A New Start to 2012

January 23, 2012. Of course, this information is going to be placed above or below the post I am making, but today is a special day, deserving to be quoted twice in short sequence.
I am sitting in bagel Central, a doz. bagels by my side, a nearly empty coffee and a nearby collection of octogenarians (perhaps i am being harsh) that can be heard saying "Tom Brady" and "The Giants" with regularity. Though i have revived the blog for a class, I suppose i am permitted to digress onto the subject of my surroundings and thoughts. For example, Univeristy of Maine should relocate to bangor; classes to be held above the stores of central street in the dark wooden labyrinths of the old buildings. Bangor is an often underestimated place. There are plenty of windows to look out of thoughtfully. There are coffee shops to aid in the creative process, and most importantly, Bagel Central. This place lends itself to possibility. Recording studios, music shops, operah houses. It is itching for more people to take it on in an interested manner.
So let it be known, We will take it on.

A long, unaccounted for absence

I am finally home, which should not be something considered entirely pleasant. I have been progressively changing to smaller and smaller garments since my return home and now i am only worrying that the pleather chair in which i am sitting will not be comfortable against bare skin. Despite the heat, and the fact that i am peeling my leg up with a spatula (SMACK!!!), it is nice to be home.
I mean...
I am calling this home, something that i had not considered until i was gone for a weekend away. Before, i think i may have dreaded coming back here. I mean.... not that i don't like the people i am here with, but being exposed to someone's company so consistently allows you to fall into habits of interaction. Now, when i walked through the door and ran across the house to accost Rachel Kreis with a hug, pouting about my absence, i can't help feeling, for the hundredth time, that i am at home.
My absence started with a bike ride. Saturday morning i woke planning to complete a poster for the project i am doing at the experiment station, but i have managed, until today, to procrastinate. I had honestly thought i had rid myself of the horrible habit, but, by the time i needed to leave, i had only managed to buy a mango, make my bed, and sweep the floor of my room.
The fifty mile ride had an endpoint at the apartment of my oh-so-referenced and revered friend Carly from the station. I walked through the door, wobble-kneed, cracked-lipped, and sun-burnt to a smiling hostess that could not be dissuaded from pouring cup after cup of icy water. Eventually, after deciding that we "would" take wine, we started up the hilly terrain of the Cornell Campus towards the Ithaca Shakespeare companies rendition of "A Mid-Summer's Night Dream". The architecture was amazing, and, I can understand why Martha Broderick got red with excitement about my internship here. Everyone looked strangely awkward, though the fit tight-knitly with eachother. I could not describe all the people running around, playing frisbee, But there was something off-putting, as though my own style of intentional awkward dress and a nonchalance for fashion, was the norm there. While i was pulled every where by curiosity, my energetic companion urged me forward and i happily followed. The play was in a grove of trees with the sun behind the stage. When the actors spoke, even in quite supplications, their spit was visible as mist that always drifted onto the bespoken. My exhaustion got the better of me, so that all i can remember with interest is a small girl Carly pointed out, laughing uncontrollably in the front row. I am sure watching her being so happy in her little red dress, leaning forward and screaming with such a jubilation that she may have been trying to collapse the stage, gave me a small burst of energy that permitted me to rise at the end of the play.
Between that and now alot has happened. My poster is finished, I have returned home, and I am so relieved by a break in my monotonous schedule that i could kiss someone.
And now, as i finish, it is starting to rain for the first time in weeks, and though i am not a farmer or a plant, i don't know if much else could make me happier. tomorrow might be as easy and wonderful as these last few days in Ithaca. They have, at least, left me much better than i was before, and that seems a good way to gauge something

Better=Better

Then There Were Two

There are two now! if you look to the right of my blog, there is a list of people who follow it. There are two now! I don't know what will happen if you become a "follower". Perhaps you will get pesky e-mails every time i post something!!!
I was woken this morning from a dream about baseball by what i thought was a group of umpa-lumpas rummaging around. For some reason, the moment was strangely familiar. When i lived with tracy, i would wake up every morning to find that she had creeped down from the loft, already bustling about with breakfast, likely irritated that i was still groggy. I would wake into this hostile environment woken by the floating aroma of latka, or pancakes, or eggs, and every morning i would lie awake and stare out my window at the tree that would eventually fall onto the roof of the cabin, an act that tracy's cat did not hesitate to blame on me. Though only one umpa-lumpa was there then, hunched over an old fashioned coffee grinder, i still layed the same way breathing, somehow anticipating how difficult the day would be to finish.
Luckily, i was not the only one in a less-than-spry mood. Tyler looked like a man fresh back from war, while gussie gave of the persona of an overworked house-wife who, for the thousandth time must take care of the cleaning. Even carly, our stand-behind bastion of cheerfulness, was no better than lachrymose  with irritation. Even i found myself slightly irritable, finding the minute orders or my graduate student searing. I think i could blame my own displeasure on the exhaustion caused by the work party last night. I had sat down to write about it after i sped the five miles from the yacht club at break-neck speed, but found that, once off the bike, i was a little less than focused and rendered unable.
I
 had thought i needed to escape, as if work was a little corner in hell where the walls were lined with protocols and pipetters. I rode my bike back to the house and went swimming. This time, however, i thought i would strip down completely to increase aero(not arrow)dynamics. The train passed once again, out of my reach and once back on the docks, i sat down, patting myself dry with my spandex running shorts (it was not effective). As i pulled my work clothes back on, I looked towards the other end of the beach and noticed the man with the tube (not toob) laying, i am hoping, unalert in the littoral vegetation. I was strartled but feigned a look of determined pride and indifference, knowing that later, it would make some fine material.
"How did the rest of your day go, Bourcard"
"really, you would like to know"
"why, of course. It sounds like a rough day. Did you end up making it back in time for lunch, did you do anything exciting with your research, did you break down and cry in the office because nobody was having fun today?"
well....
I did make it back in time, but just. and the rest of the day dragged along, various experiments finished sloppily, the spilling of chloroform until i find myself here, my incense burned to the handle trying to convince myself that this cannot continue. I bore through it as best as i could and came out average. I feels like worse than average, like average, itself, is worse than average. That is a hope, "tomorrow, I vow to be better than Average".

Person of the day:
I would like to make this short, knowing how long the rest of this post is,  an also knowing that, despite how much i enjoy this part of my day, I must move on to something else. Zvezdo, the romainian post-doc, managed to be the life of the party last night, playing volleyball over a string of lights, instigating water-balloon fights and speaking animatedly with everyone. So i was glad that on my ride to work today, he was mounting his bike on the side walk as i passed. He looks Romanian, tan skin, like a a mix of french and albanian, droopy eyes though not unattractive. He always has something to say and, between him and Kubi (buki, backwards), the Turkish post-doc, i have my hands full with thick-accented socialites.

No Sense in Pouting

Yesterday, i completely forgot there was any hope in the world. I walked into the neighbors house, thinking that i was in a state that was perfect for spending time with people. I thought I was calm and prepared to look at everyone around without hoping to look down, but when i stepped into the house and saw the three women watching television, something snapped, and all the hope washed out of me and looking down was all i could do to prevent myself from bursting into tears. I stepped outside, pitying myself and sat on the neighbor's, neighbor's lawn and cried for a bit, recited a bit of Mary Oliver Poetry i memorized over lunch ("isn't it plain that the moss, except that it has no tongue, could lecture all day if it wanted on spiritual patience") that seemed perfectly fitting ("Everyday i walk like this around the pond thinking: 'if the doors to my heart should ever close i am as good as dead'"). I was immobilized there for twenty minutes, noticing that the porch of my house was currently occupied. I could not use my energy to start a conversation for the fear that i would either start crying in front of that person or be found utterly pitiable, which would be really really irritating. So i continued sitting until Tyler Helman walked up the sidewalk and stopped in front of me.
Believe it or not, i looked up and was not compelled to turn my face at the ground. Instead a huge weight lifted and a insalvable (beautiful spanish word for "insurmountable") loneliness lifted with the happiness of his company ("Everyday, so far, I am alive").

Person of "the day before Yesterday"
I have once again managed to avoid being the creepy guy that hangs out by the docks. I think it may be that i speak in an affected voice (some might call it feminine) or perhaps I simply do not look like a murderer or ex-convict or, even, people can simply see my intentions are wholly benign. I say this because i rode my bike down towards Seneca Lake at break-neck speed in the hope of jumping on  the train i heard rattling by for the first time. I did not make it in time, but, in its place, were a group of people and a dog that looked like a long-haired wishbone or that dog baxter from the movie anchorman. I asked to take some pictures of them and their dog, and, after swimming, remained for a little longer.
It was difficult to ask strangers for their picture and not appear creepy, but "trout" the terrier and his five college friends were the cornerstone of friendliness, and as i walked away, my only fear was that my enthusiasm for reuniting with them was communicated a little crudely and excitably.
I suppose my goal in life, according to a fortune cookie, is to relinquish control and try not to be in the limelight. There are a few times i can think of right now where i allowed myself to relax in the presence of others and wait, like a chess player, for them to make their move. But chess is a game, and, in a game, it does not matter if people think i am creepy or not.

What Happened?

I will be significantly surprised if i find anything to say in this evening post. I am so used to having people of the day or single moments of unfettered fun, but, when presented with a day that was fine throughout, without any embarrassing moments and only a bouquet of mustard plants left in my mailbox, i am oddly at a loss for words.
I can say today is the long awaited return of Daniel Bruzzese, easily the most liked person among the summer scholars. Dan is a fine balance of spontaneous outbursts and shame. leaving just far enough to leave everyone laughing but never offending. I would like to say that my good day is a result of my own doing and perhaps it is monday and i am forced, once again to adhere to my routines. It could also be that I woke early enough to have a bit of a read this morning, but i am a little suspicious that this excitement, which had been absent and at times absurd over the last few days, should return to normal the day of his return.

Side Note:
weather update: it is so muggy right now that my arm is slipping away from me as I type, because the sweat running down my arm is acting as a very effective arm to desk lubricant. no rain for days or even weeks really, save a single thunderstorm the friday before the friday before last. does that qualify as a drought?

Even knowing that i have had a good day, i am still having trouble believing it. I keep looking up to the top right-hand corner of my laptop and seeing that there is less and less time today and there is still so much that i would like to do. I suppose the best thing to do at times when your head is reeling with what i can only now call envy is to breathe and do what i have to do.

What do i have to do?

LIST:
Blog.....check
exercise.....check
relax.......
breathe......
find place to camp for a week.....(oh and that also means i need to find a tent because i am planning to go to a music festival and camp for a few days where i hope not to be trampled by a conga-line of drunken hippies)
read spanish.......
call family......

It all seems doable. (breathe.....check). and look at the bright side, I have a bag full of gigantic gooseberries and breakfast tomorrow (oats and raisons and peanut butter next to coffee and a book...uggghhhhhhhhh). I don't care what buddhists say, minding the future is often the only thing that holds me together and there is always a breakfast in my future

Cool morning

I vowed that i would not use this as a template for poetry, but in waiting for the group to leave for Niagara falls i found that a few hours of solitary idleness have yielded a bit of self indulgence. Too much coffee and old cigarettes that i fished from the ashtray (my own) must make me more inclined to believe that others might care to hear my mind, or perhaps i am just trying to make it so that my posts are equal to the number of days in my stay. So after a failed letter to Dad, which i will not be sending and after a couple hours reading, only interrupted for a bit of rye bread smeared with plum jam and Brie (i think 90% of my calories have come from brie over last few days, yesterday, for example, my only food included Brie and guava past and raw cabbage, which would be no concern to anyone if they new the store of food i had accumulated the night before). so here is a silly bit of poetry that i must say recalls the sensation of sitting in front of south branch waiting for dad to finish making breakfast before a long morning of successful fishing (though, if this weren't a day dream, it would likely be unsuccessful)

To a soft-summer breeze, I concede my tribulations with vernal admiration,
taking stock of rustling leaves playfully exchanging conversation.
The ardent heat quietly rests while my sentiments fall to pleasantries.

This morning be my minor gift, handed stubbornly by chance, and, at last,
it has seized my notice out of simple tranquility.

I imagine to venture from this spot to graze grass between my tender feet
must be the finest of sensations, as one resigned to barren land
stumbles onto an oasis.

This morning's light bears with its gentle supplications, however, some forboding
and a reminder, like a mother's whisper, that it shall not always be so calm.

The struggle is lowly, and it is hardly fair that such a rare gift of life
is accompanied by a persistent struggle that god or who ever holds my destiny
is not yet prepared to release me from the eminent difficulties i will soon endure

For everyday has become so:
A struggle o see that the world needs change, as divine as it seems;
The mystery becomes how i am best designed to perform my duty within it;
most of it awaits my perception, i concede, and in knowledge of the great debt
I do owe and my own vast ignorance, i may venture forth into it, remembering
the stirring gifts laid before me, appreciating the delusion and mourning those
who see it less

The Violin, Among Other Things

I was lazy today!! I sat in the laboratory absentmindedly looking at the same petri dish for nearly two hours. Albeit, microscopic spores are hard to find when they are not plentiful, but it should have been done in twenty minutes rather than one hundred and twenty.
I have always found it weird that the climax of the day often happens when i am describing the rest of my day. On days like this, when at best i could describe how i guiltily glommed (actually a word, "glom") caramelo y pasta de guyaba into myself at coffee break today, only to escape a few seconds earlier for shame that my need for more caramel overrode my want for company. Despite my lack of trust, the day flew by with neither joy or any particular pain, though a small climax occurred after a rogue bit of energy overtook me as i returned from the grass outside the office. The "grass" is really just an ant infested zone between two quince trees that are badly infected with a totally awesome fungus that grows out of the fruit in numerous, bright-orange spires that remind me of the movie alien. It is beaten down permanently because nearly every day at work i sit there to stretch and read spanish, looking, with all my effort, to appear an outsider. Anyways, i came inside feeling slightly light-headed and, which time, i did sing snatches of old tunes while i taught gussie (possibly the most cheerful person in our laboratory, save Chris Smart, the professor, who has the most interesting habit of crossing her eyes as a signal of empathizing exasperation, and who Carly wants to call "cute"... she really is adorable)  how to twirl as done in a contra dance.

Finally i got home, thoroughly disappointed that i never caught my stride while stringing tomatoes with Carly, usually one of the better parts of my day. It was really the first time that my fear of having nothing to say actually left me with nothing to say and i felt so completely foolish.