| J. Shufini ( @ 2003-11-28 01:28:00 |
And just when I thought it was safe to leave,
I end up producing work that gets a very nice response. Never before have I been in a review where the critic says, "Right, we can all agree the concept's solid. So.. I guess we could talk about the design?" And the professor/programme director, earlier this evening: "Yes, why -don't- you stay the rest of the year? Instead of going back to Cincinnatti and getting bored." However tempting the invitation might be, Cincinnatti makes much more sense at the moment, even if I'm going to be horribly out of step when I get back.
Thanksgiving didn't happen. All the vague plans made with other Americans a month ago never materialized. I spent the evening at a lecture, then had a turkey sandwich with my lentil soup, in the company of the buzzing fluorescent light in our flat's lounge. My flatmates don't do much besides play cards and cook smelly mushy messes of olive oil, potato, onion, and/or ground beef. The Frenchman plays very loud ska. The Greek laughs at private jokes until everyone pays attention to him. The Valencian spends most of his time in pyjamas. The Norwegian quotes Michael Douglas from Wall Street. They're always surprised to see me.
My free time, which is basically any block that I can't assign to work or sleeping/eating/defecating, belongs almost entirely to Claudia. We've been travelling the past few Saturdays, using the odd weekday night to sneak out to the cinema or to the west end, which is the only place in this city where a few bars pour coffee instead of lager. Long, brilliant conversations ensue. I'm almost convinced it would never survive were it not already condemned, but that's an easy answer to the question we don't ask. The number of days we have left is too pathetic even to type.
I end up producing work that gets a very nice response. Never before have I been in a review where the critic says, "Right, we can all agree the concept's solid. So.. I guess we could talk about the design?" And the professor/programme director, earlier this evening: "Yes, why -don't- you stay the rest of the year? Instead of going back to Cincinnatti and getting bored." However tempting the invitation might be, Cincinnatti makes much more sense at the moment, even if I'm going to be horribly out of step when I get back.
Thanksgiving didn't happen. All the vague plans made with other Americans a month ago never materialized. I spent the evening at a lecture, then had a turkey sandwich with my lentil soup, in the company of the buzzing fluorescent light in our flat's lounge. My flatmates don't do much besides play cards and cook smelly mushy messes of olive oil, potato, onion, and/or ground beef. The Frenchman plays very loud ska. The Greek laughs at private jokes until everyone pays attention to him. The Valencian spends most of his time in pyjamas. The Norwegian quotes Michael Douglas from Wall Street. They're always surprised to see me.
My free time, which is basically any block that I can't assign to work or sleeping/eating/defecating, belongs almost entirely to Claudia. We've been travelling the past few Saturdays, using the odd weekday night to sneak out to the cinema or to the west end, which is the only place in this city where a few bars pour coffee instead of lager. Long, brilliant conversations ensue. I'm almost convinced it would never survive were it not already condemned, but that's an easy answer to the question we don't ask. The number of days we have left is too pathetic even to type.