Ground Control To Major Tom

Nothing beats a Natural History Museum. All the post-modern conceptual art I saw in the last week (and I saw a lot) couldn't hold a candle to those wacky old-school dioramas and a good old-fashioned planetarium show. My friend The Writer and I visited my favorite city's Natural Museum of History and it totally kicked ass over any other Natural Museum of History I had up to that point attended. It's like the freakin' Louvre. You could spend a few days there easy and that's not even reading all the copy the good curators have provided for us. Honestly, it was the highlight of my trip and this prolly makes me an even bigger dork than you imagined.

Due to the vastness of the museum--all its halls, floors, wings, science centers, shops, bathrooms and food courts--we got separated and I ended up attending the planetarium show alone. Oh, but it did not disappoint! Into the dome shaped room we were herded. In the true fashion of the city I was visiting, when the announcements to turn off all cell phones, pagers and other electronic devices came on over the loud speaker, the audience immediately chided back and make sure to keep breathing to a minimum, stop all heartbeats, and keep your head tilted back at all times. The lights dimmed, we simultaneously looked up and if I had been there with a certain other, I would have slipped my hand into his. From the darkness a soothing yet recognizable voice emerged. Robert Redford! Ushering us into the universe! He told a tale of a giant explosion, of debris colliding to form the moon, and of a great meteorite that wiped out entire species. We've come a long way from the Pink Floyd laserium shows of the past. It was a poignant story, filled with dramatic three-dimensional recreations, and we did, in fact, hold our breaths.

Inside the museum my friend regaled me with quotes, both his (the next Bob Dylan is not going to be a musician) and those of others (Dad, this is boring, all the animals are DEAD!) The kids were out in full effect as were the lovers. And we couldn't stop thinking of Bowie. Who else knew best how to use space as a metaphor? Entire albums devoted to outer space! We walked around singing Bowie songs (For here am I sitting in a tin can, far above the world, Planet Earth is blue and there's nothing I can do) and looking at those beautiful, panoramic Hasselblad photographs of the Apollo landing. We felt small and inconsequential, but as the same time we felt a part of things, we felt a part of the universe. And for that day, the universe belonged to us.

I'm in love

I am in the greatest city in the world, or maybe we could call it the best place in the country, or perhaps the east coast, or, uh, my exact favorite coordinates to find myself. I am on vacation in a city where I eat and walk and see art and hear really good snippets of conversations and drink and eat and rarely look up from the street. But when I do look up I still feel equally exhilarated. And oh, I also stay up late, spend lots of money, talk about literature and fantasize about how great it would be to live here. Like if I had a decent paying job--scratch that--a really well paying job, and appropriately warm yet stylish clothes (which upon arrival, I quickly realize, I never do). And it's not just the city itself. It's the people I know here. The things they like to do (when I'm in town), what great hosts they are (plying me with liquor and letting me sleep in their beds) and how they are always game fur anything (it's 2am, let's go grab some pommes frittes and watch Jon Stewart until we collapse).

I always have the best star sightings here and this one was one of the best cuz he seemed to be on a really romantic date and not afraid to show it and because I really liked this movie and he sat right next to me on the same bench throughout my entire meal. My friend The Writer claims that even the readings are better here, because let's face it this is a literary town, a town of publishers and people who read and read voraciously and read the papers and the book reviews so even if they haven't read the book, they've read the synopsis, and indeed, the one reading I attended did not disappoint during the Q & A. Because of a certain question I asked, a man with a waxy, handlebar mustache and bow tie approached me and handed me his card. He told me that if I ever wanted to talk about how best to dispose of my body after death, he could help me. His card read, Director of Anatomical Donations Program and honestly, I knew not that such a program existed.

I can't help but gush. It's just my personality. I'm sure there are other great places to be and other great things to do and other amazing things to eat. But really, for now, I'd rather be here. Even if it's just to get turned around and around on the subway system, to get knocked in the shoulder repeatedly when I am caught looking over my shoulder, to get blisters on my feet from trying to wear anything but sneakers, or to be told by a rude waitress that my choice was not the best one to make. And thankfully I am.

To Whom It May Concern

<sub>"Al and Mae" by Judith Wigren-Slack from learning to love you more

I hope you grow to love the house at 845 Mudville Drive as much as I have. I wanted to leave you with a few of the idiosyncrasies of the neighborhood, the house, the yard, and just random bits of information I have culled over the years. Inside this envelope, you will find a postcard for the guy who painted the mural on the steps and side door. He was really cool and lives nearby. He has been known to wear a pink cowboy hat on more festive occasions. You will also find some pictures the previous owner left me of the remodel downstairs. Those I am afraid are not terribly exciting but they now belong to you. In addition I leave you with some literature: the manual for the sump pump in the downstairs bathroom and possibly a manual for the washing machine, although, it could be the manual for the previous washing machine. Finally, I include the electrician's grid of the electrical circuits, a scrap of paper that I have never really been able to make sense of.

The neighbors: The ones on your right are a great, really big Nigerian family. The father’s name is George. The children's names are Mercy, Grace, Kindness, and Precious. The father knows a lot about gardening and has a wonderful vegetable garden come summer. The kids will throw many things over into your yard and knock sheepishly at the door to retrieve them. Invite them in! They are extra curious and equally courteous. In the adjacent apartment building on the other side, the occupants are quirky but well meaning. You might hear them early in the morning, yelling from their door to the person honking their horn in the street. One of the tenants, a woman whose name I believe is Kiki, will have a modest garage sale every Sunday come summer. She will sell very little. You can be sure however, that if you ever want to get rid of any stuff, there will be plenty of takers on the block.

Across the street lives a family of brothers who bought their house in the last year or so. Don't park in their driveway even if it looks like, and in fact is, a non-functioning driveway. They are cool other than that. They plan on raising the house and doing a lot of work as soon as their permits come in. Of course, they've been saying that for a few years now. On that same side of the street, the owner of the two Rolls Royces is the same owner of the three identical white houses with the identical rose bushes. He also owns the truck full of crap that you will often find parked in front of your house. He remains a mystery to me, but he knows everyone and will let you know how he almost bought your house a few years ago for a dime, but for some reason didn't. The kids on the street are really great. You’ll see them when the weather warms. Sit on the porch or work on the front yard and you’ll meet all the neighbors, one by one.

The house: Many of the windows don't open. I've made multiple attempts and valiant efforts at unsticking them, but they do tend to settle during the winter months. Sorry. Both bedrooms face the neighboring apartment building, giving them a fishbowl feel. I suggest curtains. My favorite place has always been the dining room. It's a small room, but cheery. A little table by the window is really all you need. The stoop, of course, is another great place to hang out, even if you don't smoke. Grab a treat from the ice-cream truck or just catch up on the latest R & B hits as the cars roll by. Three o'clock, when the schools let out, is another fine time to find yourself outside.

The backyard: The climbing vine, the first thing you see as you exit the back door, is a trumpet vine. It grows quickly. Watch out. There are two jasmine bushes that really should be better trained. There are about five or six wild strawberry plants near the rosemary, but the rosemary might be crowding them out. You might get a total of a dozen strawberries per year--and that's if the birds don't get them first--but sweet they will be. Every year, a wild artichoke plant comes up in the far right vegetable planter. It never ceases to surprise me. You might see also see some wild tomato plants. If you do, consider yourselves lucky. California poppies and cosmos usually turn up throughout the yard, as will one single Echinacea flower smack dab in the middle. The lavender towards the front is getting pretty woody and is probably ready to be pulled. Beware of the river plant on the left fence towards the back. That thing will grow like crazy and I have tried unsuccessfully many times to uproot it. Good luck!

That's all I can think of. May my ex-home bring you as much joy as my all of my other exes. There just comes a time--no matter how sweet the journey--when it's best to let go.

Casey</sub>

Who ever made music of a mild day?

_{photo by John Humble}

Pinch me. Okay you can stop doing that now. I'm wide awake.

Today I did what few people dare to do in my new town: I walked. In the cold. And for a long time. Sure, I could have driven and no, there was no sidewalk where I was walking and yes, my mother's jaw dropped open when I said I wanted to see how long it would take to walk to my sister's house. After mapquesting the two addresses and discovering the distance was definitely doable, I set out the door. And let me tell you the experience was wonderful. The air was brisk, my ears were cold, the sun was setting, the clouds dramatic, and the walk mostly downhill. I only got honked at 3 or 4 times, passed only one angry chained-in-the-yard rottweiller, and got comfortably used to the smell of exhaust. Despite it all, my hour-long walk made me deliriously happy. Like the crisp air, I felt like I really saw everything in extra sharp focus. Every house, every parked car, every street sign as I neared each corner. People were friendly, engaging in short but meaningful conversations and most importantly, I remembered one can walk here, even without a dog, and not only walk but enjoy themselves while doing it.

The earlier part of the day was spent driving around in the car with my parents, checking out different neighborhoods and going to open houses--not because I can buy a house right now, but because it's kinda fun to do. I bullied my parents into stopping and loaning me the bucks to get an extremely overpriced soy latte, and then, a coupla hours later, stopping again--they waited in the car both times--to buy two tacos al pastor for the very reasonable price of $2.16. I discovered some neighborhoods that I totally adored and some houses I totally can't afford. At the same epiphanic moment, I realized I have just moved to a new place (sort of) and there are limitless things out there just waiting to reveal themselves to me (there really are). I would like to make a list. And on it would be some kind of walking tour (I hear there is a woman whose art project it is to walk here every day and she is looking for people to accompany her), getting a new library card, and eating the best ramen soup about which I read an article only today in the city's free weekly. I would also like to climb this city's famous sign, walk to as many friend's houses as possible, converse with a few cabbies, and become a regular at at least one local establishment.

These all seem like reasonable goals, and while I don't want to get overwhelmed by reading some kind of what to do in... book, I am looking for other suggestions for what to do when you are new.

going, going, gone

Today I officially left Mudville and drove the 5.5 hours down to my new home in Suck City. On the way, I listened to Springsteen's Nebraska, and though it wasn't the Jersey turnpike, nor the badlands which I passed, I did feel the expansiveness of the universe as I sailed down south, a coupla bags of groceries beside me, a half dozen of my favorite plants on the floor, and three suitcases thrown into the bed of my truck. Now I'm not gonna make any disclaimers about The Boss, you either know, or don't know, the brilliance of that album, but thar's a traveling album if there ever was one. I mean, c'mon, look at the freakin album cover for chrissakes. When Bruce howls my skin starts to crawl, and I'm thankful I'm not listening to this at 3AM, driving down the highway, with nothing but a cup of gas station coffee to keep me warm.

Well, the mind starts to wander when you travel, particularly so when one is leaving a place for which one--okay me--has oceans of memories, friends, and fond feelings for in general. Particularly so when the future still seems so distant, like the horizon you can never quite reach, or so indecipherable, like the disappearing ink bought from the back of a comic book. For a while I am without my stuff, not yet in my new place, and traveling back and forth. You could call it limbo. I would be lying if I said I wasn't afraid to put down roots some place else. I would be lying if I said I could completely uproot myself from my last home. I would be lying if I said I know what the hell I am doing. But again, sometimes the important thing is just doing.

I wanted to say goodbye to the people I will miss most: to The Bachelorette who is going through a real tough time and with whom I agreed to go on some kind of bold adventure when we finish the projects that are taking us forever to finish, to My Second Favorite Ex who was also my closest neighbor, the brokest motherfucker I know and subsequently the most sentimental drunk, to The Amazing Family who took me in when I most needed to be taken in and who have presented the most hopeful case of love, decent parenting and exemplorary being I know. But I can't seem to do it. And I am hoping I really don't have to.

Along with the expansiveness of the universe, the other thing I was thinking was this: if two people (energy) are traveling at the same rate (velocity) towards one another, how long before the inevitable (force) happens? Is there a quadratic formula for love? If so, what bearing would distance have on this equation? And finally, if you go too fast do you become a black hole?

The man I just met

The man I just met likes to check the weather. Last Sunday morning, the day of my barbecue, my going away barbecue, he called to say he had bad news. It's gonna rain today. For sure. It seemed there was nothing I could argue there. Well, what's the good news, then? Pause. I had a great time with you last night. Yesterday we were talking on the phone and he checked the weather online for Wednesday, the day I am driving down to my new home. The day I leave for good. Forty percent chance of showers he reads. He can't see me on the other end of the line, nodding my head. Things like checking the weather: these are things I am not very good at.

The man I just met is exactly that: a man I just met. You could call it bad timing since I have met him on the eve of my departure. But you could also call it good timing, because, after all, we did meet and like my therapist would say as far as problems go, it's a good one to have.

There are mountains of things the man I just met doesn't know about me. Like that I hate it when I can't think of anything to say. That I don't care much for eggplant. That there are certain words, I will always mispronounce. But so far, what he does know, he seems to like. He seems to get. He seems to be okay with.

I can't really say much more about it now. All I know is that he is a man I just met. A man who's not afraid to show me his quirks, a man who can't always tell when I am joking, a man who offered to loan me his computer when mine stopped working. All I know is that he is a man who thinks to check the weather, and even, to check it ahead of time. Perhaps it is because he likes the certainty of science or maybe it is because he owns a boat he would like to be sailing, and then again, maybe he likes to plan ahead, as much as one can, for disaster.

But he is a man whom I have seen noticing the patterns of the wind, a man with a pinhole leak in his house that drives him crazy, a man who has stood outside and looked up and convinced me, it wasn't going to rain.