It's like lemonade- Sweet, Tangy, and Refreshing!

April 30, 2005

The Wanderlust

Tarrith up and left.

He's been back for several days now, but- I believe it was sometime between Sunday and Tuesday that this occured, he hit a brick wall in life. And so he came to a decision- at ten o'clock at night he drove 300 miles across Missouri to see his best friend. It was a combination of complete awakeness, frustration, and the thought that he'd be driving all night, so why not drive out to see Pat.

And so he did.

"Ah, so has your brother been seized by the wanderlust often?" Drac asked when I told him. Wanderlust. It has a sort of ring to it, I suppose.

Wanderlust. It's the sort of feeling when you can't stay at home, the need for escape, the want to do something- anything- out of the ordinary.

I think it's hereditary. Not so much from Big Daddy's side as my mom's. I remember a few days when she would be frustrated, take the keys, slam the door. She'd be back later, but now I'm beginning to wonder where she would go to. The Art Museum? To visit Aunt Helen or Grandma A? Or just drive?

It kicks in for me about this time each year. As a matter of fact, it was especially bad last summer, and there was very little to be done about it. No driver's liscense, and a certain promise not to go wandering about on my own- then the move... I guess it all balled up for me last night. The promise not to wander, the need to think, the inability to go home, and then- getting lost.

I didn't get lost on purpose, mind you. I've never driven back to Ballwin from Ronnies. Then again, I don't believe that I've ever driven to Ronnie's before. So it's perfectly natural that after turning out of the Ronnie's Parking Lot I drive- and drive- and drive- and drive- in the wrong direction. Ending up out near South County mall, I took the 64/40 exit back to Affton- having found that I was already in the turning lane to do anything about it.

Tarrith's described driving back from the Walgreens at Grasso Plaza to me before. All of the lights flash yellow or red. (they turn at about ten at night, from what I understand. He gets off work at about 11 or so.) I felt it, driving from Weber to Gravois, Gravois to Elm, then taking the highway for a time. The silent road whispered, and the radio kept telling me- go...

"Maybe I'll go travelling for a year
Finding myself, or start a career..."

get lost...

"It's just an invitation, across the nation,
A chance for folks to meet.
There'll be laughing and singing,
Music swinging, dancing in the streets"

don't just go home...

"Crush the ice and shake forever
Tell the evening where to go
If you need a new endeavor
I can teach you what I know"

not yet...

I turned off of Big Bend at the Harley Davidson shop, flipping between hard rock, angsty punk, hip hop, Rock'n'roll, and swing- back and forth. If it felt right, it stayed. I checked the clock, 12:06. I needed to get home at a semi-reasonable hour, but I only had one destination in mind- I wanted to get out to Brentwood Square- to turn around and go home. I knew that I'd have more than enough gas for that. However, I didn't know what I was about to do wrong.

Brentwood Square is not on Manchester.

Now, I knew this. Deep within my heart I knew this. And yet, I drove directly past the road that would have taken me towards the Galleria. I drove until Manchester hit Big Bend. I clung to each slightly familliar road from then on. Somewhere between where Big Bend dead-ended, I saw skyscrapers pulling away the trees for a bit, and a Wash U. banner. A turn onto a street I didn't know, completely lost for the first time, not stopping, waxing philosophic. How many days have I just wanted to pick up, like Tarrith had, and go.

Not across just a state, I supposed. Chicago... Gas be damned, this summer I want to go to Chicago. Or perhaps it's just the part of me that found it ironic that I ended up in Clayton while thinking about another cityscape. I still had no way to tell if I was going the right or wrong way, still not able to navigate as I would have liked to.

From Clayton, I made it to Highway 40, from Higway 40 to the Galleria, and then from the Galleria to Brentwood Square.

Mission accomplished.

Eighth of a gas tank gone, and I had more questions than answers.

I circled back up to Manchester and went home, now with a thirst for something to be accomplished slaked- at least for the time being. Until I get five paychecks under my belt, I don't have enough money to support a wandering habit like that.

April 25, 2005

Sesame Street is brought to you today by the letter M!

Meloncholy may be a bit strong for the week as a whole, but it certainly feels right for today. The wind, the ground, the air- chilled. Then again, it might have been the project that I'm doing for my general studies class.

I remember Breka asking what it was about- well, I just got to find out this past week. I'd missed the first class, my only field trip for the semester, joined the second, and it will be ending on the third week- this Wednesday. I'm supposed to have pictures for a presentation to pass around the class, as well as an extra credit assignment to hand in to make up for missing the first.

So it's because of this that on a sprinkly afternoon my lazy self ended up at Jefferson Barracks National Cemetary. I think I've been half-avoiding it. Two of my relatives that walked beside me, taught me to speak and dance- and play chess- now reside there amongst the sea of white tabs floating on green grass.

Reside- interesting choice of words, that. They don't live there. They merely reside- not sleeping, not eating, not breathing. Not thinking. Perhaps I'm being to philosophical, but that makes me wonder about something...

I'm seriously convinced that if I hadn't gotten turned around I wouldn't have gotten to Grandpa's tombstone today. Honest. I passed 1P and kept going, past Mom's grave, over a small road, stopping to look at the map, calculating a way to get back there. And suddenly, at the next place I pause to look at a marker, I see the letters "TT". Grandpa's.

I pause, looking to the grey sky, already misty and threatening.

"Of course, Grandpa." I get out and look for his, checking row after row, the chill rolling around my shoulders. I wanted it to be summer; I wanted it so very, very badly. Located, it was easy to find again- it radiated a sort of "Here" quality after being found.

Next- Mom's. Another obligatory random ride around the twists before finding the section. I remembered some mumbo-jumbo about a bench and a tree being a marker, but still parked a bit far from where she was. And when I returned to retrieve the digital camera, I parked closer, and sat.

One person who'd actually gone to visit someone else pulled up beside me and asked if I was okay. I waved him on. It still took a few more minutes.

It looked barren, with no flowers or pinwheel or anything. When I get my first paycheck, I know what I'm going to buy. A yellow rose to feed the deer-

I mean-

To put on mom's grave.


Money is something I've needed for months. I mean really, really needed. Not as in "I have got to get PHANTOM on DVD", or "I must have that forbidden donut". With tuition hanging over my head as well as the everyday little problem of "vending machine lunch", my coin jar is the only thing I have to show for my current assets.

My bank is all but drained. I owe Dad for a scratch painted over on the car. It's been an odd month for me. Actually, it's been an odd year for me.

But I guess I'm coping.

And, as an accomplishment to mark off my To-Do list for the month, I begin at TJ Maxx on Wednesday! I'm looking forward to having the first paycheck in my hands- just to feel it, to pretend like they aren't taking out half as many taxes that they are, and to make a small investment in work clothes. (I made the same investment for SEARS, and wore semi-casual clothing to Wolf's.)

But- yay! New job! I'll be getting in as many hours as humanly possible this summer to make up for the year that I've spent in semi-sloth. (Or something like that. At least now I'll have an excuse as to why my room isn't clean. Wait, isn't that on my to-do list as well? Crud...)



The other week I got this tremendous craving for French Silk Pie and French Onion Soup. Anybody know a place that serves up both of those at their culinary best? STL/Panera Breadco doesn't count. No French Silk Pie.

If you find one, please- please point me in the right direction! (I mean, outside of that one place in Magna, Utah.)

April 20, 2005

And Now for Something Completely Different

(Insert random statement about flash movie here.)

Mwah hah hah hah....

I've come to the Opinion-

That I hate Rush Limbaugh.

It's not necessarily his thoughts- his feelings- the party that he supports. It's not about me being liberal and him being conservative. Honest.

My dad had it on during a drop-off at school. (The car's in the shop for body detailing this week- Long story.)

"Dad, why are you listening to- didn't Grandma hate him?"

"You need to be able to know what they're saying to know how they think. And why should you know how they think?"

"So those who oppose them can form meaningful arguments?"


So I listen. He belittles. He blows things out of proportion. He has a wide variety of little annoyances that remind me of a pretentious middle-schooler that doesn't take variables into account- again, most visible when he jokes.

Hmm... maybe I just managed to describe every shock-jock on the face of the planet.

So why do I enjoy listening to MJ on the Z over Rush?

Interesting thought. Maybe I'll tackle that some other day.

April 07, 2005

Avant Gaurde is apparently her middle name-

As someone who's been far too exposed to the music of Athene's fiance, I think I've officially grown a strange sort of attatchment to things of an unusual nature. Not all of it is John's fault, truth be told. But a good deal of it is. Maybe that's why when we picked up Laurie Anderson in my Modern Fiction class, I was suprised by the music that she created.

The thing about my Modern Fiction class is that all of the authors create art in writing. Some people appreciate that art- others don't. I have some trouble- a lot of trouble, finding the truths that people try to get to in their writing for this class. Perhaps that's why when professor Lattimore showed Anderson's video with music videos such as "Language is a Virus", I had more fun. Not only were they all different, they also had a very, very controvercial feel to them. I could only see one being played on MTV at all.

I highly suggest that if you get the opportunity, grab one of her books of short stories. (From the library, checked out preferably. That way you aren't out money, and won't get yelled at when the alarm goes off.) As a note- she is completely liberal. And I also got the impression that she was vaguely feminist. But only a small impression. I'd have to read more of her works for me to change that.

You can hear some of her poems online here. Laurie Anderson apparently was a part of a sound-poem group not too long ago, but after watching Home of the Brave- I've come to the opinion that I'd love to see her on tour if she ever comes 'round to St. Louis. Anybody else in?

April 05, 2005

Question III

When two men meet for the first time, do they size each other up for combat?

(Whether or not they'll be fighting at any point in the future is irrelevant to the question.)