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*waves*
Unfortunately,
I've got no good images to share. Considered taking a picture while in
the plane, looking out the window... but felt that's been overdone. In
reterospect, I really wish I had taken a few shots of us coming for a
landing.
But let me
back up a bit. After running around the apartment and getting everything
packed, I lug all my crap from my apartment to North Avenue. Normally,
I'd call to ensure that a cab would arrive to take me to the airport (I
felt lazy, and didn't want to spend extra time on the train). But today,
I figured hell - I'll let the Fates decide and just test my luck on the
street. Before I am even able to cross over to the other side of North
Avenue, I spot a cab and he pulls up to let me in. Rock.
In the car,
I strike up a conversation with the cabbie. After we talk about Alabama,
he finds out that I'm going to teach a class here. "A writer?"
he asked, looking back at me through the mirror. "I'm a writer too.
A writer and a musician." He then tells me he's published two books
and put out an album. He also goes on to talk about how hard it was for
him to start writing when he was younger, in his late 20's. But after
he got older and had more world experience, he described writing "like
a faucet." In short, he felt that he really found his voice.
"It's
not me when I write," he explained to me. "My voice, well...
it's not me. It's more like my vehicle."
It's at this
point that I truly notice, for the first time, that he's driving me to
the airport in his vehicle.
He genuiely
was a cool guy. Travelled an awful lot. He said that he was struggling,
for the longest time, deciding between moving to Europe or moving back
out to the Southwest. He loved both places, he claimed, and didn't know
what to do. He said that the last time he was in Europe, he found himself
on a train... looking out at the scenery passing by, and realized... he'd
miss college football too much. Decision made.
At some point,
somehow, while we're talking about immediately writing down ideas and
recording thoughts, he somehow divulges that he was an abused child. It
was a bit strange, to have this 40-something grungy hippie guy lay this
kind of intimate information out of nowhere. But we talked through it,
and some strange part of me thinks that that may have helped him, in some
small way.
Before he
dropped me off, he expressed his wish to return to the Southwest, and
to get another job as a research engineer. He could have been a crazy
loonie (who drove really well), but he also could have been some mad genius
guy saving up his money, working as a cabbie. Whichever one he is, I hope
he finds his way back to the Southwest soon.
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At
the airport, Tim (the graduate assistant whose job it is to coordinate
the whole visiting writer series) meets me and we walk to his car. The
Birmingham airport is about an hour outside of Tuscaloosa, so we pass
the time chatting about our MFA experiences and Flash and Alabama in general.
Tim is incredibly nice, opinionated but not overbearingly so, and polite
almost to a fault. We're also roughly the same age, give or take a few
years. I guess it is a bit odd, the closeness in years.
When we get
to the hotel, I realize that I won't be able to "walk" to campus
from my room. When I ask about bus schedules or public transport, he tells
me to call him. I balk a bit, and he keeps telling me that it's "his
job" to drive me around. Even though my old school did this sort
of thing for visiting writers, it still feels weird to me to have someone
else doing things for me. Maybe it's how I was raised - I just don't like
it. Since I'm stuck, Tim and I talk asbout his schedule and I try to plan
my day in a way that I hope is convenient for him. He comes inside the
hotel with me to make sure that the reservations are in order. We shake
hands, and he tells me to call him tomorrow when I'm ready to go onto
campus.
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When I arrive,
Sandy's left a message for me to call her. Originally, she was the one
who liked my work on Synesthesia,
and pushed to have me come teach an introductory Flash course here. She's
being kind enough to lend me her laptop (which I'm working on as we...
uh... speak?), which I ran up to my room. We hop in her car and chat a
bit about the coming week as we drive onto campus.
She gave
me a quick tour of the building I'll be working in (shit - I've forgotten
the name already). Also, this is her year to serve as Department Head
so her old office is open for use. I'll be sharing it with the other Coal
Royalty Chairholder. The door to her (and for this week, my) office has
a big poster of Janice Joplin on it. What a great omen. :)
The lab is
pretty nice - a good number of computers, and I spent a few moments envisioning
how I'm going to lecture and how I'll need to move around the room. The
building (and even the stairwells and the hallways) are massive!
We go to
a small restaurant, tucked away in a small grove of trees. Sandy referred
to it as a place to get "meat and threes." When I asked her
what this meant, it was slang for an entree and three side dishes. I ordered
the catfish (which rocked), and we talked a lot of tech/Flash talk the
entire time. The overall experience level of the students is lower than
I imagined, and I may even have a few professors sitting in. Cool - I'm
much less nervous and much more excited.
I want two
things out of this week. I want the students excited by Flash's possibilities,
and I want the faculty to feel I earned every damn penny they paid me.
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is this damn
liquor law about not selling on a Sunday. I debated bringing my own bottle
of whiskey here, and now I'm kicking myself. No beers anywhere around,
no nothing. It's not like I'm planning on having a drinking contest with
the Hampton Inn deskclerks (although one of them is rather cute)... I'd
just like a drink or two to unwind after the day (and I'll undoubtedly
want one after teaching).
Tonight,
this old man in a satan-red dinner jacket walks into the lobby and says
"No where can I get me a six pack of beer in this town?" I wanted
to go over and hug him. I bet he'd be fun to drink with. One of the desk
clerks explained the liquor laws to him, and he mumbled and headed over
to the complementary cookies.
So it goes.
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Getting
late, and I still need to write a haiku for Matt. We've been doing fairly
well about keeping up our back and forth, sending each other a small haiku
each day. It's not heavy, prolonged writing... but it's still writing.
First picture
is my hotel room. The second would be the voodoo doll I picked up while
in New Orleans last March. He's supposed to be a good luck charm, specifically
for travellers.
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