Where do we go from here?

I started this blog a little over a year ago as I departed on an adventure far from home and full of unknowns. 

Adventure it certainly was. 

Now I’m back (Back? What is this place? Is this home? Is anywhere home? What is home? AH.), and along with battling overwhelming questions regarding my place and trajectory, I’m not quite sure what’s going to happen with my little pet project over here. 

Although I don’t have a lot of proof to support this feeling, I’m pretty sure that the majority of the people that have been known read this blog are here in Philadelphia and I see them more days then not, in full-blooded person. Then again, I could be wrong. 

So maybe this will become more musings and fewer anecdotes, or maybe it will go on hiatus until I discover some sort of new blog-able obsession (pickling? decoupage? gregorian chanting?). 

In the meantime, here’s a nice little list in typical hannahthez form of various exciting odds and ends: 

• Music: Bon Iver: Bon Iver. Can’t get enough. If you haven’t heard it, go find it. Also Mumford and Sons (still), and Mr. Reinhardt. 
• Books: HA. Dressing the Man, my music theory textbook, the Tria handbook. 
• Comestibles: Deli Sandwiches (Philadelphia has the most amazing deli sandwich counters - world, take note), cheese of all sorts of exciting varietals (La Tour! Gouda Roomano! Tete de Moin!), and Broccoli Rabe. 
• Libations: Txakolina Rose, Fin du Monde, not nearly enough Fireball. 
• Movies: Midnight in Paris. Adrien Brody IS Salvador Dali. Rhinoceros. 
• Activities: Showing up to Balboa events at 11:30, killing transmissions, clarifying the discipline/abuse line, having minor panic attacks, jonesing for Vermont, 
• Looking forward to: Thursday afternoon, when my music theory project will be turned in and my exam finished, ILHC… er, I’m sure there are other things? Shit. 

That’s all for now folks. Over and out. 

The Human Banana tunes in for a report.

That’s me. Hannah the Human Banana, prone to large and impressive bruises of all sorts. I’m probably a hemophiliac. Oy Vey.

I was really enjoying my relatively responsibility-free lifestyle of several weeks ago, but for better or for worse, it didn’t last. All of a sudden rehearsals ramped up, I got a new hostessing job, I agreed to teach a class at CSDA, I’m proctoring for TPR, and I’m trying desperately to finish packing my stuff for shipment up north this weekend. Not to mention attempting to maintain some semblance of a social life in my last few weeks here. HA.

Someone smack me. I’m being snarky… in reality I’m incredibly grateful to have a job again, and in general things are going well. I’ve had the distinct pleasure of having a CSA share at my disposal thanks to Mr. A.R. and I’ve been cooking a ton. I even made pickles!

Lots on the brain though… I’ve decided more or less definitely to leave this city. That being said, I’ve worked hard to make a life for myself here and now I’m back in that awkward situation of being still halfway in, but also already halfway out. I’ve been living out of a suitcase for over two weeks but it’s likely to be months before I’m fully settled anywhere else. I’m thinking about plans for the future, starting to look for apartments and jobs and gigs, but up until a couple of days ago I still didn’t have a place to stay for my last two weeks down here. I find that I can easily write off unpleasantries that I encounter due to my imminent departure, but have trouble accepting and enjoying the good bits, knowing that I have only a few weeks left to savor what good things I have found in CHS.

There are unquestionably people and moments that I will miss, or at least look back on fondly. Sitting on porches, drinking good beer and singing Mumford & Sons… Walking along the pier, watching the dolphins and the herons… the small town community with the big city attitude… the Dash, the Olds, the sweet tea, and the grits.

I’m leaving it at that tonight. I’ve got a busy weekend ahead and lots to do before Tuesday.

See you on June 13 Philadelphia.

Alpacas in Lexington and the Escape from Spring St.

This is a pair of alpacas chilling out in the center of my hometown (suburban MA). They have nothing to do with this story, but my father sent me the picture and I think it’s hilarious. Continuing on…

Uh so, let’s just say I’ve been having a surprisingly eventful week.

Remember waay back in November when I moved into this big house out the end of Spring St by the fast food places with a semi-crazy-oaf-man named Marvin? If you don’t, it’s cool, no worries.  Suffice to say, this did indeed happen, despite the fact that when I was first cleaning up the room I was moving into I found two plastic strap-on penisis (peni?) in the closet. I (please tell me understandably) freaked out and tried to get out of my freshly signed lease, but to no avail. In chat #1 Marvin (I’m paraphrasing lightly here) called me a “stuck-up, self-obsessed, b*tch” which naturally made me feel REALLY good about moving in, but it was that or get into a very ugly legal battle over $350. In chat #2, when I apologized for being hasty in trying to evade my obligations, he more or less apologized for flipping out at me, somehow managed to clean up all the remaining crap in the closet, and I (despite many lingering trepidations) moved in.

Fast forward six months. Living at 197 Spring St has not been all fun and games, but it has been cheap and relatively drama-free. There was no freezer, no internet, laundry had to stop before 7 pm, and one always had to endure Marvin’s constant stream of negative/snarky remarks about the people he was trying to ensnare into renting from him, but overall things were fine. He even managed to procure a lovely little yellow vanity for me (see photo here) and let me leave my stuff in the house without paying rent while I was traveling in April. 

Upon my return, I found myself unemployed (Tristan has yet to decide whether or not they wish to rehire me) and the beholder of lots of free time (the ballet is on layoff again until Monday). Marvin had told me when I first moved in that he always had work to be done and so I presented myself as an available laborer. At first this seemed like it might work out great. One day I helped him dredge a pond (Hold the phone. Picture that for a second… Your’s truly dredging a pond? OK next.), and then I was put to the task of listing all the available apartments on Craig’s List, responding to the deluge of inquiries, and showing potential tenants around. Finally, there was the cleaning. In an effort to make 197 Spring more palatable to renters (there were already two empty rooms when I moved out) Marvin decided to do some spring cleaning. I was pretty psyched about this plan. Get payed to clean my own house? Sign me up. This place was pretty gnarly (I suspect it hasn’t been properly cleaned in 5-10 years.) and I attacked it as any offspring of my mother would, with OCD force. 

Apparently Marvin had never seen anyone actually clean anything before, because when he found me removing the shelves from the refrigerator and scrubbing them in the sink, he had something of a panic attack. This was more then he could handle, and I was ordered to halt all cleaning at once, despite my insistence that I was capable of doing a less-thorough job if that was really what he wanted. Already though, things were headed downhill. Too much close proximity to each other and Marvin and I were really getting on each other’s nerves. Despite my attempts to remain positive despite his total lack of faith or trust in the human race in general, I was being pulled down at every turn. Finally, after one particularly embarrassing incident where Marvin humiliated me in front of my first truly serious, ready-to-sign-a-lease-now renter and I countered with perhaps a little too much snark, he blew up at me. Here is a summarized list of his grievances: 

• I’m negative
• I’m too quiet
• I clean too well
• I don’t talk while I eat
• I don’t talk constantly
• I’m unwilling to engage in his “me against the world” banter
• I don’t laugh at his jokes

Whoops. My bad.

This was royally unpleasant all around. Yelling and screaming, the whole nine yards. I managed to hold myself together until he had finished, went upstairs, had my cry, and promptly started looking for alternative accommodations. Praised be any deity that is listening, my friend M.L. was leaving for Israel just a few days later and was happy to have me housesit her apartment and car for three weeks while she was gone. I couldn’t believe my luck. 

So let’s see… Marvin blew up at me last Thursday (Cinco de Mayo, in fact). On Friday he apologized for his blow up, but of course wrote off his actions to the fact that as he gets older, he finds that there is more and more of a difference between him and his tenants (primarily college-aged or young 20’s females). My generation is (according to Marvin):

• Quieter
• Less funny
• Less witty
• Less intelligent (than his generation)

Very interesting Marvin. The fact that after six months you still refer to me as a “balletist” really gives me confidence in your intelligence. Just sayin’.

Anyways. That was Friday. On Saturday I dropped M. off at the airport, taught the first bit of the Tranky Doo, and DJd the second set at the CSDA dance (which went remarkably well, all things considered). On Sunday I escaped out to the Bohicket river with A.R., where we kayaked/paddle-boarded six miles to retrieve a pair of lost flip-flops. We had dinner at his parents’ house (which was delightful), and I got a very impressive sunburn despite two coats of spf 50. 

On Mondy, I moved out. By 4:00 everything was gone, I had avoided giving Marvin any money (He tried to convince me that somehow, despite the fact that I was leaving him my security to cover the 10 days of May and any extraneous utilities, and the fact that I had done quite a bit of work for him, I owed HIM money. In his words “well, everyone steals something, and I’m sure you broke something.” Oy vey.), and I was on my way to the Whole Foods in Mt. Pleasant. 

So ends the saga of 197 Spring St. 

For the next 19 days I have an apartment all to myself, and after that I’ll have two-ish weeks of couchsurfing before the season is over. 

I’m pretty pleased. 

Anon dear readers, anon.

Look at me! I’m at it again!

Reporting in from my porch swing on a positively lovely evening:  balmy breeze, Jimmy Lunceford playing in the background, and lots of other things that start with the letter B.

Below, we have my most recent culinary success: a stir fry of summer squash, zucchini, and bok choy, served over (only slightly burnt) quinoa: 

Here we have a highly telling portrait from this past weekend’s set of shows. I was one greedy, gun-slinging, gnarly little kid: 

And, per request of M.W., here’s the spiffy car I’ve been getting to joyride around in every once in a while (it’s the white one with the blue roof in the back… a 1960 Oldsmobile)

That was a fun photo montage right? 

Let’s see. Naturally, I’m back in Charleston for 10 days and I’ve already reverted back to a variation on my lush-like behavior from before I left (made that much worse by my total lack of tolerance after a month of relative sobriety). Whoops.

I’ve been pondering Charleston’s small town-ness all week for some reason. It is undeniable that I run into people I know constantly - either from the ballet, the restaurant, YAD, the bike co-op, or any of the many friends-of-friends that I’ve encountered in my travels through the city. The young, music/art/culture inclined community is vibrant and active. People come out to to each others events/bars/shows/etc., creating this awesome, largely (I’m guessing on this one) internally supported scene.  

For example: On Sunday night I went to an event called “Jailbreak” with A.R.. The press release went something like this:

Charleston, South Carolina - March 21, 2011 —- Social Wine Bar and Entropy Ensemble are teaming up with the American College of Building Arts and Charleston local artists to present “JAIL BREAK”, an all-encompassing arts event held at the Old City Jail on Sunday, May 1st, 2011. The historic jail will provide an unconventional, yet perfect setting to showcase art, music, and dance pieces by local artists and students.

Basically, the Old City Jail (which houses classes and offices for the ACBA) was turned into a huge interactive art gallery. The surrounding grounds played host to a variety of food carts, jewelry and craft vendors, and a stage. It was amazing. The art was top-notch, the bubbly was free flowing, and there were both vegan donuts and fresh grapefruit-syrup water ice. Entropy Ensemble played amazing renditions of OK Computer and the weather was perfect. 

Enough gushing. Here’s what I can’t figure out: I knew quite a few people at this event. I’ve crossed paths with two of the Entropy guys at Tristan’s brunch, I ended up standing next to J.K.’s roommate (who I had just hung out with several nights before), I saw B.P. from the Remedy, C.F.’s cousin’s friend L., and P.S. from the Belmont… the list goes on. Is this good? It’s really nice to know people - but how long before a person starts to feel like they’ve met everyone and the world is closing in? Already I feel like I need to be really careful not to offend anyone or burn any bridges because everyone knows everyone. I wonder - would this environment start to feel stifling, or is there enough movement in and out that things would change themselves up? Does such a close conglomeration of artistically inclined people create great art, or does it stagnate? Certainly I don’t know, and I’m not sure that I’m in a place where I want to wait and see. That being said, for the moment it’s pretty cool. I can go into any one of several bars and be fairly certain of finding someone I know (either working or patronizing). There is good music to be heard, great art to be seen, and excellent comestibles to be consumed. If only there was more dancing. Sigh. 

In other news, I’m teaching the Tranky Doo for the CSDA this month. Should be an adventure… Tomorrow I’m going to see if I can start picking up shifts at Tristan again (wish me luck). For the last couple of days I’ve been working for Marvin, dredging ponds, posting apartment ads on craigslist, and cleaning up the house. I’ve already spent most of eight hours on the kitchen and it’s only now finally beginning to look halfway decent. I swear that it’s been 10 years since this place was properly cleaned. At least I have  great excuse to wear my cupcake apron :P

Laundry-folding time my chickabidees. G’night :)

Fickle fickle I am… Also, apparently, a velociraptor.

I somehow hold tight to this idea that I should only blog when I have time to craft some sort of magnum opus. Clearly, that doesn’t happen regardless of how much time or thought I put into my writing, so here’s to just getting something out there (l’chaim):

The Sitch: After four weeks of galavanting up and down the east coast, I am back in Charleston, hoping to maintain my current (mostly) excellent emotional state through the last seven weeks of my contract. Then it’s back to Philadelphia for two-ish months of Penn summer school and general Philly love, and after that…. (shhh I have NO idea. Literally. It’s a topic of much contention.)

Being back in Charleston means being back in my house with the shower that doesn’t drain, the television left on all night on a static channel, the cockroaches on parade, and the fridge full of half-eaten fruit. It means being confronted by Housemate One (who eats half a banana and then puts it BACK in the fridge, for weeks… If the health dept. only knew… Oy gevalte.) about the flaws of Housemate Two (who comes home stoned all the time and fails to lock the front door), and having to play sympathizer. The extent to which I wish I could live by myself is indescribable.

Back in Charleston… It’s 85 degrees and humid, and my skin is struggling to readjust. The frat boys are out in force with their polos and khaki shorts and flip flops and visors, and even at 8:30 on a Tuesday night they are smashed. At work we are in the midst of pulling together a Broadway-style version of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. It opens on Saturday and just this morning I learned the choreography for a part that I was handed yesterday following a co-worker’s injury. I get to scrump around with two plastic guns and a cowboy hat. That’s all I’m divulging at this time.

A recap of the last month, you say? That’s a big one. I kept myself very busy, seeing friends and generally doing whatever the &*!% I wanted. At very least, here’s a few highlights:

• Seeing Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings live at the Music Farm, joyriding around the peninsula in a swoon-worthy 1960 Oldsmobile Lowrider, and hanging out at a Tivoli Studios after-party, all in one night, all courtesy of the amazing A.R. (This was actually before I left, but it was so awesome I didn’t want to leave it out)
• Performing at the LSB 25th anniversary gala show in the company of some of my oldest and dearest friends, teachers, and role models. 
• The Balboa Experiment. We went, we slew, we conquered. Real World: Balboa, with velociraptors and percolator dance parties. I have an entire book full of notes and endless envelope exercises to perfect. 
• Roadtripping with N.S. to the wedding of B.P. and A.G. Disney sing-a-longs, racist jokes, solid boozing, and swingouts. The best. 
• Surprising A.W. (and inadvertently S.W. too) at her senior voice recital in DC. I have the most talented and amazing friends.
• NYC: Tour of Murray’s Cheese caves, reliving old times at Spuyten Duyvil, amazing dinner at Diner with dessert hand-delivered by a certain rather eminent boozeman… A.F. you really are amazing. 
• Also - quiet afternoons with Casey the cat, M-Noodles with E.L. and H.O, Birdbath Bakery, afternoon traipses through old haunts, Rum House/Huckleberry/and Lady Jays with V.F. and I.H. (wowza), Baby Soda at Radegast (no swingouts, and lots of drunky folk, but still hella sweet).
• This place: Maison Premiere. It has a real, live, absinthe fountain, and 18 kinds of absinthe. The music is hot, the bartenders are fancy, and the drink is real nice. Oysters too, if you’re into those. 
• DCLX: so. many. swingouts. Unbelievable. Some of the most incredible music and energy  and dancing I have ever heard and/or been a part of. There was a lot of buzz beforehand about this event and it blew everyone out of the water. My particular thanks to J.A. for keeping me company in those crazy last couple of hours before I started my treck northwards. 
• Passover in the ever sexy lexy. Nothing beats being home for a holiday with your family. Boo and R. and I went on a classic Cambridge adventure, and copious amounts of matzah-meal muffins were consumed. 
• What else? There are definitely more people that it was so good to see… L.S., P.M., the team at WFM Fresh Pond (SUNSCREEN!), J.Y., shit once I get going here I sound like I’m making some sort of Oscar speech. 

This really has turned into an opus. Maybe not a magnum one, but epic nonetheless. I think it’s bedtime now, got a couple of missions to complete before rehearsal tomorrow. 

Hope this finds you well blogosphere, 

xo HMM