Honors Thesis Blog

Senior year is already in full swing, which means tons of papers, presentations, articles to read, and things to do. It's a bit overwhelming right now, but I know it will all calm down soon. I just have to get through September, and then things should be a bit less hectic.

The biggest project I have for this year is my honors thesis, titled "Body Language: The Presence and Absence of Cindy Sherman and Sherrie Levine, 1975-1987." I am co-authoring the thesis with my friend Joan Bowlen, a fellow senior Art History major. The project focuses on the ways in which Levine and Sherman, both artists that we feel fit into the postmodern movement, take issue with the perceived implicit culturally reproduced and esteemed male gaze. We're researching their art (mainly photography) from a specific period (1975-1987) by using a postmodern and feminist methodology in hopes to investigate some big topics such as authenticity, authorship, identity, and gendered power differentials.

Joan and I have started a blog where anyone can follow along with the course of our research. We'll be posting multiple times per week with critical essays, reactions to articles, pictures, potential interviews, and other random tidbits that will all help us to formulate our thesis this coming spring. You can find the blog here: http://peterandjoan.wmblogs.net/

We welcome all of your comments or advice on how to strengthen our project. We are both really excited about it, and can't wait to have something concrete (in its 200+ pages of glory) to show you in the late spring!

We Can Only Hold So Much Is What I Figure, Try and Keep Our Eye on the Big Picture-- And The Picture Keeps Getting Bigger

It's 10:20 PM on Sunday evening, and the air hangs heavy with the aftermath of the unsatisfactory Tropical Storm Hannah. I was planning on spending this weekend stranded around my apartment-- braving the weather only to get completely drenched-- letting the rain soak in between my toes, coat my forearms and mat my hair down, thereby forcing me to forget about my usual comforts and embrace the chance to be completely renovated externally by relentless sheets of rain.

The last time I was in a storm like that was on the last day of the 2008 Falcon Ridge Folk Festival. Sunday, July 27th. Between two hills at the beginning of the Berkshire Mountain range, near the place where New York, Massachusetts, and Connecticut converge, creating a liminal space in which boundaries dissolve and all that is left is the air, the earth, and the beauty. The beauty of being without labels, of being wholly there-- without any interruption, social baggage, or name-- simply unadorned in a space that is just like 100 feet away from it, and even a mile away. But then you keep going, and the landscape changes, and the trees become shrubs, and the sky becomes golden, the sun sets and the coyotes begin to yelp, and then you let sand rush through your fingers as it trails behind you, falling in place and mimicking the role of what once was. Time shifts into the quality of air, the rays of sun, the sound of birds. It's everything and nothing at once.

I never planned on going to Falcon Ridge for longer than Saturday afternoon. Dar Williams was scheduled to play on the Main Stage, so I figured that I'd head up north from Manhattan early in the afternoon so I could catch her set at 8 PM, and then still have time to get back to the city before midnight. It was only going to be a short stint-- a chance to escape the pulse of 2nd Street and Avenue A, beyond the sound of taxi cabs, running children, trucks unloading, busboys, painters, homeless men and women, used book stores, fire escapes, bars, and iPods. I just wanted the chance to get a break from the constant-- the way even though you try and slow everything down that it seems to only speed up around the edges of your fingertips, and then you doubt whether you can even control your own body. Do you become not only an actor in the scene of the Lower East Side, or is it a sphere in which you are merely a stitch that holds everything together, from which you're bound to exist and push against?

I didn't end up going to Falcon Ridge for Saturday. I went two days earlier, on Thursday, July 24. Four days before that I had gone on a date with a guy I had just met. We went to Veselka on Eleventh and 2nd Ave-- a Ukranian restaurant with a long wait for brunch and incredibly special pierogies. I was branching out, and all the while completely and totally aware of my vulnerability in the context. I barely knew anything about this guy-- I only was piecing together words, fragments, sentences and emotions, body language that came from the other side of a table, where his hands conveyed just as much as his mouth, and his eyes were full of a long history of stories, and I wondered how many I would get to hear before we no longer spoke and we had diverged to forge new paths, separate and distinct. I was trying to listen while I also was trying to be as thoughtful, intelligent, and kind as possible, but all I could think about was how I kept having to wipe my mouth in the fright that some mayonnaise or mustard had smudged across my face from my sandwich.

We then took the subway to the Upper East Side from Astor Place, where I had visions of how many times I'd seen that square in such different capacities and situations. How Stuart, Dan and I went to Border Burritos to see Phyllis sing, or how I had strolled through there on the day of the Hey, Hot Shot! panel review with Emily to pick up prosecco and pinot grigio, or even when I had taken the day to wander around the area looking for cool restaurants and a Wachovia ATM machine. But here I was, crossing the streets with a guy I was just getting to know, and I was hyper-aware of the intense present.

We went to the Whitney Museum of American Art to catch the Paul McCarthy and R. Buckminster Fuller exhibitions. I finally felt totally comfortable-- the first time since 2 PM when I had met him for brunch, sweating from the relentless humidity of a July in Manhattan. I was back at the Whitney, a place I had spent a full 5 hours in during the end of the Biennial exhibition only weeks before with my Sotheby's class. I saw the same Alexander Calder mobiles, groaned at the selection of Mapplethorpe polaroids for the small side show on the top floor, walked by the same Hopper paintings I'd seen on display during the retrospective months before at the NGA in Washington, DC. And I knew the lines-- I could recite the stories, the history, the technique-- I knew, for the most part, why I should care, or at least why I'm being told I should care. I also had the extreme pleasure of seeing Sherrie Levine's "After Walker Evans" photographs for the first time in person, and the fact that I could witness first hand works that I am planning on writing about for the next 6 months with my honors thesis was slightly overwhelming. Nonetheless, I felt comfortable. I felt, if not in charge, at least a level of desire-- that I could help enhance the experience of those around me, namely this man I was with, and perhaps shed a little more light on a tough subject than would necessarily be available.

It was only logical, then, to head to Central Park after the Whitney. I rarely spent any time this summer in Central Park. Dan and I tried to see a free show by the New York Philharmonic one evening when they were playing Tchaikovsky, but other than that I'd walked through only one one other occasion. I couldn't possibly admit this to the guy with me, because I had to present myself as someone who didn't need the encouragement of others to do things-- I had to be full of initiative and energy-- someone who seeks out the unfamiliar. All I could think about was how I hoped I wouldn't start sweating. We made it to the park without incident, and continued to walk for a bit before finding a spot on the lawn that seemed to be a nice place to feel the warmth of the evening sun, but without having any direct rays beating down upon us. We talked for a while, mostly about his job, and I listened, trying my best not to say something sappy, or look too needy, or convey too intensely the desire I had to get to know him more and see those eyes at least dozens more times. And then he leaned in to kiss me, and although it was perhaps one of the most romantic days I'd ever had, I couldn't help but feel there was some woman watching who would say a disparaging remark and thereby open up all the words, sentences, and thoughts from which I had tried so hard to strip power-- the intolerance and hatred that made me seeth and feel like I had no right to be happy in public-- the shortness of breath you get when you feel you have done something incredibly wrong, and will have to face immense consequences. At the same time I knew that I was overreacting and that I should enjoy the moment. After all, it was New York, and that sight is not in the least bit uncommon; however, I couldn't bring myself to speak, think, or feel anything after that moment that wasn't almost completely tinted by the vehemence of my reaction.

I did get over it, though, because we proceeded to talk for quite some time after that, and then decided to head back downtown to go to Havali, an incredible Indian restaurant in the East Village. I couldn't help but feel a little ashamed by my adolescent averse reaction to the incredible beauty of a Central Park kiss. But, soon it faded, and all I could see was him-- the man in front of me who spoke about cooking, lighting design, politics, New York, traveling cross country, and his family.

He stayed with me for the next three days before heading up to Hillsdale, NY to go to the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival. When he left on that Tuesday morning at 9 AM, I felt both freed from a 3 day reverie, but I also for the first time in a while felt a longing-- a remorse that it couldn't have lasted longer-- that I didn't get to say one thing or another that all of a sudden I'd felt was incredibly vital. But, the reality of it was that I had to be at work at 11 AM, and I had to think of a place for dinner that evening, and Dan and I had to laugh together, taking in the hours of New York-- the sounds, the smells, the time.

And then 2 days later at 9 AM on Thursday he called, and told me that if I didn't have to work the next few days that I should get on a train and come to Falcon Ridge. He had a big enough tent, and they had enough food for an extra camper, and the line-up of the festival was much too good to miss. Within 5 minutes I consented, trying to hold back the huge rush of excitement that cascaded through my brain and down into my limbs, making my fingertips pulse and my heart pump a bit faster than it should for so early in the morning.

I made my train, overpacked my bag with way too many clothes for such a short camping trip, and dug into a Joan Didion book, thereby trying to offset the glee I couldn't help but indulge at moments on my own. I took the 2.5 hour trainride to Wassaic, passing water reservoirs, abandoned buildings, deciduous forests, strip malls, and old train tracks on my way North. I stepped out of the train car and could feel the immediate shift in my body-- the air was more pure, the sun more welcoming, the earth more fragrant, the greens more bright, and the bird songs more crisp and joyous. I felt connected. I felt whole.

I felt excited. I was excited.

Four days later we started packing up the tents and breaking down the campsite. Bob, Elizabeth, Corinne and I pulled stakes out of the ground, packed away plastic plates and silverware, undid knots in the rope holding up parts of our site, poured out milk we wouldn't drink, finished off the remainder of the almonds, folded the clothes we'd laid out to dry earlier that morning, and went through the ritual of breaking down camp. Few words were exchanged, and we all soaked in the fact that in a few mere hours this experience would be finished, and that there wouldn't be any more camping on this spot for another 360 days.

That weekend I fell incredibly hard for a man I had effectively met a week beforehand. That weekend I learned so incredibly much about myself, especially through the lens of others, especially him. That weekend I let myself be wholly vulnerable by throwing myself into a situation with barely a guarantee that I would come away from it with everything I went into it holding.

That weekend I really started to get to know Joe.

It has been 20 days since I last saw him. In that time I spent a week at home and then packed everything into The Steed and headed South. I spent an evening at Joan's house, falling more in love with her family than I already was and also immediately sensing that she and I were coming into a new phase of our friendship. I couldn't label it, but we both were quietly changing in front of each other, allowing for ourselves to be both vulnerable and new, knowing that somehow we'd find a way to embrace the beauty of our progression.

In those 20 days I started my senior year of college. I've been to classes, bought groceries, cooked dinners, spend hours and hours with the Cleftomaniacs, bringing 4 new members into the a cappella group, relaxing with friends, trying to embrace the newness of my space, despite the fact that I've lived at 207 Cary Street, Apt B for three years now. In those 20 days I have done homework assignments and written papers. I've listened to Ani DiFranco, Tori Amos, the Weepies, Joni Mitchell and Paul Simon. I've written, read beautiful essays, rejoiced in gorgeous bottles of red wine, been to parties, and dreamt.

Tomorrow Joe comes to visit. I'm picking him up at the Newport News airport from his 8:48 AM flight. He's only staying for a little less than 36 hours, but it's still 36 hours with someone with whom I have begun to build a path. It's a path that is equally forged by our hands, feet, and minds. It's a space that is uniquely ours, yet still allows us the ability to peer out at the world that is going to continue on pulsing regardless of what decisions he and I make. I feel at the same time like a 80 year old man and an 8 year old boy, full of excitement at the chance to see him but also aware that I have met someone who has made a profound impact on my life already.

I don't like to call it luck by saying I'm lucky to have Joe. I don't like to think that the situation has a structure and a language beyond my own involvement-- I don't believe it has a fate or a destiny that is beyond my control. It's also not that I feel fortunate to have him. I don't subscribe to the vernacular of charity or goodwill in this situation. I am merely joyous. I am simply elated. The hours have passed since July 20, and I have been both actor and spectator. I can only hope that I allow myself to be both vulnerable and connected-- to trust myself and act in a way that strengthens myself while giving as much as I can to our connection.

Very few times recently have I ever felt so overwhelmed by excitement that I have a hard time concentrating, speaking, or thinking. I used to get like this before concerts or CD releases when I was 15. I remember the night before Tori Amos' album "Scarlet's Walk" was released-- I was playing soccer and during the time I waited as the sweeper for the ball to make its way down to my side of the field I felt constricted by the promise of revelation and happiness.

I can only hope that this is going to grow into something intense, beautiful, and joyous. I can only know how I feel, and all I feel right now is excitement. And sometimes I just have to let it be and take in those moments. I have to let it completely saturate my being. So, here I go.

Woman, You Got Too Many Brambles. But I Always Liked a Good Storm

Indeed it was a sleepless night. But, instead of heading to see the Waterfalls I just did the dishes, made coffee and tea, read more of Jhumpa Lahiri's Interpreter of Maladies and went to work early. I cleaned the apartment and cleared my mind of those small things that get caught up in the thick of things and become larger issues with more weight than they ever should have been granted.

It's amazing what a day can do. At 6 AM I was feeling fairly confused yet very aware of my own emotions and the existing situation. Shortly in the wake, however, I began to be filled with an immense sense of possibility. I had a very productive day at work, came home and had an incredible yoga session, and then settled into some green tea and reading. I was feeling so calm that I even, like the old man I sometimes am, fell asleep with the book on my chest.

Now Dan and I have ordered Chinese food and are settling into some movies. Things actually are good. I feel like Dan and I are getting along really well recently, work is going well, and I'm starting to get going on my thesis after some time of neglecting it.

Things aren't always apocalyptic. Sometimes you just need to get things off your chest that you've been holding onto for way too long.

Can't Stop What's Coming-- Can't Stop What's On Its Way

It's 4:30 in the morning, and I'm still awake. I am at the crossroads of deciding whether or not I should don my flipflops and go for a walk over to see the Brooklyn Bridge and the Eliasson Waterfalls as the sun rises, immediately followed by a toasted bagel and green tea, or if I should stay up reading, or simply crash into bed.

I'm not usually faced with these decisions. When it's 4:30 and I'm somehow still conscious I'm usually drunk or getting ready to go to the airport. In the case of the former, I'm more than HAPPY to oblige the hibernation factor. In the case of the latter, I'm usually waiting to stop at WaWa so I can become a functioning human being, with a mix CD for the ride to Philadelphia and prepared for some of the most meaningful conversations I've had with my family to occur. Blueberry muffin in hand.

But, the reason that I'm still awake is that I stumbled into a really open, honest, spacious, frustrating, debilitating, frank, depressing, careful, daring, uplifting, relentless, gracious, and ultimately fulfilling conversation with Casey. The reason I just listed an egregious number of adjectives is because I'm still reeling from the whole experience. I am trying to be cautious and not attribute a value judgment to the whole thing, so I am not allowing myself the capacity of labeling it positive, negative, or both, but simply am trying to separate fact from emotion, both in myself and what I can try to perceive is coming from him.

I guess it really is no secret that this past semester was dually explosive and beautiful for me-- in a way full of much more calm and love than I have previously known in myself. Very often I would turn to Joan throughout the months and say, "I am actually happy right now. I feel connected. And for this brief second I don't feel bad about that." Or, I would say something along the lines of how I really was frustrated that I may be forcing myself to restructure things when I couldn't even accept that I actually thought they were good for me. Really, I turned to Joan more often than not throughout the semester to really be completely frank and honest because she was the safest bet. We had had some weird attraction to each other when we first met-- I totally had the biggest crush on her for a bit in DC and made it my goal to get to know her more. And then it fizzled, and I got caught up in the GW world with Chad, Will, Lauren, Joe, Alex, and Emily, and I rarely came by the W&M house. She went on with her life there, with Denisse and Tommy and all the people from which I was so active in distancing myself, yet we still remained close regardless of my ventures across town. Then we took a class together (Intro to Anthropology) during the summer, and she basically came over to my apartment every. single. day. to hang out and relax. She witnessed my July of Hell, in which I literally ran out of money, barely had a job, and found that a productive day was getting up the little motivation I had to get out of the house to mail a letter. I actually have a hard time looking back on that month because it's just absolutely awful for me to remember. I was so self-indulgent yet completely, for the first time since high school, without control of my emotional self and spiraled down into a really intense and unrelenting depression. But then came Africa, and I got on a regular sleep schedule and ate interesting things and met new people and went on an incredible safari and read Alice Munro's "The Moons of Jupiter" and discovered Tori Amos' song "Yes, Anastasia" and generally found myself again. And the best part about it was that I was so ecstatic about finally getting myself together. I've never felt so good about picking up the pieces. That's when I realized I was making progress.

Joan and I still have issues over the balance of our relationship. I often am incredibly abrasive, domineering, and needy. I intentionally play mind games sometimes to test the limits and provoke her. I will also incredibly bluntly and quite frankly without any tact demand that she be more open and talk and actually express herself verbally. But at the same time, I also feel comfortable saying that I've rarely ever celebrated, cherished, loved, or believed in someone so strongly as I do her. There's a reason she's living with me next year. There's a reason she and I are writing our honors thesis together. There's a reason that whenever I think of anything remotely interesting she's one of the people I immediately want to share it with.

So, tangent, yes. Back to last semester. I am starting to realize as the days go by how poorly I handled the whole situation with Tom. The night that he met me at a party near the end of January I had my eyes completely set on Sam's friend Justin, who was in town to visit and to get away from the craziness of the Obama campaign and national primaries. After three of my friends tried to hit on him with blatant disregard for any subtlety, I thought my chances were incredibly low, so I gave up and mingled. Which is when I met Tom, really, for the first time. We talked for quite some time, I had a blast, and somehow felt it completely OK to give him a peck on the cheek when I said goodnight-- was it good will? Was it attraction? Was it condescending? I'm afraid it might have been a combination of all three. And then it turns out that I did end up hooking up with Justin, which was amazing and incredible and exciting, and then falling for him completely and utterly foolishly.

The thing about Justin was the fact that I was so quickly forced to reconcile my, at the time, growing desire for a significant relationship with the perceived realization that I could not seem to attract anyone at William and Mary. I felt great when Justin chose me instead of my friends-- I guess it made me feel sexy in a way that I'd never known before at school. But I also felt awful, empty, and aching when I had to acknowledge that Justin was only in town for 48 hours, and after that he'd be gone.

So, it took me those 48 hours to be completely broken, fragile and wholly vulnerable. It took me not being able to move out of my apartment. To only think about him. To only think about the hours that we'd had. To only think of how I was getting further and further from finding anyone at W&M who I thought could see me as a worthy partner.

But, I bounced back so much more quickly than I have ever been able to, so I felt, once again, that I was making progress. I felt more refined, more mature-- more secure in my abilities to reconcile reality with emotions.

Then it came to my attention that Tom was actually very interested in getting to know me more, and so I made the move at the Pirate Dance Party at TDX and ending up spending the night with him, making out forever and generally being a big old grinning mess the next morning while Joan and I attended a cooking class at Williams-Sonoma.

What I've started to realize is that I didn't stick up for myself enough in my relationship with Tom, and I think the main reason was a fear that he may be the one and only chance I get at romantic success at W&M. So, I tried to cater to what he needed and wanted and I lost sight of myself in the relationship. I know, from other sources, that he has had a rocky coming out period, and that his relationship with his family is complex, and I know first hand that he's in a ton of high powered positions around campus. But I never, until the very end, successfully made the case for him to want to prioritize our relationship. I was more than willing to give him space when he needed it. But then when I appeared needy it was because I was indeed being just that-- and therefore having a weak moment of sorts. That, then, gave him the upper hand, I'm afraid, because I don't think he realized the sacrifices I was making almost daily to his overwhelming need to fulfill every single wish of the people around him and instead only saw when I reared my ugly relationship head and requested to spend quality boyfriend time with him. Tom is a gracious guy. He is kind, affectionate, passionate about what he does, he cares about the people around him, and he is also a natural born leader. But the thing is, I'm afraid he also feels obligated to be everything to everyone, and I just don't feel that way. I used to, certainly. But once I stopped being in every club and president of every organization (like I tried to be in high school), I started to realize that I didn't have to appease everyone and that I could take time for myself, and by extension my (non-existant at the time before him) boyfriend.

Blah blah blah. Things got really rocky for us, and then my birthday came and he went camping with TDX and all of my INCREDIBLE friends from DC and SAS and W&M showed me such love and joy that weekend-- to the point that I still feel I don't deserve it-- and he didn't even really say anything meaningful to me, but instead broke up with me and completely ended our relationship without really asking me or talking to me about how he was feeling before he'd decided to completely end it. So, he'd moved on and not told me, while I still was thinking we were, for all intents and purposes, together.

I think that's probably what triggered such a violent April for me-- the fact that I felt as if I had not been notified of his complete and utter dissatisfaction and getting over me and the relationship until way after it had happened. I had no chance to salvage it. I am of the belief that relationships are a lot of work, and if you actually try instead of run away from things, you can surprisingly fix quite a bit. No one and no relationship is ever perfect, but I really genuinely felt that Tom and I had redeeming qualities that far outweighed the cons. Yet, my vision was, apparently, separate from his, and by the time I became aware of this fact he had removed himself and wasn't looking back. I felt abandoned, cast off, and completely unable to do anything. I've never, ever, ever pleaded someone to try again or give it another go. I've never been close to begging for a second chance. Yet, I did. And I was. And I hated myself for being in that position.

It is the combination of doing just that mixed with Tom's mental moving on without ever telling me that made me, very quietly, fall to pieces in April. But, what is sort of interesting about the whole thing, I think, is that I never really totally felt outright anger and the aching that I'd known before. I was never at the extreme of emotions afterwards. But, every day there was a warning sign. I skipped classes I loved. I ate poorly. I would make really awkward and hurtful comments in one liners or cast offs to friends about the relationship. I resented the people who still saw him. I drank a lot more. I slept with people I had absolutely interest in besides getting out of my head for a few moments. I couldn't stop thinking about NYC and idolizing it as a saviour figure.

I think what it comes down to was I was actively avoiding being honest with myself on a daily basis. I am now sure that I was in a state of total denial. I wanted to appear fine and calm, yet I still needed to vent to Katie, Casey, Dan, and Joan about it. But even when I did that I was doing very basic venting-- not really driving at the issues that were getting to me. I stopped trusting them because I wasn't trusting myself to feel what I was feeling. I felt like an outsider to my emotions, and I both wanted to skydive away from all emotions that I could possibly ever have and also be in control of every single one available. The thing is that they weren't available because I wouldn't honestly look at myself in the face and speak what I was thinking at my deepest level about the relationship. And I think it's because at the end of the relationship it's about YOU. It's about you and your worth and your problems and your positives and negatives and childhood and blah blah blah. It's about You. It's the hours that you have to spend not pissed off at HIM but having to hold the hand of your heart and mind.

Oh my God this is such a roundabout and tangential way to talk about Casey and my conversation. I think, though, that it's good to exorcise things from the past, and it's good to realize, when you can, moments that you were totally off your rocker-- even if you can't go back. Even if there is seriously no future. And what I realize is that I think Tom is a great guy, but until he can really come to terms with his schedule and his center, even at an incredibly minor level, he's not going to be able to have a genuine relationship. I think he's afraid to let people in, which is just tough because I'm of the firm opinion that he has so much to give and so much to take in-- he's so passionate about life and people and he's one of the most caring people I've ever met. I really do wish him the best. And I feel honest about saying that.

Tonight, Casey and I confronted our history. By a very tangential route we starting discussing his past crush on me during the end of the semester and how he's totally gotten over it and moved on and such. It was actually very relieving to finally have it out in the open. The only reason, actually, at first that I had an inkling he liked me was because of a livejournal post that came to my attention from someone else. And then within the day I was mildly confronted by Josh and Jamie at the Green Leafe about the whole thing. I really felt blind-sided because I was unaware of his attraction. At that point I considered Casey a good friend-- someone who I had gotten to know that semester and with whom I thoroughly enjoyed exploring a friendship. The first time I met him was at one of Dan's parties. I thought he seemed very intelligent-- he was fairly poised and amiable, but he also was quite taciturn and it seemed that he was also slightly emotionally unavailable. It wasn't one of those connections where you know that that person sees eye-to-eye with you, or that you are just totally connected right away, or that you know you could never have a conversation with that person again. It was promising but also totally unpromising. I couldn't tell if he was putting up with talking to me because it was a party or if that was just who he was.

Time goes by, a few more uneventful meetings, and then I think the switch happened when he started drinking. I saw him twice during one of those weekends-- once at a party at my house where I was completely swamped and barely talking to anyone and just kept making cosmos without end-- and then next at the TDX Invitation Only party. I was, that night, so incredibly frustrated with Tom and so I spent the majority of the night in Aaron's room getting to know people, and it was then that Casey and I, again, had a great time talking and getting to know one another.

So April happens and Tom happens and the breakup happens and Casey and I are becoming closer and closer. I find he's really easy to talk to, but I'm also wary because he rarely ever talks about himself. I start to feel he's actually being judgmental by being such a listener, yet I have really no way of conceptualizing him because I don't understand his emotional reactions. I usually have a fairly keen sense of how people are going to fall in certain conversations or situations, but he completely threw me for a loop. So, I tried to remain open-minded and just let things happen organically so I could get an unaltered idea of who he was. And I felt like I was doing a great job, and I realized I was having a lot of fun with him and that I was glad I'd chosen such a cool person to get to know, even if he was a Freshman, because he was turning out to be a really great friend.

And then the whole actual crush from him thing happened, and I had no idea what to do. If I saw him anymore, would I be able to not be awkward? Did I have to mention something? Should I make a move? Should I not? Did I like him too? Had I been leading him on for a while? Was I sending mixed signals?

I think the answer, for me at least, is that yes I was absolutely sending mixed signals. I was internally devastated by the whole Tom thing and I loved the attention that Casey was giving me, because it was genuine and kind and thoughtful. But, I also knew that I couldn't even think, much less believe, of a relationship with absolutely anyone. I was incapable of that sort of connection, and when the whole thing with Casey happened I felt kicked in the stomach-- as if not being able to get over Tom wasn't enough-- now I had to handle being the dick in a situation where I had potentially led someone on and was being totally selfish and self involved and whiny.

The truth of the matter is I never got a chance to really evaluate how I felt about him. I was confronted with the whole thing, and tried to take a little bit of time to come to terms with the Tom situation, and within that very short period I'd read that Casey had chosen to move on and forget the whole thing and exorcise it from himself. And then finals came, and papers, and he wouldn't ever talk to me about it, so I once again felt like a stranger to my own emotions.

The thing I thought I'd realized about Casey is that he didn't really expose himself as emotionally vulnerable in the romantic arena, but I had no idea why. The frustrating thing was I wanted to talk about it. I don't believe in deadlines or forced closure and I'm fucking awful at being able to move on. So that fact, or rather perceived fact by me, of his utter ability to move on completely without fail and without any problem to me seemed unnatural and off-putting. But, I tried not to make a big deal about the whole thing and instead let things dissipate, because it was obviously his choice and since we hadn't actually talked about it I didn't want to make things awkward and bring the elephant out of the room but still keep it in plain view.

We've talking fairly consistently over the summer-- chatting on AIM and catching up and just generally being what friends are. And I'm very grateful for that. I feel like I am closer to him than before, so that's progress. I still feel like he doesn't really trust me, or maybe he just doesn't feel comfortable around me. I admit that I sometimes flat out don't understand him whatsoever, and that's really odd for me.

I am really pleased we had the conversation we had tonight, but it sort of made me sad because it made me realize that I, in some weird way, was slightly upset that I, like the end of the Tom relationship, had no chance to ever really speak up for my side. I know that that's assuming that I had the right to, but since so many of my close friends knew about it and the whole thing was negotiated through a third party, I felt like I maybe should have had to chance to actually live with it for a moment, rather than have everything decided and wrapped up yet still wholly in front of my face.

Gah. I've written way too much. It's now almost 6, and I most certainly am going to stay up and forget about the idea of getting any sleep before work. I still have some left over coffee grounds in the freezer, plenty of iced green tea, an amazing book and some emails to catch up on. I think I should probably stop reminiscing and exorcising and musing and such. I've already done enough damage.

Core, Born Into Form, Starts In Our Livingroom

Dan and I have finally made it to NYC. Just finished the first full week of being at the apartment. I'm really falling in love with the space itself-- I feel very lucky to have found a place with such a profound sense of calm and beauty. I find I really feed off of the energy of the apartment. The high ceilings, huge windows, wide open spaces, loft bed, and wonderful furnishings all really inspire me. I love walking barefoot along the hardwood floors and doing yoga while listening to the new Alanis Morissette album and then taking a nap or reading in bed. I feel incredibly fortunate to be in such a place; however, it definitely was a long road getting there. We must have looked at at least three hundred apartments online before seeing the listing for our new place. It's a tedious process, but diligence and a clear sense of what we wanted without compromising too much really paid off. It's so very much a game, but once you come to terms with that and enter the arena it's worthwhile and stops being so harrowing.

Work at the Jen Bekman Gallery is going along just fine. I'm a gallery intern, so I spend most of my hours in the gallery space itself, which is absolutely fine by me. I've had some really interesting conversations with people who work here-- namely Jen Bekman herself, who has really opened up some ideas and thoughts about art and NYC that have forced me to think and clarify in my mind what I'm looking for and what exactly I'm doing here.

On the subject of art-- I am so fortunate to be in the Sotheby's class on Contemporary Art in NYC. It's basically a glorified field trip all over NYC (and beyond!) to see, learn, and experience the most important art spaces of the 20th Century as well as an investigation into the progression of the art world, through auction houses, artists studios, and galleries/institutions into the 21st Century. Last week, we visited so many museums. Here's a list of the shows we saw:

1) Action/Abstraction: Pollock, de Kooning, and American Art, 1940-1976 (The Jewish Museum)
2) Warhol's Jews: Ten Portraits Reconsidered
3) Cai Guo-Qiang: I Want to Believe (Guggenheim Museum)
4) Polaroids: Mapplethorpe (Whitney Museum of American Art)
5) Whitney Biennial 2008 (Whitney Museum of American Art)

Being exposed to art in both the gallery and museum setting EVERY single day of the week (except Sundays) has really been a beautiful experience. Modern/Contemporary Art is such a passion of mine, and the chance to be surrounded by it in so many contexts and face-to-face is really mind-blowing. It's certainly a level of mental and spiritual stimulation that I'm not used to. The whole experience of FEELING art is magnified when you get to live within the world. I'm so pleased that I chose to come to NYC, regardless of how many cons I'd mentally listed, because this really is the epi-center of the art world in America. I'm working in an area with dozens of new galleries, and a block from the New Museum of Contemporary Art. I've walked through Chelsea, which houses hundreds of galleries. I've strolled 5th Avenue for all the big-wig museums. I've really never had this opportunity to really be a part of everything-- to see the process not only from the outside but from the inside as well. All I can say is I'm feeling immensely blessed... even though I usually really despise that turn of phrase, as I feel it denotes such a sense of passive being-- that someone endows you with a gift to which you're indebted. But whatever.

Dan and I agreed that we would try and go out to eat as much as possible around the city for dinner. It has pushed us to walk around the areas of restaurants near our apartment. We've also ventured to Union Square, lower Lower East Side, and the East Village for dinner. I'm going to be compiling a list of everywhere we go in my Moleskin journal (that Kathryn so thoughtfully gave me for my birthday!) so that I can remember where we've been. Had my first veggie burger last night and I absolutely loved it. I think my tastes are radically changing being here-- I find that I'm craving things like red peppers and olives and black beans and arugula-- things I have never really cared for. Maybe my taste buds are opening up to the surrounding myriad points of stimulation. I just hope I don't return a vegetarian. Someone has to keep eating meat in my family!

Regardless of our ups and downs, I'm really loving living with Dan with summer. We could have quit so many times along the way after all of the frustration that we encountered finding a job and an apartment. We also spent a bunch of time at home together before moving to NYC, playing Rock Band, going to Philadelphia, bumming around, and generally being fabulous. We've had some major fights, but I think we're starting to be able to recognize that we each have faults and strengths and we need to accommodate those while still retaining autonomy. It's been hard, definitely, but I think it always is hard living with your best friend. I've found that in every single living situation I've had since I was a kid; however, I also know that those situations have been the most positive and uplifting and reaffirming things.

I feel this summer is really really pregnant with possibility and chance. I've thrown myself into a space that I can make into something that will propel me. I feel I'm changing on a daily basis. The New Phase was the first step, my honors thesis my second, and this is the third. I feel I am expanding with every day that passes-- accepting new ideas, listening to new sounds, seeing new art, meeting new people, patching up myself, seeing so much light in so many places. I'm trying to be there for myself in all of these moments of novel promise. I just don't want to lose sight of my being in the face of all these opportunities.

Currently Reading: Michael Ondaatje, "Divisadero"
Currently Listening: Alanis Morissette "Flavors of Entanglement," Aimee Mann "@#%&*! Smilers," Jewel "Perfectly Clear"

I Am Balancing, Careful and Steady, and Reveling in Energy That Everyone's Emitting

Things things things.

It's been a little less than a month since my last post, but I must say that I've felt daunted by the sheer length of past entries. It's hard for me to conjure up that writing spirit multiple times per week, as I'm also battling stacks of papers that I *should* be writing. Let's see. An overview:

-- Job in NYC
-- Admitted into the 3-week Sotheby's Institute program on Contemporary Art in NYC
-- Written tons of letters
-- IRON & WINE
-- DOUGLAS GORDON
-- Death of my godfather and one of my dogs
-- AXO Formal
-- Tons of Cleftos performances
-- Break up with Tom
-- 2 Trains
-- Yoga
-- BIRTHDAY
-- Applied for an Andrew Mellon Teaching Fellowship
-- Applied for position as Undersecretary of Public Affairs for the BOV (through SA)
-- Jason Mraz
-- Ani DiFranco: Live In Babeville
-- Honors Thesis
-- ArtForum / The New Yorker
-- Letters of Recommendation
-- Cold, damp, London weather / Spring?
-- KitchenAid Mixer!
-- Too many trips to Williams-Sonoma
-- BAREFOOT CONTESSA
-- The Institution
-- Dan, Joan, GoGo, Jeff, Sam, Lindsey
-- Spiritual Experience
-- Not playing piano / guitar
-- The Wave
-- Eating Out @ tons of new restaurants
-- BEING 21
-- Photography
-- Theory
-- Cindy Sherman, Sherrie Levine
-- My mind won't stop. I can't slow down. I'm speeding up and I'm going to be gone out of this space soon-- am I ready to graduate? Am I beyond the reach of W&M? Do I really have another year? Am I a senior? Have I already left the school? Am I successful? Am I delinquent? Am I kind? Do I have time for people? Do I really exist here?

Yes. Yes. Yes.

OK, so those are the highlights of the past few weeks. I wish I had time to go into every single one. So I will dive in as I continue over this course. We're all pushing to the end, but we're all exploding plastic inevitables.

Although it may seem that it's only kinetic, I have to admit I'm still at a place of fairly unwavering calm. It's not a numbness at all, because some of these major events have really rocked me emotionally; however, I'm balanced, and I feel full of so many different colors of energy. I want to be here right now, and I am, and I love that.

How I Wish You Could See Me When I'm Flying In My Dreams

I may have a job (internship, really) in NYC this summer!

Jen Bekman Gallery
6 Spring Street
New York, NY 10012
http://www.jenbekman.com/

I got this email from the Gallery Manager, Lindsey Wolkowicz:

--
Peter,

Hi and thanks for your interest in an internship with Jen Bekman Gallery.

I have been reviewing resumes all week and yours definitely stands out. I would love to have the chance to meet with you and discuss the internship further. When would you actually be available to meet/ when are you next in NYC? I am ideally looking to fill positions now and will most likely need to bring a few other people on when summer hits so if your planned arrival in NY is not for a while I would encourage you to be in touch with me as that date draws closer and we can work it out.

I am glad that you enjoy the gallery and look forward to meeting you. Please feel free to call or email me at any time.

Thanks again!
Best,

Lindsey
--

This is a really, really important break for me. I've been sending out applications, resumes, and cover letters left and right for the past two months. I haven't heard back from most places, except the big museums to tell me that their internship programs were filled in December... oops!

This all escalated into a really awful conversation with my parents on Tuesday morning. I got up super early because I had not been able to sleep, and so at 7:30 AM I struck out to Bloom to pick up some more green tea, peanut butter and toilet paper. I thought it would be good to check in with my parents early in the day, so that I wouldn't have to call them later when I was busy. We started talking about this summer, and the conversation quickly took a turn for the worse. And when I say worse, I mean awful. Wild accusations were sent flying at each other, hurtful things were said, and generally we were so anti-productive, except in the arena of emotional destructive behavior. I spent an hour in Bloom, walking up and down the aisles, and finally stopping in the soup aisle, where I spent the last half-hour on the phone with my Mom, trying to fight back having a meltdown and also trying to remain cogent.

I finally ended the conversation, paid for my staple items (so innocent in the wake of the argument), and then promptly got in my car and cried for 10 minutes. It's been a really long time since I last cried. I didn't cry when my dog Roxi died two weeks ago. I didn't cry when I found out that Grant Simmons, an older man from the Adirondacks and friend of my grandparents with whom I'd built quite the friendship over games of backgammon, watching Wimbledon, going canoeing, or telling stories around big fires on summer nights, died a few weeks ago. I also didn't break down on the anniversary of Cristin Duprey's-- a classmate from St. Andrew's-- untimely death in February. There have been so many moments where I have had sufficient reason to emote, but I don't. Or rather, I didn't, although both work in an understanding of the emotional disconnect happening there.

It always really freaks me out when I cry, because it's so seldom. It usually means that I'm at the end of my rope, in some way. It has only come when I'm in major periods of transition, or deep deep bouts of the blues (July 2007, anyone?). Therefore, crying in my car, in the parking lot of Bloom, was really out of place. I'm in a better-than-usual spot right now, which is great because it's in turn making me re-evaluate what I mean when I say "usual" in that construction. Things with Tom are going-- a little shaky, but I'm starting to believe that's just going to be the nature of the beast-- the weather is beautiful, I've been doing lots of yoga, my honors thesis proposal is finished its first stage of formulation, I've had an amazing time with my friends recently, and last weekend was one of the best weekends I've had this year. Why, then, was I crying, almost uncontrollably, in my car at 8:45 AM?

I think it really comes to a mass of issues that are tied to my position at this school. I never planned to come to W&M, except that near the time when I was having to make my college decisions they offered me an incredibly generous scholarship that quickly turned my focus from Penn and Middlebury, and I decided to give it a shot, knowing that if not I could easily transfer back up North. In a way, I made the decision based not on what I felt about the school, but what I had gleaned from a few key conversations with professors (Anne Rasmussen, George Greenia, Tamara Sonn and Talbot Taylor), a walk through of the campus on my own, a tour, and 24 hours spent in Williamsburg. It all happened so quickly, and I very soon afterwards regretted my decision to choose scholarship over where I really wanted to go. Even so, I thought that if I completed a first year at W&M within the scholarship program that I could hopefully transfer wherever I wanted or needed to the following year.

W&M is a 5.5 hour drive from my house. I'm one of the out-of-state students, which means that I'm of the 33% that aren't from VA. If you then think about that demographic, you have to include ALL of the international and national students, so I am quickly reduced, numerically, to a very small percentage of students from my general geographic area, background, education range, etc. I've met about 10 students who attended boarding school at W&M. I met that many students when I went on the tour at Middlebury. I'm not saying it's a bad thing-- actually, it's probably even better, really-- but it's just that W&M was a huge shake-up of everything that I had expected. No one really cared about Pennsylvania, St. Andrew's, or really most of those defining characteristics in my biography. But quite frankly, I don't blame them. So many of them had friends coming into school that it was hard to figure out where I fit in. But, as Bob Dylan said, and which is so often quoted it's gone beyond cliche: "You just gotta keep on keepin on." I've finally reached a space where I feel like I belong here, and that I'm proud of being here.

But the thing is, W&M is far enough away that my parents only come down once a year. Usually it's for a quick visit-- maybe 36 hours at most. It's tough for me, in a way that I never really understood until Tuesday morning. I rely on them for so much-- I am so in awe of their place in life-- how they've built this life up from the ground up. They're probably my main source of inspiration-- they've taught me so much on how to be socially integrated, morally minded, and kind, and really what I want is to be as good of a person when I'm older as my parents are now. But, because of this, it's really hard for me when I don't get to see them that often. Sure, I went to boarding school, which began the whole trend at the age of 14, but then they could come down for soccer games, crew races, musicals, and singing events, because I was only an hour away. Here, they miss out on basically all of my a cappella concerts, every single play I was in, and the day-to-day activities that make this place so special for me. I'm having to confront being away from them in a way that is much different than I had expected. Because I've been living away from home since I was 14, I assumed that I had already made the transition away from the nest-- that I didn't need the physical presence of my parents much anymore. But the more these three years at W&M have worn on, the more I realize how much energy I derive from their presence-- how I really wish, above anyone else in the world, that they could see me do what I'm doing here. Unfortunately, they also both work full-time, so it's hard to even get them on the same page with what I'm doing academically. They really try, but contemporary art is so separate from their spheres that it's very difficult to reach a middle ground. They both tried to read my 45 page final paper for W&M in DC last year on the avant-garde at the Hirshhorn, and they got through 3 pages and then put it down for good. It's tough, because at least if I could only share one thing, it would be the academics.

I've also targeted something which reaches further back than all of these more immediate issues. When I was in middle school, my sister went through really intensive changes in schooling methods, tutoring, and diagnostic testing for her difference in learning style. While I never felt consciously it was hard on me, I really feel like I pushed the thought so far from my presence of mind that it just seemed to be a non-issue. But I started doing all of my projects on my own-- spending hours upon hours in my room, completing posters on American History, reading Jack London, or teaching myself algebra, all the while interspersed with hours of Lego building. I began to rely almost entirely on my own capacity for learning and success, so that when I did well on a test or paper I no longer felt the need to show it to anyone. That was MY creation-- I wasn't offered any help, proofreading, or anything-- I had myself to blame, or reward, for my own doing.

The thing I feel pretty fortunate about is that I haven't really failed that much. I've always loved school and really spent a huge amount of time developing a perfectionist paradigm that I've found to be very helpful. I think, though, that it really comes from those hours in my room, deciding that I had to execute everything perfectly, or else I would have to be wholly held accountable. So, from then on, I worked harder than I ever had, and I got into St. Andrew's School in Middletown, DE. From there, I pushed myself in classes, got on the honors track, and began making my own academic decisions, in terms of choosing the science track over history, music theory over visual arts, and psychology over ethics. I started to feel really proud of my work. I was recognized a few times during high school in very public ways for my academic and social achievements at school, and while my parents were there for the ceremonies, I had this internal sense of wholeness. I began to derive a sense of completeness from academic success. Therefore, when I was nominated for the W&M scholarship and got it, it just felt like reciprocation for how hard I'd worked in school.

Academics have always come naturally to me. It's actually become a weird point of contention in some social situations, because I've found it just to be easier to be totally silent about them. I really dont' like to bring up a lot of my own successes publicly, because I've cultivated a hyper-modesty with so many things, because of my own past issues with success (as if I revealed that yes, I did do well, that it would be evanescent and I would lose ability), body image, sports, and family, so that I often find it easier just to not talk about myself. I went through most of freshman year never mentioning the Murray Scholarship, so when I had to go to functions with dignitaries, President Nichol, W&M deans, etc. I made up alternative stories of where I was going, or I was just very evasive. I felt like I almost had to hide the fact that I'd been chosen to be a Murray Scholar. Only recently have I really began to embrace the whole thing, and I think it comes from an opening up of my own self to my flaws. Over the past year I've been very conscious to expose my flaws to myself, speak openly to them, and then reconcile. It's been really good for me in terms of how I interact with people now-- I feel like a much more full, complete and invigorated person. I still have tons of skeletons and things that will trip me up, but overall I've really started to win many of the battles against them.

Anyway, I'm rambling now, but basically on Tuesday morning I realized that I just miss my parents desperately. And the fact that I had so completely attacked them on basis of their word, character, and role as parents hurt me more than I could have imagined. I was hurt by their lack of interest with my life here-- how they never visit, don't show any interest in my romantic relationships (until I bring it up, and then they're totally there with me), ask me about my academics, or do the things that so many of my friends' parents do here. I've really felt like an island at W&M for so long, but I'm beginning to feel so much more connected (for all the reasons I've listed before). And it was because of that that I collected myself after a good 10 minutes of hard, hard crying, and drove myself home, took a shower, made some green tea and oatmeal, and spent the next four hours applying for new jobs in NYC. I just had to keep trucking. I had to do what I knew how to do. As Dan said to me the other day-- this is my "Make it Work" moment. I have so much to offer and look forward to, that I need to move on. And again, as Dan has reminded me, each day things in the past get a little easier. So, I just need to sleep on things, be more patient, and embrace the schisms in my life's rhythms.

OK... phew. That was a lot more intense than I had been planning. But YES-- I may have a job at this gallery in NYC this summer. And I've gotten accepted into the 3 week Sotheby's Institute program on Contemporary Art in NYC for the month of June. Things are coming together, and my honors thesis proposal is in the process, and I'm looking upwards. This email this morning has re-energized me.

I can only thank my friends who have pushed me, sometimes more harshly than I would have thought necessary at the time (but in retrospect have been totally on target), to keep on reaching higher. I have the incredible gift of an amazing support system-- people who are so wholly genuine and full of compassion, kindness, and and beauty. I really could not have gotten through this week without them. So, thank you-- you all know who you are. And I only hope that in moments of these in your lives that you'll feel free to call on me.

You Say The World Has Lost Its Love-- I Say Embrace What It's Made Of

It's been a long while since I've updated this thing. It's pretty hard to find time to sit down and thoughtfully collect a grouping of ideas and words to convey the larger and smaller changes in my life; however, I've just started letter writing again, so I'm re-teaching myself the ability to slow down, carefully choose my words, and write not solely for myself. So, here we go. Maybe those changes will affect my blogging fervor (or really lack thereof currently). We'll see.

OK. So, it's March 23. I have no clue where this month has gone-- I sincerely feel like I've only just finished getting through February.

It's weird for me to think about February, actually. Historically, February has always been the single most difficult month for me to deal with, but not for all the usual reasons of Seasonal Affective Disorder, lack of daylight, intense cold, etc. It's most because there are always huge decisions or life changes that happen for me in February. Maybe it's the end of the holiday season, which means I have more time to genuinely re-connect with myself in an introspective way that is not pressured by the conflicts of exams, family events, celebrations, parties, vacations, etc. February usually is a time where there should be an uneasy calm. I've always put on Dar Williams' song "February" multiple times during the month, letting the words swirl with the cello and guitar and wash over me. I can feel the song open up in a way that it cannot in any other month-- maybe that's because we have so concretely associated these really ambiguous ideas of time and space into specific lapses, such as seconds, minutes, and months, and really in the end it's totally negligible-- and I can again understand the full extent of the pain in the song. Usually in April when I listen to "February" I can hear strains of hope through the decay of the character's relationship, but usually during a cold evening of gray overcast dismal weather, when I retreat to my bed with socks and a sweatshirt on to keep warm, I will put the song on and I am transported into an almost visual pain. It's cathartic beyond being simply an impulse. Kandinsky, in the early 20th Century, explored through painting the synaesthesia of music and art, claiming that there is an inextricable connection between the two, wherein specific notes, phrases, or dynamics would translate visually. I have sometimes been able to "see" February-- I can almost step into that world so wholly and fully.

And February was so long that it lasted into March
And found us walking a path alone together.
You stopped and pointed and you said, "Thats a crocus,"
And I said, "Whats a crocus?" and you said, "Its a flower,"
I tried to remember, but I said, "Whats a flower?"
You said, "I still love you."

While I've never personally experienced fully the type of decay in a relationship that is explained in the song, I can enter into that world to a certain extent. More often than not it's a relationship with myself that I'm imagining-- it's the projection of an idea made into a figure-- a character-- that is an amalgamation of me, the type of person I feel I should be with, the type of person I'm told I should be with, and then a collection of the people I've been linked with romantically. I can hear Dar Williams sing those lyrics and feel that I can see myself having that conversation-- the disconnect so fully with any normalcy or healthiness in a relationship. I can project myself into that spot, and I don't think it's because I necessarily want to be there-- No longer am I so completely personally sabotaging my emotional ability to connect with others in an intimate way, so I don't see the projection as self-motivated as a defense mechanism; rather, I think I have been at that point in my life with other things, and I can understand the type of pain. And in a way, it's very refreshing for me to be able to feel that. It makes me feel like I'm still very much attuned to my emotional capabilities and range, and I no longer vilify a range of emotions-- I don't see it as a weakness to be able to feel either depressed, ecstatic, joyous, calm, or tragic. I see it as the journey that keeps me together by keeping me oscillating around a large range. I don't deny that I have at times desired so wholly the ability to be only one emotion. But now I understand that there is an ebb and flow, and I'm trying to keep myself at a point of clarity.

The leaves were turning as we drove to the hardware store,
My new lover made me keys to the house,
And when we got home, well we just started chopping wood,
Because you never know how next year will be,
And well gather all our arms can carry,
I have lost to February.

The whole reason I brought up the song "February" is to say that this year was the first year since I first heard the song that I didn't have the same reaction. I didn't put it on and wish for March to get here, to be able to say goodbye once more to February and usher in the spring. To be honest, I never once thought about it in that way. It's odd, actually, because I even got to see Dar Williams sing "February" in concert when we performed with her at the Kimball Theatre near the beginning of the month. But whereas I usually get close to tears when she plays it in concert, I simply enjoyed being there for the moment, but it didn't wreck me. The month of February passed with relatively few scars, if any, really. I don't know if this is part of anything in particular, or simply that I'm growing out of needing that song to be so completely and utterly my emotional manifestation. But it's a very calming feeling, regardless.

Things have been, overall, very good recently. I know that if you've recently spoken with me in any sort of moment of intense calm, change, or profound understanding, you'll know that I've been talking a lot about my "New Phase." My ex-boyfriend Andrew would (and still) uses many linguistic constructions in which a word is capitalized and becomes a concept or a structure and therefore abandons in a way its original intention, so for example he espouses the idea of "The Process," which effectually includes a wide array of events, ideas, beliefs, and relationships that formulate an almost metaphysical fabric of being. It's the feeling that there is an order, or that there should be, or that you're creating one, and you fit into it in a specific way, and the understanding of that leads to a clarity. Thinking in this way has really made me re-evaluate the ways in which I have always shied away from labeling the eras of my life. I've felt that if you try to verbalize concisely the shifts and turns that you're imposing a direction without letting them grow organically to the extent of their potential. But now, I've found a lot of clarity with putting words to my huge movements in life-- I know that I don't have to feel like I don't fully own my own body and self. One thing that I've found in the past year is that I've really gotten much closer to my own physical and emotional being in a way that I'm no longer intimidated by or ashamed and hateful of its being. I have been able to reach a much healthier state, and I think that I really deserve that. I feel like I've really battled a lot in the past eight years in such a completely silent way, that I'm finally tired of fighting, and I'm realizing that I don't really need to. I don't buy everyone who says that they are totally in love with themselves always and forever, because body image is never perfect or flawless, but I've found that I've been able to reform my old sentiments and just be able to make peace with them. I don't deny their existence, or that they've been a major part of my life, but I know that and I accept it. It doesn't, however, mean that it has to still be such a big part.

It's part of The New Phase. I have thrown myself into Art History, which has totally opened my eyes and ears to so many new ways of thinking and conceptualizing my universe. I've realized that I actually DO have a really great core group of friends. I think I've realized that I'm no longer aligning myself with people that would ultimately let me down or really not want to build a genuine connection with me. I don't really count SAS (high school) as much in that, simply because that was a life unto itself which will always be a 4 year segment of my being that I can never return to but will always be so fundamentally a part of me. But I remember that up until then I would choose friends that seemed to be the right people, but who ultimately weren't always in the end the right ones. But, here and now I feel I've really embraced with open arms a group of people that are so beautiful, witty, and kind. I am incredibly grateful for them, and it's made me realize that I am OK with being here at W&M. It's been a really hard road, and there are still a lot of other issues, but the people are getting me by, and that right now is the most important thing. Part of The New Phase is being more social, and much less reclusive. I'm trying to throw myself out there more-- to say yes when people ask me to do things. To pick up when people call me and not screen every call. I'm trying to be better, and I really feel like there have been some amazingly positive results.

One of those, and one of the most important, is that I've started to date the first guy that I've ever really dated at W&M. Up until then I was very much resigned to not dating on campus, and I had really grown accustomed to it, and had made a semblance of peace with it. But dating Tom has really opened my eyes to a lot of things about myself. I consider this the first functional relationship I've had since dating Jessica in high school. Which therefore means it's the first functional relationship I've entered into with another guy. I realize that I've put up so many walls that have precluded me from fully engaging in a thoughtful and reciprocal emotional exchange with another guy, as some major defense mechanisms. I'm trying to tear those down now, and to have the desire to do so is really inspiring. In the beginning I was full of a grand sense of possibility and excitement about what the future would hold, and I realized that that was exactly how I was in the beginning of all my past relationships. But I've actually moved past that now. I've transitioned into a new space which is a place I've never really reached before. To be sort of crude in my explanation of it (simply because I am still trying to fully understand it myself), I feel it's that I'm realizing that I can go without thinking about him all the time and still be OK. It's not complacency or a retreat of emotions; rather, I'm starting to understand that it doesn't mean I don't have to see him or talk to him, but just that I'm not so fixated upon it. There's a bit of a distance, but I translate that distance into a benefit of the relationship. I don't see it as negative, but that I'm starting to get to the point that I am letting myself be in a relationship but not have it be emotionally wrecking. I'm really not explaining this well, but when I see him I still get a rush of happiness and I involuntarily smile. We spent all day together yesterday, and we laughed in such a genuine and authentic way-- a way that I've never really ever felt before. It's the acknowledgment that I'm letting him in closer than I ever have with guys or girls before in relationships, and I'm not so wholly wrapped up in worrying that I'm going to get hurt. There's a calm there now which is very invigorating.

I've also start to begin to understand something that my Mom and Dad have always said to me-- that a relationship that is meaningful is probably one of the hardest things, if not the hardest things to do. In their case, they're discussing their marriage, as that is their collective point of reference, but I'm slowly getting what they've said. Tom and my relationship IS a lot of work. I have to convince myself that it's a good idea to go over to TDX and spend time with him and his friends in HIS space, because there is still a big part of me that freaks out about having to be so social and open. I still get those pangs of the recent me that says that it'd be safer and better if I just stayed home. I have to also tell myself that he actually does like me-- that it's not a mirage, that it's not a fantasy. I'm starting to get what it means to let yourself be liked, and maybe that's because I'm starting to do that with myself.

But I realize that there are issues, and I'm beginning to build a collection of tools to deal with them. If there's one major thing this relationship has taught me, it's patience. It's knowing that we are very much two different people, with very different interests and groups of friends. Sometimes I look at Tom and I just am so completely baffled-- I don't get why we're together or what the draw is. But then I step back from that and realize that it just IS. There doesn't always have to be a tidy logic for everything. He's making me a more honest person with myself and with him, because I also am getting to know that that really is the only way to sustain a healthy relationship. I'm trying to be better about letting him in and also working to fix the issues that make it rough. But I realize that he's making me WANT to fix them, and I've never really felt that before.

Really, what it comes down to is the end is much much greater than the means. It is worth it because it is. The bumps along the way are bumps, and they need to be paved out. But it's not something to run away from. It's learning to embrace the cracks in the road, and keep on driving.

And that's a good place to end. It's been a great weekend-- from throwing a really fun and slightly crazy party here on Friday, to the TDX VIP party last night, and then shopping with Dan today-- it's been a good weekend. From here on out it's going to get really busy and crazy, but my head is, for the most part, on straight, and I'm ready to start wearing polo shirts and shorts again.

We Are Drawn To The Rhythm

There are 2 competing blog posts right now in my head-- one that is full of excitement, happiness, and vibrancy over many of the events of the past two weeks (also alluded to in the previous post), and one is heavier, slightly tragic, and a response to political controversy.

The second one has won out, for right now. I feel like I need to get this off my chest before I can really move forward.

On Tuesday, February 12, 2008, The College of William & Mary President Gene Ray Nichol resigned from his position in response to the Board of Visitors decision to deny the renewal of his contract after its June expiration. Rector of the Board of Visitors Michael K. Powell, in an email to the W&M community, supported the Board's decision by claiming that, "After an exhaustive review, however, the Board believed there were a number of problems that were keeping the College from reaching its full potential and concluded that those issues could not be effectively remedied without a change of leadership." He continued by repudiating the assertion of ideology being the catalyst for Nichol's removal; rather, Powell stated that neither ideology nor one single public controversy motivated the board to forge its decree against Nichol, both administratively and emotionally.

Gene Nichol sent an email to the community (which mind you was received before Powell's response) delineating his reasons for resigning early from the Presidency, rather than carry out his full term. Instead of acting merely as a lame duck (can anyone say President Bush?) over the next few months, Nichol decided to step down from his position, protect his family, and leave with the dignity that he could salvage after the brutal attacks of the past few years.

For those of you who are fairly unaware of what exactly has been going on at W&M over the past 3 years to spawn such a turn of events, here's a quick rundown:

1. Removal of the Wren Cross from the Chapel in the Wren Building
2. Sex Worker's Art Show (Description of Show)
3. NCAA decision regarding Tribe logo

Before I go on, I'm going to post Gene Nichol's email that he sent to the W&M community. This will, hopefully, provide a good context and insight into his perpespective:

---

Dear Members of the William & Mary Community:

I was informed by the Rector on Sunday, after our Charter Day celebrations, that my contract will not be renewed in July. Appropriately, serving the College in the wake of such a decision is beyond my imagining. Accordingly, I have advised the Rector, and announce today, effective immediately, my resignation as president of the College of William & Mary. I return to the faculty of the school of law to resume teaching and writing.

I have made four decisions, or sets of decisions, during my tenure that have stirred ample controversy.

First, as is widely known, I altered the way a Christian cross was displayed in a public facility, on a public university campus, in a chapel used regularly for secular College events -- both voluntary and mandatory -- in order to help Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, and other religious minorities feel more meaningfully included as members of our broad community. The decision was likely required by any effective notion of separation of church and state. And it was certainly motivated by the desire to extend the College’s welcome more generously to all. We are charged, as state actors, to respect and accommodate all religions, and to endorse none. The decision did no more.

Second, I have refused, now on two occasions, to ban from the campus a program funded by our student-fee-based, and student-governed, speaker series. To stop the production because I found it offensive, or unappealing, would have violated both the First Amendment and the traditions of openness and inquiry that sustain great universities. It would have been a knowing, intentional denial of the constitutional rights of our students. It is perhaps worth recalling that my very first act as president of the College was to swear on oath not to do so.

Third, in my early months here, recognizing that we likely had fewer poor, or Pell eligible, students than any public university in America, and that our record was getting worse, I introduced an aggressive Gateway scholarship program for Virginians demonstrating the strongest financial need. Under its terms, resident students from families earning $40,000 a year or less have 100% of their need met, without loans. Gateway has increased our Pell eligible students by 20% in the past two years.

Fourth, from the outset of my presidency, I have made it clear that if the College is to reach its aspirations of leadership, it is essential that it become a more diverse, less homogeneous institution. In the past two and half years we have proceeded, with surprising success, to assure that is so. Our last two entering classes have been, by good measure, the most diverse in the College’s history. We have, in the past two and a half years, more than doubled our number of faculty members of color. And we have more effectively integrated the administrative leadership of William & Mary. It is no longer the case, as it was when I arrived, that we could host a leadership retreat inviting the 35 senior administrators of the College and see, around the table, no persons of color.

As the result of these decisions, the last sixteen months have been challenging ones for me and my family. A committed, relentless, frequently untruthful and vicious campaign -- on the internet and in the press -- has been waged against me, my wife and my daughters. It has been joined, occasionally, by members of the Virginia House of Delegates -- including last week’s steps by the Privileges and Elections Committee to effectively threaten Board appointees if I were not fired over decisions concerning the Wren Cross and the Sex Workers’ Art Show. That campaign has now been rendered successful. And those same voices will no doubt claim victory today.

It is fair to say that, over the course of the past year, I have, more than once, considered either resigning my post or abandoning the positions I have taken on these matters -- which I believe crucial to the College’s future. But as I did so, I thought of other persons as well.

I thought of those students, staff, faculty, and alumni, not of the religious majority, who have told me of the power of even small steps, like the decision over display of the Wren Cross, to recognize that they, too, are full members of this inspiring community.

I have thought of those students, faculty, and staff who, in the past three years, have joined us with explicit hopes and assurances that the College could become more effectively opened to those of different races, backgrounds, and economic circumstances -- and I have thought of my own unwillingness to voluntarily abandon their efforts, and their prospects, in mid-stream.

I have thought of faculty and staff members here who have, for decades, believed that the College has, unlike many of its competitors, failed to place the challenge of becoming an effectively diverse institution center stage -- and who, as a result, have been strongly encouraged by the progress of the last two years.

I have thought of the students who define and personify the College’s belief in community, in service, in openness, in idealism -- those who make William & Mary a unique repository of the American promise. And I have believed it unworthy, regardless of burden, to break our bonds of partnership.

And I have thought, perhaps most acutely, of my wife and three remarkable daughters. I’ve believed it vital to understand, with them, that though defeat may at times come, it is crucial not to surrender to the loud and the vitriolic and the angry -- just because they are loud and vitriolic and angry. Recalling the old Methodist hymn that commands us “not to be afraid to defend the weak because of the anger of the strong,” nor “afraid to defend the poor because of the anger of the rich.” So I have sought not to yield. The Board’s decision, of course, changes that.

To my faculty colleagues, who have here created a distinctive culture of engaged, student-centered teaching and research, I will remember your strong and steadfast support until the end of my days.

To those staff members and alumni of this accomplished and heartening community, who have struggled to make the William & Mary of the future worthy of its distinctive past, I regret that I will no longer be part of that uplifting cause. But I have little doubt where the course of history lies.

And, finally, to the life-changing and soul-inspiring students of the College, the largest surprise of my professional life, those who have created in me a surpassing faith not only in an institution, but in a generation, I have not words to touch my affections. My belief in your promise has been the central and defining focus of my presidency. The too-quick ending of our work together is among the most profound and wrenching disappointments in my life. Your support, particularly of the past few weeks and days, will remain the strongest balm I’ve known. I am confident of the triumphs and contributions the future holds for women and men of such power and commitment.

I add only that, on Sunday, the Board of Visitors offered both my wife and me substantial economic incentives if we would agree “not to characterize [the non-renewal decision] as based on ideological grounds” or make any other statement about my departure without their approval. Some members may have intended this as a gesture of generosity to ease my transition. But the stipulation of censorship made it seem like something else entirely. We, of course, rejected the offer. It would have required that I make statements I believe to be untrue and that I believe most would find non-credible. I’ve said before that the values of the College are not for sale. Neither are ours.

Mine, to be sure, has not been a perfect presidency. I have sometimes moved too swiftly, and perhaps paid insufficient attention to the processes and practices of a strong and complex university. A wiser leader would likely have done otherwise. But I have believed, and attempted to explain, from even before my arrival on the campus, that an emboldened future for the College of William & Mary requires wider horizons, more fully opened doors, a broader membership, and a more engaging clash of perspectives than the sometimes narrowed gauges of the past have allowed. I step down today believing it still.

I have also hoped that this noble College might one day claim not only Thomas Jefferson’s pedigree, but his political philosophy as well. It was Jefferson who argued for a “wall of separation between church and state” -- putting all religious sects “on an equal footing.” He expressly rejected the claim that speech should be suppressed because “it might influence others to do evil,” insisting instead that “we have nothing to fear from the demoralizing reasonings of some if others are left free to demonstrate their errors.” And he averred powerfully that “worth and genius” should “be sought from every condition” of society.

The College of William & Mary is a singular place of invention, rigor, commitment, character, and heart. I have been proud that even in a short term we have engaged a marvelous new Chancellor, successfully concluded a hugely-promising capital campaign, secured surprising support for a cutting-edge school of education and other essential physical facilities, seen the most vibrant applicant pools in our history, fostered path-breaking achievements in undergraduate research, more potently internationalized our programs and opportunities, led the nation in an explosion of civic engagement, invigorated the fruitful marriage of athletics and academics, lifted the salaries of our lowest-paid employees, and even hosted a queen. None of this compares, though, to the magic and the inspiration of the people -- young and older -- who Glenn and I have come to know here. You will remain always and forever at the center of our hearts.

Go Tribe. And hark upon the gale.

Gene Nichol
---

President Nichol's resignation has caused uproar, frustration, depression, anger, bitterness, rejoice, bliss, ecstasy, resentment, and happiness throughout the campus, depending on the side of the issue upon which one falls. There have been student and faculty-led strikes, peaceful talks, candle-light vigils, speeches upon speeches, letter-writing, musical performances, and open discussion, all of which lead to a greater depth of knowledge about the subject, and also breed open-minded thought and empathy. However, there have also been plenty of negative interactions rampant throughout campus. I think this is the closest I've seen this campus act as if it were still in the 1960s/70s protest paradigm. One of my professors is a veteran of the 1968 Columbia University student strike, and he said that this is the closest we've ever gotten as a campus to that militant yet purposeful radicalism.

I've tried really hard to not inject my own personal and political beliefs about the events into this post, in hopes to elucidate the implicit problems of the situation and its ramifications. But I can't help but profess how deeply troubling, depressing, and affecting Nichol's resignation has been for me. I was talking to my parents about the whole thing, and they told me that both of them had had a conversation when I was deciding upon college during my senior year of high school that there would come a time where I would have to face the reality of Virginia politics (since W&M is a state school), and that I would be forced to come face-to-face with conservative figureheads, in one way or another. They knew if I chose to go to Middlebury in VT, or Amherst in MA or UPenn in Philadelphia that I most likely would avoid the Conservative regime in its most distilled form, and that I could slide through 4 years, maintaining a belief of personal political involvement to the point of a shared elitism, simply because I would be in an environment that fostered, and quite frankly, perpetuated my political stance.

What transpired on campus over the past week is so telling of the narrow-minded, implicitly bigoted, emotionally hollow Conservative and Christian ideologies that have swept the nation over the past 8 years in the wake of Bush's entrance into office. The rise of radical and fundamentalist groups in areas of the South and Midwest point to the rise of what is, in my mind, a new shade of de-militarized neo-Fascism, in that there is such a authoritarian religious ideology, which is in turn channeled into a political mass movement that negates women's rights, gay rights, gender equality, liberalism, social harmony and open-minded discussion. Instead, they've replaced dialogue with proselytizing, with a preacher figure wielding a seemingly boundless autocratic power. It's hegemony in new form-- they've appropriated the Bible to provide a code of ethics, yet they've completely missed the point that Jesus is trying to make in his parables-- "BE A GOOD, KIND PERSON. Don't fuck shit up and expect others to clean it up-- be the best you can be and treat others with respect." I went to church every single Sunday of my childhood, and I was head Sacristant, Choir member, and church-goer for all four years of high school, and not once in my whole Christian career did I encounter these supposed "values" espoused by radical Christian groups. I was always taught that Christian values were simply to maximize one's inner potential and to be as kind to others as possible. Never once was I made victim to the bigoted and slanderous diatribes of the fundamentalists.

One may wonder why I'm choosing to target the rise of Christian nationalism in discussing the events that transpired in relation to Gene Nichol-- it's because I see their influence as the defining reason why this country has lost its moral equilibrium. The fact that my father claims that to be a Republican now is not at all close to be a Republican twenty years ago says something-- the fact that he voted Democrat in the last election because he knew that the Republican party has divided down the lines of fiscal/social conservatives and radical Christian figureheads is telling. No longer can one call themselves a moderate Conservative-- there is a giant schism between the neo-Conservative and the traditionalist. The spread of Christian nationalism has signaled to me a poisoning of our own nationalism, of our own national identity. No longer can a liberal be called patriotic, according to Christian nationalists, because they question the war in Iraq. Ani DiFranco, in her song Alla This, claims, "I cannot support the troops, because every last one of them's being duped." The idea that one saying they can't support the troops is an attack on America and a signal of Communist rhetorical movement is just crazy-- because one is not able to align themselves with a fucking CRAZY and unbelievably idiotic war does not mean that they're not patriotic.

The spread of this hateful religious and political ideology is simply a signal to the major problem with American politics that is typified in Gene Nichol's situation. Because he removed a cross from a space in which it had a very short historical significance, or because he allowed students to have their First Amendment rights in holding a show that gave voices to workers of the sex trade, he all of a sudden became the next vendetta of the Fundamentalists. He became a target-- somewhere to pump their energy into getting him removed. Because, God forbid, in an institution of higher learning we have diversity of THOUGHT. Because, oh no, we couldn't possibly allow anything to contradict the reactionary taint of the Commonwealth.

My friend Sam has in his profile a fantastic quote by William Allen White: "If our colleges and universities do not breed men who riot, who rebel, who attack life with all the youthful vision and vigor, then there is something wrong with our colleges. The more riots that come out of our college campuses, the better the world for tomorrow." I realize this perhaps typifies my own liberal radicalism, and I also realize that my own writing in this post has been somewhat devoid of my own personal emotional voice, but I'm just so frustrated, angry, and bitter about the situation that I am hiding behind words. I'm hiding because I'm trying to regain a sense of meaning and hope. I'm trying to keep my head above water, without losing too much of myself in the process. I want to still believe. I need to still believe.

I'm aware of the possibility that each subsequent day will incrementally diminish the fire inside of me about this issue. But, in the face of apathy, I need to remember. I need to fight. I can no longer sit on the sidelines and watch this country be divided by a poisonous collective in the guise of Christian warriors. I will stand up for the Constitution, open-minded dialogue, and inalienable human rights.

Fuck you, Board of Visitors. Fuck you, Commonwealth of Virginia. Fuck you, Fred Phelps.

Now let's talk.

I Think You Should Learn to Dream, Just Like the Dreamers Do

Today is the Big Day.

It's been a while since I've updated, and a lot has certainly happened. It always seems that the times when I should write are the exact moments where I can't find enough time or concentration to put my thoughts into words. I should probably work on that.

OK-- so I'll go through the big news---

2 months ago I noticed that Dar Williams was scheduled to play the Kimball Theatre in Williamsburg, VA on February 7, 2008. The Kimball is a four minute walk from my apartment in The Burg, and literally right across the street from The College of William & Mary. Not only was I so excited about the prospect of Dar coming here (which is a long story in and of itself-- one that I will discuss in a later post), but I had a strange thought-- how cool would it be if I could get The Cleftomaniacs (the a cappella group for which I'm the musical director) to be her opening act?

Over the last 2.5 months, I've made calls to Dar's booking agents, local agencies in and around Williamsburg, the Kimball, and finally got in touch with 92.3FM The Tide Radio-- the official sponsors of the show. I put in a formal request to their Programs Director about the Cleftos opening for Dar. I didn't hear back for quite some time, so about three weeks ago I called the Director to continue my inquiry. She actually got back to me rather quickly and said that the email I had sent got a bit lost in the shuffle, but that she loved the idea. Because of this, I sent her a few mp3s from our new CD, our website, and some brief biographical information. She loved what I sent her, got in touch with Dar's manager, and 2 weeks ago let me know that everyone had acquiesced to the Cleftos being the official opening act for Dar Williams on February 7, 2008.

I cannot describe in words the ecstatic feeling I have had the past two weeks because of this. Dar Williams is one of my favorite performers EVER. I have seen her in concert 7 times, met her 4 times, and not too sound too sappy but her music and spirit were one of my guiding lights during my teenage years-- she was incredibly inspirational and provided me with a lot of insight and hope when I didn't think there was much to be had. To think that now my a cappella group is opening for her-- that we will share the same stage-- that our paths will be together musically and professionally for a brief moment-- is absolutely incredible.

It's interesting for me to think about this, because in the past year I have fulfilled a lot of my major dreams that I have built over the past ten years. Beginning in high school, I started REALLY singing, and then had the opportunity to travel to Italy with my concert choir and sing in front of Leonardo da Vinci's "The Last Supper" in the Santa Maria delle Grazie in Milan. I became a voice for LGBT issues, students, and rights by being head of the Gay Straight Alliance at St. Andrew's, which as a young teenager I felt was one of the scariest things in the world (wow, actually being yourself! but still-- as a 17 year old at St. Andrew's, being out was possibly one of the hardest things I could imagine). Then this fall I (basically) took a good three weeks out of school to follow Tori Amos around the East Coast and Midwest on her American Doll Posse World Tour. She is my favorite singer/performer/musician in the world, and the experience of being "on tour" with her was transcendent. It was one of the most important experiences in my life, for so many reasons. I should probably write them down soon while they're still fresh in my mind....

It's just that I feel like I am finally in a place where I can be comfortable with owning both my strengths and weaknesses. I think the reason for this is that I'm beginning to make good choices that really help me build constructively. I am going to keep making missteps, but I really feel that I've reached a point of clarity for which I've never been privy before. I used to think that true happiness was an esoteric construct that dogmatic figures used in order to perpetuate a supposedly implicit power differential between "good" and "bad." I thought it was in idea rather than a potential state of being. And I am not saying that I've completely flipped these ideas, or that I've abandoned wholly my previous beliefs, but that I realize that I have been so fulfilled, ecstatic and blissfully happy in the past two weeks and I cannot deny that in a metaphysical emotional postulation.

In other news, the Indigo Girls cancelled/postponed their show in Richmond last night due to illness from the flu-- I swear the flu is taking out EVERYONE in the world right now. Classes are going very well, and I continually am excited by the prospect of reading more, learning more, and doing more with art history. I'm in a really good place with a boy on campus right now-- after basically vowing, or rather conceding, to not date on campus, I've sort of abandoned that whole thing. I feel very good about how it's going right now-- I haven't felt this giddy in a long while. I've had a really good time with my friends recently-- I think my decision to spend more time on campus and less time by myself has really paid off. Oh, and I think I've checked out about 11 books on Cindy Sherman and her photography from the past 30 years. Yeah....

Also, Joan and I skipped some of our classes yesterday and went to the Jamestown Beach. It was 75 degrees, sunny, and stunningly gorgeous. Somehow we got the nerve, or stupidity, to go swimming in the water, and I have to tell you I have rarely felt water THAT COLD. It was so cold that in the split second you take to say to yourself that the water WILL get warmer if you just stay in longer you immediately realize that NO, this water will NOT get any warmer and that you now cannot feel your feet. It was so brilliantly invigorating. I think that might be the earliest (February) that I've swam in the Mid-Atlantic. The whole experience was so incredibly freeing, healthy, and beautiful. Sometimes a little irreverence in the face of academia is absolutely necessary.

So, things are good. Really good. Now it's time to get ready for this show tonight.....!!!