Happy New Year all! As you can see from my half-successful attempt at live-blogging Christmas, my trip to the US started off with a bit of a bang. It ended with a whimper, but let’s get to the stuff in-between.
Returning to Boston is always a mixed bag of emotions and experiences. On the one hand I am excited to see friends and acquaintances that I’ve been out of touch with for too long. One example is of a high-school buddy who I haven’t seen since then and is now a world-touring and highly-regarded classical violist, but is still as down-to-earth as she ever was.
Better still is coming home to the best friends you haven’t seen or talked to at all in the past year and having everything still be cool. I’ve learned in my travels that these are the people who will always be your true friends; the ones with whom it seems not years, but only days have passed since you last saw them. Now if only the principal friend in question (you know who you are) would give me their CORRECT e-mail address, perhaps we could stay in better touch!
Our schedule during the first week back was pretty hectic – first three days with countless family members (18 on the 25th, 16 the next day and so on) in the Boston area, then down to New York City for just two nights to see friends and a new show by the makers of De La Guarda called Fuerza Bruta. Not as dramatic in the narrative sense as its predecessor, the new show still certainly portrayed some fantastic imagery, from a man running through life’s walls at full speed, trying to stay alive and sane at the same time to a magnificent shimmering and twisting sail, upon which two lovers struggle to find one another in the maelstrom. Most spectacular of all was the third act, in which a clear plastic (mylar, I’ve been told) sheet is hung over the audience, upon which an inch or two of water and five of the performers slide, tiptoe, crash, jump and swim for our enjoyment. Similar I would imagine to looking into a fish tank from the bottom, at one point the plastic is lowered within reach of the audience’s hands, where we could feel the actors doing their abstract thing. So cool.
On New Year’s Eve we made a long trek up to New Hampshire, where we relaxed and maxed with sister Abby and family, including my one-year-old devilishly cute (or is it cutely devilish?) nephew Owen, alternately referred to as Owen-bear, Owen-pig, O-bear, baby-O, Oh-no-what-has-he-gotten-into-now, O-dear and poop machine. We spent one day building a not-so-massive snowboarding jump in the back yard and one day at Cannon (for which Mike S joined us for), then headed back down to the bean.
Throughout my time at home I undertook the process of cleaning out my old bedroom. In what was surely an evolution worthy of Darwinian lore, I removed dozens of posters (Beastie Boys, Jackie Chan, the Terminator, Wild C.A.T.S., Daewon Song, Soundbombing II, Mikey LeBlanc and many more of the like), filled a computer-monitor (17″ CRT, so that’s big) box with clothes for charity (mostly a combination of things I’d either held onto for sentimental value such as t-shirts I wore in middle school, or items I’d recieved as gifts in years previous that I’d been too coy to say I’d never be caught dead wearing, and lots of baggy pants), gave away another large box of books (Stephen King collection, I exorcise you of your demonic possession of my bookshelves!) and VHS tapes (anime, skate videos and action flicks I’d picked up during my 8 months or so working at Blockbuster video) to the library, and mounds of tchotchkes (American Eagle statuette, Dali-esque glow in the dark analog clock, pump-action nerf air-rifle, a guitar strap I’d wanted to use as a camera strap, etc).
Kept were representative items of childhood life such as elementary schoolwork, “raps” I’d written in the margins of notes in middle school, love notes (“I will luv u 4eva n longa”) from the girl down the street (what a stereotypical childhood I had!) and the high-school sweetheart, faxes and postcards from my sister when she was living in Russia in 1993, a mysterious letter from someone in New York named “Marc” detailing suggestions in kung-fu and gun-fu flicks I should check out (nearly all of which I have since seen), letters from my grandparents and so on. Also, many things from my more recent time in Japan such as flyers, letters, ticket stubs, gifts and decorations. Of course, countless photographs and negatives from as early as middle school and right through my college years.
The process made me realize what a pack-rat I am. I never realized that I conciously collected stuff (except for movie tickets and stickers of all kinds) until I was knee-deep sifting through it all, vaguely recalling that I was saving it for the time when I’ll have some huge house to put it all in. I guess I’ve just been averse to throwing perfectly good (though questionably useful) things away. Americans consume far too much as it is, and I’ve been blessed by a more priveledged exisitence than most. To say that this collection is my way of stemming the tide of crud that weighs us down into “settlement” or even that it’s a form of boycotting new junk would probably be too odious. My guess is that we all do it, mostly unconciously, and that people who are good at losing/getting rid of stuff probably have baggage of a different sort.
We visited with college friends and others, including the beautiful red-headed Evans twins, Maya the destroyer (and George of the Javelin Jamz [WARNING: myspace link]), Eri-chan, Peter the soon-to-be-documentary-filmmaking-rockstar (I’ve seen it!) and Chelsea hipster. The last two nights were spent on a floor in Williamsburg, Brooklyn with a cat-paranoiac by my side (“But I didn’t want him to head-butt me!”) and a broken computer in my laptop bag. We tried taking it to Mikey’s Hook Up (left unlinked on purpose), but they responded that their “pc guy is only in once a week” and Saturday presumably wasn’t it. I have to give it to New York, though, they have nearly as great used-clothing stores as L.A. I got some sweet green and yellow Sauconys for $15.
Throughout the whole trip I was amazed by the abundance and quality of an incomparably diverse range of goods and services, and being back in Hungary I already miss them sorely. Things like the fantastic Mexican, Thai, Tibetan, Vietnamese foods, fresh fish and beautiful organic vegetables, the organic 24-hour markets, curteous service and many, many people of color and immigrants for whom the United States represents a beacon of hope at a chance for a better life. I was reminded, as I looked with a foreigner’s perspective, at what great potential America still has, if only it can move foward and change for the better.
Well, these are the words. Expect pictures as soon as I get my computer back up and running. Peace in 2008.
