Eagerly Unanticipated

Monday, January 23, 2006

getting back up to speed

So I'm back, have been back for a week, and haven't had any revelatory moments I want to share with anyone. That, I suspect, is one of the (increasingly visible) downsides of being at college. The things that I enjoyed most (as subject matter worth writing about) last semester were, if not serious or revelatory or even significant, at least institutions or events that I felt managed to encapsulate all the best times abroad. I'll readily acknowledge that I left out most everything that was mundane or difficult, because I certainly have a tendency to whine when addressing those sort of topics, and the last thing I'm sure anyone wants to hear is whining.

Anyway, being back at school is... in many ways just as hard to summarize/quantify as it was being abroad. Worse, most of my time and thoughts in the last week have been pretty inwardly-directed (and aren't all settled yet), which means they aren't worth trying to write about. So it's not like nothing has happened, it's just that nothing particularly surprising has happened yet.

The highlight (if your criteria is excitement) may have been in my first few minutes back. For those of you who don't know, my lousy housing lottery number prompted me to move in with a sophomore I've had a couple classes with in the middle of underclassmen housing. Fortunately for me, some good friends live relatively close, which mitigates somewhat the weirdness of living in a basement that gets very very little natural light (after two years of west-facing windows that provided, frankly, more sunlight and -heat than I was entirely prepared to deal with). The spot in the room was open, in fact, because the guy formerly living with the sophomore went on leave this semester. Once I had checked in and parked, I walked into the dorm to find the room...

only to find he had never moved his stuff out. The room looked like it had been broken into and robbed or something--clothes on the floor, trash scattered, half-full boxes of random stuff around, sheets on both beds, computers on both desks, etc. The look on my face, I belive, was worth a good $64,000. At the same time, though, this somehow seemed like a manifestation of my fears about my housing situation (it wasn't quite the worst-case scenario, but it was close). Needless to say, I got to move someone else out (into the hallway) before I could myself move in, which made for a fun first day back.

Other highlights have included watching "Spring Break Shark Attack" with Rachel on her TiVO, seeing all sorts of random people, and nailing some stuff up on the walls, which makes me happy for reasons I can't entirely explain.

Meanwhile, I remain pretty flat out there, in the sense of lacking energy. Classes look good, but I'm not really excited about them. I'm getting things done (albeit slowly) as far as getting my life in order, but the strongest feeling I can come up with about it is an irritation I'm not more focused. Unlike the adjustments I got to make last summer, to living with friends in DC, or last fall, dealing with a foreign country for really the first time, this is re-adjustment. And I don't find that nearly as exciting.

Friday, January 06, 2006

little things make me happy

So I saw "Munich" the other night. In addition to being a good movie, if you ignore Spielberg's inability to end a movie without at least three shots that you expect to be the end as they fade out, it was filmed in, of all places, Budapest!

While we were there, maybe early szeptember, there had been a rumor he (Spielberg) was filming some movie in BP, but we didn't know what it was. In fact, Peter and I passed a street that was being used for filming one afternoon. All the signage had been covered with cardboard and replaced with English-language signs, and there were a couple old-school red English phone booths standing rather conspicuously on the sidewalk. One of the local police shooed us away before we saw anything else, and I'd forgotten about it for months, until I saw the scene in Munich where they're in London and *i guess a spoiler* the CIA guys prevent them from taking out their target. That was the street! I recognized this pedestrian overpass-thing, the trashy lingerie in a storefront... Not a block away was Deak ter, the 47/49, it was all coming back to me...

One of the weirdest parts of being back home is the way BP dropped so abruptly out of my life, making it from 'living experience' to 'occaisionally-told anecdote' in about 18 hours. It felt good to see it again on screen, even if they tried to act like it was 70s-era London. Indeed, the following shot in a hotel lobby turned out to be the Mariott where I'd met up with Leigh's dad and Sabrina (and her parents) for dinner, a later scene centered on a bench on the running path around Margitsziget (near the Margit hid, with a photoshopped-but-recognizable Parlament in the background), and there were a couple others after that as well. I kept tapping my friend on the shoulder and whispering "I know where that is!" until she shushed me with an "I know what you're gonna say..." Nevertheless, it felt good, like it in some small, petty way further legitimized the Experience of Living in BP.

In general, being back has been as expected: too much sleeping, too much red meat, not enough seeing people, too much televised basketball, bowl games, and Avalanche hockey. Right now, I should be cleaning my room up/clearing my stuff out in preparation for a radical furniture rearrangement (house-wide) szombat reggel. I take my willingness to get back on the horse and write this (when I'd seen the movie sunday evening) as a sign I haven't forgotten how to creatively procrastinate. Ciao!