A Recent Conversation with Sebastian

b: Okay, Sebastian, what do you think about this proposition? I just spoke to Todd and apparently he had no troubles getting Gustav to Berlin. So I was thinking that perhaps you'd like to move to The Netherlands with me.

s: I hate you.

b: But really, buddy, as long as I could find a place in Amsterdam and a place in Tilburg where dogs are acceptable, you'd totally be able to come with me.

s: *rolling eyes* What make you think that I'd want to come with you?

b: Oh Basty, don't do me like that.

s: And, oh dear master, where will I go when you go to Russia? I suppose you'll just fly me all over the world waiting for some airline to lose me and send me to Cambodia. And then where would I be? All alone, unfamiliar with the language, unaccustomed to the cuisine. This conversation is just a bunch of b.s.

b: Phnom Penh, probably. But just think about it. I'd probably ship you back to the States before heading to Russia. Call your peeps and see if anyone would want you from May until mid-June. I'm still not sure if it is a possibility, depends on the housing situation. But we'll see.

s: I hate you. Go to hell. Bring back the big one you call 'Matt'; I liked him better, even if he was a bit loud and scary.

Tales from the Shoebox

Where do I live? Is this Bloomington? This is no Bloomington I know. Immodestly dressed young ladies parading the streets, knuckle-dragging young men cat-calling. And this is all right outside my door on the street. There are more SUV's on my block than I recollect ever seeing when I lived on the south side of town. Basty looks at me disapprovingly as though I knew ahead of time that this would be our lot. He looks at me saying "I thought you said we'd never have to live in Panama City Beach again. Our daily existence is smack in the middle of spring break. Even one of your 5 coed neighbors has an airbrushed license plate on the front of her SUV." Yes, Basty, I know, and I'm sorry. But at least our internet is free. At least our water and gas seem to be free. "But, Brian, it is so noisy here and walks are so boring and ugly." Again, buddy, I know, but there is nothing I can do about it. "But Brian, what do you plan to do with me when you go to the Netherlands? Do you intend for me to stay here in the shoebox, listening to the rabble-rabble of voices outside the door, unable to freely run in a back yard to make poopies?" No Basty, I don't know yet what will become of you, but I am certain that it either involves becoming a menu item at Dragon Express or going on a long vacation from me. "Brian, do you see this look in my eyes? Look closely. This is the glare of disappointment." Basty, don't do that to me. If you want to eat tomorrow, you'll just go to (YOUR OWN) bed and sleep. We'll talk more later.

With a tinge of regret, a couple more pages of the dissertation, and a longing for Primanti Bros.,

B

A Breath of Fresh Air

This delightful 3-page article is probably the best thing I've read since Cafe Rabelais' menu and winelist.

Summer Ends

I live in a shoebox. It is a comfotable shoebox which I have furnished with a chair, a small antique desk, a futon pad on the floor on which I sleep, and a table. My bedroom is more of a storage facility than a place to sleep: boxes are stacked agains the wall and floorspace is sparse. My place is just large enough for one, but a bit cramped for one and a dog. My apartment is an addition onto a house that is yet unoccupied; however, in a matter of days a gaggle of undergraduate girls will take up residence on the other side of my wall. I live next to the football stadium in what is known as the "undergraduate slums." Next door to me live several undergraduate boys and two unruly dogs. Their backyard is decorated with tiki torches and empty bud light cans. The only place to eat within walking distance is a mongolian barbeque where I once ate 4 or 5 years ago. I have not been back since because it made me ill. My office is 14 blocks south, making it too far to walk, but too close to drive to work. Though the neighborhood is quiet now, the kids are trickling in, and I expect mass convergence next weekend. The traffic is bad and broken bottles litter the foot of every other driveway, making walks with Sebastian precarious. And though I am a bit alienated this far north of where I used to live, and though I am struggling a bit with not having Matt around anymore to keep me from working and take me grocery shopping, I think being here will be good for my productivity. This year really needs to be about finishing up the dissertation and that it will be. Right now my sights are set on getting to Amsterdam and joining up with Tyson in St. Petersburg in May.

Tyson left today which for me marks the end of the summer. The summer began in May this year with my trip to Georgia and, appropriately I think, terminated in my friend's 5am departure this morning. Several days ago Todd left for Ohio and then Berlin (for 1, possibly 2 years). With the departures of Tyson and Todd, the end of NAPSS Hendrick's Nights, and leaving the nest at 928 S. Mitchell, I feel like this is a bittersweet new beginning. Strangely, I feel like a stranger in Bloomington. It is probably a good time to leave and I'm excited to take the next step.

From my shoebox, this is Brian. Over and out until our next installment.