The Never-Ending Apartment Story

Do you remember the 1984 mind-blowing fantasy The NeverEnding Story? A bullied teen escapes to a world in which he transforms into an adventurer and hero and gets around on a giant, white, dog-like dragon, Falkor (whose name incidentally is a rough transliteration of the Japanese word for "lucky dragon").

According to IMDB, the production studio built a "43-foot long motorized creature with 6,000 plastic scales and pink feather-fur" with a head three feet tall and long to create the legendary creature.

My tie-in for this anecdote is that I also ride a hefty steed and am on an adventure, only my means of travel is an immensely heavy mountain bike and my quest is not in fantasy but in realty.

Surprise photo of me in the basement room

And finding an apartment in Delaware County has been no easy feat. At the time of writing this, I'm still holed up in basement of a house in Ridley Park by the good graces of my sister's boyfriend, who is just delighted to have me and has no qualms with my presence here whatsoever.

Upon arriving here about a month ago and exploring the vast outer area of Philadelphia in the meantime, I've been shocked to find that shitholes are now going for the rate of one of Beyoncé's eye lashes. Or about the price Strong Bad paid for his new Compé.

Today, I had the pleasure of meeting yet another realtor, whose name I won't divulge out of respect for privacy and, moreso, poor memory. Crump, as we'll affectionately call him, arrived in fashionable shorts and a protruding t-shirt under which I image he was keeping his other properties.

He curtly beckoned me inside and told me to wait if I wanted and as if though I had a choice, leaving me for some minutes in a dingy lobby with a mirror plastered with images of the current Pope. During my wait, two tenants came through, one who ignored me completely and the other who looked horrified when I said hello.

Landlord Crump (a portmanteau of a crappy Trump), who will
undoubtedly demand my ride as apartment deposit fee

Down the corridor, I heard Crump pound on a door and, in response, a vicious snarling of a German Shepherd and a sudden wild ranting from a human within.

Crump: "Where's the key, man? You got my key."
Human within: "WHAT KEY? I DON'T GOT NO KEY. KEY? KEY FOR WHAT? I GOT NO KEY, MAN."
German Shepherd: (translated) KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL

This went on for a little as I admired the landlord's taste in carpet -- dark gray or red or mauve or carnival throw-up, accentuated by musk of tobacco and socially awkward, single men with shifty eyes.

The ranting human with snarling dog indeed had no key, so the landlord decided to show me how marvelously the basement laundry room could be the setting for a paranormal horror film. After 10 seconds, with still no key, Crump wordless- and signalessly took me to see the unit for rent, very much unconcerned whether I was even following him up the much-too-soft/sinky carpeted stairs (also not without the lovely pungency of a small-town bowling alley).

Crump studied the door, perhaps considering a shoulder thrust but then thinking about what his prospective tenant -- wait, did he follow me? Oh, yeah, he's here -- might think. He chanced feeling above the door sill for a key, and, voila, there was one! Ah, but it didn't fit either lock. Mysterious key was placed back on top of door sill.

Then, a light bulb came on -- not in the hallway, where about 96% were merely just decoration at this point -- and Crump got out an old and warped Lowe's credit card and jimmied the door open. I remarked dryly something about security, to which Crump wittingly retorted that he was "just really good at doing this sort of thing".

Now impressed by my landlord's obvious and demonstrated credentials, I stepped into the studio, as it were, and tried out the room I'd hesitatingly call "home" in a place I called "definitely one year but we'll see" working at a job where I'm seen as "figuring out what I'm doing".

I observed the bathroom, commonplace minus the claw marks in the sink, as though someone was trying to get out through the piping, or, better yet, something trying to get in. The refrigerator stood in the middle of the room, not usually where I'd have a refrigerator, a comment to which Crump responded by pushing it into the kitchenette area; as he did so, liquid poured out from the bottom into the brown/tan/calico unusually already moist carpeting.

"Ah, just water," he said, opening the fridge door. "Ah...that's going to be fun to clean up."

Whether he meant himself or me, our tour had come to an end. We talked shop: credit check and application fee of $35, rent with utilities included at $700, laundry wash and dry combined at $3.75, and surrender of dignity and possibility of "bringing someone back to my place" at the low, low price of getting out of Ridley Park and away from sister's boyfriend, which approximately balances out to zero.

Another surprise photo of me bringing someone back to my place

In this tender little vignette, my horse, as it were -- my light, aspiration, hope, and whatever the hell Artax stands for -- has already sunk in the mire of the Swamp of Sadness. In fact, I took the application form and have the $35 ready to go for tomorrow.

My tale isn't as heart-wrenching as the loss of that gorgeous horse, but it's been too long and annoyingly tiresome. The other day, I spoke with a girl who wasn't sure she was even selling an apartment, nor was I sure she had ever spoken to a human before. Another potential housemate seemed a little too keen on spending (all the) time with me, while another posting turned out to be a sex ad. Mind you, I'd live rent-free so long as I was willing to be a "female in a 24/7 Dominate/submissive (D = Me, s = You) lifestyle."

Oh, Delco, you spoil me with an abundance of choices.

Until tomorrow, I remain in The Nothing, living the lie, as Gmork would have it. Luck-be-a-lady or Crump-be-a-landlord, I'm still having some interesting (mis)adventures, and that's really been my only quest to begin with anyway.

Bejellany of Four Years Past

I last posted on this blog in February of 2010, the month I was released from the asylum known as PSU, which I believe stands for Piano School University. I'm happy to say I've since received my piano certification from said uni, and I've traveled the world and had a few conversations with the locals, dated several other people, and held down several fleeting jobs that have nonetheless paid the rent and then some. I have yet to try wasabi ice cream or punch Anne Hathaway in the face, but I do not count this among my disappointments.

Also, this dick diddler kicked the bucket.

One thing that has not changed is what should have been diagnosed as ADHD back in the day but is now considered an endearing endless "curiosity" now that I'm approaching my late 20s, and thus death. 

I see what you did there, Death. And I think you're RUDE.

Let us not despair, however, that I've learned nothing more or experienced anything meaningful in the five years since my last musings on this here relic of a digital journal. From my fascination with all things morbid, the seed long planted ago has sprung to life along with Spring here in Japan, and I've decided to return to school on an entirely different tract. I believe I am the first of my generation to daringly do so.

Recently, my attentions have been directed toward the most intriguing field of phytoremediation. My questions range from Who they? to What do? And why? Perhaps the most recognized case of bioremediation has been the disappointing efforts following the tragedy at Chernobyl and for which sunflowers were hoped to be a solution for absorbing radioactive cesium from the soil surrounding the site of the devastated nuclear reactor.

In the meantime, I daylight as an English teacher in a place the people here call "Koriyama", which is located in Fukushima prefecture, not far from the epicenter of the massive earthquake and tsunami that occurred in March of 2011. At that time, I was just beginning a job working as a copy editor at a science journal in New York after nearly a year stint at a hostel on the Upper West Side, which is capitalized because it is a recognized province by Rand McNally.

The job, lucrative as it was, afforded little in the way of interaction with humans, movement, and general life happiness, yet I have my former coworkers to thank for many things. I'd name them, but I've just eaten a tremendous amount of rice, and one finds it difficult to type on a rice-heavy stomach.

That much closer to replacing Kotooshu

I close instead with a list of my favorite stories over the years past. Whether they're in order or true, well, I couldn't give a soggy toss. I do hope, however, that the future has more in store, that a bit of chaos returns to shake up the lone nights feasting in my apartment and shopping adventures deciding what scent I'd like my clothes to have for the month (I made the gross error of choosing Bubblegum for February. Ne'er ag-ayn). Behold: 

1. Along with my then-boyfriend, I saw Eddie Izzard perform at Madison Square Garden, the first comedian to perform at the venue. At a screening attended by a small crowd in an East Village cinema, Mr. Izzard made a surprise visit at the end of the film. I'm fairly certain I was unable to speak when I shook his hand.

2. I attained a one-year Hungarian residency on my own and for which I waited long, uncertain, nerve-wracking hours in the Immigration Office of Budapest. I bonded with the Chinese.

3. I RETURNED to Asheville, North Carolina, with my sister in tow. The trip was a bit of a disaster, mostly due to myself and one of the biggest storms to ever hit the east coast of the United States.

4. After listening to him play countless times on my way to work at the 42nd street metro station, I took lessons with a bluegrass violinist for a year. He was truly a magnificent soul, as was his most warm and welcoming family.

5. I attained a rather gorgeous accordion and an old, chocolately-sounding violin. I'd rather not divulge how I possessed the former.

6. While in Hungary, I fulfilled my dream of visiting Italy and Egypt. I then traveled to Oxford, London, Amsterdam, Aarhus (Denmark), and Norway after quitting Hungary. I met some wonderful people, re-met others, and saw the bluest waters, greenest mountains, and most-daring sheep in Stavanger, Norway.

7. I found out what happened to my childhood Winnie-the-Pooh blanket, an act of sabotage perpetrated by my diabolical, cotton-hatin' parents.

I've come some way since having to live in my car and on Mt. Nittany for two months after my lease ran out in State College, Pennsylvania, in 2009. I'm sure there are more experiences to recount -- rewarding, embarrassing, depressing, confusing, arousing, disturbing -- but I've heard that posts over 900 characters can shorten your lifespan by five years.

  

Movin' On Up

Blew this joint, but will probably be back after Wordpress fails to satisfy my needs. Until then, do visit!

http://soundsofanafterlife.wordpress.com/

What are you living for?

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Philly Revisted

I never knew Philadelphia's 30th Street Station was so large. Nor did I dream they had wireless I could swipe from the nice little cafe, Cosi, from which I bought nothing. My head is heavy with thoughts and time, so I'm even more thankful for the clean bistro tables inside, though I don't think the umbrellas overhead are necessary.

After a night of lazing around and watching a surprisingly good horror flick, Hide and Seek, Colleen and I set out late the following day to the Mutter Museum. Despite an upset stomach, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the numerous cabinets filled with jars of formaldehyde-dunked brains and spiraling cochleas, poor disfigured and gruesome souls that never made it out of the womb alive and the giant 5-foot-long, forty-pound colon coiled like a snake next to a cabinet of eerie, smiling skeletons. We were even more intrigued by the mysterious shrunken heads in glass cases upstairs, as well as the nearby soap lady, frozen in an unusual decaying state with a look of horror on her anthracitic face.

Once we had enough of floating abnormalities and a lengthy, but fascinating recap history lesson of Lincoln and his assassin (Yes, the museum has a piece of Booth there, but nothing of Lincoln's), I decided it was high time to take Colleen's Philly Cheesesteak virginity. Though I've been there before, Geno's never fails to satisfy a rumbling belly. With some cheese fries on the side, I left satisfied, while Colleen's stomach decided whether or not it liked so much Cheez Whiz. (It didn't.) That night, we teamed up with the lovely Suzann and her engineer boyfriend, Dan, to spend the night boozing and bowling in Glen Mills.

Now it's time to leave, and I'm astounded how quickly the weekend flew by. Always the enemy, Time. Yet, nothing was wasted, and just as I took so much away from a conversation with my grandmother about her life during the war, I learned a great deal more about the Mazazula and how she views life. Perhaps she has changed in the past few years, but I believe that for a long time, I ignored or was at least blithely unaware of what she most desired once we graduated from high school and college - that being a family and a home in which to settle down. What I couldn't have predicted, however, was the person with whom she'd plan out this life and where this settling would take place.

I never once imagined myself returning to Blairsville to live, let alone spend more than a week or two, but that's exactly what she plans to do. There's nothing wrong with the place, nor the current to-be husband she's with, but regardless, the idea of settling at this age at all, no matter a small town or large city, scares me more than anything. To me, it's like sealing the deal with Death, but for her, it's everything she's dreamed of and more. Her boyfriend has a wonderful family, she'll undoubtedly have good kids and the relationship she's in is one of the best working ones I've seen. So what's so bad about settling and creating that close-knit family? What does it matter where you are, so long as you're with the people you love?

I believe there's no right track for anyone, but her path doesn't sound like the one for me. I feel as though I have to keep moving, continue learning and never stop seeing until I finally drop dead of exhaustion. I know I won't be in New York long, and it makes me incredibly sad that I'll be forced to leave friends like Colleen behind to pursue whatever it is I'm trying to pursue. For now, however, I'm worried for Colleen, but more happy for her than anything. Thanks to her and Jess, Philly will always remain a special destination to me and I'll be ready to visit again soon enough.

We Know Time

"We know time." This mantra is repeated often throughout Kerouac's On The Road and to me, conjures up the image of one sweat-soaked Dean Moriarty, a protagonist who pops in and out of the narrator's life throughout his travels on the roads of America. He also symbolizes a futile resistance against death, always aware that his "time" is limited and that even sleeping would allow for his demise to be one step closer.

Cassady and Kerouac/Moriarty and Paradise

For a few weeks now, I've felt my time slipping through my fingers, and at times, have even felt as if though I've been floating, watching the mad circus of life march past me in a frenzy, like a mad Dean Moriarty furiously whipping past in an old Cadillac as I stand on the side of the road, paralyzed by just the thought of joining the dance of life and death. Lately, I've resorted to my senses - touching, smelling - to take stock of my surroundings, and hopefully once again feel life's pulse, rather than getting lost in the rush of it all. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough, so I decided it'd be a good idea to write about what has been happening since I last posted. Hopefully, this will make things slow down and properly put into order what I've recently only seen as a frightful chaos; then maybe I won't know time so dreadfully personally.

Since I last posted, my internship at Family Travel Forum ended and I continued the exhaustive task of job searching. I had been applying to a mix of places for some time, but only recently did I learn of and apply to a public relations company known as Quinn & Co. The job, a travel and public relations intern, didn't pan out unfortunately, and so I was forced to keep looking for other options. The same week, however, I had tentatively handed in my resume to Hostelling International, the same building housing the Family Travel Forum office. While I possibly have an interview for the front desk position, I'm excited nonetheless; I'll no longer have to worry about money, I can study languages for the possibility of grad school, and I can spend any extra cash on violin lessons, something I've wanted to do for some time now.

Though I wouldn't consider it a job, I was also accepted as a historical writer for Examiner.com. In all the mess of job searching, interviewing, New York's miserable weather, and finishing up at FTF, however, I've only completed one article. Yet, with the possibility of the hostel job, I hope I can tackle all of these things and more.

While I've barely accomplished much in the past month, the future has several things in store: In early March, I have a coffee date (tentative) with Andrew Mersmann, Editor-in-Chief of Passport Magazine. I'm excited not only to meet the head of such a well-known and amazing publication, but also the author of 500 Places Where You Can Make A Difference, which I only discovered in the last week thanks to my FTF editor, Kyle McCarthy. While I would love to work at Passport and there's always a small chance that Mr. Mersmann may take interest in me at his publication, I'm happy just to meet someone of his standing and genius. Just as my editor has been so helpful and considerate since I arrived at FTF (She bought me a dapper winter coat!), I hope Mr. Mersmann can at least point me in some direction and allow me to tap his mind for advice and his experiences.

Besides work and job hunting, I've been itching to get out of the city and do a little traveling. After writing up a release on Greyhound's $5 fares from New York to Philadelphia, I decided to take them up on their supposed offer and jump on the bus to see my long lost dear friend, the Mazazula. Unfortunately, Greyhound wouldn't give up its promised goodies, but where one door closed, a better one opened. Tomorrow, I'll be shipping out on the ever-comfortable two-decker Megabus for a short two-hour jaunt west to Philly. I can hardly wait to see Gino's, let alone Colleen and those other crazy cats of brotherly and sisterly love, among them my own sister.

Then, speaking of family, I'll be catching a flight down to Jacksonville, Florida from JFK, while my mother boards in Pittsburgh. From March 4th to the 7th, we'll be enjoying the perks of my final press trip in connection with Family Travel Forum (Unless, of course, they want to give me any more!). Bike tours, lounging on the beach, excellent food: A good way to take a break before possibly beginning a long but beneficial haul at the hostel.

Go, go, go. Another of Dean's frenzied phrases, and something I believe fits my lifestyle as well. Yet, I'm glad I could stop and write down these thoughts, just to simply observe everything I have accomplished and jolt my senses back into reality. I think once the warmer months hit New York, I'll also be ready to hit the pavement again and get more accomplished. I'm nervous, anxious, excited, confused, determined, hesitant and ready all at once, but at least I can actually feel these things.

These Streets Make Me Feel Brand New

Last night, my roommate and I stayed up until 7 in the morning talking, watching videos, listening to music and just having a chill hangout in my room. We touched upon so many subjects and interesting tangents, but what I really enjoyed was our talk of being in the city and all of our accomplishments since we arrived here at 2F Cooper. We've been to swanky and posh (and not-so-swanky-and-posh- press events, had our fill of the subway system day in and day out, and have seen and done some great things. There are oodles of things we have yet to do, and once Spring and Summer hit, our lives will really be in full swing.

I recalled some of my experiences while exploring the city, and realized just how much I've taken for granted here in New York: the sightseeing my sister and I did over Thanksgiving break, the Brooklyn excursions Scott and I would go on during weekends and the live concerts I've been fortunate enough to attend outside of work purposes. Just last night, Scott and I went to see Eddie Izzard live at Madison Square Garden. The tickets weren't cheap, but it was the first time I had been in the Garden and, on top of my own historical visit, Mr. Izzard is the first comedian to have performed in the arena! I think to myself now how significant that is and how great it was to have been there for it. Soon, Kathy Griffin will take the stage there, and while it's incredible that we're here and can experience that, too, we shrug and "consider" the possibility. This mentality really hit us both: We're living in city, we work here and these things are great, but have to jive with our schedules.

It'll be fun to see what the next few months will bring and as we start hitting warmer weather. We're all over the cold, the rain, the snow. For now, though, I'm having an amazing time and couldn't have asked for better friends with whom I can live it up!