Matt and Trav are amazing people. And yes, there’s the part of me that lauds their accomplishments and wants to see them do tremendous work as scholars and teachers and researchers. And I can’t deny that I feel some sort of parallel excitement that I’m standing next to them while they shine brightly and that maybe I’m helping them to do that through encouragement and such.

But I’m increasingly remembering that they are part of my family and that I need them, and friends like them, in my life to give me a sense of completeness and value. I need to remember, from time to time, that the tenuous relationships I create with students who come and go quickly are ultimately not self-sustaining in the way that friend-family relationships are, and that I need these other relationships. I consider myself lucky that people put up with my crazy, and at the moment, as I ride the bus back to the Detroit Airport, I feel especially grateful for the love, support, kindness, and true family spirit that Matt and Trav have shown me.

I think I’m going to need my Monday and Tuesday fall break to recover from trying to hang with the kids this week. Wonderful as this has been, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, I’m just about wiped out …

When I was in graduate school, I once told a female friend that I missed hugs, to which she replied, “I hug you all the time; are my hugs not good enough?” and I tried to explain that what I really meant were hugs by male friends, which are always always different from hugs from female friends.  Those lady hugs are lovely, don’t get me wrong, and I enjoy them, but they’re different. I’m not sure how to explain it beyond saying that they’re different and that I need both.

Having gay friends is a bit like that.  From the moment I landed in Detroit, there has been a non-stop party (even while working) with Matt and Trav; there’s an easy being when I’m with them. We joke and make looks; we say things that we probably wouldn’t say in other contexts; we know that our immediate audience is going to “get it” … and that is enjoyable. I don’t have that in Greenville. I also, to be fair, probably haven’t sought it out, but that’s a different story / issue for a different time.

This morning, I was sitting at the table working and Matt woke up in the living room, rolled over, and quoted AbFab, which started a full 30 minutes of AbFab between the two of us. Then, we had to get online. Now, we’re determined to spend a few hours this weekend watching Eddie and Patsy. There was an entire conversation in the room this morning that was effortless and one completely in quotations and allusions.

That’s probably my favorite monologue from AbFab, from the episode “Poor”.  I once showed it in class, the whole episode, and the students looked at me as though I’d lost my mind: “There is nothing funny about that show,” they let me know. Whatevs … I think they meant to say that there is nothing not funny about that show.

Regardless, it has been joyous to be with my gays this week and to enjoy that easy camaraderie that comes with that space. Makes me want to return often …

And I miss that so much. In grad school, at least for me, despite the abject poverty of it all, there was also a wonderful excitement about reading something new or working on a new project, of listening to a visiting professor or attending a lecture.  Surely not always, but it felt electric and alive. I felt some of that here the last day or so. So much of my time is now spent administering something, sitting on one committee or another, being frustrated by colleagues who make ridiculously bad pedagogical choices and then seem shocked when they’re called on the carpet for their own idiocy.  I’m reminded of my dear colleague’s essay “Administrating Ourselves to Death” … that’s what it feels like a lot of the time, except for on Wednesday night when I go teach and get a little energy again.

So thanks Matt & Trav, and others I’ve met, for reminding me of the joy of reading and thinking and talking …

This morning, day two, will begin with me working on chapter one of the novel. Rachel has said that she’s attempting 10,000 words this week; I can’t imagine getting that much writing done, but I’m going to make an effort at getting at least 5,000 words. Right now, chapters are averaging around 3,000 - 4,000 words; I’m not sure if that’s normal or not for a YA novel, but we’ll see how it goes. Wish me luck!

But musical tastes aside, I still like to think it.  When my washing machine quit working last week, I wondered if I could fix it, but was resigned to the fact that I’d never even see the inside of a washing machine and so probably not. Then today, after a trip to the laundry mat, while throwing the whites in drier at home, I thought, I wonder what it looks like in there.  Grabbed the toolboxes and in 5 minutes I had the console apart to see if I could replace the timer mechanism that seemed “broken”.  Turns out, “broken” meant that the plastic casing, which was secured to the panel by a single screw, had broken and the screw could no longer hold it to the panel, which mean the knob couldn’t protrude enough to move in and out, and thus turn the machine on or off.

So I thought, “let’s find one of these online and fix this thing!”  Let me tell you: that timer contraption is $120.00! WTF? For $400 more I could get a brand new front-loading machine (which I want anyway, so this was not encouraging me to fix the one I have). Then I thought, “hmm, what if I …” and I did. I went to Lowe’s, bought a large washer that would pressure-anchor the remaining piece of plastic to the console.  Put it all back together and washed a load of bathmats. Yeah, I’m pretty handy …

Of course, then I come downstairs and remember that I’ve spread out a Simplicity pattern for a child’s Halloween costume so that I can get the fabric and “notions” and begin work on it. So that’s me: repair washing machine, sew a child’s Halloween costume. It’s good not to be condemned by gender stereotypes … this way, I can just do any and everything …

I wish maybe I’d had a little less beer and we’d seen it earlier b/c I started to fade at one point, but all in all, great movie. Especially the cameo with Bill Murray playing himself. Hilarious!  And I know everyone is quoting Woody H’s “Nut up or shut up!” but I thought the best line in the movie was from Jessie E when he offered us a simple but poignant “Fuck you, Clown!”  Great timing …

No spoilers for the movie, but it was great. I wish I were more knowledgeable of the zombie oeuvre, but I’m not, so I can’t really compare it …

Given that she’s a ginger herself, I think Sarah will understand my needs somewhat intuitively and we’ll be fast friends. Call me, Sarah!

Which I was reminded of again listening to the Girls in concert.  The best part of the night may have been when they returned to the second CD and performed “Kid Fears” using Matt Nathanson (who opened for them) in the Michael Stipe role.  Fantastic … Matt even gesticulated a bit like Michael, so I found him a pleasing, if imperfect, stand in.

Listening to the Indigo Girls remains, for me, a bit like snuggling under a familiar and favorite quilt: there’s something of the hand-made quality about it, something early and real; there’s a familiar smell (lesbian jokes not needed here) that evokes home and comfort (or in my case, college undergrad years and comfort); and there’s a moment of peace that can feel “like every war’s behind us” … that’s not bad for a night under the stars.

From their most recent CD, here’s “Salty South” …

I’d love to see the Girls perform with the Avett Brothers …

But perhaps the best part of the weekend’s writing was that I finally got the chance to write a draft of my children’s book about Max(imilian Wilde Thing). I’m hopeful that I can get a good artist and a publisher, but of course, I’m completely ignorant of how to publish anything that’s not scholarship.

So if you’re a publisher and you’re wonderfully respectable and you want to publish the best children’s book written in years, just let me know …