George Washington Unviversity Freshman

It's not that they look ingenuine. It's just that there's something not quite right, like a sweater that's too big on a small kid. Except that's not it. Their clothes are stunningly expensive, perfect in every way. No, it's how they hold their props. Their cigarettes and bookbags: they grab them gingerly as if they might be crushed. The bags are over packed and they barely puff on the cigarettes, instead letting them burn down like acrid incense. Unsureness. It's not insecurity, not at this the most expensive university in the country. But it's heartbreaking.

I know in like fifteen minutes they will all have their collars popped and will be vomiting on my shoes in Adams Morgan and I will want to have them all deported to work camps in Nevada, but just for this one moment, I remember when that unsureness was my own.

Would you like a pillow with that Wanderlust?

Our friend J. came to visit us the other day. She was standing in O'Hare and decided that because the subway ride back to her apartment was too daunting, she would fly to DC. She's a flight attendant and she can do that. And I am ever, ever so jealous. I mean seriously.

Can I imagine myself wearing a navy blue blazer and pushing a drinks cart? In a word, no. But still... the freedom.

On Babies

I just went home to check out my nephew, Qball. He's the one who used to look like an angry potato. He looks like a happy potato now, I am pleased to report. Actually, he looks kind of like one of the incarnations of Buddha, what with his little belly and his eyes full of munificence and all. My niece, Kbird, is old enough to do stuff now, which is pretty great. She especially enjoys such games as "Scream" and "Flounce". Scream is pretty self-explanatory, and deafening, where as "Flounce" is being thrown onto the couch by someone else with enough force that you bounce. It looks like fun. I wish someone was big enough to throw me onto the couch. Sometimes "Flounce" morphs into "Scream". It's fun to play when Qball is napping, because nothing will bring the wrath of the tired parent faster than playing "Scream" when the baby is sleeping. But on the bright side, snacks are served after nap time, which runs from 1-3pm. Some people claim parenthood must be stifling, but when was the last time anyone scheduled a nap time for you? Not for a long time, that's the answer.

I sometimes feel like I am missing out on these two. They learn stuff really fast, and change so quickly, and here I am sitting in a steaming kitchen thousands of miles away and not getting to participate. Heading back home, though, I think that maybe there is more to this than just wanting to see my nephew.

Much more.

A dark place full of more.

That place, some corner of my nucleotide map, is starting to whisper disturbing things. It whispers, late at night, that it is approaching that time for the Thing.

That Thing that we are supposed to do. All of us. Even if we don't like kids or think we want to participate. For the species. We are supposed to do it. Our reptilian core requires it. It is working against us. It's a cultural joke for forward-thinking educated people, this urge to have kids. For those of us who haven't had any, we find ourselves both defined by the freedom of childlessness and also hobbled by the fact that maybe, just maybe, we are missing out.

Or is it the sad inevitability that as much as we would like life to be fabulous and interesting and filled with champagne at all times, sometimes it ends up being peanut butter smeared on a car seat in the parking lot at K-mart?

And maybe that peanut butter smear is what is real and good in life, what will sustain us when we are old?

Fall makes me crazy melancholy.

That's Right. Updating from the cafe. Using my nerd phone.

Typing out sweet love letters to the internet is infinitely more fun when you do it from your tiny smartphone. Sip some coffee. Tap tap tap. Stare out the window. Imagine everyone saying "why look at that smart man over there! He's captured the entire power of the internet on that tiny, stylish baubble!" It's true. I did.

48 Hours in a Square State

I just got back from a whirlwind trip to Kansas. I'll admit it, I have a soft spot for my home state. From the outside, it must look like what Syria appears to be: a harsh landscape full of screaming hysterics. It's not really. But much like the Syrians, Kansans don't do them self any favors when they vote against teaching children about evolution or decide that the ten commandments should be displayed in court (this law was struck down by the very court in which the commandments were to be displayed, which is delicious irony, dripping with goodness).

Every time I return for a visit, I decide to move back, and within a few days, decide that maybe it would be a better idea to drink bleach or shower holding the toaster. Here's a chart that explains how this process went this time:

Desire to Move Back (Scale of 1-10)	Approx. Time in Kansas	Comments
3	-4.0 h	Baseline level of wanting to move back to Kansas. Board plane.
4	-2.0 h	So many nice midwesterners on this plane! Even the flight attendants are acting like maybe I am not a turd! Also, compared to the hyper-educated world of Washington DC, I am basically Professor Badger amongst these people. Also, I am dressed really cool, even though in DC I look like a refugee.
5	-1.0 h	After plane change in other square state, approaching Kansas. Accent begins to resume it's strange quirks. Creeks become cricks, roofs sound like a dog barking, ten and tin are pronounced identically. Square states look very peaceful from 30,000 feet.
7	0.25 h	Disembark in an airport full of polite people.
10	0.5 h	See my brother! Hurray!
9	1.0 h	Drive fast on an uncrowded, open interstate through the country side. No traffic.
11	1.5 h	See my sister-in-law, niece and nephew! Hurray!
10	4.0 h	Eat lunch at cool restaurant that does really nice food. Feel like maybe Lawrence might be the tiniest bit hip. Meal costs $20 for two and is considered expensive. I swoon.
14	9.0 h	Fun times eating dinner and drinking wine after the kids are asleep with brother and sister-in-law, enjoying deck and yard and big house.
46	22.0 h	After a good night sleep, in which I did not hear the No. 96 Bus or a single ambulance, police car, or helicopter, K informs me that the three bedroom house with a huge yard and a deck next door is for sale and the mortgage would be 200 dollars less than my rent. I weep.
10	38.0 h	Still riding high on real estate heroin, but read local newspaper. In six minutes. I think I might need a longer newspaper than that.
9	39.0 h	I haven't seen a 7-Eleven in awhile. Muy triste.
-4		In the name of research, check out the number of gay personal ads on Craigslist: five. Uhhhh... am I the only gay in the village?
-11	39.5 h	Cousin's crazy girlfriend calls my brother's wife to ask if she can baby sit her kid cause she and my cousin are having some tough times because she forgot to tell him that maybe she is a lesbian but maybe she isn't so anyway she moved in with a drug addict and anyway why don't they get together some time and can you take care of my kid while I get my meds adjusted? I realize there are benefits to living thousands of miles away.
-412	47.0 h	On plane home and nice midwestern lady next to me WILL NOT SHUT UP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD IT'S SIX FIFTY-FIVE AM.

In summary, my scale of 10 is incapable of expressing the emotional roller coaster that is returning to Kansas.