the greyhound

the first time i rode a greyhound bus from chicago to green bay was in November of 2006. the woman who sat next to me twitched violently all the way from chicago to milwaukee. i'd secretly decided it was either turret's syndrome or withdrawals from meth or heroine or something else. she smelled like dirt and body odor. it was late enough for the sky to be very dark and all of the millions of windows in the skyscrapers stared without blinking -- unimpressed by us as our bus rode up to the highway. the women fell asleep, resting comfortably on my left shoulder various times before i shook her off.

in milwaukee, after the woman had left the bus, i got up to use the restroom inside the milwaukee station. before going in i chose the two most trustworthy looking women on the bus and told them to please watch my bag. upon returning, the bus driver came to me and crouched down next to my seat.

"are you missing anything, ma'am?"
"what?"
"the woman you were sitting next to was caught stealing inside the bus station. check your bags and make sure you have everything."

so i checked my things. everything valuable had been in my purse, which i took inside with me. i imagined the girl searching through my carry on and cursing as she found nothing but books, makeup and empty cheetos wrappers.

i had gone home that weekend after recovering from a scabies episode. it makes me shiver just thinking about it again. it was the reason i couldn't go meet this new guy, will, at his birthday party and instead had to go home. the little creatures may have been gone, but they'd left a lasting impression and i needed to feel well again.

of course, i met will, and thanks to him and his nissan i never had to ride the greyhound again. until friday.

my parents picked me up in green bay. my dad was there when i got off the us.

"how was the ride?"
[pause - waiting to be out of earshot of anyone who was on the bus.]
"well, from the time i stepped into the chicago bus station until just now, i've smelled the smell of farts."

the smell is most notable. no one who rides greyhounds showers. it's a thick smell, and it's a combination of farts and sweat and who knows what else. also, no one who rides greyhounds stays awake, and when they fall asleep, everyone who rides a greyhound is trained to fall asleep on your shoulder. being one of the only bathed, clean-clothed, sane-looking greyhound passengers, i'm the first one everyone wants to sit by. with two-seat groupings on each side of the aisle, it's to your advantage to be as disgusting looking as possible when you sit down so that when the second half of the passengers file on no one chooses to sit with you. maybe it's purposeful, and they're all smarter than i am. maybe next time i won't bathe and i'll wear something stereotypically gang-member or terrorist. then, maybe i'll get a seat to myself. maybe i'll just hold a sharp object or suck a mysterious substance through a straw from a piece of a tin foil. maybe i'll just put the biggest, scariest grin on my face and stare at everyone as they walk by. because clearly, the headphones/face-in-a-book strategy does not work.

the ride from chicago to green bay is supposed to be five hours, but it always becomes six. six excruciating hours of disgusting greyhound bus ride.

greg's wedding

this weekend, will and i went to muskegon, michigan for my friend greg's wedding. i played my violin for his ceremony. his new wife, molly, chose music from pride and prejudice.

it had been forever since i'd seen greg, and it was really great to see him so happy. he managed to find a girl (from michigan tech, of course) who is just like he is. she's very sweet and kind and any other word that might mean the opposite of selfish. i was reminded how nice his family always was as well. throughout high school i had become sort of a regular at the moorens' backyard events. they had a firepit around which you could enjoy one of the safest, most clean parties a group of high school kids could find in depere. no bottles or clouds of smoke were found here, no matter how late the night or how private the yard was. instead it was his mom's cookies and lemonade. in between the crazy moments with some of my wilder friends were sober, squeaky clean ones with the moorens. always a nice contrast. this was something it might have been harder for a teenager to appreciate at the time, but i look back a bit differently. i'm grateful to have had my diverse group of friends so that i could experience all of the things i did.

i wish greg all the best things for the future, although i know he doesn't need that from me or anyone else. he's always had life figured out for himself. i've found my happiness in will and chicago and teaching music. this was the first wedding we'd been to together since we got engaged, and i think it was hard for both of us not to get a little bit emotional knowing we'll be doing all of these things next year and sharing it with our families. i'm so excited.

brief reviews and plans for guacamole

it's finally summertime. how lovely to be awarded the summer off of work while paychecks continue to arrive in the mail. i have lots of weddings to go to, play violin for, stand in, and plan for. other than that, i'll be reading and working on my tan.

today i'm working on finishing a book called hope's boy, a memoir by andrew bridge. he grew up first with a mother who loved him but whose mental health was in steady decline, then in combinations of institutions and foster care. he eventually succeeds in graduating from harvard law and, obviously, writing this amazing book, mostly due to the love and encouragement of his teachers. tonight some of my fellow teachers and i are getting together for a book club meeting. i'm bringing guacamole and a bottle of wine. i'm very excited.

i'm listening to the new death cab for cutie cd - narrow stairs. it's food for my ears. and brain. and heart and soul. ben gibbard's attention to detail is second to none these days, and his meloncholy is beautiful and digestible. not overwhelming or exaggerated. i feel like death cab creates music that i prefer to listen to in private, the way you'd prefer to kiss someone without others watching. you keep it close and soak it in and not allow traces of what's happening to leak out for anyone else to have.

back to my book. in between hope's boy and guacamole i could use some sun. not for the tan (my skin is already charred from saturday), but because i've been waiting all year for it. because it'll be gone in two months. and because it makes me feel alive.