But not limited

I am looking forward to the next year of my life.

For the first time since I have been living here, I feel truly happy with all facets of my life.

I have a great job. At this great job I have great co-workers. These great co-workers have become great friends.

I have a great roommate. People often ask if living with a sibling causes a lot of tension and fighting at home. It doesn't. I am unbelievably grateful to have had the chance to live with my brother these last 6 months. I don't know if we would have ever become so close had we not become roommates. I have 3 best friends. And I'm glad to call my brother one of them.

School is working out beautifully. This is my first full year at Auburn. I will be in school during football season. I'm into my major. I've learned how to keep up with studying.

I have a steady relationship. I'm excited to see how triumphant we'll feel if and when we make it through the next year of changes and opportunities.

And other exciting things including but not limited to:

My new queen, pillow top mattress. My trip to Colorado next week. Being 21. Having an awesome dog. My tan. My new watch. "Mimosas for Mr. & Mrs." by OPI. The new house. The walk-in closet. A great hair stylist.

Not it

I just want to shop online. Buy some cheap clothes and a few books. Or a poster.

But life is buzzing louder than usual.

I signed a lease with my brother for a quaint three bedroom, two bathroom house with fireplace and fenced back yard last week. After fees and deposits, yadda yadda, I may as well sign over my first born child to my brother. But it's okay because the house is nice, I get the master bedroom and it will do my brother a lot of good to get the hell out of this house that he briefly shared with the woman who was briefly his wife.

Headed to Colorado in three weeks. Trying to cram as much work into the next three weeks as humanly possible. We'll see.

Not very inspired to write. Ugh.

Worth 5 minutes

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9lq8oaK5Mw

Not since '76

My Mom and I have always had a relationship that is at least a little tense almost all the time. Often it's that we're too much alike and other times it's because I can't believe that my way of thinking is so radically different from my mother's.

We're stubborn. We flirtatious. We're smart asses. We love Neil Young and k.d. lang. We have knobby knees and wide fingernails. We like stupid jokes and giggle a lot.

But our priorities are organized differently. I censor myself from time to time. She tends to let it all out. She has a hard time taking care of herself because she's always had someone coddle when her bad decisions led to a helpless, broke, "Why me?" kind of adult.

But whatever our differences, she's great. She's crazy by a lot of people's standards, but I think she's great because I've only known one Mom.

On August 3rd, we're setting out on an expedition into our relationship and into the American West. I love calling it the American West. I can't really describe it, but it's so...American. Vast. Glowing all the time. It's snow white or sunset orange every day. Carbondale, Colorado.

Mom has never gone anywhere. She flew to Houston in '76 to spend a few days with her sister. She experienced terrible turbulence and has refused airplanes for 33 years. She drove up to New Jersey once with Doug, my ex-stepfather who will certainly get a blog entry all to himself one day. She's been to most southeastern states. But she's never boarded a big ass airliner and gone somewhere with a totally different landscape. She's certainly never left the country.

I, on the other hand, like to think that I'm somewhat well-traveled for a 21 year old. I've been to 12 states, three countries on three different continents and all over the southeast in a single-engine, 4-seater.

Mom is always eager to learn. She doesn't come off that way all the time, but deep down, she loves to learn new crafts, new words, new jokes and new faces. But she's always learned these things in the Southeast where we all know the culture is less extensive than my (and probably yorus, too) knowledge of physics.

She asked me to take this trip with her about a year ago. Between my two brothers and me, I have the most experience traveling. She also adores my boyfriend who is a pilot. She's scared of planes and thinks I can help her through it. She also needs someone to hang out with when my brother and sister are at work.

I'm ready to see her experience a new setting. Where the landscape is different and she can be Fain-- not the kids' Mom, the preacher's daughter, the nursing home nurse assistant, the alcoholic's ex-wife.

She's going to have a great time. She's going to smile. She's going to hug my brother a lot. She's going to wake up early to drink coffee and gaze at the seams that join the desert and the Rockies Western Slope. She's going to regret every cigarette she's ever smoked as she fights her way to the Delicate Arch. She'll bitch the whole way but yack about God's wonder as soon as she reaches the top of that hill overlooking the place where Mother Nature shows her resilient, strong side. She'll cry when we land at the airport, cry when leave the airport, cry some in between, drink wine and clean my brother's house.

She's Mom and it's fun to be a kid watching your greatest teacher learn a thing or two from you. It makes them proud and it makes me...it makes me just smile.

Shape

I began wondering if I should write anything about Michael Jackson. I can't really describe how I feel because I considered myself a waivering fan (at best) because I really am only familiar with the Thriller album and that song "You Are Not Alone." Hell, when I heard he died I wanted to know what pills caused it and if Paul McCartney would get the rights back to 200 Beatles songs.

So I never really had anything against his music. But MJ got creepy right around the time of my childhood when I started remembering songs and celebrities that have shaped my musical taste.



Sooo, I let someone else do the talking.

--

I found this on MySpace. It was friend by a friend of a very distant acquaintance. The writer's name is Molly.

"Well, today was… interesting.

I was sad all day long. The first communication I had with another person today was Alexis telling me that Farrah Fawcett was dead and that Michael Jackson was nearly dead. I was talking to one of my co-workers tonight about what it’s like to work a night job and wake up to a full day of news and he basically sumed it up by saying “I woke up and Michael Jackson was dead.” Yeah. It feels like the whole world is living (or not living) without you sometimes.

And then, ya know… I don’t know. I don’t know if it ever really occured to me that Michael Jackson would ever actually die. It was like Anna Nicole’s death in that you know it’s going to happen probably sooner rather than later, but when it actually does happen it’s as if the thought never even crossed your mind. I think I finally realized today that I get upset when celebrities I enjoy die because I’ve never really had to live my life without them. It’s like a piece of furniture in your grandmother’s house or something. It’s just there and you maybe don’t even notice its beauty or quality that often. And then one day it gets sold or moved or destroyed and all of a sudden it’s not there and you don’t know why but for some reason it kind of crushes you.

What is really killing me about this whole thing as well is that Ed, Farrah, Michael… all three of them spent the last years of their lives in the headlines for shitty things that tore apart their reputation or changed what people thought of them. Wether it was their fault or not, let’s think about how much worse someone’s health and emotional problems would get if they had to face everyday feeling like the world was against them, having gossips tear them apart and make light of what was likely an increddibly tragic thing for them. Honestly, I don’t think my heart could take that at all.

I know that a lot of people hate Michael Jackson for the things he did or was accused of (and they are horrible and wrong things and my usage of parentheses is not meant to make this an aside as much as I think we all know that I’m not pro-child molestation or endangerment), but let’s remember that he was an abused child himself. He spent the first handful of years of his life being beaten behind closed doors and then going out on stage and performing for the world. That’s not a flat-out excuse for his behavior by any means, but I think it’s something worth considering.

I’m ashamed it wasn’t the situation in Iran or something else that’s a reflection of my intelligence, but today broke my heart. I just felt really sad for the whole world. And then I’d find myself singing “PYT” in my head and then I’d start bawling behind my desk. People were crying in their cars today all over LA. It just sucks. Everything kind of sucks right now and we really have to do something about it.

The only thing I’ve done so far is make this necklace I’m wearing and wrote this blog entry. But after I finish the freelance project I’m about to start and get my 3-5 hours of sleep before I wake up and have to try and call the Massachusetts RMV again I’ll find some time to start saving the world or something. I don’t know. It’s hard." -Molly

Metropoleis

I have not written about Seoul. It has taken a while to comprehend the trip. I've found myself referring to life in terms of pre-Seoul and post-Seoul.

It is impossible to write everything I want to write about Seoul in one sitting. I should write about Seoul as the mood strikes me. That mood comes in waves, in bits and specks.

--

Seoul and my friends there taught me how to drink.

Seoul, like all metropoleis, relies on its subways and taxis for most transportation. That means a lot of walking to and from blocks.

Walking is the key to staying alert and conscience while drinking for long periods of time. When I drink too much at the pool I get the worst headaches. When I take shots and then sit right back down, I vomit and pass out.

In Seoul, we walked everywhere. We drank 11 of 14 nights. We went to bed after 3 a.m. 10 of 14 nights. The closest I came to puking on that trip was on the plane ride over. But hell, it wasn't my fault that the cheapest flight was at 9 a.m. on the morning after my 21st.






The neighborhood glowed Sunday.

426: Seoul Station

If you could physically transport yourself to any place in the world at this moment, where would you go?

I would catch the train at 426: Seoul Station.

I would stop at 420: Hyehwa.

A little of the appeal does come from it's subway stop number. I won't lie.

I would stop for coffee shortly after walking my up from the subway. Maybe hit up a street vendor or two for a cheap t-shirt and a pair of socks or earrings.

And then wander. To a shoe store. An art store. There was a Salvation Army. The smallest store tends to contain the most excitement and fashion in Seoul.

Take a book into Changyeonggung and rest.

And doze through the ride from 420 back to 426.

Like the rest of South Korea, Seoul is a place where I feel trapped and completely free. I'm trapped inside my tall stature and western features. I'm trapped inside my knowledge of only English. And yet I'm free because I know almost no one. I don't speak Korean. The culture is somewhat unknown to me and I'm 9,000 miles away from any debt, any guilt, any responsibility.

I would hail a cab outside and enjoy the Korean music or the GPS voice that accompanied me on the Beltway ride. Seoul is unbelievable from there. It goes on forever. The neon purple, blue and white glow that rises off the city is beautiful.

I would land in Itaewon and call the only people I know. We'd meet for drinks at Dolce. Think about Gecko's but end up at East and West. After a while, I would leave.

I would wander the streets alone on my way back to Seoul Station.

And that's how I arrived at and departed from the one place in the world I wish I could be transported to.

Seoul Station, Seoul, South Korea.







(Outside Changgongyeoung Palace in Hyehwa.)