Snow and Guilt in Heaven

3/26/02

Boston can't decide if it's Spring or not again. After a gorgeous February that sent me and all the flowers in pollination mode, it became winter again right after my friend Dust left for Knoxville. Last week it snowed and snowed and was wet and ungodly cold and so windy one day that while I waited for the morning bus to Harvard square I was flattened against a building by the force. I'm sneezing and I want the sun to shine warm again. I want Dust, the vernal equinox personified, to bring the sun back. I want to lie on the river bank with a stack of comic books and a beautiful boy. That won't happen until late April, at least, but that's my favorite day dream right now: me, the sun on my back, good stuff to read and eat, on the banks of the Charles with literate company. Maybe even some blue-eyed, lightly freckled company.

It'll happen soon, just not today or tomorrow.

It's been two days now, and I'm still worn out from watching the longest Oscar ceremony ever. My bottom is still sore and I'm still afraid that whomever stole Gweneth Paltrow's nipples will come after mine next. I had no problem with the see through stuff the women were wearing, but they had all so seamlessly hidden their nipples that I was worried they'd had them removed, or worse, stolen. I had this lightning bolt of very real fear when that thought passed through my head, and I still haven't gotten over it. Aral and I invited just a few people over to watch the ceremony with us, and it turned out to be a blessing that only April from campus showed up for the long run. We had a good time, but damn, four hours and twenty minutes? I love the Oscars, and I was ready to throw the TV out the window near the end.

Monday night I went to see a photography show that was located inside a fancy hair salon down on Newbury Street. I was invited by Jack, and the show was of a photographer called Graham Ramsay who sometimes shot stuff at the medical library. The pieces were really cool; hand tinted close ups of random body parts, like feet or eyes. I'm a big fan of tinting for unity in photographic work, as you can see from the banner at the top of this page. The show was nice, and I enjoyed seeing Jack and Ginny out of the context of work. I used to answer the phone all the time and connect Graham's calls; it's always nice to connect an actual person with the voice you know from the telephone.

I always feel like a photoshop punk after seeing someone who takes the time to hand tint things. What they do is art; what I do is silly digital noodling. I always feel like I should apologize to photographers from the generation above mine: Excuse me, sir, what you do is just amazing. I'm sorry I cut my teeth on the computer program that makes uneducated people think what you do is easy. I think what you do is super cool. On behalf of everyone under 30 I apologize to you, Harlan Ellison and Metallica for us being little digital thieves and punks, stealers of art, time, and dedication. I ask for your forgiveness for every line of code I ever ripped, for every photo collage I ever made in under an hour on a seamless print sheet, for every stolen Mp3 I love to listen to on my way in to work. I stand before you guilty of crimes no one ever thought to make laws for, and all I can do is look at these photographs and admire the kind of skill I'll never have the patience to come close to touching. I'm sorry.

My guilt is in overdrive lately. I actually got hired for a position at the Wiesmann Preservation Center, but had to turn them down because the really odd job I'm doing now doesn't end until May 31 and they need someone before that date. The International Studies people made me swear that if they hired me, I'd work out the project; I didn't feel like I could go back on my word. So on May 31 I'll still be at a loose end, and someone else will be on in my position at the Preservation center. Let's face it; this guilt thing, with me, is out of control. Well, I have another interview Wednesday with another super-cool place; who knows what will happen?

I think it's going to turn out that James and I can put together a decent sort of friendship, if we ever get the time and chance too. I've been working and he's been working and that was part of the reason the dating thing was a bad idea. Hanging out with Matt every once in a while at the comic book store is fun, but hanging with James there is just a bad idea because he gets so tense while working. Plus, I'm always worried about getting in the way, even though when I worked at a bookstore I liked my friends visiting with me when it wasn't much busy. But still.

I'm all crunched-up tense myself lately, I suppose because the move to Atlanta grows ever more likely each day. I have half accepted the inevitability of the move, and everything that's going to mean for me; putting down roots, becoming part of my mother's family and eventually starting a little nest of youngins. When I go, I'll have to learn some way to deal with the people I was born into on an everyday basis, something that was not quite taught to me in all my moving around childhood. I'm trying to soak up all the Boston possible, snatching little moments like photography shows and discussions in comic book stores while I can. I day dream of warm days on the river bank with someone who understands the joy of learning for learning's sake, and I know that with everything that's going on, a day outside is all my budget can take. This is heaven, and I can't afford to live here. The real world is banging on my door with bills and a wristwatch, and I know it's just about time.