12:37 a.m. - 2004-12-01
People, please.
Hello-hello.
Greetings from Detroit. Have you noticed I am a nomad as of late. Is that the right spelling? It looks too simple...gnomad? nommahdd? Well, spelling aside, it's true; I've become what you might call a middle class homeless person. We couch surf until we wear out our welcome. I figure, why the hell not go and thoroughly visit all of my favorite mid-western/great lakes region people while I await news of my professional future? Since I've been here, I've been hanging with the Hales, checking out their church, accompanying Bev on some adventures to help a local single mom, had some good conversations, heard some gunshots (now don't get all "oooh, Detroit is a scary place" on me...we heard gunshots in Seattle, too.) and have done some knitting and some cooking and some good old fashioned hanging out.
I have put 4,000 miles on my car in the last 6 weeks. That is crazy. I spend a lot of time driving. That means I spend a lot of time listening to the new U2 album. It gets better the more you listen to it.
It snowed here last night. Did it snow where you are?
I miss the Seattle people. I worry that Seattle doesn't miss me. It feels selfish to write that.
These are the things I miss about Seattle:
Going out to bars with Bethany.
Talking to Katie Meyer about boys.
Having dinner at Renea and Michele's.
Ben's stories.
Driving around with Bob.
Sharing scary spider moments with Jenny.
Holly Anderson and her lovely accent.
Richard Dahlstrom and his turtlenecks.
Pho.
Mountains.
Water.
Charlie's.
Pyramid ales.
Neighbours and Thursday nights.
David and Co.
Walking to do stuff.
Please enjoy these things, People. Hmm, "people"...that's what my crotchety choir director used to call us when he was mad. He'd put his hand up in the air to get our attention, from behind the piano, revealing pit-stains that covered an almost unbelievable amount of shirt material. "People!" he would shout with a scowl just after he abruptly stopped playing "Jingle Bells" and slammed his hand down on the piano top. Bang! "People!" and follow that up with a pause that was meant to make us feel guilty for talking or not singing or whatever and then an almost desperate and certainly stern "Please!" or a "Come on!" or a "Get with it!" Amy Butler and I would snort and struggle not to fall off our chairs as we supressed laughter that just wouldn't be stifled. I'm not exactly sure what is specifically funny about a sweaty 40 year old choir director getting so exasperated with a bunch of teenagers, but it still makes me laugh when I think about it.
