Lost In Me

Saturday night found me back in Ithaca, drinking coronas at The Nines as part of a two-man audience for a six-man band. And while Los Diablos describe themselves as "the kings of Irish-Jewish folk-punk", to me they seemed very much like what a local band should sound like, with their accordions and mandolins. It occurred to me as I was sitting in that bar that I was thankful to experience something that felt so authentically American, because eventually I will leave this country and the only way I will see anything like that again will be in some clichéd Hollywood movie about the American heartland or some such. I bought a copy of their CD in appreciation, and shook the lead singer's hand after they finished their act, but unfortunately didn't get to buy him a beer, as by then I was broke.

Classes started yesterday, in some perverse birthday gift from the university to me. I'm looking forward to my last semester here, and with the knowledge that it is my last semester somehow the campus seems more lively and colorful. I want to get as much as I can out of my remaining time here, but maybe that's just my usual initial optimism before I disappear beneath a small mountain of problem sets.

But it's amazing how things seem so much rosier in general when you know you're about to leave, and that's true even of human relationships. Given my nomadic sort of upbringing I've had many many chances to say goodbye, and I remember in the days leading up to goodbye, friends seemed closer than before, nicer to me than they seemed before. And a few times, after I'd left, I found those friend did mean more to me than I'd thought. Most of the times, sadly, it turned out to be a rosy illusion.

And so I'm hoping this new Cornell turns out not to be another illusion.