start spreadin the news

back from a brief escapade to NYC where life's ordinary worries are temporarily replaced with vaguely less complex worries of a tourist-y nature: "Is this the train to Uptown Manhattan?" and, "Is this where we buy our metrocard?", and "Is that gun loaded?" Adi kept begging for us to go to Harlem, simply for the photo opps and the excellent subject matter to write home about, but I suspected that a 6'3'' Legolas look-alike and a German chick with a complexion that screams "Nazi" would make us walking targets. His argument was he's nearly earned himself the American trifecta (the Drive-in, the Drive-thru and the Drive-by), and once he's got the third under his belt, he can officially call himself an "American." I said that'd be great and all, but I'm still not going to Harlem.

So we opted to stick primarily to the Manhattan area, dabbling only briefly in the Bronx and West Brooklyn. Every couple of days we hopped from hostel to hostel with belongings in tow like gypsies. At one point as we were weaving our way through Central Park, a fellow tourist took pity on us and offered to take our picture, as if to somehow ease our burdens. And it did - our aching feet and breaking backs were momentarily forgotten as we took pause to give our surroundings due credit...and, thankfully, the kind lady didn't run off with our camera as we were much too exhausted to give chase.

We took all of the necessary steps to earn our official tourist titles: posed for photos with tourist-y grins intact at Times Square; stumbled accidentally, in true Columbus fashion, into Soho while in search of Little Italy (helps to turn the map right side up); balked at the outrageous prices and opted for fast food for economic reasons (I can testify that NYC's KFC is phenomenal); rented a row boat on the lake in Central Park and laughed at the many idiots in their boats who couldn't quite operate their oars, only to realise it was actually only one other boat, and we were going in a circle.

On Thursday, we escaped to Flushing with the Prada-touting crowd for a day of tennis at the US Open and witnessed the last winning match of Agassi's glorious career. It was an exhuberant atmosphere, and although Agassi was a mere spot of white on the court from my vantage point, I could still feel the power of each winning shot that soared across the net. I did feel as if we were at a baseball game while being subjected to "Louie, Louie" and other such musical atrocities that came blaring over the loud speaker during the breaks. We could do nothing but join in when The Wave came round to our part of the stadium; we couldn't locate the Hot Dog and Peanuts man, but he surely must have been there. Dignity and Tradition had apparently run screaming out the gates long ago.

Any holiday is all about the details. There was, of course, that man on the street corner who screeched at us, "I'll let you punch me in the face for five dollars!!" Adi asked me if he could do it but I said no, considering the guy could probably afford a better lawyer than we could. Street performers apparently make a killing in the city; a couple of boys from the 'Hood had entranced a rather large crowd in Central Park with some ridiculous, cornball humour, and some Russian women were throwing their panties and $10 bills at them. Don King and his 7'4" sideshow creature came out of Tiffany's on 5th into a swarm of shutter-snapping tourists, who I suspect were all more fascinated by the monster trying to curl himself into the limo than by Mr. King and all his arm-waving and shouting.

After a week of rubbing shoulders with the cockroaches and sharing a room with ten people - who had conspired to set their alarms every twenty minutes starting at 6 a.m. - we were ready to come "home", albeit Olympia, WA. But we have returned with some grand memories, a few photos to capture the experience, and the strong inkling that we could potentially make NYC our home once "all is said and done," which was the purpose of the whole trip. It would surely be an adjustment, just as moving to any new city would be, but from what we can estimate at this point, it would be a worthwhile one. Now, it's just a matter of getting there. It's been a long road that we're on, and I'm hoping it will eventually take us to where we want to be, if only we're patient enough to hold out that long. You know the saying, "Good things come..."? Hopefully those so-called "good things" start coming our way soon, because I'm tired of the wait.

Renascence

The world stands out on either side
No wider than the heart is wide;
Above the world is stretched the sky,
--No higher than the soul is high.
The heart can push the sea and land
Farther away on either hand;
The soul can split the sky in two,
And let the face of God shine through.
But East and West will pinch the heart
That can not keep them pushed apart;
And he whose soul is flat -- the sky
Will cave in on him by and by.

- from "Renascence" by Edna St. Vincent Millay

a disconcerting state of limbo

Twenty-three straight days of rain so far. We arrived 28 days ago, just to put some perspective on the situation. Not that there is any shock to the revelation that yes, indeed, it does rain in Washington state. We were as well prepared as we could have been, considering we weren't prepared for any of this at all (er, not referring to the rain here). Going blindly forward is what daring lives are all about - or perhaps foolish lives, not sure yet...

A life in limbo resembles something like this: waking at no particular hour of the day, rising to a lazy breakfast/lunch and consuming however many cups of coffee necessary to rouse your lethargic senses, perusing the internet for jobs you can't actually apply for as of yet until 'things get sorted', wandering to the store where you will then wander down the aisles until you finally invent a reason to purchase something, reading that incredibly mind-numbing book from your long list of 'must-reads', only to realise your reasoning behind it is to tell every intellectual snob you come across in the future that you did. Finally, you discover - as you watch the rain pour down outside while you are quite literally trapped indoors for fear of drowning - that your muscles are atrophying before your very eyes and you can now hide things in the folds of your stomach. Welcome to the life of the plotter.

Adi says we've earned our plotter's rights, and anyone who knows us at all and is aware of the pace at which we operated over the past year may be inclined to agree. However, soon the time will come for the rain to pass, for there to be some vague semblance of certainty in our situation and for the greyness of our lethargy to be replaced by motivation and action.

Until then i'll be here - plotting - watching the sky, and waiting for the clouds to finally break.