I'll be DJing a "Girls Get Ready" party at the old Bottle Rocket Portland home, Beauty Bar, this Saturday night from 6-10. Graye bumped into me at karaoke a few weeks back and asked if I could do it, and it sounds like fun, so LET'S GO YEAH.
Rick's gonna be my DJ buddy, and we're playing girl group stuff and things that ladies would wanna hear whilst getting their hair/nails done up all pretty like. I think this is just the sort of thing that Beauty Bar was made for. I'm still too busy to try and launch another Bottle Rocket residency, so I welcome this little one-off.
I've also been asked to DJ my girlfriend's sister's wedding this summer. So...yeah. Looking forward to that.
There's a fair amount going on in 2011. I don't think I can swing another international trip this year, so I'll have to keep all the funtimes in North America. I'm likely going to the east coast in early May for my cousin's wedding and my mom's 50th, which is likely my only big-ish jaunt.
I'm listening to Broadcast and getting real sad about Trish Keenan's passing.
Books...books...books...so much reading this term. I'm taking Political Science (US Gov't & policies), Microeconomics, and US History 1919-present. Feeling strong about all but Microeconomics, which throws my brain into a tizzy with all of the graphs and numbers. NUMBERS SCARE.
Katrina just watched some documentary about Stress and how it kills you.
I just watched the first 6 episodes of Party Down. Love it.
I REALLY REALLY WANNA SEE BLUE VALENTINE. I've pushed back my best of 2010 movie post until I see it.
BIKE BIKE BIKE I NEED TO GET A BIKE.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Monday, December 27, 2010
My 30 favourite albums of 2010
2010 was an absolute banner year for music...I think. I mean, at least the kind of stuff I like. I have no idea how the "industry" is doing, nor do I really care anymore. It's easier than ever to make music without getting signed, and some bigger artists are doing just fine with touring without writing #1 singles. Point is, music is getting better.
30. Owen Pallett - Heartland
29. Gil Scott Heron – I’m New Here
28. Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti - Before Today
27. First Aid Kit – The Big Black and the Blue
26. MIA – Maya
25. Dum Dum Girls – I Will Be
24. Wild Nothing - Gemini
23. The Vaselines – Sex With An X
22. The Radio Dept - Clinging To a Scheme
21. Crystal Castles – s/t
20. Big Boi - Sir Luscious Leftfoot: The Legend of Chico Dusty
19. Spoon – Transference
18. No Age – Everything In Between
17. The National – High Violet
16. Deerhunter – Halcyon Digest
15. Sleigh Bells – Treats
14. Betty and the Werewolves - Tea Time Favourites
13. Belle and Sebastian – Write About Love
12. Arcade Fire – The Suburbs
11. Los Campesinos – Romance is Boring
10. Joanna Newsom – Have One On Me
I remember the astonishment I felt when I first laid eyes on this album - I was at Amoeba Records in Berkeley, and the album was there on the racks, weeks before its official release date. This was one of my most anticipated albums of the year, as Newsom's majestic Ys was one of my favourite albums of the past decade. Have One On Me is an enormous album in more ways than one - it took me nearly the entire year to digest it. But when I finally did, I was rewarded with one hell of an experience. While Ys had too few songs on it, this album certainly has too many, but that's a problem I'm not bothered having.
9. Kanye West – Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
I admit, I wasn't entirely familiar with Kanye's music. The most I knew was that he was sort of an interesting lunatic who had a rough year before this sonic boom of an album dropped. I'm blown away by Kanye's production skills, but at the same time a bit disappointed by his sheer arrogance. Not a flawless album, but a fascinating document of a brilliant madman.
8. Allo Darlin' – Allo Darlin'
I first saw Allo Darlin as part of the NYC popfest, and that was it - one of the best performances of the year and I was in love. This is the new indiepop crush that I'd been waiting for - tender, playful songs about Woody Allen, Sweden, and kissing.
7. Sufjan Stevens – The Age of Adz
30. Owen Pallett - Heartland
29. Gil Scott Heron – I’m New Here
28. Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti - Before Today
27. First Aid Kit – The Big Black and the Blue
26. MIA – Maya
25. Dum Dum Girls – I Will Be
24. Wild Nothing - Gemini
23. The Vaselines – Sex With An X
22. The Radio Dept - Clinging To a Scheme
21. Crystal Castles – s/t
20. Big Boi - Sir Luscious Leftfoot: The Legend of Chico Dusty
19. Spoon – Transference
18. No Age – Everything In Between
17. The National – High Violet
16. Deerhunter – Halcyon Digest
15. Sleigh Bells – Treats
14. Betty and the Werewolves - Tea Time Favourites
13. Belle and Sebastian – Write About Love
12. Arcade Fire – The Suburbs
11. Los Campesinos – Romance is Boring
10. Joanna Newsom – Have One On Me
I remember the astonishment I felt when I first laid eyes on this album - I was at Amoeba Records in Berkeley, and the album was there on the racks, weeks before its official release date. This was one of my most anticipated albums of the year, as Newsom's majestic Ys was one of my favourite albums of the past decade. Have One On Me is an enormous album in more ways than one - it took me nearly the entire year to digest it. But when I finally did, I was rewarded with one hell of an experience. While Ys had too few songs on it, this album certainly has too many, but that's a problem I'm not bothered having.
9. Kanye West – Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
I admit, I wasn't entirely familiar with Kanye's music. The most I knew was that he was sort of an interesting lunatic who had a rough year before this sonic boom of an album dropped. I'm blown away by Kanye's production skills, but at the same time a bit disappointed by his sheer arrogance. Not a flawless album, but a fascinating document of a brilliant madman.
8. Allo Darlin' – Allo Darlin'
I first saw Allo Darlin as part of the NYC popfest, and that was it - one of the best performances of the year and I was in love. This is the new indiepop crush that I'd been waiting for - tender, playful songs about Woody Allen, Sweden, and kissing.
7. Sufjan Stevens – The Age of Adz
Monday, December 20, 2010
When Composure Returns
I came back to Portland.
In all honesty, this wasn't what I had hoped when I booked my Bowlie 2 ticket way back in March. My relationship was off the rails, and I wasn't having any luck in the job market. I thought my time in Portland was coming to an end.
She met me at the airport. Smiles, hugs, kisses, and a long sleep with her in my arms.
More often than not these days, I feel miles from the gripping depression that has nearly always ruled my life. Perhaps it's the medication and therapy.
I returned to the UK for Bowlie 2. Everyone has asked me why I was going abroad, and I kept giving the simple answer - "a music festival". True, technically, though the real reason was deeper than that. Back in March I had this whole plan in my head of sticking around far longer, which would have inevitably led to my stay breaching the boundaries of immigration law, in one last grand hail-mary for UK citizenship.
But this wasn't the time for such reckless behaviour. What this trip was about, ultimately, was my reconciliation with reality. That reality is that I am not a UK citizen, I have no romantic interests that would lead to that status, and I am going to visit purely as a friend of a number of British folks.
Walking around London, in my sleepless, jet-lagged state, I had realized that my conception of "home" has no foundation. I felt as if I had never even left London...or perhaps that I had just gone on a very long journey and was returning to an uncompassionate home. London, like my technical home, NYC, is a cold, unforgiving, unsentimental, bloodsucking city that can turn angels to stone. There is something about London and NYC that I carry in my blood; it's a trait that I dislike very much - the part of me that walks too fast, refuses to look people in the eye, and never stop to admire something beautiful for the sake of being better than the tourists who actually do. Don't get me wrong, I loved living in London. My ambitious, successful side thrived in London, which is less soul-crushing than NYC. And when I was wandering around those grey streets, I felt sad knowing that it was no longer my home. I always figured I'd have a better shot at "making it" in London than anywhere in the USA.
While Portland feels nice, it often feels like a transitional place. I'd like very much to overcome that feeling and establish the sort of bonds in Portland that I did in Glasgow.
Glasgow. If ever a place felt like Home, it was dear old Glasgow. Regretfully, I did not have time to visit Glasgow, but fortunately enough anyone I was ever friends or even acquaintances with was in Minehead for Bowlie 2. And it was all there - the faces, the hugs, the music, the dancing, the accents, the drinks, the xo's at the end of texts...all of the things I loved about my life in the UK was condensed into this one freezing weekend in Minehead. Two-and-a-half years summed up over three days.
The music was incredible, though I don't mean to write any sort of review. I barely took any pictures, since my iPhone camera is rubbish for that sort of thing. Highlights included the sincerity of pop legends The Zombies, the frenetic energy of The Go Team, the joyous spark of Those Dancing Days, the astonishing mastery of music by Dirty Projectors, and the inspiration of Edwyn Collins. Dancing to Neutral Milk Hotel and Hefner at How Does it Feel to Be Loved? was another great time.
Then there was Belle and Sebastian. The band, whose leader, Stuart Murdoch, I first met in Brooklyn in 2005 and had a chat about studying in Scotland. I was looking at Edinburgh, and he swayed me to check out Glasgow. Ironically, B&S never played a single gig during the two years I lived in Glasgow.
Their Bowlie 2 set was one of the most emotional experiences I've had in quite some time. Each time they played one of those old songs - the ones that I would have in my head as I walked around Glasgow on any given day - I would go to a happy place in my head and just cozy up with the tune as if it were an old lover. But like all old lovers, there's an emotional tipping point. For me, it would be the very last song that I every played as a Bottle Rocket DJ in Glasgow, on my last ever night in Scotland, almost exactly two years ago. Sleep the Clock Around, the band's final song of their set, was a fitting climax. In those five minutes of cascading, gorgeous sound, all of those memories from my last hours in Glasgow came flooding back. I just wanted Laura there to hug me like she did two years ago. Perhaps my tears were accelerated by the fact that Laura was the only notable absence at Bowlie, as she's moved to Canada. For some reason, she's always my best friend in my dreams. Like my Scottish sidekick.
I saw Chris and Lucy and Susan. Sunday night, I did the thing that was hardest to do, but something that I have learned is very important - I knew when to leave. In fact, I did this throughout my wee trip - I tried not to linger too long.
I left on my own.
I came back to Portland.
In all honesty, this wasn't what I had hoped when I booked my Bowlie 2 ticket way back in March. My relationship was off the rails, and I wasn't having any luck in the job market. I thought my time in Portland was coming to an end.
She met me at the airport. Smiles, hugs, kisses, and a long sleep with her in my arms.
More often than not these days, I feel miles from the gripping depression that has nearly always ruled my life. Perhaps it's the medication and therapy.
I returned to the UK for Bowlie 2. Everyone has asked me why I was going abroad, and I kept giving the simple answer - "a music festival". True, technically, though the real reason was deeper than that. Back in March I had this whole plan in my head of sticking around far longer, which would have inevitably led to my stay breaching the boundaries of immigration law, in one last grand hail-mary for UK citizenship.
But this wasn't the time for such reckless behaviour. What this trip was about, ultimately, was my reconciliation with reality. That reality is that I am not a UK citizen, I have no romantic interests that would lead to that status, and I am going to visit purely as a friend of a number of British folks.
Walking around London, in my sleepless, jet-lagged state, I had realized that my conception of "home" has no foundation. I felt as if I had never even left London...or perhaps that I had just gone on a very long journey and was returning to an uncompassionate home. London, like my technical home, NYC, is a cold, unforgiving, unsentimental, bloodsucking city that can turn angels to stone. There is something about London and NYC that I carry in my blood; it's a trait that I dislike very much - the part of me that walks too fast, refuses to look people in the eye, and never stop to admire something beautiful for the sake of being better than the tourists who actually do. Don't get me wrong, I loved living in London. My ambitious, successful side thrived in London, which is less soul-crushing than NYC. And when I was wandering around those grey streets, I felt sad knowing that it was no longer my home. I always figured I'd have a better shot at "making it" in London than anywhere in the USA.
While Portland feels nice, it often feels like a transitional place. I'd like very much to overcome that feeling and establish the sort of bonds in Portland that I did in Glasgow.
Glasgow. If ever a place felt like Home, it was dear old Glasgow. Regretfully, I did not have time to visit Glasgow, but fortunately enough anyone I was ever friends or even acquaintances with was in Minehead for Bowlie 2. And it was all there - the faces, the hugs, the music, the dancing, the accents, the drinks, the xo's at the end of texts...all of the things I loved about my life in the UK was condensed into this one freezing weekend in Minehead. Two-and-a-half years summed up over three days.
The music was incredible, though I don't mean to write any sort of review. I barely took any pictures, since my iPhone camera is rubbish for that sort of thing. Highlights included the sincerity of pop legends The Zombies, the frenetic energy of The Go Team, the joyous spark of Those Dancing Days, the astonishing mastery of music by Dirty Projectors, and the inspiration of Edwyn Collins. Dancing to Neutral Milk Hotel and Hefner at How Does it Feel to Be Loved? was another great time.
Then there was Belle and Sebastian. The band, whose leader, Stuart Murdoch, I first met in Brooklyn in 2005 and had a chat about studying in Scotland. I was looking at Edinburgh, and he swayed me to check out Glasgow. Ironically, B&S never played a single gig during the two years I lived in Glasgow.
Their Bowlie 2 set was one of the most emotional experiences I've had in quite some time. Each time they played one of those old songs - the ones that I would have in my head as I walked around Glasgow on any given day - I would go to a happy place in my head and just cozy up with the tune as if it were an old lover. But like all old lovers, there's an emotional tipping point. For me, it would be the very last song that I every played as a Bottle Rocket DJ in Glasgow, on my last ever night in Scotland, almost exactly two years ago. Sleep the Clock Around, the band's final song of their set, was a fitting climax. In those five minutes of cascading, gorgeous sound, all of those memories from my last hours in Glasgow came flooding back. I just wanted Laura there to hug me like she did two years ago. Perhaps my tears were accelerated by the fact that Laura was the only notable absence at Bowlie, as she's moved to Canada. For some reason, she's always my best friend in my dreams. Like my Scottish sidekick.
I saw Chris and Lucy and Susan. Sunday night, I did the thing that was hardest to do, but something that I have learned is very important - I knew when to leave. In fact, I did this throughout my wee trip - I tried not to linger too long.
I left on my own.
I came back to Portland.
Friday, November 19, 2010
I didn't want to hurt you
Sitting in the dark listening to Teenage Fanclub. I need more of this in my life.
This morning I had a health scare, which is like, really strange. After a lovely evening of sushi and Harry Potter, Katrina and I snuggled up under the duvet and fell asleep. I woke up a few times during the night with some strange chest pains, and didn't really pay it any mind until about 8am, when I started to have difficulty breathing and couldn't get back to sleep.
Now, I may be overweight, but I'm a relatively healthy guy. The only disorder that I've ever been diagnosed with has been depression/anxiety, and that's being treated, with quality results I might add. Either way, I'm not someone who eats terribly, and I'm not especially lazy. I work full time and study full time, so my time is well occupied and, at the end of the day, I feel like a fairly productive human being.
I'm not supposed to worry about having a heart attack. As the pain radiating from the left side of my chest started to become more acute with each breath, I started to freak out a little bit. As Katrina slept silently (she really is a fantastic sleeper), I consulted the internet, feeding my symptoms to google. Various heart issues came up, and I felt it might be time to wake up my partner and throw some drama into our cozy little situation. Katrina was a star, getting up and showing compassion and concern every step of the way. I phoned a nurse via my health insurance, and, after a chat about my symptoms, the nurse said "You need to get into Urgent Care within the hour", at which point I shed a nervous tear and felt as if my life was about to change forever.
Am I really going to have a heart attack at 32?? Is that how it's going to be? In the blink of an eye, I was seeing my own underwhelming obituary.
Katrina took me to the Urgent Care office, where, even though there was a room full of people waiting to get in, I was taken right away due to my symptoms. The staff was friendly and patient, and they explained everything to me (I ask lots of questions). I ended up in there for about two hours, and was seen by four different specialists. I had an EKG, which is where they put those sticky pads on your body and attach wires to them (the removal of the sticky pads resulted in the removal of a few tufts of chest hair). I had some chest x-rays done, which was pretty rad because I was able to see my heart (the burst of light in your chest) inside my huge fuck-off rib cage. Blood was drawn.
The doctors were confused. They said that my vitals were fine, my x-rays were fine, my EKG was normal, etc. They took my blood because they were afraid I may have suffered a minor heart attack, or perhaps had an embolism. An embolism! "Holy shit" read the thought bubble over my worried head. "That girl from Clerks died from an embolism. She was like, what, 25 or something?". And you know what I'm talking about, right? It's just a plotline in Clerks, wherein Dante and Randall go to the funeral of Dante's ex, who had died from an embolism in a swimming pool. Yeah, it's fictional, it's even Kevin Smith fictional, but that's my only frame of reference for an embolism. Anyway, Randall knocks the casket over, and her fucking body fell out.
I don't want Randall knocking my casket over.
A few hours later, I get a call from the doc's office. The blood work came back normal. No embolism, not today. No heart attack. The chest pains (which I'm still experiencing, sadly) are due to stress. STRESS. Just thinking about it stresses me the fuck out.
I've been doing well in Portland. I'm on medication for my depression/anxiety, which I feel has made a huge difference. My girlfriend and therapist both agree with that assessment, as I've made huge improvements regarding my mental state in the past five months. I know I'm super busy, but I'm not bugging out. Sure, I'm working full-time, studying full-time, in a great relationship, and heading out to the UK in a few short weeks. I've taken a few months off of screenwriting because it doesn't fit my schedule. I've also stopped going to the gym for the same reason. I've all but stopped blogging. I barely have time to prepare for Bottle Rocket anymore. I have a bunch of emails from friends that I need to respond to, but just don't have the time. I've traded movies for TV, simply for time management purposes.
I'm busy, aye, but I'm not bugging out about it. I'm a grown up with responsibilities, and I'd rather not complain to everyone about how I don't have time to do anything - that would be counter productive. And I don't feel the crushing level of anxiety that I have in the past (thanks citalopram!). But my body, my fucking body, is starting to crack under the stress.
I've got to take it easy. It's not as simple as it seems; I've got the busiest week of the year at work, during which I'm working 8 straight days without a day off. I've got final exams and papers due very shortly. I've still got to book a train to Minehead from London, as well as figure out some sort of London accommodation. So yeah, there's a lot on my plate, and I can't handle this workload like I did ten years ago. But I'm pulling aces in my classes, and I'm a valued employee at my job. Not to mention that I've got the most spectacular girlfriend in the long and storied history of Joseph's Girlfriends.
After all this scary shit, I'm ok.
At least it got me to dedicate some time to myself.
This morning I had a health scare, which is like, really strange. After a lovely evening of sushi and Harry Potter, Katrina and I snuggled up under the duvet and fell asleep. I woke up a few times during the night with some strange chest pains, and didn't really pay it any mind until about 8am, when I started to have difficulty breathing and couldn't get back to sleep.
Now, I may be overweight, but I'm a relatively healthy guy. The only disorder that I've ever been diagnosed with has been depression/anxiety, and that's being treated, with quality results I might add. Either way, I'm not someone who eats terribly, and I'm not especially lazy. I work full time and study full time, so my time is well occupied and, at the end of the day, I feel like a fairly productive human being.
I'm not supposed to worry about having a heart attack. As the pain radiating from the left side of my chest started to become more acute with each breath, I started to freak out a little bit. As Katrina slept silently (she really is a fantastic sleeper), I consulted the internet, feeding my symptoms to google. Various heart issues came up, and I felt it might be time to wake up my partner and throw some drama into our cozy little situation. Katrina was a star, getting up and showing compassion and concern every step of the way. I phoned a nurse via my health insurance, and, after a chat about my symptoms, the nurse said "You need to get into Urgent Care within the hour", at which point I shed a nervous tear and felt as if my life was about to change forever.
Am I really going to have a heart attack at 32?? Is that how it's going to be? In the blink of an eye, I was seeing my own underwhelming obituary.
Katrina took me to the Urgent Care office, where, even though there was a room full of people waiting to get in, I was taken right away due to my symptoms. The staff was friendly and patient, and they explained everything to me (I ask lots of questions). I ended up in there for about two hours, and was seen by four different specialists. I had an EKG, which is where they put those sticky pads on your body and attach wires to them (the removal of the sticky pads resulted in the removal of a few tufts of chest hair). I had some chest x-rays done, which was pretty rad because I was able to see my heart (the burst of light in your chest) inside my huge fuck-off rib cage. Blood was drawn.
The doctors were confused. They said that my vitals were fine, my x-rays were fine, my EKG was normal, etc. They took my blood because they were afraid I may have suffered a minor heart attack, or perhaps had an embolism. An embolism! "Holy shit" read the thought bubble over my worried head. "That girl from Clerks died from an embolism. She was like, what, 25 or something?". And you know what I'm talking about, right? It's just a plotline in Clerks, wherein Dante and Randall go to the funeral of Dante's ex, who had died from an embolism in a swimming pool. Yeah, it's fictional, it's even Kevin Smith fictional, but that's my only frame of reference for an embolism. Anyway, Randall knocks the casket over, and her fucking body fell out.
I don't want Randall knocking my casket over.
A few hours later, I get a call from the doc's office. The blood work came back normal. No embolism, not today. No heart attack. The chest pains (which I'm still experiencing, sadly) are due to stress. STRESS. Just thinking about it stresses me the fuck out.
I've been doing well in Portland. I'm on medication for my depression/anxiety, which I feel has made a huge difference. My girlfriend and therapist both agree with that assessment, as I've made huge improvements regarding my mental state in the past five months. I know I'm super busy, but I'm not bugging out. Sure, I'm working full-time, studying full-time, in a great relationship, and heading out to the UK in a few short weeks. I've taken a few months off of screenwriting because it doesn't fit my schedule. I've also stopped going to the gym for the same reason. I've all but stopped blogging. I barely have time to prepare for Bottle Rocket anymore. I have a bunch of emails from friends that I need to respond to, but just don't have the time. I've traded movies for TV, simply for time management purposes.
I'm busy, aye, but I'm not bugging out about it. I'm a grown up with responsibilities, and I'd rather not complain to everyone about how I don't have time to do anything - that would be counter productive. And I don't feel the crushing level of anxiety that I have in the past (thanks citalopram!). But my body, my fucking body, is starting to crack under the stress.
I've got to take it easy. It's not as simple as it seems; I've got the busiest week of the year at work, during which I'm working 8 straight days without a day off. I've got final exams and papers due very shortly. I've still got to book a train to Minehead from London, as well as figure out some sort of London accommodation. So yeah, there's a lot on my plate, and I can't handle this workload like I did ten years ago. But I'm pulling aces in my classes, and I'm a valued employee at my job. Not to mention that I've got the most spectacular girlfriend in the long and storied history of Joseph's Girlfriends.
After all this scary shit, I'm ok.
At least it got me to dedicate some time to myself.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Meet the Parents
Don't worry, I'm fine. SO fine. More than fine, even.
I've just gotten back from a weekend up in the Seattle area. Two days spent in Woodinville, WA with Katrina's family and friends. Woodinville is a northern suburb of Seattle, one that is populated by small families living in large (maybe million dollar?) homes in little cul-de-sac neighborhoods (Travis refers to these as McMansions). The commercial district is neatly planned, with deep-set plazas on either side of the main street, offering up every large box chain store that middle-to-upper class America could want, with parking lots as wide and sprawling as Rome. There is a cinema, a great big AMC with 12 screens, showing every film in the Box Office Top 10 (side note - I saw The Town, it was very good).
I've not spent a lot of time in places like this. Mostly, they're the sort of towns that one might see on television or in movies made for mass appeal by people who have lived in these sort of towns. Basically, it's pretty rich, but not super rich. I went to undergrad at Purchase, in Westchester, one of the wealthiest counties in the USA. Westchester was power wealth, where the Clintons and many Yankees lived. You couldn't even see those homes, only the gates near the street that opened up to the 1/2 mile long driveway to their majestic palace on the hill. Woodinville was not Westchester, not by a long shot. But it was still intimidating, because this is the "normal" standard of living for my girlfriend and her friends & family. A standard that I cannot meet.
Katrina's parents were quiet, reserved, stoic, and rational. The sort of people who you would expect have been reasonable with their finances and never let their heart get in the way of their decision making process. To be clear, these are character traits that I admire to an extent, but make me feel insecure and uncomfortable, mostly because they are quite alien to me. I'm very happy with Katrina, and this trip was a turning point in our relationship.
I have mostly done very well with parents of my partners. Some parents may look down at my career situation and/or upbringing, but none have ever accused me of lacking in character or kindness. None have ever thought me a "bad" boyfriend.
Being "too old" for someone is something completely new to me. And this seems to be the one sticking point in my current situation. Katrina and I are comfortable with each other, and the age difference (I'm 31, she's 21) hasn't ever been an issue. We're both awesome; she gets along with my friends and I hers. I'm a late bloomer and she's experienced beyond her years, so we match up quite well. Also, being in academia, I've known plenty of couples who are happy and have an even greater age gap. Plus, Katrina and I make a damned cute couple. Point is, age isn't an issue, but her parents aren't so comfortable with it.
I'm going to just let it be. I'm writing this now more as a document of the state of things after the first meeting. And to be honest, I thought it went pretty well. I made both her parents laugh, I engaged each of them in conversation, and even got a haircut and beard trimming before our meeting. I made a good, solid, respectable effort. And I think that they really do like me, but they're just not ready to show it yet.
*******
She told me she loved me. We had just finished our tour of the Experience Music Project and the Science Fiction Museum. We had a 10-minute jam session (she on the drums and I on the guitar/keyboard). We saw The Death Star, and the tree from The Fountain. Then we got on the monorail, with the Space Needle and a pretty autumn sky, blue w/white cotton clouds over her shoulder, and she smiled and just said the words I've been aching to hear.
I've just gotten back from a weekend up in the Seattle area. Two days spent in Woodinville, WA with Katrina's family and friends. Woodinville is a northern suburb of Seattle, one that is populated by small families living in large (maybe million dollar?) homes in little cul-de-sac neighborhoods (Travis refers to these as McMansions). The commercial district is neatly planned, with deep-set plazas on either side of the main street, offering up every large box chain store that middle-to-upper class America could want, with parking lots as wide and sprawling as Rome. There is a cinema, a great big AMC with 12 screens, showing every film in the Box Office Top 10 (side note - I saw The Town, it was very good).
I've not spent a lot of time in places like this. Mostly, they're the sort of towns that one might see on television or in movies made for mass appeal by people who have lived in these sort of towns. Basically, it's pretty rich, but not super rich. I went to undergrad at Purchase, in Westchester, one of the wealthiest counties in the USA. Westchester was power wealth, where the Clintons and many Yankees lived. You couldn't even see those homes, only the gates near the street that opened up to the 1/2 mile long driveway to their majestic palace on the hill. Woodinville was not Westchester, not by a long shot. But it was still intimidating, because this is the "normal" standard of living for my girlfriend and her friends & family. A standard that I cannot meet.
Katrina's parents were quiet, reserved, stoic, and rational. The sort of people who you would expect have been reasonable with their finances and never let their heart get in the way of their decision making process. To be clear, these are character traits that I admire to an extent, but make me feel insecure and uncomfortable, mostly because they are quite alien to me. I'm very happy with Katrina, and this trip was a turning point in our relationship.
I have mostly done very well with parents of my partners. Some parents may look down at my career situation and/or upbringing, but none have ever accused me of lacking in character or kindness. None have ever thought me a "bad" boyfriend.
Being "too old" for someone is something completely new to me. And this seems to be the one sticking point in my current situation. Katrina and I are comfortable with each other, and the age difference (I'm 31, she's 21) hasn't ever been an issue. We're both awesome; she gets along with my friends and I hers. I'm a late bloomer and she's experienced beyond her years, so we match up quite well. Also, being in academia, I've known plenty of couples who are happy and have an even greater age gap. Plus, Katrina and I make a damned cute couple. Point is, age isn't an issue, but her parents aren't so comfortable with it.
I'm going to just let it be. I'm writing this now more as a document of the state of things after the first meeting. And to be honest, I thought it went pretty well. I made both her parents laugh, I engaged each of them in conversation, and even got a haircut and beard trimming before our meeting. I made a good, solid, respectable effort. And I think that they really do like me, but they're just not ready to show it yet.
*******
She told me she loved me. We had just finished our tour of the Experience Music Project and the Science Fiction Museum. We had a 10-minute jam session (she on the drums and I on the guitar/keyboard). We saw The Death Star, and the tree from The Fountain. Then we got on the monorail, with the Space Needle and a pretty autumn sky, blue w/white cotton clouds over her shoulder, and she smiled and just said the words I've been aching to hear.
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