move on, move on

I bought two shirts the other day.

I know, I know, my whole simplify philosophy. My whole "I'm poor" thing.

Well, I still stand by it to a degree. They were cheap shirts, for example. And I'm going to bring a box of things I never wear to a thift shop or Goodwill soon, so I guess it's more of an exchange.

But yeah, I didn't buy them because I needed them. I bought them because they were very sweet in a 1960's babydoll kind of way, and I'm tired of wearing uninteresting things. I'm tired of feeling plain.

And, quite frankly, I'm a bit tired of myself. I want change. I want it now.

I'm growing out my hair, not cutting it again. I'm also thinking (somewhat seriously) about getting my nostril pierced. Because a) I like how it looks (obviously) and b) people would be surprised. (Any thoughts?)

I'm hoping this desire to change my appearance is due to a certain personal funk I'm in, wherein I feel myself inwardly changing, rather than a possible inadequacy crisis. But I think I've been wanting to do this for a while. If I got a tattoo, which I sincerely don't want, I might have reason to worry.

I want to be forceful about who I am, and the easiest way to do that is through physical change. I will not be predictable or rigid. I am whimsical, my friends.

Oh, and I smoked my first cigarette last night. Laugh, but I've just never had the desire before. And you know what? It wasn't bad. It also wasn't worthy of the sophistication and snobbery most smokers assume in the face of never-having-smoked-ers. It was tobacco rolled up in paper, placed between my lips and the smoke thereupon inhaled and then exhaled. Simple. Silly. Not amazing. Not bad.

A relief.

the apartment children.

I didn't go to work today, simply because I didn't feel like it. And my job allows me to make this sort of decision in a quick and guilt-free way. And it's summer. And I was tired.

Instead, I slept until 9, read for a little while, and then went with A. to the Med bakery where I joyously consumed an apple croissant and an iced coffee, for less than $5. I figure someday I'll really like coffee, and very soon I'll definitely need coffee, so it's a good idea to start drinking it now. Going out for breakfast is maybe the nicest way to start a Day Off, and A. and I discussed angry mothers and also Harry Potter, which we're going to go see tomorrow night.

Then she went to Oak Park, and I walked back, looked at our messy kitchen, and made the very domestic decision to clean...

When I was in the second grade, I loved the Boxcar Children books. In said books, the four orphaned siblings -Henry, Jessie, Violet and Benny (shocking how effortlessly that just came back) - are homeless and poor until they find this old, abandoned boxcar in the woods. Deciding this would be the perfect place to live, they make literally everything they use from materials they find in the area (sleeping on pine needles, for example) and I think the two older children work doing chores and babysitting in a neighborhood nearby. Then they buy food - mainly bread and milk, if I remember - bring it back to the boxcar, feed everyone, and, I don't know, I forget. They probably do something heartwarming before they go to bed. (Also, they eventually build this kickass swimming hole, but that's really not the point.)

The point is that simple living is in many ways far more attractive than the complicated living the modern adult in a capitalist society is inevitably drawn toward. Having more money usually amounts to having more objects, preferably ugly, hulky, plastic objects, that collect dust and are utterly unnecessary. Just watch the 2-in-the-morning infomercials. Buy a REALLY CONVENIENT can opener for $19.95, and they'll throw in four other ugly, plastic, unnecessary objects for free! ...because you still have some unused closet space.

At home, I was surrounded by Stuff. We weren't rich, but we never got rid of anything either, which meant we had about 5 billion of everything - 5 billion dish towels, 5 billion bathroom towels, 5 billion Tupperware containers, 5 billion magazines. There are so many drawers in my parent's house that you literally can't close, because they're bursting with things that never get used. Why do they keep acquiring? Because they keep making money.

Here in my apartment, we aren't Boxcar Children poor, but we are College Student poor with Chicago-style rent. So that's where the money goes. It's all very simple and practical, and I like it that way. We save most of what is left, and spend the rest on food. Lentils are 89 cents. Pasta and sauce can be less than $2. We buy rice in bulk, and T. brings home unsold French bread everyday from the bakery. When there's too much bread, we put some in the freezer, and let some dry out to use for bread crumbs.

And so I channeled the Boxcar Children today as I rinsed out aluminum cans to recycle, and boiled water on the stove, using a gallon-jug from store-bought tea for newly made iced tea, and washed dishes and dried them.

We turn off the lights and leave unused appliances unplugged and take short showers. I haven't purchased new clothing in half a year, because I have enough clothing. We suffer through heat without air conditioning, old-fashioned style. That way, it feels genuinely hot. It gives me real reason to complain. It makes me appreciate today, which is much cooler. It makes me appreciate, and notice, difference.

I'm so glad I have no television for my mind to be colonized by MTV, I'm so glad I'm sitting in a perfectly good chair that someone else wanted to throw away, and I'm so glad I get to deal with inconvenience.

Having just enough money is wonderful. A really big part of me hopes I'll always be a little bit poor.

you weren't meant for me.

Because our apartment has a guitar, it also has a theme song. The song changes weekly, and is always according to T.'s interest at the moment. Once he's zeroed in on something, he looks up the chords and works at it until he can recreate it for the purposes of this home.

(It started back in the dorm as a sort of player-listener relationship - with him teaching himself Portuguese songs and me pressing him to play them - but has now progressed into something more interactive. I have learned four chords to clumsily strum along to a very short Italian celebration song. I have been shown rough diagrams of the mouth and T. has explained how the air resounds on the roof of the mouth. I have sung along, and timidly alone.)

Sometime last week, T. decided to give Jewel a try, old-school and hippie-ish of course, before her albums were dotted with "u" and "r" and likely "w/e" and "lol." "Who Will Save Your Soul?" was the first to get strummed, and it lasted for a couple days. Strangely, however, it was "You Were Meant For Me" that won the round, and for several days now it's all any of us can sing.

Back when I went through a Jewel thing for a couple weeks at about 16, I never really gave this song the attention I find myself paying it now. I am surprised by my own sincerity as I wash the dishes and cry with increasing volume, "Besides, what would I say if I had you on the line?"

The theme song always reflects my mood, T. is mysterious that way. What would I say? It's a good thing people move, thereby changing their numbers and protecting those without any sense.

"Don't Worry, Be Happy" just wouldn't cut it right now.

i am a troubled man

So, Audrey recently showed me a clip so catchy, so fantastic, that I can't get it out of my head.

The Rules of the House is a song from a homemade movie called Family Business, created by two guys that went to school with a friend of Audrey's. The movie is around three hours long, poorly edited and shot, and utterly bizarre and nonsensical. But the comedy of it is spot-on.

It was apparently shown to the school, or a sizable portion of it. Their goal, A. informs me, was to make it creepy enough that nobody would talk to them afterward. By the end of the showing, almost no one (save for A.'s friend) was still watching.

High school.

I want to meet them. Le sigh.

ennui and ravioli

I am not sure how I feel about regret. It is true that it's a waste of time, and also seemingly counterproductive. It makes more sense to turn an experience into some positive lesson. Usually I'm good at that--I'm ridiculously optimistic enough to manipulate a personally bad situation into something character-building. But now, at the end of my rope, I feel regret.

It would be nice if logic played a larger part in how one felt. For once in my life, I think, I could use the detachment.

Ah, well. Enough of my summer despair.

Instead, I will display the beautiful ravioli my roomie and I made from from scratch last night.


...followed by dessert, guitar, and good company. Food heals.

Maybe I should become a chef.