Today marks the end of my first week at USC. So far, so good. The teachers seem both friendly and knowledgeable…except for one who seems very knowledgeable but not overly concerned with being friendly so much as incredibly honest—which I find a more than equitable trade.
She’s 84 years old, with an IMDB record a mile long. I believe some of my classmates are put off by her criticisms of both our work and demeanor. For example:
(pointing to Brian) “Ohh! What a LOVELY view I just had of Brian’s uvula! I’m interested—raise your hand if your parents never taught you to cover your mouth when you yawn!”

But having worked for some really cranky people in my life, I am less disturbed by such pronouncements, and find more than just compensation in declarations such as:

(pulling a tissue from her bag), “I drool. This is because I’m old. It’s a condition known as pytalia that occurs as you get older, which is why you so often see older people doing this.” (dabs the corners of her mouth)
(looking out to audience).
“I’m telling you this because when I was your age, nobody warned me what was coming!”

I'm a Trojan, Baby!

So I went to the USC grad student Barbecue/orientation yesterday. Approaching the field I immediately noticed a line of students the length of two city blocks. Wow, was this the check in line? I started rifling through my back for the online confirmation later I'd been told I MUST BRING for admittance, along with a picture I.D. and comfortable walking shoes. I'd spent a good 45 minutes the night before wrestling with foreign printers and internet connections in order to print the confirmation

"What's the line for, dude?" I asked before entering the line. (For some reason since returning to L.A., I've been saying "dude" a lot. Mostly just in my head, but still, it's there.)
"Food."
"Oh. Where do you check in?"

There were several, much shorter check-in lines. When I got to the front I gave them my name. No one asked for my printed confirmation or I.D. before handing me a thick packet of materials and a course catalogue the size and weight of a phone book for a large metropolitan area.

I started for the end of the field/food line, but on my way was happy to spot my classmate Conor. Conor is already one of my favorite classmates, not least because he is 6’6” and thus easy to spot in a crowd. He’s also from Ireland, so possesses a pleasurable accent which lends him an air of intelligence and amicability. He was with a German guy named Peter who is studying computer programming—specifically robots.

“Cool,” I said “I just started watching the Sarah Connor Chronicles!”
He looked at me blankly.

“So what do your robots do?”
The line passed quickly as he explained about “mirror neurons” and physical learning, and how it can be used to teach a robot to pick up a cup.

My veggie-dog was a little scary looking, but not untasty. Over lunch, Conor and Peter told me about the special international orientation, which had begun that morning, five hours ealier. They had had both a campus tour and some rudimentary indoctrination in the form of learning and practicing the "Trojan Cheer" for football games. As the lunch hour came to an end--a mere seven minutes after I'd finally sat down with food--some deans gave short speeches, and then dismissed us for our afternoon of hour-long “workshop of interest.” We could choose from among a list that included “Library Survival and Research,” “A Walking Tour of Campus,” and “Academic Success.” Interestingly the “Academic Success” workshops were limited to U.S. Citizens only, which felt a little embarrassing and inhospitable. Even though I have little clout with the USC administration, I somehow felt I should apologize or explain, No offense. They’re just feeling a little cowed by the Olympics.

“You foreigners,” I said, “With your serious study habits and work ethics! We can’t afford to give you tips for success, too!”
Just then we were joined by another group of film school students.
“Hey,” said Ryan to Conor. “I’m going to that “Academic Success” workshop, then I’m going to tell you how much you missed! I've seen Ryan on a couple of occasions now, he's quick-witted and easy to like. I might be prejudiced because he’s from Indiana, and spent time in Chicago before heading to the west coast.

“This is Peter,” said Conor, “He makes robots!”
“Cool,” said Ryan, “How do you feel about EVIL?!”
Peter looked at him blankly.

The group of us decided to forego academic success in favor of the library, but arrived to be told the session was already full, we would have to wait until the next hour. Who knew that so much of going to USC was going to be like a trip to the Cheese Cake Factory?

I'm hanging out on the sofa at my tenant's apartment waiting for the delivery guys to show up with a new dishwasher. The "window" is between 8am and 12 pm, so I've been here since 8:00, but don't expect them until 11:58.

This is the apartment we could be living in if we kicked our tenants out, which we are trying not to do. They really like it here and hope to stay, whereas I have very subdued feelings about the place, and I don't think Paul has ever shown much enthusiasm for it. I absolutely adored it when I first bought and had it all to myself and for that reason I sill love it. I still feel peaceful and protected when i am here alone-- but I don't have a strong vision of me and Paul living here together. Maybe it feels like moving back into the apartment is like trying to move back to a certain time in my life, which seems like an ill-fated idea.

On the other hand--the rental market here is very, very tough right now. We looked for a week straight and found three possibilities--all slightly above our desired price range, then Paul had to go back to Tallahassee for his film, which brought all progress to a halt. He returns tonight, so I'm sure we will resume this weekend.

I've been very lucky that both my siblings have left town consecutively, giving me almost three weeks of not just shelter--but of well-appointed abiding--with comfortable beds and space to spread out the contents of my rolling duffel. But I will be glad to find a place where we can unpack our boxes. After all my file cleaning, the forwarded mail is piling up at various addresses as the files sit in boxes. I'd like to darken my eyebrows, but the supplies for this are in a box. the other day I gave in and bought nail polish remover, since mine is also in a box. Constantly we need to print items, but the printer is in a box and we don't know which one.

Everytime we move I am struck by needing certain things, and also by how we have so many things that I never think to need at all.

Cali, Cars, Consumerism

I’ve been back in Los Angeles for just over two weeks, and it’s starting to come back to me—the washed out flatness of the sky and the gritty square pastel buildings with garish signage. How even though the colors feel de-saturated, the light feels glaring as you drive—and how it feels like you are always driving, or planning to drive, or planning to avoid driving.

This week I am driving in style. The guy the rental company hired to change the oil on the economy car I had reserved never showed up, so they upgraded me to a Ford Fusion with leather seats and V6 engine. It rides quiet and smooth and the sound system is good. For four days I left the radio station on their choice—"Power 106, where hip-hop lives". I haven’t listened to hip-hop for awhile, so for that long their play list was novel—I even appreciated its repetitiveness. I can now recognize the hookiest songs--"Hypnotized" by Gemini, "Dangerous" by Kardinal Offishal, and "American Boy" by Estelle. Today, out of curiosity I finally succumbed to the ubiquitous billboards exhorting me to check out what Hannah, Miley and the Cheetah Girls are up to on Radio Disney (1110 AM). It’s an interesting mix of songs that sound vaguely familiar—perhaps like Avril Lavigne, Michelle Branch and some rap artists I can’t identify—singing kind of vague PG-rated lyrics interspersed with commercials for back to school supplies and Disney videos. The DJs interview women who say “awesome” a lot…like if a caller asks “What’s it like to work with Joe Jonas?”
The reply is, “Just awesome. He’s awesome—a great guy. We had an awesome time.”

I’m also remembering what it is to drive suffused with a kind of pervasive anxiety—it has something to do with watching people and places through the glass. Those who look spiffy in their Audi’s and BMW’s, and those who look hot and ragged waiting at the bus-stops, walking along the ugly sidewalks that are more driveway than walkway. It is only natural to wonder “Which are we destined to be?” Realizing that most of the people here have aspirations to be one, but end up the other.

What is the best antidote to money worries? Strangely enough—buying something. Today I bought shoes to replace the raggedy sandals I’ve been wearing. I definitely felt a little rush of pleasure, I could feel my anxiety subside. I think I read something about that having something to do with endorphins. Or maybe it's just comforting to find something I wanted and be able to afford it—unlike housing. I think that must be the motivation for a lot of things people buy at various economic levels. “I can’t afford a house, but I can get this flash car.” “I can’t afford a flash car, but I can get this i-Phone.” “I can’t swing an i-Phone, but I can have this camera, or these cute shoes, or this fancy cup of tea.”

My new shoes are are cute. And comfortable. I’d post a picture, but the low-priced digital camera I ordered on Amazon hasn’t arrived yet. In the meantime, I think I'll get another chai green tea latte.