There's a hole in my head where the rain comes in
I'm blogging but I'm not at work. I'm at the ITC in the main library. Howard Bowen's wonderful portrait is three floors above me. I know nothing about the man, but his painting is fucking awesome (see my last post). During his tenure as president, students protesting the Vietnam War filled plastic cups with their own blood, then poured them on the steps of the Old Capitol. That's where the president's office was at the time. They also made a bonfire out of Daily Iowan's on the Pentacrest. That's classic.
So I don't know exactly what to talk about. Last night it rained and I went downtown with my friend, Tom. I parked half way down Lexington Avenue because of the Iowa game, and walked to his place. It was only drizzling then. We walked to the Foxhead and had a beer. There was no one there. It was us, three guys, and two loud women sitting on the other side of the bar. Now I know that "nothing says public radio like tennis shoes and a skirt." Thank you. I can die peacefully now. I was trying to tune into the guys sitting near us. It sounded like they were talking about a story. One had an envelope with a story in it. They were discussing characteristics of a father figure. Tom and I did our own share of writerly talk. I like eavesdropping on conversations near me. I'm a voyeur. It's my nature as an observer.
The original plan for last night was to hit a trifecta of bars. We were at three bars (we were actually at four), but only drank at two. After the Foxhead we walked up Market to George's. There were booths open, but they were blocked by a group that'd put tables together. On the far end of the bar a man was sitting on a stool, being straddled by a middle aged women with her back against the counter. Everyone was giving Tom and I disappoving looks. We turned and headed out. After that we walked to Quitons, then to the Dublin, then finally found a place at Mickey's. We drank a beer, walked around downtown, and called it a night, making the trek back in the rain. We split ways at Woolf Avenue -- he went home and I walked to my car.
The people around me are working on papers, design projects, and printing off pdf files. I feel like I'm taking up space. I keep waiting for someone to look around -- someone who will only work on a Mac -- see I'm only blogging, and ask me to leave. A girl sitting behind me was crying. She was trying to muffle her sobs with her hands. Her friend sitting next to her was patting her back. They just got up and left.
I wanted to run to my car. I told myself I'd start running once I got to the bridge. But I didn't. I kept walking. The drizzle had turned to real rain. The streams flowing to the gutters on both sides of the street were peppered with surface bubbles. Lexington was dark except for the streetlights. I could see the rain slanting as it fell. My jacket was soaked. The bill of my hat dripped. I walked slowly. I decided to let the rain clean me as I walked to my car, sitting alone against the curb. When I'd parked it was at the end of a long line. Everyone had left when the game ended. I was still there. At one point I stopped under one of the streetlights, looked up to the plastic lamp, closed my eyes, and held my arms out. I let the rain slam into my face and body. After a couple seconds I started tilting forward and had to stand on my tip-toes to keep balance. The street was empty and only a couple lights were on inside the houses. I was alone, walking in the middle of the brick avenue. I didn't want to leave, didn't want to get in my car and drive home. I was at peace walking through the rain. Nothing could harm me. When I got to my car I took off my jacket and let the rain penetrate my shirt. I took off my hat and shook my hair out. After that I drove home. It seemed like it'd taken forever to walk back, but it took seconds to get back to Woolf and Newton where Tom and I parted.
So I don't know exactly what to talk about. Last night it rained and I went downtown with my friend, Tom. I parked half way down Lexington Avenue because of the Iowa game, and walked to his place. It was only drizzling then. We walked to the Foxhead and had a beer. There was no one there. It was us, three guys, and two loud women sitting on the other side of the bar. Now I know that "nothing says public radio like tennis shoes and a skirt." Thank you. I can die peacefully now. I was trying to tune into the guys sitting near us. It sounded like they were talking about a story. One had an envelope with a story in it. They were discussing characteristics of a father figure. Tom and I did our own share of writerly talk. I like eavesdropping on conversations near me. I'm a voyeur. It's my nature as an observer.
The original plan for last night was to hit a trifecta of bars. We were at three bars (we were actually at four), but only drank at two. After the Foxhead we walked up Market to George's. There were booths open, but they were blocked by a group that'd put tables together. On the far end of the bar a man was sitting on a stool, being straddled by a middle aged women with her back against the counter. Everyone was giving Tom and I disappoving looks. We turned and headed out. After that we walked to Quitons, then to the Dublin, then finally found a place at Mickey's. We drank a beer, walked around downtown, and called it a night, making the trek back in the rain. We split ways at Woolf Avenue -- he went home and I walked to my car.
The people around me are working on papers, design projects, and printing off pdf files. I feel like I'm taking up space. I keep waiting for someone to look around -- someone who will only work on a Mac -- see I'm only blogging, and ask me to leave. A girl sitting behind me was crying. She was trying to muffle her sobs with her hands. Her friend sitting next to her was patting her back. They just got up and left.
I wanted to run to my car. I told myself I'd start running once I got to the bridge. But I didn't. I kept walking. The drizzle had turned to real rain. The streams flowing to the gutters on both sides of the street were peppered with surface bubbles. Lexington was dark except for the streetlights. I could see the rain slanting as it fell. My jacket was soaked. The bill of my hat dripped. I walked slowly. I decided to let the rain clean me as I walked to my car, sitting alone against the curb. When I'd parked it was at the end of a long line. Everyone had left when the game ended. I was still there. At one point I stopped under one of the streetlights, looked up to the plastic lamp, closed my eyes, and held my arms out. I let the rain slam into my face and body. After a couple seconds I started tilting forward and had to stand on my tip-toes to keep balance. The street was empty and only a couple lights were on inside the houses. I was alone, walking in the middle of the brick avenue. I didn't want to leave, didn't want to get in my car and drive home. I was at peace walking through the rain. Nothing could harm me. When I got to my car I took off my jacket and let the rain penetrate my shirt. I took off my hat and shook my hair out. After that I drove home. It seemed like it'd taken forever to walk back, but it took seconds to get back to Woolf and Newton where Tom and I parted.
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