group launching fireworks. It was something special. Flashes and bangs came from everywhere. The smoke from the pyrotechnics was so thick that it burned one's eyes and throat. The church bell clanged wildly ringing in the new year. And then after the bell fell silent and the smoke drifted away, snow began to fall--a clean white page for the new year.

Much Madness



Tuesday Morning is here and for the first time in about five days, I seem to have a little time to write. I guess if I am to bitch about being busy, I should recap.

Friday was all about school and trying to catch-up. Of course I did not catch up, but I pushed the rock further up the mountain.

Saturday meant Boy Scouts. I had two scoutmaster conferences in the morning and a hike in the afternoon. The lovely, talented and totally cool Karin Abt and I took three scouts from our troop out to get a five-mile hike on Billy Goat Trail on the Maryland side of Great Falls. Cherie joined us. It was great fun. The boys seemed to get it. All in all a great day.

On Sunday afternoon, I met Kate, Theresa, and Bennett at Cinema Arts Theater in Fairfax. Like the writer wannabe geeks we are, we caught a matinee showing of Capote. It was an amazing film that stands out in a season of good movies. The cinematography was excellent; it totally evoked the barreness of the plains as well as characters souls. I could continue to gush, but I will stop writing. Just go see it.

Dead Moors and Sleeping Fish . . .

Perhaps it was the other way around. Anyway. Friday evening qualified as one of the best of my life. Bennett, Katy, Theresa, and myself went downtown to see Othello at the Shakespeare Theatre Company on 7th Street NW. Theresa's mom works for the educational arm of the company and hooked us up with complimentary tickets. Thank you Ms. Koucheravy, wherever you are. My seat was in the seventh row just to the right of center stage. My eye level was the actor's knee level. It was near perfect. I was so close that I could see Avery Brooks breathing when he was supposed to be dead.

I knew nothing about the play beyond a two sentence plot summary. I was blown away totally and completely. Patrick Page's Iago was the most evil bastard I have ever seen. The rest of the cast was equally great. When they returned to take their bows and bask in a well-deserved standing ovation, I remained in my seat trying to sort out the whole splendid experience so that I could commit it more fully to memory. To steal a thought from Kate's blog, "I have never been more moved by a work of literature." (Thanks again to TK & Mom.)

After the play, we roamed Chinatown looking for--what else?--Chinese food. Kate and Theresa looked for the perfect place; Bennett and I just looked for a place. We finally opted for subterrainian Chinese at the Big Wong. The fish tank in the foyer was filled with something that looked like red snapper. Some weren't moving. Kate said they were dead. I said they were just taking a nap. We sat down and ordered. The only other table in the place was a group of Chinese men sharing a huge bowl of soup. The television in the corner displayed pretty postcard images with tons of Chinese characters at the bottom of the screen. I don't know what the hell it was--maybe Karaoke. The food came quickly enough. Pork, Chicken, and Shrimp, everything tasted the same. Mmmm MSG, it is mo' fine.

Making our way back to Metro Center to catch the train home, we had the typical conversation that four English major geeks might have. We talked about books, poets, and such. When I mentioned Anna Karinina, my beloved Theresa blurted out "She gets hit by a train." Great, I have five hundred pages left and I now know it ends.

Anyway, I forgive her. Who can long hold a grudge on such a grand evening?

Fall for the Book

Responding to a desperate email, I met the lovely Katy for a reading at the Johnson Center at George Mason. As part of Fall for the Book, Four writers, all graduates of Mason's MFA program in writing were reading excerpts from their work. I enjoyed it. We arrived late and missed the first reading. The second reading was a group of poems inspired by ancient anatomical art. Some of it was really good. Finally, two novelists, Andrew Wingfield and Steve Amick read from their novels. Good Stuff.

Bennett Elliott and Camila Jones were at the reading. It was good to hang out with writers. There we were, a third of our ENGL 497: Advanced Nonfiction Class. The conversation started with literature and writing, but soon digressed to Lewis Grizzard's UGA joke, and a riff on the Yngwie Malmsteen of the washboard.

We also saw a friend who was back at school taking a the single class he needed to graduate. It seems the undergraduate advisor miscounted his upper level English Credits. Can you say that sucks?

"That dog will bite you."

Nutter’s

Another weekend, albeit one that was unusual for being mundane. For the first time since the end of June, the Jones family was together with no planes to take or meet, no holidays, or no family visits.

Saturday was filled with standard suburban rituals including multiple trips to Home Depot to buy the things we need to make our lives sweeter while enhancing our investment. Cherie bought flowers while I picked up a dandy new fluorescent light fixture for the laundry room. "Choose DIY and wake-up wondering who the fuck you are on a Saturday morning."” I am incapable of going to Home Depot without Rent's "Choose Life” spiel from Trainspotting. It is either on my lips or on my mind. On my mind is better; it leaves Cherie less annoyed.

Now for the sublime: After supper, we drove out to Sharpsburg, Maryland for ice cream from Nutter’s, a fine establishment that provides huge servings of ice cream for extremely reasonable prices. A small cone costs about a buck and a half and provides more than enough ice cream. The price isn't the point though. Nutter's is special because it inhabits a world far apart from our urban/suburban sprawl and crawl.

The store is on a side street behind city hall and across from a defunct Mason'’s lodge now serving as a "“Dance Academy." The building looks to be a hundred years old. The worn wood floor creaks in places. The decor seems to reflect three themes: 1. Someone'’s idea of what an ice cream parlor should be with twisted-iron tables and chairs, 2. Local crafts and antiques on the walls, and 3. Pictures of stock cars proudly displaying the Nutter’s banner along with trophies won running hard at the dirt track up in Hagerstown.

The lines are usually long in the summer. Customers cover the spectrums of age and social status. Sharpsburg provides few alternatives to Nutter's. It is a place to take the kids, a date, or grandma.

Most folks are obviously local. Many of us are obviously not. No one seems to have a great problem with out-of-towners. The locals seem used to it. The Joneses's little invasion of their ice-cream parlor is nothing compared to the day a hundred and forty-three years ago when two armies, one hundred and forty thousand men, fought one the nastiest one day battle of the Civil War. Those armies left four thousand dead men behind. The Union soldiers are buried on the hill beyond the Lutheran Cemetery.

Yeah, the people of Sharpsburg are accustomed to living with strangers

MY TENTATIVE AND DISTRACTED FIRST POST


All my classes have now met. I am pleased; they all seem to promise a busy but productive semester. I have at least two amazing professors. I will write more detailed posts later

Not very surprisingly, I don't know too many of my classmates. One of the down sides of lingering at school an extra semester. It was good to see Evan Quinto, my partner on Team Shortbus: The Worst Environmental Science Lab Table in History. Luckily for both of us, we are done with gen ed's and can focus on English classes.

I planned to write more, but the images and news from the Gulf Coast has hit me like a 2x4 between the eyes. I am familiar with New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Most people there have little more than a tenuous financial hold during the best of times. I fear this blow will leave them beyond recovery. Hard times are ahead.

The rest of us face a simpler challenge; we must figure out how to help.