Take a seat, take your life / Plot it out in black and white

American U never looked so good. I'm moved into my room, which feels more like home than ever, between my cooking stuff and my family's paintings. Let's take a look at two of them, because they're pretty.

This is the only painting my Uncle Bob did before he died at thirty-eight, when I was five. I really loved him. My parents have told me all my life that I remind them of him, and not necessarily in good ways. My grandmother gave me this painting before I left for school.

Dad painted this one sometime in the last two years. I don't think he considered it finished, but I snagged it quickly because I wanted it the way it was. It's in Avon, and it captures my idea of the beach. I like having things around that remind me of Avon, and I like having things that remind me of Dad.

In unrelated news, our dorm room will be holding three people for a while. Before you ask, AU did not put us in a forced triple... my friend Carey has nowhere to stay for a few weeks and she's going to be bouncing about campus staying with friendly souls.

Sara's friend JB stayed here for a while. I kinda miss him. Come back, JB!

Finally... I'm seriously considering changing my major. Again. My "life plan" might now involve going to law school. Eep. Or I might keep it the way it is... maybe I just like change too much for my own good.

I've started drawing when I'm depressed. It makes me happy. So far, I have sketches of a black widow spider and a cat. I want to do something surreal, but right now I'm just learning to draw. I've been really bad at it all my life.

This entry is unusually disconnected, even for me. I feel like my readers hold me to a higher standard... I didn't mean to let you down.

Mother mother ocean, I have heard your call...

I spent Sunday through Wednesday of last week at the Outer Banks. Crystal and I (having patched up the earlier fight) left Sunday night and stopped at the tiny amusement park in Nags Head to ride the Ferris wheel (which struck terror into her heart), the Spyder (which struck nausea into mine), and the kiddie roller coaster (which feels pretty much like my version of back road driving). We made it up pretty late and just in time, because I was practically swooning with exhaustion.

Monday brought lunch with my grandmother and two hours of swimming in the ocean -- swimming out to the surfers' breakers, riding the waves back to the beach, freefalling as they dropped us once they passed. A few of them broke right over my head, which is a startling, exhilarating experience when you're too close to shore. We both got badly battered and lightly burned, and our throats were scorched with salt water by the time we made it out.

After dinner at the pizzeria, we drove back to Nags Head and went dancing at a surfer club... yes, I, Katharine Kuhl, danced. Crystal taught me how to at least pretend I know what I'm doing, and I had a great time. I'm going back over fall break, after I get a little more experience.

Tuesday... slept until one, another two hours of swimming, sticking a little closer to shore this time -- which means getting rolled when the waves break. "Rolling," for those of you heathens unfamiliar with the term, is a very scary experience if you're not used to it. A waves grabs you, throws you to the bottom, crushes you against the sand, rolls you a few times (if you're lucky, your face doesn't get smashed), and then recedes, leaving you on the beach, completely blinded by the salt water in your eyes, often realizing a few moments too late that the top of your suit is no longer doing its job. Do I enjoy it? Yes. Yes, I do. Although, since you can't see to get out of the way of the next wave, it often becomes a very prolonged experience.

We set off fireworks on the beach on Tuesday night. I bought these fireworks when my fellow pyromaniac Val visited me over my junior year spring break, and since the wind was too bad for our lighters, I hadn't found an occasion to set them off. Bask in the glory!








We set off sparklers and danced through the water, reflections gleaming in the shallow surf. Finally, firey things exhausted, we wandered down the lightless beach, bearing the shells of our fireworks, some sparkler sticks, and a box of matches. We ran into a group of guys near the pier who promptly asked for a light and tried to convince us that they were old and experienced; after chatting for a moment, we continued on. When we came back, these idiots had left their beer cans on the beach... I wish I could say they were just typical tourists, but they were probably natives. Bastards. We trashed the cans and headed back.

So this entry doesn't end on a bad note, here are a few more pictures.
























I can't wait to get back to AU... but all things considered, North Carolina isn't that bad. If I had to pick between Avon and DC, it would be a hard choice.

Third time's the charm. With cavities, so is the seventh.

And three is the number of times I've sat down to write this entry... I'm having trouble with it, because there's no way to make it funny, so it's an entry for me, and not very likely to entertain you. Let me preface it, therefore, with an apology.

My dad has been out of work since January. I always qualify that statement to take the sting out. One of the higher-ups in the company called him two months later, asking him to come back as a full-time employee, and Dad unceremoniously turned him down -- which makes Dad's unemployment more his decision than the company's decision, and makes me (and presumably him) feel better. His jobless state doesn't bother me; his depression bothers me, and while Dad didn't care for his job, he really doesn't care for feeling worthless.

Thus, my first statement is good news: he got a job with a competitor. And now for the bad news: it's in Maine. He'll be gone until I leave for AU. He's coming back just before my departure to help me pack and unload in DC (despite the fact that Mom and I are more than capable), but those few days are all I'll see of him after Tuesday.

The little things bother me. Dad and I had plans to redecorate and paint my room, and it was actually his idea. I like working on his infamous "projects" with him -- Dad can't ever be idle, and to this end he builds little sheds for my grandmother (all the while proclaiming that he is a geriatric, of course) and reinforces the walls and roof of our old general store in Avon. Et cetera. I was looking forward to painting my room together and spending time with him before I left. Thinking about just Mom and me sharing the house for two weeks makes me shudder, not because of any bad relationship with my mother, but because we fight roughly every two hours. Hopefully, neither of us will be in the hospital when Dad gets home from the airport.

Dad says that the timing is bad, and he's not thrilled about all the travelling he'll have to do (now in Maine, later in Covington or Roanoke Rapids), but overall I think he's pleased to know the company wants him there, and therefore I'm happy for him. I'm just also a little depressed, and I'm trying not to think about it too much.

Now, let me see if I can revive my usual sardonicism to tell you of my dentist appointment, part two.

I have very good teeth, outwardly. They're straight and white. What more could I ask for? Well, for starters, I could ask for my mom's teeth instead of my dad's. Mom, no matter how infrequently she brushes, gets no cavities. Dad, on the other hand, is constantly breaking his old fillings and needing root canals, no matter how good his oral hygiene is. In the family tradition, therefore, I brush twice a day and STILL get more cavities than the average Southerner... which is just depressing.

Our dentist is in Richmond, where my grandmother used to live; Dad and I are used to him, so we travel for three hours to see him rather than finding a local one. Thursday before last, we went up there. Mom had her usual tooth cleaning. Dad got a tooth fixed. I was informed that I had two... oh wait, here are some X-rays... make that six cavities. He filled three. He was booked solid until the end of August, but I needed this done before I returned to school, so he volunteered to come in on a Saturday to see me.

Did I mention that I have a horrible fear of dentists and have only recently been able to go to these appointments without shaking in terror?

Yesterday was Saturday. After Dad and I went to the mall despite the fact that shopping is probably his least favorite activity and had a very nice lunch together, I emotionally prepared myself for the appointment and we proceeded to the office. As I sat in his Chair of Torment, trying to make the best of a horrible situation, I joked, "Well, this is the first time in a few years that I won't have had any new cavities since the last appointment!" Because, you know, it was a week ago and there's no way I could have anything new, right?

After Haley started working on my remaining three cavities, while I was incapacitated in his Chair of Torment with my mouth completely numb, he said, very calmly, "Now, I don't want you to freak out... but there's another one."

*in garbled Novocain-speak* "QRHAT?! Gurk kigging, khright?"

He laughed.

"Ogh, gur ghar kigging."

"Heh! No."

I swear my pain gave him glee.

Apparently, he'd noticed this very small tooth-wound upon another careful examination of my X-rays and had needed to see me again to be sure. So, I got another shot of Novocain, and he went to work. As he did so, one of his suction-things hit my front tooth, which I of course didn't feel because DID I MENTION THE NOVOCAIN?

Dr. Haley, sadist that he is, commented, "Oops... now we're going to have to fix that chipped tooth."

"QRHAT?!?!"

"Haha! Just kidding!"

Dentists are evil incarnate, and the devil has given them drills. It took me about four hours to get back the feeling in my face. Between Dad and me, I bet this family is financing his daughter's education. Also, I think I'm going to start brushing between classes... and, with the advent of those blue finger-brushes, possibly during them.

They'll feel bad when I OD on toothpaste.

If corporations really were teams, the people who used phrases like "team member" and "team spirit" would be picked last.

A friend and I went to the Norfolk airport today, but, because business must always be mixed with pleasure, we stopped in Target. (Yes, I finally caved and bought season three of Alias. I'm preparing myself for a Victor Garber fest in the very near future.) While there, I noticed a door marked "Team Members Only."

...Team members?

Okay, I concede: You wear little uniforms. You have a mascot (if a big red ball can be considered a mascot.) This does not make you a team. The word "team" implies a group of talented people pursuing a common goal in a positive environment; let's poll the employees. Do you get pep talks from your managers? No -- you get threats from your managers. Do you have a common goal? No -- you all want money for yourselves, corporation be screwed. Are you valued for your individual skills, and are you committed to using them to advance the "team"? No -- chances are that you're making minimum wage at a crappy summer job you will be happy to abandon when college/school resumes, or that you're stuck in a dead-end job you'd sell your right arm to escape.

I really hate hip business lingo.

My mom is a medical transcriptionist... excuse me, on the medical records "team." Recently, the hospital director's husband said her department's air conditioner looked "tacky," and the director, in response, ordered that it be taken out, without replacing it. It's August, folks. We're in the South. You do the math: does team spirit lift my mom up where she belongs?

If you answered yes, I see a promising career for you as the person who designs those glossy posters with eagle pictures and cliches. Congratulations; you'll have more car trouble than the average American, and you'll never figure out that your coworkers are sabotaging your Dodge as petty revenge for having to suffer conversations with you.

Life goal: To land a permanent career that does not involve uniforms, mascots, teams, or inspiring posters... unless these posters are enjoying a happy relationship with Mr. Lighter Fluid that will regrettably be cut short by the jealous Mr. Sparkler.

In case I haven't mentioned it, Elizabeth City is the size of a walnut...

...So why did Ashton Kutcher and Kevin Costner feel it necessary to come here to research and possibly shoot scenes for their newest flick -- and, in the ultimate invasion of my creative space, brand said chick flick with MY TITLE? Jackasses. I hate you.

I'm a little freaked out by pop culture's assault on my tractor-racing town, but the actors have finally left and in their wake floats grudging normalcy and disappointed fangirls. It's nice to be able to go in Farm Fresh without the cashier striking up a conversation about how they're "totally going to hang out at Levels or Thumper's!!!!" Yes... congratulations... you can be their hick eye candy for a night. It will probably be the most impressive item on your resume. "Pay no attention to all these mundane jobs, my lack of qualification, and the fact that I never made it out of Hickville... once, Ashton Kutcher looked at me!!"

After experiencing the soulless Starbucks joints common in DC and even Berlin, returning to Muddy Waters, my local coffee shop, feels good. Their coffee is all fair trade; they peddle the projects of local artists in subtle, unobtrusive ways; they're refreshingly... homey, yet with odd little edges that manifest themselves in strikingly progressive magazines scattered throughout the shop. I love being there. There's an organic food store (SoHo's) across the street that I still haven't visited, but I believe I've seen SoHo's in DC, too... stores I recognize from DC in Elizabeth City make me feel more at home than stores I recognize from Elizabeth City in DC. Weird, no?

After getting a Muddy's drink with an old friend and driving out to visit my mom at her job, with the sun gleaming in the air and cotton-candy clouds bunching up below the blue, I realized that this town really isn't that bad. I always realize that things aren't that bad right before it's too late. I'm just getting used to EC again, and now I'm leaving; the end of my room cleaning/redesign is just getting in sight, and I won't get to enjoy the finished product for more than a few days. But variety is the spice of life, and I wouldn't want to stay fixed in one place too long anyway.

Nonetheless... when the light hits the water just right... I almost want to grow old here... then I smack myself, with the reminder that I have quite a bit to do before I shop for retirement homes. I don't understand the people who let themselves get stuck here; the world is huge, and whatever Kutcher and Costner think, there are better places to be than Elizabeth City.