topotales

I am in the midst of studying for my math placement exams for nursing school, so this will be brief.  Here’s what’s been going on:

1.  My dad drove up for a short visit and dropped off The Bitch for me.  Cars are a big fucking deal for my dad, and for me.  I feel honored to own this car.  It’s fast, it’s finicky, and it’s my dad’s dream come true.  It’s sitting in a different pew than my old ‘86 Hachi-Roku (yes, I had the carbon-fiber hood panda just like in Initial D, yes, I got many tickets, and yes I want to cry every time I think about the fact that I no longer own it), but I tell you - it’s the same damned church!  Hallelujah!  The Bitch is in MINT condition.  That won’t surprise anyone who knows my dad called it his “pocket rocket” and that it was polished with a diaper every Sunday at 10am or every 10 miles, whichever came first.  Truly, everything my dad has ever owned is treated that way.  But cars are special.  I hope I can keep her up to snuff; my only instructions from him were “whatever you do, keep her in the family”.

2.  Pnut and I threw a housewarming party.  Suffice to say, the guy at the liquor store told Pnut twice “boy, I wish I were coming to your house tonight”.  My beautiful cousins drove in from NY and Boston.  AND I got to meet the incredible Ken from Twunch and his gorgeous fiancé.  So someday soon I’ll get to say “Yeah, I’m just popping over to NY to see some friends of mine on stage”.  And then I’ll get beat up.  Because I live in Jersey, and that might actually be code for “How you doin’, you big guido?” or something.

3.  Math.  Lots of math.  A minimum of 8 hours of math per day.  And guess what - it hasn’t been as awful as I like to pretend.  It’s hard, but it’s also kinda fun.  Because I can look at 10 websites until I find the one that explains it to me in a way I understand, instead of the asshole tight-bun high school teacher standing over my shoulder telling me how bad I suck.  God, I wish we had internet when I was in high school.

4.  Mentioning Initial D above reminds me I need to add Anthony Wong to my celebrity  fucklist.  Pnut, are you taking note?  Your Jennifer Anniston obsession has competition.

That’s about it. Anyone know how to reduce a trinomial by grouping?  Seriously.  Does anyone know?

Did I mention?  I’m in a great mood!  As a matter of fact, I’m… HOOKED ON A FEELING!

Is it real, you wonder?  Why, yes.  It’s The Hasselhoff.  Be afraid.  Be very, very afraid.  And be sure to attend Oktoberfest in Germany next year (he’s always performing there) if you wanna hear the follow-up.

Tiffany, this one goes out to you and Andrew…

It has been hard to start writing again.  To revisit these pages so full of the sordid anguish and heartache of the past year and a half.  It’s not something I ever want to see again, or think about.  My friend Kye once told me that people have these “star-crossed” years in their lives where everything falls apart.  Like an acid coccoon that eats away at your self so that you must emerge a different creature.  I’ve clung to that bit of hope for a long time, but I’ve been hesitant to call the year “over”.  Yesterday I talked to Kye for the first time in over five yeras.  Is it a sign?  It feels so good to have real, true friends in my life again.  So let me declare now the Shitty Year of All Fucking Shit, as it will hereafter be referred to, as OVER.  Or rather, that I am over it.  Whichever.

The important thing is, I am here and Pnut is here.  My mom, dad, my brother and his wife are all doing well.

Jersey?? You ask?  Happily, one of the most under-rated places I have ever been.  Most people think of the Interstate from here to NY.  Truly, I am in agreement.  It is disgusting.  Dirty, full of gutted dead deer and other indistinguishable animal (I hope) remains, traffic backed up for miles and miles, overrun by shopping plazas and strip malls, and thoroughly depressing in that solely Amerikana fashion.  But take an exit, my friend, and you are in small lakeside villages, rolling hills, farmlands and provincial areas where the “townies” hang out in their local pubs, and everybody will tell you exactly what they’re thinking without hesitation.

We didn’t get the house in Dover-Rico, but we are almost finished with the purchase of a beautiful log cabin in the borough of Hopatcong.  It’s one of those cabins that used to be a vacation home, built in the early 1900’s.  Knotty pine walls and a loft space with a bathroom that forces your knees into your ears as you seat yourself upon the throne.  But Pnut and I are used to living small, and we like a space with little privacy so that when our friends are in our home, we can enjoy them as much as possible.  The previous owner fed deer from the deck in back, so there are four-legged visitors a few times per week.  The largest lake in NJ is just a few houses away.  And we’re close to the Gunks… even closer than we were to Fontainebleau from Brussels!

As for school… I am applying.  I am gathering immunization records, SAT and ACT scores from almost a score years ago, transcripts and other odds and ends of paperwork that trail you for the whole of your life though you can never locate them without serious excavation work.  And I hope to start for this spring semester, though it seems unlikely given the timing.  Pnut and I are already planning our visit back to Europe, and our belated honeymoon to either Argentina or Chile later this year.

So it is with some trepidation, but not much, that we start this new life in America.  Once again with just a few suitcases of posessions, but books in transit.  With each other.  And like most people moving to this country - with many hopes and dreams for the coming years.

Spider sang this song (E ti Vengo a Cercare) for us at our wedding in VDM.  It is one of my favorites.  The Battiato version is the original, but this CSI version that holds sticky in my throat and breast.

My friend Kye, who was really into astrology, once told me that people pass through particular years of their lives that are full of change - years when the stars and the planets of their astrology are so much in flux that everything changes.  This must be one of those years.  Let me show you:

February: I have a nervous breakdown

March: Pnut doesn’t care that I’m crazy, asks me to marry him anyway.  Appropriately, at carnevale in Venice.

April: Quiet… too quiet!  I am home with various medications, Dad flies in from the US to keep an eye on me.

May: Drugs, more antipsychotic drugs.  The right drugs?  The wrong drugs?  Let’s experiment!  We get Charlie the wonderdog, to keep me company.  Let’s face it, two dogs licking your face makes you happier than one.  Oh yeah, I get lyme disease, too.  Wedding planning for Chicago in June.  Family drama and fighting.  Paperwork.

June: Back to the job I hate but which I may or may not be losing. More family fighting about the wedding. We get married.  Luckily, I have plenty of tranquilizers to go along with the antipsychotics.  Then, the woman I consider my grandmother passes away after kicking a rare leukemia’s ass for over six months.

July:  My mother’s brother, my Uncle Budda dies suddenly of a massive heart attack.  The family dog, Rudy, has to be put to sleep.  Oh… and I lose my job, finally, formally.

August: Plans to move to the US are underway.  Embassy visits, paperwork.  A house-hunting trip to New Jersey!?  Looking at nursing schools and prerequisites and trying to figure out how the fuck I’m going to pass math classes.  I attend the memorial service for the woman I consider my grandmother.

September: My mom is diagnosed with a stage one tubular carcinoma in her left breast.  I’ve already been to the US twice this year, and we can’t afford a third trip.  I’ll have to manage my anxiety knowing she’ll be here for my wedding in October two weeks after her lumpectomy.

Paolo lost both of his parents to cancer.  The tumor in his mother’s head made her blind when he was six, and she lost her mind over the following few years.  She passed away when he was twelve.  That was the last time he ever cried.  His father was found to have a metastisized (to the bones) lung cancer when Paolo was eighteen.  He lost him not long after.  Now, he has a brand new family.  A huge, loud, obnoxiously loving and close-knit family.  And the C-word makes it’s appearance not long after.  I hate that fucking word.  I hate it for him, and I hate it for me.

I have led a relatively easy and blessed life.  I’m not sure if knowing or not knowing anxiety and grief make them any easier to live with.  All I know is I fucking hate cancer.  And my mom is one badass little Indian lady.

Pnut and I have decided that instead of giving presents at our wedding (which Europeans think is odd anyhow), we will donate ten euros per guest to the Cancer Research Foundation.

Do you know anybody who fought or is fighting cancer?  Please share your story.

The Pnut and I are, technically, already married.  That is, we have a certificate saying we are married, and we spent some time in front of a judge and four family members last June.  But this October 3, when all of our close friends and family meet up in Val di Mello, is the day that we look forward to.  We know that marriage isn’t easy.  We know that life isn’t easy.  And we are looking forward to the love and support of all of our friends and family on the day that they witness us commit our lives to each other, and during the years to come.  And we look forward to doing this in a place that is holy to us.

Pnut and I have shared some of the most wonderful moments of our time together in Val di Mello.  

That includes the epic when we were caught in the dark on the descent from Luna Nascente, sleeping in a cave on our ropes for warmth and sporking with Heikino. 

Last year, Amy and Filippo celebrated their wedding there.  We have spent so many evenings (and mornings, and rainy days) with our friends at the campsite bar that the owners are like family (which means that -yes- that is where dinner (sans donkey sauce) shall be gobbled down and -yes- there shall be Italian karaoke… again).

Basically, Val di Mello is the most beautiful, most glorious valley imaginable.  The kind of place that brings you to your knees in awe of its inspirational beauty, its kind residents, its sparkling waterfalls, granite peaks and science-friction climbing and bouldering. 

Even if you’re not coming to our ceremony in October, if you’re ever in Italy this is a valley well worth a visit, any time of year.  Be sure to stop by the campsite for an amazing home-cooked meal… and karaoke.

Friday morning I heard about MJ’s death in the following manner: I called my logistics team in Wales and A.D. answered the phone.

AD: Heya, good morning- guess what, MJ had a heart attack and died!

me: REALLY?  No, you’re joking!

AD: No, I swear to ye, he really did!

me: Sheesh, I must live in a media vacuum…

AD: Yea, we’re completely bent over it here in the office.  Di’ye know what he said on the way to hospital?

me: (earnestly) No, what?

AD: Could ye drop me at the children’s ward, please?

God, I love Welsh humor!

GUESTPOST BY Toca la pared

Due to my ‘ocassional’ fainting, I have not been able to go to school anymore.  So I found myself alone with my grandmother with lots and lots of time. After I slept for a week (or two) it dawned on me that I should try to do something with my days. When I was younger, my grandmother already attempted to get me into knitting, but that did not catch on.  Things have changed.  I’m still as impatient as I was back then, but the moments that I’m desperately looking for something productive to do are way more frequent. So I picked the knitting back up, attempting to make something for myself.  At first that  resulted in a lot of frustration for both me and my grandmother.  Luckily we’re both (ahum) stubborn, so in a few weeks the top I had been struggling on, got completed.  Everyone tells me it looks smashing, so this was a good start.

One quirk Topo forgot to mention on her very incomplete list of “freaky little neurosis” is her obsession with hats. It’s not the first time we have to stop the car in the middle of traffic so she can rescue something out of the gutter !  I needed a new project and so when she asked me for a hat I bought the wool and got started:

Then I decided to do something else before the next knitting project : crochet! My first crochet pieces were two sorry potholders. No amount of ironing could get the poor things squared up. It was smart to start with two easy pieces. Ever since, I’ve been hooked on crochet and everything related.  In stead of my flea market hunt for old clocks, I’m now picking up whole suitcases with abandoned yarn and shoeboxes full of buttons for next to nothing. My intended project list keeps getting longer. I love it when people ask me to make something for them, it means that they like what I do. Crochet gives me results very quickly so there’s no time to get bored. My hats still have a lot of flaws in them, but the more people tell me that they can’t see them, the more confident I get. I figured that I would just have to keep practicing and trying out new techniques in order to get better.

I started out with other people’s patterns, but now that I have found out how to make my own patterns (my own designs, not just something that turns out nice by accident), I like it even better. This baret is the first hat that was actually planned to look the way it does:

I'm cute on black

doll in-a wol

A couple days ago, I also started making dolls clothes for my niece. It’s all very amateurish, but I think she’ll enjoy it anyway.

I love to see other people with my hats. If you see Topo, P. or anyone else around me hiding underneath a special/weird/funny contraption then now you know where they got it from. I also have one for myself, plus the hats that haven’t found a head yet. Below you can see proof that people start acting real funny with their heads in my hats !

Heads in my hats

It’s true, I admit it, I’m a film philistine.  Despite Ken’s perfectly plausible explanation (internet, please thank Ken) for why film people love Ghost Dog, I would still rather sandpaper my cornea than see that movie again.  

My point?  So far, one person took me up on my offer to interview them - you should go read Ken’s great post (and my great questions!) over at Twunch.  He also has a lot of snarky and sarcastic writing about other subjects that I’m sure you will love!

So, there’s this blogging game going around.  It’s so neato.  The rules are:

1. You leave me a comment saying, “topo, please interview me.”  … or, you know, something that means that.
2. I will email you five interview questions of my choice, providing, that is, you left me your email address.
3. You update your blog with the answers to the questions and link back to my original post.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

Here are my questions from Violet.

1. On your blog, you recently mentioned how it’s possible for people to be talking about things but not in a way that their partner can fully understand.  What subject do you find it most difficult to speak about in a way that makes other people understand (in a relationship
or otherwise)? Why?

I generally don’t have a hard time communicating.  Rather, my problem tends to lie in the overcommunication column.  Dissecting conversations and incidents and people and … well, everything into molecular minutiae is what I do.  I am kind of genius at it, but it’s definitely what makes my partners and friends a bit crazy at times.  All the “why” questions.  Paolo has been a great cure for this.  He doesn’t have many “why” answers, no matter how many times I ask, he just is and he just does. It doesn’t hurt that he’s so laid back he’s horizontal.

2. What’s the last thing you do before you go to bed at night? Is it always the same thing?

I am a total creature of the small habits.  Every night in precisely this order, I pee, brush my teeth (one leg has to be propped up on something… in most of my apartments it’s the toilet but here it’s the bathtub), weigh myself, groan loudly and then hop into bed.  After that, I spend ten minutes trying to coax my dog out from under the bed.  This is exceptionally stupid because I know that as soon as I turn off the light and snuggle in she will come out and plop herself on top of my legs in the most uncomfortable configuration imaginable.

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3. An internet friend (someone you haven’t met before but who you feel comfortable with) is coming to visit you. What three places in your city/area would you take them to see/experience so they could get toknow *you* better?

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OOooh.  This is a tough choice.  I suppose top choice must be Fontainebleau , three hours from here and just South of Paris for climbing, hiking, running, biking, playing in the woods, playing in the sand, castle-scoping, etc.  Other than that, Paris itself - not for the Eiffel tower, but to see the Left Bank and stare longingly through the gates of Natalie Barney’s salon.  Perhaps recite some Rimbaud.  If you love history, literature or art you can’t beat Paris for hidden-in-plain-sight treasures.  The lesbian clubs are fucking amazing, too!  After all the poetry and junk we’ll definitely head to Amsterdam (two hours north of here)… to… go to museums, of course… cough… cough…

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4. In your “about” section on your blog, you note that sometimes it sucks to be an “undercover brown” person.  What’s the worst part?

I find it incredibly annoying that the Indian side of my family still acts surprised that I understand family conversations in Hindi.  Seriously, they’ve known me for 33 years.  NOBODY can POSSIBLY be THAT WHITE.

I also find it super annoying to have the same conversation over and over.  It usually goes like this:

Random person: Woah, you went travelling in India?  Wasn’t that incredibly… hard? Did you get sick (this conversation also ccasionally also begins with “That’s a unique name”)

Me: Well, I’m half Indian and I spent my childhood there, so I don’t find it that hard, and I don’t get sick too bad.

Random person: Really?  Are you sure?  You don’t look Indian.  (occasionally followed by) You have light eyes… and you’re white!

It’s a bit of snobbery on my part to be annoyed by this because obviously I know I don’t “look Indian”.  But, you know, you’d say fuck it and get annoyed too after the 567th time.

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5. Is there anything in your home that’s totally out of place (either aesthetically or incongruous to the sort of person you are)? What it is and why do you have it?

The television set!*  I haven’t watched any actual tv in over ten years (except for a brief six-month period when I dated a guy who couldn’t live without one… during which I watched EVERY episode of That 70’s Show and Friends EVER made… which, now that I think about it, may say something about that “relationship” that just hurled it into the unhappy land of between quotations).  So I have a set that doesn’t get any signals, but we do rent hella videos.  Anyway, now I know what direction to point all the furniture.

*Interesting side note here, you actually have to PAY for television in Belgium.

………………

SO?  WHO’S NEXT?  HMMMM???