Pursuitist
Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness
Movement
Suddenly, it was time to leave.After five months of living in Dublin, my visa was up. Ahead of me was a two month journey to Seattle to renew my visa. Behind me were smiles and hard work and deep, full breaths of life.I packed up the few things I had and put the essentials into the one suitcase I'd be carrying with me. The rest would be stowed in a closet at work. With that, phase one of my Dublin experience was over.It was a strange goodbye. I didn't have much time to think about it given the madness of the World Cup summer. That and I wasn't really "leaving;" I'd be back in weeks. There was still something "book-closing" about it. Ireland saved me. This grey island showed me light when I felt engulfed in darkness. I'll forever be grateful for that.
See You Soon, Dublin.
This is happening.I keep telling myself that but it hasn’t really sunk in. Work is sending me to Dublin on a three to six month assignment. Dublin, Ireland.Details have come at a frustratingly slow pace. I’m not stressed though, surprisingly. Instead of getting wrapped up in things I can’t control, I’m going to sit back and let the fates direct me where they may.So what do we know:I’m headed over there with my colleague Brian and couldn’t image a better co-worker to have on the journey. We were supposed to be roommates, but now we’ll have our own places. We’ll be there for three to six months, depending on the project and how everyone is feeling about the situation.
The Genetics of a Road Trip
Bar-be-que, Texas history, and the open road. Dad and I were out to celebrate his birthday as this father-son duo would do best: with a mini road trip.The destination was Presidio La Bahia in Goliad, but as with all good road trips, it was the journey that was the destination. As the wheels carried us past the concrete plains of Houston, we shared stories of past lives, both good and bad. The moral of all the stories, regardless of what happened, everything has a way of working out in the end.Victoria was on the horizon, meaning a trip to Mumphord’s BBQ. Dad and I have a tradition of visiting the best BBQ joints in Texas, and this one didn’t disappoint. As amazing as those ribs were though, it was the tour of the smokehouse that really sealed the deal. Open fires and massive smokers and a good amount of B.S. filled the area. We asked one guy how long he smoked the meats. “Till it’s done,” he shot back with a heavy laugh.
If -
One year ago, I packed up everything I owned, a few things I didn't own, and left my life in Brooklyn for a life in Texas. It was, and continues to be, the hardest thing I've ever done.Since moving to Texas, if something could have gone wrong, it did. Big stuff. Little stuff. The kind of stuff we all mutter to ourselves "wouldn't happen to me." My life broke. I was left listening to Cat Power's 3, 6, 9 over and over and over...Through it all though, a poem stared down at me. It's printed on a hot pink sheet, framed, sits above my desk. It was given to me when I graduated from college - May 17, 2003. My whole family signed it.
I Got a Ticket for Running a Stop Sign on my Bike
Seriously. 8:30 in the morning on a Wednesday and I heard the sirens behind me. A squad car with lights flashing pulled me over. 1oth and Nueces. I was dumbstruck. That's when the anger picked up. I was literally shaking.Here's the deal: I like to think of myself as one of the "good" bike riders. I wear a helmet. I have lights. I don't ride on the sidewalk. I don't ride against traffic. I don't even ride on Friday or Saturday evenings because there are too many drunks on the road. Yet I was the one nabbed. There are terrible bicyclists out there. Drivers too. Make your statement with those guys.The cop told me she was doing this for my own good. That she didn't want me to be one of the 26 people who die annually in Austin while riding their bikes. Just then, a guy rode by without wearing a helmet*. "How many of them were wearing helmets," I asked as she finished her lecture.
Wurstfest: The Best Fest in Texas
Really, it was all about the hat.True, Wurstfest had plenty more exciting things to offer: Pork chops on a stick, fried sauerkraut balls, beer, and yes, sausage. But those simply could not be properly enjoyed without the hat. So Sean and I grabbed a beer and promptly found the hat line. The line wasn't long, but the wait wasn't short. So we waited. And waited. It seems the hat purveyors at Wurstfest take their trade seriously, which only makes sense when you consider the importance of a good drinking hat.Now, this wasn't just any old festival hat. This was a Bavarian Alpine hat, perfect for accompanying the consumption of large beers and hot sausages. Just as important to the hat was the feather, which is what Sean was waiting for. His hat already sat proudly on his head. He just needed to top it off with a squirrel feather.
It's Just Not a Very Good Fit
Art has a way to calm, yet instigate. An ability to create quiet thought coupled to emotional outbursts. I've used it as a muse and a goal and a place to unload my sins. After every visit, my weary legs carry my stressed back and over-worked mind out into a world of beauty and inspiration.Today, I visited the Blanton Art Museum. A new Caldas exhibit, "The Nearest Air," challenged my appreciations of spatial dimensions. The lightness and beauty of the works truly caught me off guard. I also joined a tour of the Imperial Augsburg exhibit. Unbelievably, one of the first pieces to greet you is an indulgence; a literal ticket to heaven! I was unable to snag it, but did sneak this picture of it. Will that take me to heaven or hell? Better to not think about it.
Houston: Dynamic Dynamo
Well Houston, you did it again. You left me even more impressed than last time. True, it doesn't hurt having close friends and family there. But there's just something dynamic about the town!The plan was to center a weekend around a Houston Dynamo game while crashing at Pad de Piper.I pulled in to town on a Saturday via Megabus. Few things warm my heart like cheap public transportation and drop-off locations in saloon parking lots. The Houston drop-off point is at the Lone Star, so I had a beer waiting for Travis when he came to pick me up. That pretty much set the tone for the weekend. After the Lone Star, we slowly toured the city's bars, which included country fried bacon burgers and far too many beers. Three in the morning came far too quickly. Eleven the next morning came even faster.
Are You Employed Sir?
The job search that lasted much too long has finally been put to rest. I accepted a job with Demand Media: Start date October 1.The offer officially arrived the week I was supposed to start grad school in Seattle. I'd say it was perfect timing, but perfect timing would have been about 10 months ago. Let's just say sometimes everything hits at once.As would befit any new job, I'm still learning and fitting in to my proper job description. I do have a title though: Product Manager. Currently I'm overseeing the development of what will soon be about 40 different Top Level Domain microsites. Once they are live, my job description will evolve into promoting, analyzing, and optimizing the campaigns.
Remember das Alamo!
Seven and a half years later, Jan and I were roommates again. My old roommate from Berlin was visiting San Antonio for work and invited me to share his hotel room for an evening. How could I pass up the once-every-five-years opportunity to see him?! The last time I saw him was for an afternoon back in 2011. Since then, we hadn't seen each other since I moved to Brooklyn!The weather could have shown a bit more hospitality for our visit. Rains, at times torrential, were only interrupted by buckets of humidity dumped on us. In a word, it was gross. No matter - there was a city to visit and a time to have!An overnight stay in the Alamo city had been on my list for a while. Jan worked during the day, leaving me plenty of time to explore. I can't remember the time I wandered the city as a tourist, without some kind of sporting or conference or festival agenda to attend to.
Rusty and Pauline's Wedding: The End of the Wedding Trilogy
Rusty and Pauline got married in upstate New York. Actually, at John Leguizamo's lake house near Rosendale, NY, to be exact. Because why not?This was the final act in the three week wedding odyssey. One final test for my liver. One final pad to the frequent flier account.I flew in to JFK Friday afternoon. I found myself getting much more excited than I had anticipated as we flew over the Jersey Shore. I looked out at Coney Island, then the vast expanse of green that makes up Greenwood Cemetery and Prospect Park. Home. The sound of the subway rattle. The crush of white black brown tan and every color in between. Finally, my stop. The only stop during this brief layover. Times Square. I guess I'm officially a tourist now.I met Rusty's friend Randy at the Beer Authority. After a quick beer, we got on the bus that would take us upstate. Randy would be my roommate and partner in crime for the next 48 hours, even despite the snores. We met up with our other housemates Drew and Clara, then settled in nicely to our little cottage in Rosendale.
The Piper Wedding: Putting the Marriage at Cana to Shame
Three weddings in three weeks. I was quickly becoming an expert in witty wedding banter.Up next was the Piper wedding in Houston. Travis finally managed to close the deal after 25 years of courtship. It's not a race, right?!Amazingly, Travis and I have known each other for nearly half our lives. We were potluck suitemates in the dorm freshman year. Since then, we've grown to know each other's families and friends, whether through stories told or late evening beer runs. I may only see his high school crew once every couple of years, but when I do, we can pick up immediately. There's something special about that.The ceremony was beautiful of course. It was a large-ish, Catholic wedding, which contrasted nicely with the other weddings in my three-pack: a small European wedding and an upstate New York Jewish wedding. With so much variety, I've really appreciated the little touches of personality that have given each wedding it's character.
Searching for My Pot of Gold in Dublin
Dublin is a grey, lonely town. There, I said it.I know I speak blasphemy about a place so many love, but you won't get me to change my stance. At least not about the grey part.As for the lonely part, I don't know. Maybe it's that I had just left a nest of friends back in Germany. Maybe it was the pressure of yet another job interview. Maybe it was traveling alone while trying (and failing) to not think about Holly. Maybe it was the fact that no matter where you drink it, Guinness just isn't very good. Whatever it was, it sure got me lonely.I hadn't planned to visit Ireland on this trip, but the promise of a job interview persuaded me to alter my schedule. Despite my best intentions, I slummed it hostel-style, staying in Isaacs Hostel. I thought I was well beyond the point of sharing bunk beds with nine other snoring strangers. Turns out my wallet would beg to differ. Hostel life minimizes "alone-time," though does little to combat loneliness.
Hilmar & Sonja: Happily Ever After
When I moved from Berlin to New York in 2007, I asked my good friend Hilmar to look after my (then-) girlfriend Sonja. She had just moved to Berlin and didn't know many people. "Give her a call every-once-in-a-while and invite her out with everyone," I told him. Little did I know that he intended to look after her for the rest of his life. I couldn't be happier.Hilmar and Sonja got married in the most storybook of weddings. The ceremony took place in an 800 year old church that shared a past with his family lineage. The reception was held just down the hill and past the pond on the grounds of Palace Rattey. All that was missing was a Fairy Godmother.It was a youthful, intimate affair, filled with so many of the people who have unknowingly changed my life immensely. Some I have known for nearly half my life. Others, like my top-bunk bed roommate Daniel von Marzahn, I had only met that weekend. I also (finally) got to meet Sonja's family - and I'm on informal terms with them speaking-wise. That's a big deal... I think.
Adventures in Mecklenburg
Time was short unfortunately. With a only a week in Germany, there wasn't a lot of time to get lost. I like to think I was able to hold my own though. With Meck-Pom being the location of the wedding, I took advantage of the exotic locale and hit up some nearby attractions.I missed my chance to visit Rostock back in 2005 when I was a tutor in Dresden. A fellow tutor, Jason, regaled me with tales of the former East German coastal down, leaving little doubt as to whether I would visit, only when. Wenn nicht jetzt, wann denn?The walk from the train station to the town passed through a charming section of refurbished villas and the all-too-common East German trappings of just a touch too much silence.
Das ist die Berliner Luft
Like a breath of fresh air.After everything that's happened this past year, it was the streets of Berlin that, once again, made me smile. Imagine that, finding positivity in the land of the Germans.It was a short three days in the Hauptstadt before traveling up to Mecklenburg for Hilmar and Sonja's wedding. I crashed with Jeff in my old neighborhood of Friedrichshain, finally repaying him for his many visits to Brooklyn.The 'hood had certainly changed since I left it in January 2007: The scars of communism have been healed, the part-time punks grew up and got jobs and bought nicer things and had kids. But still, there was a certain energy on the streets. People were everywhere, but not in a claustrophobic sense. At night, the cafes spilled into the sidewalks and neighbors met in the parks.
Do-over
Do-overs. They don't come around often in this life. So when they do, you take full advantage of them.There's part of me that views my move back to Austin in this light: a chance to go back and do all the things you missed the first time around. As a 21 year old, I was often too insecure, too drunk, or too wet behind the ears to really take advantage of the city around me. It's happened to us all. That's why we grow up.