The Shape of Discontent

One of my teammates I was just on the road with for two weeks has some unusual eating habits. First of all he is an aspiring vegetarian, but can't seem to work it out. While some people tread that dietary path for reasons of health or conscience, my chum is on it because meat seems kind of weird to him. Just some meat. If it seems to meaty. Or isn't disguised enough. Or something like that.

He has a bunch of foibles like that. This is too stringy, that smell reminds him of something he doesnt like, that thing is just creepy. It goes on and on. The one I was thinking about today was that he doesn't like cashews because of their shape.

Now, I respect taking a strong stance against an oddly-shaped foodstuff. Eggplant seems kind of weird to me like that so I steer clear of it. But the delicious cashew? It's shape seems full of warm character. Like a comma, but really I picture it more of an apostrophe or teamed up to make a semi colon. It seems to have something to say. The quote marks of the nut world.

Perhaps they are curled up take a nap? We often see them in the can spooning each other. That's generally pleasant. Does my friend think that they are up to something? That their curvy shape implies some sort of moral ickiness? Like they might do their business around corners.

When I pressed him on the matter, he said that he wasn't sure: that they were just weird.

So, I got bought some at the store today and took a closer look.

Now, with most things under the 300mm zoom lens, stuff looks a little different. You see the details you overlook in day to day life. I started seeing things in the cashew that I didn't like: in some of the shots they had a grub-worm aspect. Little nodes looking like tiny feet. It was all-too organic. They were too bumpy, too malformed. I started to get a creepy feeling too. Where was the happy smooth quotation mark that I pictured?

But I know that everything you shoot that tight ends up with a certain amount of that going on. We see things as tidy from a distance, but up close we see the flaws and lose our comfortable sense of overall form. I find it with flowers; from a distance we see the idea of them, grace and form. But in tight they are a mess: pollen all over the place and stuff falling all over. Very untidy. I like that about flowers, they pull it off.

My man the cashew was giving me doubt, though.

Symmetrical nuts like the almond have it made. They form a nice teardrop, and they have very gentle, graceful slopes. It's easy to admire the almond. Cashews in comparison are unmade bed, like a peanut that went wrong somehow.

I frowned at the cashew and paused to reflect.

Absently, I popped my subject matter's mate into my mouth and munched away on a few.

Delicious.

All was forgiven.

A Ridiculous Exchange

I looked up from my work and realized it was 5:45pm.

Eep. I knew I had a package waiting for me, so I finished up my emails and packed to go home.

Now, what this means is that there was a Christmas present that was too big to fit in my mail slot or the auxiliary slot for sorta-big packages. So they left the package at the front desk of the complex and I could sign for it when I got back from the road.

Today was my first chance at that and the office closes at six. It sometimes takes 30-45 minutes to drive the 6 miles from work to home. Would I make it in time to get my package?

It seemed unlikely. With my license plates still unswitched to Texas, I get concerned about being pulled over for Driving While Yankee, so I like to keep the speed nice and legal, further hampering my chances to make it home in time for presents.

It's a chancey drive with a couple of sudden stops. Me looking at green lights instead of brake lights, but as I hit the home stretch it's 5:58. By the time I park it'll be 6pm. Will they close on the dot or linger? It looks dark in there, but I go on in and the place is stacked. Sweet.

One of the pretty young girls that works there saunters over, asking if I need help. It's strange, but in my apartment search nearly all of the places we looked at the helpers were all pretty young girls. Except that one old lady and that dude.

But I digress: it's helper time and we are finally getting to the Ridiculous Exchange that titles this blog entry.

I tell my helper my apartment number and she hauls out a big package.

"Oooh!" I say.

She smiles "Looks like a good one."

"Yes." I tell her, "and I don't get many presents."

Her eyes narrow slightly but she's still smiling "Aw, how come?"

"Because I'm always on the Naughty list!" I confess.

She chuckles as I sign the form and then notices the sticker on the box.

"Look" she says "It says it has alcohol in the box! That's nice."

I go from fake-embarassed at being fake-naughty to fake-excited again. "How nice!" I exclaim.

Yes, yes, fun exchange. I go home, get my mail and stuff and finally get to the package:

Ridiculous and true.

Trash Backlog

This is the building across from mine, but they are the same so you get the idea. I would be the second floor on the left, far left garage door. Pleasant enough if somewhat like an extended stay motel. Actually one of the ladies that helped me sign the lease made a comment to that effect. She had been asking what I did and the subject of my extensive travel came up. When she said "Ah, so you're used to hotel living" I didn't realize how much she meant this place too. Fun story: the first thing that same gal actually did when I told her what I did is marvel that we are still in business. "The Yellow Pages? Nooooobody uses those any more" she went on and on to this effect, hammering home the instability of my industry as I was signing on the dotted line. Finally I gently told her to clam up. The moving guys gave a counter opinion later, mentioning how much they used and advertised in them.

But anyway. What you really want to know is: how's the new place?

We'll play the Upgrade Game.

Space: Upgrade!

Its a lot bigger than the old digs. More storage, large closets. Plus the garage is nice and has a small room off that as well.

View: Downgrade.

They said it had a view of the woods. More like a glimpse around a corner if you crane your neck. Mostly I have view of cement and skateboarding, yelling children. The amazing sunset and beach are gone for sure. It's also noisy in a way I haven't adjusted to yet. I'm sure eventually it will be no problem, but right now I'm sleeping the distracted sleep of a hotel guest, awake at every disturbance and ill at ease despite the comfort.

Commute: Downgrade.

I'm coming around on this a little since I've found a back way to work, but the DFW traffic is brutal. And it's tough both ways. Even using the shortcut it takes 20 minutes to go a few miles.

Amenities: Even

Well, the truth here is that they really swerved me on the appliances. They said they were one thing and they just aren't. They are substantially older than what I was shown. And worse than my previous set. The fridge is smaller too. But it does have an ice maker. Ask better questions next time, kids. It bumps up a little because I've bought my own washer dryer and a new TV which are both upgrades. So, overall it's better, but I was a bit bladed by the switch.

One digression I do want to make is to talk about the trash. The deal is, they pick up your trash four days a week. But only during two-hour windows at night and only in their provided containers. Kids, those provided containers are about the size of a small kitchen waste basket.

On the whole, I think it's a good plan: in this heat I do not want any trash hanging out at all. But as I move in, I have a lot of trash so you have to do this constant trash shuffle to get it out. I've been using old shopping bags for trash, taking those out regularly, but the bulkier stuff is troublesome. Like styrofoam from packages and such. So I'm working on a trash backlog.

And that's pretty much been my life so far: work, waiting on moving and delivery people, trying to get adjusted and unpacked and working on my trash backlog.

Sixteen-Cent Solution

I made a bowl of ramen noodles for lunch today.

It was the first time I've had the frugal college staple meal in probably 20 years. I was kind of dubious about it right up until I poured the steaming broth into the bowl and the flood of sensory memories came back to me.

I remember eating ramen thickened with cream cheese and broccoli as a young man. I was just starting out after school and on the cusp of a love that would last a decade. It was an exciting, scrappy time and the soup seemed like a make-do masterpiece- a revelation of possibility. We could make something presentable and excellent out of the meager supplies we had.

Years before that I sat on the floor in the basement of the art department and ate ramen raw between classes. I'd break off chunks like it was some lame granola bar. The look of astonishment on my professor's face when she saw me doing it puzzled me. I'm just eating ramen here. Doesn't everyone do this? Leave me alone, I'm doing my thing.

It's the MSG-flavored broth that holds the memory. It tastes like soup you buy in those vending machines; the kind with poker games on the side of the cup and a fortune on the bottom. I remember drinking that soup waiting in the train station in Hartford joking around with my family. The vended soup always tasted more nourishing than it was. And that's the way the ramen felt today- deeply nourishing. Drinking the broth at the bottom brought a sweat to my temple and a deep sigh to my lips as I put the bowl down.

I guess I'm feeling the past closely since the move. Some past selves seem impossibly-distant. Like you have no connection to the story of that life. Thinking it was really you then seems odd and apocryphal. Other moments are close. Like you could step out the door and into that different person's life.

But you can't and distance is a liar in both directions. So I sipped the soup and thought about it and sighed.

The Kickball Wall

Today I started going through my stuff to sort the stuff that's making the trip and the stuff that 1-800-Got-JUNK is going to haul away on Tuesday. At first, everything you go through brings on a wave of memories and nostalgia. As the process continues you become a little more mercenary about it.

But I'm most of the way through and it's not as bad as I thought it would be. Each piece auditions itself in different ways.

"Hey, I'm a bag of electronics! You like electronics! I know you that you haven't touched me in five years, but maybe tomorrow's the day you'll need 60 feet of ethernet cable! Plus, I'd be hard to sort through!" Grudgingly keep.

"Remember me? Your old papers. You promised to go through me, but you never did. You kept me this long, why change now?" Toss.

And so it goes. Christmas tree, keep. Christmas paper, toss. Christmas lights, keep.

There's a weird algebra to it.

How many copies of the books you wrote do you need? A few.

How many computer books do you need? None.

How many Latin dictionaries do you need? All of them.

What about glassware? Oh god, I don't know, let's just keep it all.

Some stuff you keep for sentimental reasons even though you don't use or need, like the flask my brother gave me.

Other things you have to be honest with yourself about even though you don't want to. I think that that is the fate of Gargoyle Dog. He has been a good companion and seen me through some tough times. I remember long, cold days writing books in Portland with only him for companionship. In those days he wore the Mardi Gras beads, but only begrudgingly. He was a good Gargoyle Dog.

But he has a broken wing and spends most of his time with the cookbooks these days. It's time to say goodbye. If I had been braver, maybe I would have left him in Portland when I moved. But it's time now.

Goodbye Gargoyle Dog and all the other things that I'm leaving behind.

Cruel Geometry

The guy came today to estimate how much space on a truck it would take to move my life to Texas. Short answer: not much. He prowled about the place with a practiced eye, taking notes on his clipboard here and there. Will this be going? Do you have the original box for this?

As the survey continued, Bob (for that was his name- Bob) made some basic small talk.

Why are you moving to Texas? I filled in details helpfully, but Bob wasn't really having much of it. To me the move is a Major Life Event. To Bob it's just a basic math problem. One that he solves every day.

So we looked out at the sun going down over the water off my beautiful deck. I was feeling perhaps slightly nostalgic for something I hadn't lost yet.

I told Bob that I would miss this in Texas. He told me quite flatly that "Nothing lasts forever." and went about attending to his clipboard. Now I'm not sure how Bob intended his trope, but from the context I took it to mean: you won't be in Texas forever either, chummy.

He may have intended it as a comfort, but I doubt it. It's just the simple truth of a man who sees lives in transit every day. To him, all the boo hoo hoo comes down to: do I need an 18-wheeler for this job or not?

Bob's right, though: it won't be forever. I've spent the last few years on the road and I understand transition. It's impermanence that I'm not totally settled on.

I had to work out my own geometric puzzle at work today. I knew the answer right away but I didn't like it. So I re-checked and thought it through. It always came out the same. So I called my friend and explained my reasoning. She told me at the end that I was right and just needed to face it. Put on your big girl panties she said.

She's right. I was right. Bob's right.

Time to face it and move on.

Home at last.

This post was written several weeks ago, but just posted today

I'm home at long last but wiped out. Got in last night, but will only work a little today. I'm physically and emotionally drained and am trying to make some sense of the last six weeks.
This trip was considerably harder than the previous in every way.
As the Lonely Planet guidebook says: "No matter how diehard you are, it's hard to find anything in Chennai to rave about". It's a tough city and we were staying out by the airport. It's hot, rough-scrabble and there isn't anything really to do. There is a tax on alcohol that ranges from 50% to 70%. Even the models and actors we saw at fashion shows and tv shoot just weren't that hot. The hotel gave us problems and the food just wasn't as good as Bangalore.
But it isn't just our entertainment and creature comforts; Chennai was a depressing city that assaulted your good will. Poverty and slums were always a step away and it was hard to miss. People relieve themselves everywhere and it's muddy and dirty. Everyone gets sick and has a perpetual cough.
The work was harder, longer and more desperately required. Starting something is easy; finishing it is hard. This trip we were trying to wrap things up but there was a lot conspiring against us. You can only do so much, but working hard and not getting the results you want is difficult. And I had to do some things as a manager that were hard
It was a tough trip.
But it was a great trip.
This trip had a lot of growth experiences built into it. And those kind of experiences aren't always pleasant. You can wrinkle you nose at the guy in the elevator and think he's a creep for not bathing, but then you see how they have to get water from a hand pump every day and you start to get it. While we griped about the sub-standard showers in our hotel rooms our driver slept in the car at night and somehow looked crisp in whites in the morning. We understand these things, but It's hard to get over your upbringing and truly empathize.
We saw abject poverty and stunning riches. We saw fashion shows on the catwalk and cows eating the glue off of posters. We saw markets so dense with people that you couldn't move. We heard songs to Allah sung in the catacombs of emperor's tombs. We were threatened by a snake charmer, brow-beaten by monkey-handlers, harassed by a transgendered beggar, and stared at by nearly everyone.
We watched ceremonies to ward off the evil eye, painters etching palm leaves, security guards sleeping at their posts, lions having sex, stoneworkers at the grinding wheel, and more. Our friends went on engagement-meetings to find brides, had cake smeared on in their faces and were kicked in the air for their birthdays.
It was a great trip. It was a hard trip.
And it's the last one I will make there in the foreseeable future and I'm ok with that. I've been too long on the road. I've been away more than I've been home for the last year and a half and I need to work on reconnecting and building a life here. So, thank you India, thank you company for sending me, but now I need to put you aside and look to my home.



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