Claire's Birthday Dinner

I was talking to one of Claire's friends, named Chris.  He was telling me about his hometown, how everyone muttered and how he had taken up speaking fast but that he didn't really have an inbetween speaking speed. 
"You don't have to perform for me," I said, referencing the fact that he was an actor. 
"So just to be clear," I asked.  "Are you gay or straight?"
The other people at our end of the table heard us, and they went up in fits of laughter.  Both Vicki and Amanda admonished me for speaking to him like that. 
"She doesn't have a filter," Amanda said. 
I do too have a filter.  There are all sorts of things I don't say, and I suspect that people would be deeply scarred if they heard the majority of my thoughts.  In comparison with other people, who lack thoughts to say in the first place, sure, it looks like I am filterless.
I suspected that Chris wouldn't mind me asking, and he took it like it was totally normal.  "I wake up everyday asking myself the same question," he said. 
After a while, one of Claire's other friends came along.  He sat down at the table next to Chris and in front of me.  He was dressed as a hipster.  We chatted about the neighborhood and made fun of hipsters and how expensive the whole thing was.  As he was talking, his voice reminded me vaguely of someone's, and then it occurred to me that he sounded just like Kashif.  And then as we continued talking, I realized he didn't just have Kashif's voice but that same particular sweetness that I've only previously encountered in Kashif.  Too bad this young man was gay. 
He talked to me about singing, which he was apparently into, and about how everyone can sing, and about the business aspect of getting a job in singing.  He asked me what I did, and I said I was a poet. 
(As an aside, can I just say how impossibly hard I find the question of who I am or what I do?  I hate the idea of identifying myself as just one thing.  But at the same time, if allowed to, I would babble on forever about who I am and I suspect people still wouldn't know.) 

In any case, the young man was nice enough to be supportive, ask me who my favorite poets are (another question I dread and never seem to just have a good, truthful and concise answer to).  He told me he liked Sylvia Plath, and since I like her too, that got us both off and running.  We discussed the Bell Jar. 
He also was nice enough to make some suggestions for where I should go read my poetry.  He told me it was casual, and not to worry.  I really don't like to read my poetry; part of the reason I write is because of my aversion to performance. 

Maxwell had moved over to sit with us at that point, and he talked about his failed attempts at dating and how much he really wished he could be on Gossip Girl.  A lot of people probably wish they were on television shows, myself included, though Gossip Girl isn't the first one that comes to mind. 
Chris and I continued talking a bit.  He told me about how much he loved Joss Whedon, and guessing correctly, I asked if he liked Firefly.  (Shocker, he did.  When boys say they like Whedon, none of them mean they like Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel, what they mean is that they like Firefly.  Which would be fine but I wish they'd be more honest about it.)  He also said he liked Dr. Horrible. 

At this point, I mentioned to him that I wished someone would invite Whedon to work on Broadway, as I thought it would be interesting to see him work in a live audience setting, and this got the boy talking about a live production of Dr. Horrible he'd seen.  He went through everything with me, the actors, the singing, how Bad Horse was managed, how the lighting worked; it was very detailed and very boring, as I hadn't seen this live production.  (It was almost as bad as listening to Emily earlier that day rave about Darren Chris on Glee.) 
And then Chris mentioned he had a girlfriend. 
Oh Gods, why bother? I thought.  And I was a tad annoyed Claire had sat me with him with no indication that Chris wasn't single. 
Obviously, it was time to abandon ship. 

We talked a little more.  I asked him what it was like to work with Claire, and he said that she was his favorite person, and that of everyone he knew, he thought she was going to make it.  We chatted about superheros, particularly Spider-Man.  We ate our dinners, and Maxwell shared his chips with us.  (Good man.  There are few things I like better than food, and one of them happens to be free food.)  Then I went to the bathroom.  I made the move of leaving, but then was persuaded to stay, and sat at the other end of the table with Jenny, Tamara, and Ruth. 
Ruth was complaining bitterly to Tamara about school, who, possibly more bitter than Ruth about the whole thing, was whole heartedly agreeing with her.  We started talking about the waiter, who I've encountered a couple of times before at this place.  He is very talk, and somewhat built, with a little fat  on him.  But what I find extraordinary about him is his face, particularly his hair.  It's very dark and long, and in some guys, I find long hair very attractive, as with him.  He had the whole dark eyes thing to complete the look.  He looks very much like he should be playing in band, particularly bass or even maybe drums.  When we asked him last night, he said that he use to play football and that's all.
That's all, I thought.  Good Lord, you must be lying.  I can't imagine that he is only a former football player.  And, moreover, what the heck is he doing being a waiter at a restaurant?  Surely he must have some other goal.  I was hoping he would illuminate us as to that.  (Jenny joked later that he was an Amnesty International lawyer, which I would find totally acceptable, vaguely intriguing, and a surprising choice.) 
Then we decided to move on to our next place.  We walked down several blocks to a pub I had passed by multiple times but had never been in before. 

Monte Cassino

Tori, Ashley and I went out to dinner.  We went to a little restaurant near home.  The last time I had been here, I had gone with Jennifer when I desperately needed to talk to her.  I had the mac and cheese and it had been terrible.  I wasn't going to do that again.  I ordered saganaki and a veggie burger instead.
I love a good veggie burger.  I know a lot of people complain that they are not that good because they do not taste like meat, I do not notice much of a difference.  I'm actually pretty impressed with their ability to get a bunch of semi-mashed vegetables to taste like meat.
And then there's saganaki.  It's delicious.  It's a simple thing, but I have it infrequently enough that when I do have it, it makes me really happy.  Tori and Ashley had never had it before, so I let them try some.
Ashley talked to us about her father and traveling.  She was complaining that her Dad only likes to go to the beach when they go on vacation, and that she would like to go to museums and monuments and shop a little and do all the other things that normal people do I vacation.  I suggested Rome to her, because it's close enough to beaches that might satisfy her Dad and lots of museums and things she would like.
What I should have said, now that I'm thinking about it, is about the area between Rome and Naples.  That whole area is supposed to be covered with beautiful beaches and lots of history.  Ostia is an important ancient Roman city.

And between Rome and Naples is Monte Cassino.  It's one of those places I've always wanted to go to.  As someone who is interested in monasticism, Monte Cassino is important because it is the birthplace of Western monasticism, where St. Benedict of Nursia, the founder of the Benedictines and inspiration behind so many other orders, began his community.  In addition to that, it is also the former site of a pagan temple to Apollo and the site of the Battle of Monte Cassino.  A Polish cemetery is located there, where over a thousand Polish soldiers who died during that battle are buried.  Also buried there are St. Benedict (for obvious reasons) and St. Scholastica, his sister and a nun.  The monastery also once held the archives of the Keats-Shelley House in Rome.
I want to go, want to take a tour, want to take in mass, want to look through their archive, and want to put red poppies on the graves of those Polish soldiers.  (It's part of a song, "The Red Poppies of Monte Cassino.")  
Never mind, I don't think Ashley would like to do this as much as me.  Talking about traveling got me daydreaming again.  One of the many problems with traveling is that it seems to be a never-ending desire.  Going a little does not really satisfy it. 
After we finished eating, and paid our bills, we went home.

Getting What You Paid For

My Mom and I were out to eat.  We had frequented this restaurant four times in the last week, I realized. 
As we were about to leave, the waitress came up to me and told me that she had terrible acne like mine when she was little.  That's right, a waitress approached me and said something about it without anyone saying anything to her.  It was a little strange, but not the end of the world. 
She suggested something that she would buy at the dollar store and was so powerful that I would have to use it sparingly.  I was intrigued, and maybe I'll try it.
It was totally strange to get accosted by a waitress my Mom's age.  

This Chaos Could or Couldn't Work

Paul and I were walking out of this restaurant.  We had spent the entire evening drinking. 
As we drove home, we talked about him.  Things are really rough with him.  He failed a class last year and now he's gotten kicked out of the Honors College.  He hasn't told him parents yet.  There's no way that's not going to be bad.  His mother will probably be angry.  His Dad will go nuts on him. 
"If you need to, I can probably arrange it so that you can come sleep at my house," I said. 
"Thanks." 
We talked about music.  I told him that I liked this new indie thing, but that I still loved some good rock and roll.
Admitting this is a big deal for me, because for years I've been trying not to get sucked in.  I think part of my reservation was that it came in and swept great rock aside, and I missed that.  I think the other thing was Dan.  Dan loves it so much, and despite loving Dan, I was suspicious of it.
But the more I think about it, the more I realize I should love it.  The aesthetic encourages the annihilation of gender.  It allows guys to be more gentle and show when they're sad.  It allows both some aspects of hard rock and more mellow music.  I logically, given my own musical history, love it.
I'm still a little reluctant about some things, like the hardcore who bash everything else in comparison to it.  But that's a small group, and well, I would ignore them for other reasons.
When I got home, I said goodbye to Paul.  I was sorry we had to end the night early, but it turned out to be a good thing, because when I got in, my Mom asked me if I could go babysit my Grandma in the morning and early afternoon.  I said sure, but that I wanted to spend the afternoon in the library.  Deal.
Then I went to check my email.  There's a ton of stuff going on.  Jennifer is going back to Lansing, would I like to come along?
I've been invited back up next week, and I want to go, but right before that I have a party in Ann Arbor that I a maybe attending.  If I go to the party in Ann Arbor (which I really want to go to), then I won't be able to hop that ride with Jenn.  On the other hand, it looks like my family is going to be in chaos next week because my Mom is going to a business conference, and whenever that happens, it's craziness.  This chaos could work for or against me.  If my sister takes the car and disappears, then I'll be out of luck.  If my Dad is looking for any excuse to get out of town, he'll be more than happy for me to give it to him.  So, maybe. 
When it rains it pours, etc. 
I also got an email from Ashley.  That lucky girl is in China and writing me emails from her trip.  (She's out there to learn Chinese.)  She told me all about her latest adventures, including going to a mosque.  I've sent back a bunch of questions asking about it, because I was under the impression that China was not into religion. 
And then I did the whole lay down and try to sleep thing.  Again, no luck.  I was hoping the alcohol I had would make me more sleepy, since I've been told that's one of the things it does, but no.  I laid in bed for hours without much luck.  Bah. 
I fell asleep sometime around five.  My alarm rang at eight.  I was suppose to get up for Grandma, but I totally didn't get up.  Maybe I would be lucky and my Mom wouldn't wake me?