Floating in the Foolery Boat, too

It's been a lonely three days here at Benchmark 306: Briggs is almost to the South Pacific, Joey is in Mexico, and Jenn is in Spring. I am sitting at our rickety dining table as I listen to Feist on Pandora and reflect on Jessica's post. This particular setting of solitude could have easily  fostered my naturist tendencies, but introspection already makes me feel naked enough. And here I am, blogging about my emotional nakedness!

Gee, Briggs. Your inaugural post had to be all sentimental and shit. The truth is, you're right: I have a bit of growing up to do, too. The scary part is that I'm supposed to grow up pretty soon—once I start my job in DC. Thank goodness I have a ridiculous cross-country bike trip to make before I sit at a desk for 50-60 hours a week.

I went to a wedding last night with some good friends, who also happen to be Texas 4000 teammates. The wedding ended at around midnight, and Mike and I decided to go downtown. Mike and I are both going up the Rockies this summer, and this weekend marks our last in Austin. This was definitely worth celebration, no?

We got to our first bar, Paradise, at 12:50 am in order to meet up with another teammate. We hopped to Spill to meet another group of friends, had beers handed to us by strangers as Mike handed off his mono, danced to old Usher songs as if they were on last weekend's Billboard Top 40, met up with a friend who tried to drive four of her friends home—despite her drunkenness. Thank goodness Mike took the wheel instead.

We drove strangers home, and I got home feeling strange.

I laid in bed at 2:30 or 3:00 am, feeling that the night at Sixth Street wasn't that eventful, but was nevertheless good: doing something is better than doing nothing, and doing something with friends is best. 

The details of each Sixth Street experience will vary with each outing, but my reels of memory show that everything blends into oblivion, and the colors are all the same.

As I start saying goodbyes, I'm try to hold on to the feelings that I'm leaving behind: the security I feel in having a close group of compassionate friends; the warmth in coming home to Benchmark 306 and the reliability of the rickets in this rickety table; the excitement and energy in going to Sixth Street when I already know what the night is going to be like. 

I also find beauty in relationships where friends grow separately without growing apart. But, I also find beauty in the fact that we're really not growing separately—ever. Certainly, we're growing in our own ways, but we're also growing, together. The kids at Benchmark 306 might be traveling to different corners of the world, but my senses tell me that our paths will eventually converge—if not literally.

We're young, we're foolish, and we have a lot to learn, but we're all in the same place.

melancholy foolery

I tend to grieve in reverse, i.e., before the goodbyes. I left Austin recently and it occurred to me that it was my second to last drive home. The next will be the very last. A teacher told my mom in fifth grade that I adapted admirably quickly to changing schools. It's not that I fear the new, necessarily, nor do I think I've lost my adaptability. I'm sure I'll take to Baltimore rather easily. I just already feel homesick for the people I'm leaving behind. Is this how military kids feel?

See. This is foolery, all of it. Look how dramatic I am! Weh weh weh! But maybe it's useful in that I can really focus on my one last month in Austin. And maybe by mourning now I won't feel like a zombie in Baltimore, with my heart left behind. Question: Do zombies have hearts? Honestly, I'm not much of a zombie flick chick.

On a lighter note, we tried to go (or DID go) barhopping in Katy a few nights ago. Aside from a very memorable acoustic rendition of Rihanna's "Umbrella," and some guy named Tim who threw darts at my head, it was ...I have no words, actually. It reaches that point of ridiculousness. Tami says my standards are too high, but in this case I think I'm happy they are. What if Katy bars were all I knew?? The horror! We had fun, of course, but whewwwwww we could have just stayed home to do it.

I seem to be having these "summing up" conversations recently, I guess as a result of not seeing some kids again until who knows when. Robert, Tami and I were talking about relationships. There is some generic saying about how beautiful it is when friends can grow separately without growing apart, or some such. Of course, this is entirely possible. I have experienced it myself. But Robert said something that stuck with me. He said "As soon as you see the other side of the rainbow, it's over. It's like you have to find someone, love them, and hope like hell neither of you ever change."

Those may be two separate thoughts. And neither is always true. But personal experience has shown me that there is a surprising amount of truth in them. It's always amazed me how some people marry the first person they date, or their high school love. Did they really not change, in all that time, or did they change without growing apart? And how did they pull that off? God, I mean, I tried so damn hard, but like my dad said (and I hated him for it at the time), sometimes love isn't enough. He's right. Timing has a hell of a lot to do with everything.

Really, these have been some of the more selfish months of my life. Apparently I still have quite a bit of growing up to do.

Mo' Mo' Mo'!

Yesterday, Jenn, Tim, Briggs, and I went to the Driskill Grill & Bar for half-off foodstuffs and margs at happy hour. 

I wanted to wear a sheer t-shirt and cut-off shorts with Chucks, because that was what I was already wearing but consulted some coworkers about Driskill-customs and decided to change.

$5.00 burgers. Mmm.

But, I Am Not a Nudist

This month-long stay does not mark my first encounter with Benchmark 306. I have been here before, and needless to say, after this is all over, I will be here again.

Some initial observations: My room in B-306 is level with the trees outside (they actually form a sort of elevated hedge in front of my windows), and one of the windows next to my bed is shattered, courtesy of last week's exciting hailstorm. This is, I think, part of the fun. The roomies are friendly and agreeable, as I discovered definitively last night, when we sat together in the living room on our computers, first discussing social justice aloud and then chatting online with each other about less lofty subjects. My kind of people.

Also, the shirt Katherine referred to in the previous post as broadcasting my ethnic identity is a gray American Apparel number with the word 'mensch' printed across it in a pseudo-Semitic script. It was given to me by my mom, which adds a level of good-natured niceness to my wearing it, as if that were lacking. Thanks, mom! Theoretically I'm wearing the shirt ironically, which I reckon is the point, but who knows? This shirt stands in contrast to the shirt that I spotted on a Yid at Quack's: "I✡Shiksas." I wonder how that shirt is working out for him.

Joseph

Last night, Jenn and I were greeted by a familiar face: one, Mr. Joseph K. We looked at his Chacos and grey shirt—something of the Jewish type—and realized that he'd be a perfect fit for our posh condo on Cedar Street. "Joey" (aka Jew-ey), will be living here for the next month.

A shtik naches!

The only sad news? Jenn and I will have to slack off on our nudist tendencies. Perhaps Joey can join us instead.