Awards Night

So, Erin was lucky enough to win an award, so I (with some of her other friends) went to support her.
There were all sorts of awards.  Bobby, for example, won an award for an essay he wrote, though he wasn't there to receive any praise.  Another young woman I occasionally talk to won an award for an essay she wrote on Pacific Islander fiction, which I know nothing about.  I'm particularly proud of Bobby, because he once told me that I had a positive influence on him.  When I first met him, I didn't think anything like I'm going to positively influence this boy, but I guess that's the way life worked out. 
For prizes, in addition to money, they gave away seed packets, which I really liked.  It's almost it's own metaphor: at school, teachers and books plant ideas in you; now you have seeds to literally plant.   
I had classes in this particular building, and at one point, I heard the nearby bell tower chiming, and it reminded me of one class I had.  It was in the morning, and I remember how much I enjoyed the quiet walk there, and how I was usually the first one there.  It was so warm in this room, I would usually go over to the window and open it up, and somehow, this was unintentionally timed to correspond with just about the time that same bell tower would chime. 
Erin got an award for creative writing, and she read a short piece about herself.  It was about how she doesn't like to be touched.  (I need to write on this same topic, now that I'm thinking about it.)  She read really fast, and honestly, I don't think anyone in the audience really got all of it. 
Erin tends to write longer pieces, which aren't really conducive to the format.  (Other winners, including Lia, were reading poetry or performing small pieces from a longer play.)  Erin needs to pick shorter pieces and she seriously needs to slow down.
I did get to see the professor in charge of screenwriting.  Erin had complained, in passing, that he wasn't much of a creative writing teacher but more of a public relations/advertising kind of guy.  The moment I saw him, I whispered to Erin "Seriously?" which made her choke and laugh. 
After the ceremony, Erin revealed that her parents and uncle were in town.  And she hadn't invited them to the awards night.  This surprised me a little and then it made me sad.  I would give anything to have my parents come to something like this, but they wouldn't.  Not that I'm ever going to win an award, but I would never not tell my parents about something like this, especially given that they were here anyway. 
They were at the coffee shop across the street, so a group of us walked over there.  I had never met Erin's parents before, but some of the other friends in the group, like Liz and Jon, had. 
Erin has told me a lot of stories about her parents over the years, so I thought I would know them better than some of my other friend's parents.  And there wasn't anything about them that struck me as a lie on Erin's part, but I had always imagined them differently. 

For example, I had always imagined her Dad to be tall, almost entirely bald, and had little tuffs of white hair, which he wouldn't comb and would stick out all over the place.  I imagined he'd wear glasses.  And be overweight.  Basically, I imagined George Bluth, the Grandpa, from Arrested Development. 
Instead, he was shorter.  And his hair was sandy, and possibly he had a comb-over, because it looked strangely similar to Donald Trump.  His face was wider instead of longer.  He didn't wear glasses.  And there was something Hobbit like about him. 
The other thing about him was that I imagined he would speak like Erin spoke, which is to say, like me.  But he had a distinct accent, something I've heard people refer to as a Yooper accent.  Erin hates that term, and I can understand why.  I would describe his accent as sounding something similar to a Finnish American. 
I imagined her Mom would look almost exactly like her, only older, but she was shorter and very slim and her face was longer than I had imagined.  She actually looked similar in appearance to Erin's brother. 
And her Uncle looked a lot like her Dad, except he had long hair.  Come to think of it, he looked a lot like I imagined Erin's brother would look like, before I had met him.   
This is a good example of why I want to meet people's families.  I want to know everything I possibly can about my friends, and their families are an important part of their lives.  And because my imagination is clearly off. 
Erin introduced us, and her Dad clearly remembered Jon and Liz.  We spoke briefly.  There were some awkward pauses, which I guess I should of expected too, but there was something about having the quirkiness of Erin's family confirmed that made this funny to me.  Erin was right, they were different, but in ways that I hadn't considered.  They were looking for somewhere to eat, and someone suggested one of the local bar and restaurants, so we trooped over there.
It wasn't really that late yet, but the bar at this place was totally full.  We had a big group so we got a long table for ourselves.  I sat near Carrie, Erin's brother, and Erin's Mom.  I ordered a burger and some drinks. 
I tried to make conversation.  Carrie and I talked about future plans.  I tried to talk to Erin's brother about what he was studying and where he lived, since these were some of the few things I knew about him.  He was sort of hard to talk to, not because he was mean, but because he didn't offer much.  I was hoping maybe he would talk about his program, since I had friends who were part of the same thing.  I asked him if he liked where he lived, but he didn't have much to say on the subject. 
I racked my brain for other things to talk about, but I really couldn't come up with much.  I remembered Erin complaining about the Bart Stupak controversy last year, and remembering something she had mentioned about him, I asked her Mom about it.  This turned out to be a mistake because Erin's Mom did not have the same political views as Erin, which I thought she did, because of the way Erin talked about her family's politics. 

Hanging with Jon

Jon and I hung out.  We went to this courtyard where we use to brainstorm ideas and talked about things going on in our lives. 
Jon has recently gotten engaged, which was the big news.  He told me about how he and his fiancee are planning their wedding. 
He also showed me some art he's been working on.  Apparently something he and his fiancee do.  It actually looked like stuff similar to the stuff my Mom likes to make. 
While we were sitting there, Nate and Sam walked by.  Nate complained that I hadn't been by to spend time with him enough.  It was a surprising thing to say, because I don't usually feel needed by anyone, and sometimes I get the distinct feeling people want me to go away. 
Which is not to say I mind.  Years ago, I complained about boys being too needy, but I don't feel that way about Nate.  It might be because he's not a needy person, or it could be that I like the Nate's neediness.  It makes me feel needed but not like I'm under emotional siege.  (Which was the problem, back then.  That and he was never very giving, in all senses of the word.) 
Jon and I continued our talk, and I gave him a gift.  Jon's been complaining about having writer's block, so I collected some cool quotes from writers and gave them to him.  He thanked me. 
I also saw one of my favorite conversational friends, but he was on the phone and just waved at me. 
Jon and I went into one of the buildings nearby and dropped in on an art gallery party.  Just because.  They had these really bizarre mini rolls.  They were like spring rolls, but smaller, and covered in this clear, kind of squishy film.  It sort of made me imagine the larvae of some science fiction alien monster, which meant that I wasn't really into them.  I felt like they should have been trying to move out of my hand as I ate them. 
Afterward, the party ended and we dropped in on a poetry reading.  I was mostly going because I had some friends who were going to be there and two who were reading, so I wanted to go to see what would happen. 
Bobby and his girlfriend were there.  I've actually never met his girlfriend before.  Unfortunately, I didn't really get a chance to talk to her.  But Bobby seemed good. 
Bobby also formerly introduced me to his best friend, Cory.  I actually met Cory last year, though I don't think he remembered me. 
A couple of different teachers introduced the reading.  Lia read first.  She read poems mostly in the style of Mary Oliver, who, if I'm remembering correctly, she likes.  She had one poem about shopping the grocery store late at night.  There was something about it that was very calm, very dreamy.  If I was writing that poem, it would be more scary or, at the least, fraught with a sense of how strange being under florescent lights late at night in a desolate place. 
Then Cory read.  Cory was more formal in delivery.  He felt more like listening to a professor.  He talked about his girlfriend, and how they didn't get along right away.  The poem he read that sticks out the most in my mind was about a pistachio.  No kidding.  It made me brainstorm another poem for myself about a similar subject. 
This is one of the many things I like about poetry readings: they always manage to make me want to write more. 
There were more people reading, but Jon and I had to leave because we had to go to Virginia's concert. 
(Like I've said I've been super busy.  Three events in one night.)
Virginia plays harp.  The night before, I had proofread her list of songs.  I'm embarrassed to say that, since she was playing mostly classical songs, I didn't recognize much that was on there. 
The concert had a lot of friends that I hadn't seen in a while: Dean, Jane, Marguerite, Erin, and Amanda were all there.  Jon sat with his fiancee.  I think I briefly shook her hand.  Marguerite was reading a sample of poems I sent her and complained that I didn't need to send sixteen pages.
"Yeah, but there was only five poems," I said in reply, which made people laugh. 
Virginia's parents and old teachers were there, which was nice to see.  Virginia's Dad was older than I imagined and Virginia's Mom looked more like a typical Mom than I imagined.  I sort of imagined that Virginia's Mom would look more like a hippie than she did.  Her teacher there seemed like a sweet old lady. 
Despite knowing Virginia for years now, I had never seen her play.  It was really nice.  I've always had a soft spot for harps.  When I was little, my favorite instrument was a harp.  I had a computer encyclopedia program and I would play their samples of harp music all the time.  (I also played the violin, piano and guitar samples a lot, which I guess is pretty telling too, in terms of my musical tastes now.  I love violin, especially when it's used in with a heavy beat, since that's uncommon.) 
Harp is such an impressive instrument, partly because of its size but also because of the detailed finger work one has to use.  Virginia also had a piano player accompany her and then later on, another harp player.  Erin and Marguerite really wanted pictures of this. 
During the intermission, I turned to everyone and said "I don't mean to brag guys, but I'm going home tonight with the musician."  This got laughs from people.  Obviously, since I was living with Virginia, I was literally going home with her, but the implication I was making about sleeping with her was false.  Virginia luckily thought this was funny, and she laughed and put her arm around me. 

Kettle and Pot

I happened to run into Sarah today.  She's running a survey on the food services around here.  She purposely didn't ask certain people who have a reputation for being difficult. 
But this didn't, according to her, stop those people from submitting surveys to her anyway. 
"Do you know who Samantha is?" Sarah asked. 
"Yes."  Jenny complained all the time about how rude she was. 
"You know how she wanders around without a bra and it's very obvious?"
"Yes," I answered, but the answer was "I don't really bother looking at people's bodies so closely, but I guess that does explain the few things I happen to observe."
"Samantha apparently complained about girls wearing pajamas to breakfast and touching their hair and then touching their food." 
That's pretty rich.  I laughed a little.  The girls wearing pajamas are probably committing a much smaller fashion faux pas than she is, and I'm almost certain I've never seen the hair thing.  It probably has only happened one time. 
"Kettle and pot," I said.  Sarah laughed at that.