Photos: The Journey

Instead of recounting the final aspects of the move, I will simply sing the praises of Starving Artists Movers (recommended to me by poet, milk editor and Myopic Poetry Series organizer Larry Sawyer), who not only carried the largest and most unwieldy pieces of furniture out of the apartment (after I'd failed to sell or even convince anyone I knew, save my cousin and her husband, of taking much of anything in the preceding weeks, and carted quite a bit out by myself for my neighbors to cull) but donated a large portion of it to Casa Aztlán, which among its other numerous wonderful services, provides necessary items to recently-arrived immigrants who may have nothing.

The drive, in two cars, which began pleasantly enough early in the morning in Chicago in Chicago (arrivederci!) but later in Pennsylvania felt like it would never end, in part because for sizable stretches the two-lane Interstate 80 narrowed to only one, finally did, early the following morning. (How, I will ask for the umpteenth time, did any government administer that state or any other as large as it (Ohio, Kentucky, Illinois, Minnesota, etc.) before the invention of the telegraph, the paddle boat, or trains?) We made it back in one piece, the boxes have mostly reached their destination, and now the process of unpacking, reacclimating to being home, and preparing for the new school year all begin. Here are a few photos that tell the story.


Public Storage, which was often closd when I stopped by there to buy boxes and bubble wrap (OPEN, COME IN, only you can't right now)

An empty bookshelf, with some artwork (by Tiffany Gholar atop the shelf, and the disc by Niz) and boxes

Boxes!

Packed up things waiting to be put into the cars

The apartment living room emptied out

A last glimpse through the blinds onto the front courtyard

In front of my last Chicago homestead (photo by C)

A farewell visitor

The final meal I cooked (there were two, these are the remaining halves, Italian sausage, and the vegetarian pizza for yours truly)

The route from Chicago (the Willits [Sears] Tower is visible in the background)

The 7th chamber of hell, or the endless, undulating blur, or driving from one end of Pennsylvania to the other at night

The farmer's market in downtown Jersey City

Oh No, the Snow

Classes are entering their third week, but it feels like three months have passed already, and the spring temperatures that popped up for a few days didn't help; I really began to think I should be expecting final revisions on short stories and final critical papers because of the balmier temperatures and people scooting through the streets in shorts and flipflops (!), but a reality check came swiftly enough with the snowfall two days ago.  It began while I was holding office hours, and by the time I left campus, the streets were so treacherous--and my old little car so unroadworthy--that I found myself slowly spinning out on the icy slush just yards after crossing from Evanston into Chicago.  It was as if I were 6 years old and skidding around Steinberg Skating Rink in Forest Park, except that instead of an overcoat, mittens and a wool hat I was wearing a ton of metal and plastic, and instead of other novice and skilled skaters around me I was surrounded by fast-moving missiles, and instead of wooden walls I needed to avoid smashing into trees and lampposts. I was driving very slowly, there wasn't a lot of traffic, I knew to turn into the skid, and I'm fine, but I drove the whole rest of the way home praying that I stayed on the road as opposed to skating off it, or cursing the mayor, Rahm Emanuel, whose salt trucks had apparently not yet reached the far northeast corner of the city.

It wasn't much better on Friday morning as I headed back north to teach. From my front window I could see the main road had been plowed (or at least salted and driven enough to appear passable), and thought, well, why stumble over to the El, which takes forever and would mean standing in the cold, waiting to transfer to the Evanston trains in the cold, and then standing in the packed cocoon for 4-5 stops only to have to trundle back out into the cold and snow to reach class. (I say all of this despite being, as regular J's Theater readers know, a devoted fan of public transportation.) So I thought, why not drive? My car slumbered in its usual post-storm sarcophagus, so I dug it out, and all was going well until I crossed into Evanston and discovered that the salting had stopped at the Chicago border; the northbound lanes were paved with icy slush, and it again was like skating as carefully as possible to get to my destination. Let it suffice to say that 1) I got to class on time; 2) I was able to get home in one piece; and 3) though I cannot afford a new used car, I seriously considered getting one that has four-wheel drive, or something to make the driving experience in this kind of weather more...safe. Last night the temperatures fell to about 0F (according to NPR, it was already -5F without the windchill in the suburbs), and I did not dare venture out.

Today it's very cold (20F) but sunny. More snow is allegedly on its way tonight and tomorrow, though we're also supposed to get warmer temperatures, as in the high 30s too, and perhaps even rain. Cold but clear days and nights, or cold but non-icy rain I'll take any day over snow and slush, especially if there's any possibility I'll have to drive in it. Here are some pictures of the snow, which always looks pretty if you don't have to be in it!

The campus, as the snow began falling

The street, in the midst of the snowstorm

The local playground, in the snowfall

The street, heading east towards the lake

A pretty night scene in Rogers Park

Reading and Roading in California

Once again I'm in the air, in mild disbelief that the driving-reading tour of southern California with Seismosis collaborator Christopher Stackhouse has concluded. As I noted in a prior blogpost, we read on Wednesday at the University of California-San Diego, in their Black Box Theater; on Thursday at California State University, San Marcos, in their Commons Theater; and on Friday at the Poetic Research Bureau's/Public School's reading space in Los Angeles's Chinatown.  I have thanked all of our hosts, meal companions and attendees directly, but let me again say many, many thanks, for the invitations, the meals, the conversations about all manner of things (Afrofuturism,  the crisis and effects of public university funding and the larger societal dismissal of the humanities, translating forgotten poets and trippy Argentinian novels, Hilda Hilst, the diminishing enrollment of free classes on Baruch Spinoza, St. Louis Cardinals baseball fans in Los Angeles, Cheikh Anta Diop, mental colonization and oppressive consciousness, UCLA vs. USC, life without an automobile in Los Angeles, fishing in Key West, the constrained appeal of loquats, the need for higher marginal federal tax rates, Ben Shahn, the genius of Geoffrey Chaucer, etc.), the books, the laughter, and especially the directions!

Chris and a friend of his had previously taken a cross-country road trip a few years ago, and some of my students have sung the praises of long and shorter trips over the years, but the furthest roadtrips I've trips since arriving at the university have been 1) to Milwaukee to read (which isn't very far at all); 2) Saint Louis to visit family members (again, not that all that far); and 3) with C back to New Jersey a few years ago, a trip I always remember fondly because almost immediately upon our arriving on the raceways of the Garden State, a furious rainstorm began, and it was only through C's steadiness behind the wheel and presence of mind that we got home in one piece. I think I still prefer traveling by train or plane more than cars, but this trip has subtly shifted my opinion.

For J's Theater readers from San Diego, San Marcos (are there any?) or Los Angeles, these images may induce leaden lids, but if not, do enjoy.

San Diego from the airplane

The Pacific Ocean

Surf school, Mission Bay Pacific beach, San Diego

Mission Bay, San Diego

On the campus of the University of California, San Diego

Kroc Center for Peace Studies reflecting pool, on the University of San Diego campus (poet and friend Jericho Brown gave us a brief and enjoyable tour of the campus)

Main plaza, California State University, San Marcos

Rural southern Orange County, heading north to Los Angeles

101 freeway in Los Angeles, with zeppelin

Union Station in the background, homeless Angelenos in the foreground

Los Angeles railway (funicular)

Nancy Rubens sculpture, LaMOCA