Instead of moving away from another awkward living situation
posted by nate on March 27, 2003
Jeremy calls me one night, just after we've finished the fourth room in the transition. He invites me to a Chinese New Year celebration at a friend of a friend's house. This is the second invitation I've received tonight, and I respond the same to both: "well, being self-employed has it's downfall: you have to work at home. And I have a lot I have to finish this weekend, soÚ" But Jeremy has the uncanny ability to make me lose all interest in being responsible, often leading me towards a night of copious drinking. I can't wholly blame him in this: I am easily swayed to drink. My blood is designed to integrate with alcohol, and my genes rejoice in the often provided sea o' booze.
I finish painting, cleaning and arranging, sit and admire the work for a good 15 minutes, drink 3 glasses of water and a few shots of Milk Thistle, then head out. It's a beautiful Portland night, clear & cold. I ride slow no-handed and let my brain mull over the multitude of projects I've got going.
The party turns out to be an odd mix of mostly upper middle class folk, along with a small handful of obviously lowbudget kids like myself. Shannon greets me as soon as I enter and directs me to the bathroom, telling me I must check out the photographs along the way. This is a nice house, with classy decorations and well-thought-out dôcor. As I piss, I find myself studying the woodwork and painting, as well as the shelves and sink & shower curtains. You always notice things you're currently working on yourself, and I'm collecting ideas of what I consider elements of a comfortable living space. It also smells of freshly dried paint, a nostalgic reminder of big changes, much like the house I just left.
Relieved and refreshed, I head for the two kegs. To no surprise, I find everybody I've come to meet hovering around the beer smoking cigarettes. I pour myself a glass and roll one of my own. I realize I won't move more than 10 feet for the next hour: I have all essentials (minus bathroom) within reach.
An older gentleman comes out when Jeremy and I are alone by the kegs. He says he's a neighbor, and another neighbor of his, a recently-retired radical activist, has come to the party to take a census of what the younger generation thinks of Bush's war. After a short pause, Jeremy churns out his response in his trademark somewhat-drunken, wholly-roundabout way. Turns out the fellow is a gradeschool teacher here in Portland. He's rotund, asexually effeminite and intelligent, and I'm really enjoying the opportunity to hobnob with someone I would most likely never run into. Jeremy seems to think the same, and continues to tell him how he definitely sees this as Bush cowtowing to the Oil cartel. The schoolteacher says he's split, wondering if we all rallied behind Bush, would that be enough to make Iraq submit to our demands without the need for war? "Umm," we say.
Shannon comes over and the two of us start a discussion about falling in love and how this winter has made a good number of cynics out of our friends. People are in a bad way and don't seem to have any hope of the ol' romantic notions ever coming to fruition. I find myself trying to listen to both conversations at once, as the neighbor of the schoolteacher has arrived and is heatedly talking with Jeremy. Shannon also elevates her conversation and starts looking at me a little too intensely: the eyes don't sway and are probing & direct. My mind wanders beyond both of these situations and back to the bathroom, to paint, to colors, to houses, to humans, to politics and love, how they are similarly stiff & silly, and how neither are in my life. This makes me smile, and then I notice that Shannon smiles back. It occurs to me her smile is not likely from the humorous comparison of politics and love. "Ugh," I say.
I guess I've become one of the cynical. Portland seems to be having a dry spell for romance. Could just be me, of course. I mean, I've specifically grown this nasty beard to ward off any scant possibility that a girl would fancy me. I'm swamped with work, mostly on the computer, and there's just no way I'd keep up if I spent any time at all chasing a girl.
Outside this dire dillemna, thousands of American boys are shipped off to the desert for the inevitable Bush War, a woman was hit by a car on her bike up the street tonight, the planet is coughing up millions of tons of vile, human waste. I ride home drunk at 3am, freezing-ass-cold & lonely, and o what a painted oasis my little ghetto hovel is. Sleep, sleep, I think, the delicious escape, the descent to the strange soup of human consciousness, away from non-love & war & into the dark refreshment.
Goodnight, weird world.
