Hard to believe that tomorrow is the first day of December, though to be fair the couple of inches of snow we have on the ground outside makes it a bit easier.
Vail's starting to feel a bit more comfortable. When I first got here over two weeks ago I wasn't sure I'd ever figure this place out. Now I'm starting to feel like a local. Well, that might be a stretch, but it really is surprising how much things change in a few weeks.
One of the things I'm enjoying most about this place, after the skiing and the gorgeous scenery, are the fascinating conversations I'm often involved in, or which I overhear (read: eavesdrop). There are so many people here from so many different areas of the country (and world) that our integration makes for some fascinating interaction. I love watching people, and I find that I often can see beneath their facades and get a glimpse of their uncertainties, backgrounds, and private beliefs. It's quite spectacular, in a voyeuristic way.
The library closes in 15 minutes, so I'll need to wrap up. The roommates and I are talking about getting internet access at the apartment, which would be nice so I don't have to trek to the library to check my email. I'll feel a lot better about it when I have some money coming in. I don't think I get paid until Wednesday.
Be good, everyone. I'm trying to do the same.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
the glow of headlights
I light up a joint as I merge back onto 70. Manhattan is 10 miles north of the interstate, but I had been craving Chipotle all day, ever since I saw a few billboards east of Kansas City, and it was the first I'd been able to find. Manhattan, Kansas, is the quintessential college town. Home of Kansas State University, one of the first public land grant colleges in the nation, it has little to claim besides the school. Still, I enjoyed its small college-town charm. There's an innocence to it that is very endearing.
Towns in Kansas are the definition of Everywhere, USA. They seem to have few regional distictions, and all Kansans (in my experience) have a Midwestern lack of accent. If like Dorothy you were magically dropped in the middle of town by a twister (quite possible in Kansas) it might take some time to determine where you in fact were.
Cruising down the highway the weed does its magic, and my mind flies coherently in a hundred directions at once. Well-selected music accompanies my drive, and I settle into a comfortable high. Thoughts of work, future, and friends collide with passing thoughts on the scenery, muses about fellow travelers, and sheer awe at the vast nothingness that is Kansas.
Western Kansas is a great place to leave. The rolling hills of Selina provide something to look at in the daytime, but they soon give way to a desperate flatness stretching as far as you can see, and then beyond that. Kansas is home to some of the most ecclectic and nostalgic museums you'll find in these United States. (The Museum of Independent Telephony is, as you might guess, dedicated to early rural phone service. It just gets more unusual from there.) It gives one the idea that these people are grasping for relevance. Their agricultural production is a crucial part of our lives, yet they are conveniently ignored and their state is treated, by me at least, as a necessary stepping stone to Colorado and the Wondrous West beyond. Their kitchy museums, islands of civilization surrounded by miles and miles of nothing, are something of a last-ditch effort to retain a connection to the rest of us. If it weren't for that, their existence might be forgotten completely.
My buzz begins to fade as the sun slips toward the horizon. The vast amount of sky above and around me darkens quickly, but the sun setting directiy in front of me brings on a great feeling of reassurance. Like an old western movie cowboy, I ride quietly into the sunset, confidently moving on to the next chapter in my life. I light a cigarette I bought this morning and turn up the music. I'm trying to quit but something about smoking on long trips soothes me. The sun is completely down now, and the stars are spectacular. As the miles tick by an immense blackness has settled itself around me. My headlights form a glowing semicircle that is my world. Points of light appear ex nihilo, grow steadily and eventually take the ghostly forms of cars and trucks. They speed by and then disappear in the same way, their existence no longer my concern. It is easy to slip into your own world here. A shooting star falls, right in front of me, burning brightly for three or four seconds. I make a wish, hoping with everything I have that it comes true.
It's been a beautiful day.
Towns in Kansas are the definition of Everywhere, USA. They seem to have few regional distictions, and all Kansans (in my experience) have a Midwestern lack of accent. If like Dorothy you were magically dropped in the middle of town by a twister (quite possible in Kansas) it might take some time to determine where you in fact were.
Cruising down the highway the weed does its magic, and my mind flies coherently in a hundred directions at once. Well-selected music accompanies my drive, and I settle into a comfortable high. Thoughts of work, future, and friends collide with passing thoughts on the scenery, muses about fellow travelers, and sheer awe at the vast nothingness that is Kansas.
Western Kansas is a great place to leave. The rolling hills of Selina provide something to look at in the daytime, but they soon give way to a desperate flatness stretching as far as you can see, and then beyond that. Kansas is home to some of the most ecclectic and nostalgic museums you'll find in these United States. (The Museum of Independent Telephony is, as you might guess, dedicated to early rural phone service. It just gets more unusual from there.) It gives one the idea that these people are grasping for relevance. Their agricultural production is a crucial part of our lives, yet they are conveniently ignored and their state is treated, by me at least, as a necessary stepping stone to Colorado and the Wondrous West beyond. Their kitchy museums, islands of civilization surrounded by miles and miles of nothing, are something of a last-ditch effort to retain a connection to the rest of us. If it weren't for that, their existence might be forgotten completely.
My buzz begins to fade as the sun slips toward the horizon. The vast amount of sky above and around me darkens quickly, but the sun setting directiy in front of me brings on a great feeling of reassurance. Like an old western movie cowboy, I ride quietly into the sunset, confidently moving on to the next chapter in my life. I light a cigarette I bought this morning and turn up the music. I'm trying to quit but something about smoking on long trips soothes me. The sun is completely down now, and the stars are spectacular. As the miles tick by an immense blackness has settled itself around me. My headlights form a glowing semicircle that is my world. Points of light appear ex nihilo, grow steadily and eventually take the ghostly forms of cars and trucks. They speed by and then disappear in the same way, their existence no longer my concern. It is easy to slip into your own world here. A shooting star falls, right in front of me, burning brightly for three or four seconds. I make a wish, hoping with everything I have that it comes true.
It's been a beautiful day.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
colorado
So, in the morning i leave to travel to colorado. It's very far away. I don't know if I'm ready for this, but I pretty much have to be. Cause I'm leaving and can't really back out now. Actually, who am I kidding, I'm really excited about this. I just hope I don't miss everyone in Tennessee too much. You all have no excuse to come visit. Seriously.
Parting is such sweet sorrow. I'll see ;you all in like 5 or 6 months. Or you could come visit. That'd be awesome.
Parting is such sweet sorrow. I'll see ;you all in like 5 or 6 months. Or you could come visit. That'd be awesome.
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