Happy Birthday to me!! That’s right, today is the last day of the Hanukkah-esque celebration that has marked the end of my eighteenth year in this world (trying to figure out whether or not my 18th birthday actually denotes that was like figuring out what really was the new millennium). Thanks to everyone for any part you had in festivities. This year was probably the best yet because I managed a wonderful combination of celebrating as low-key and personal as I wanted to and nonetheless being amazingly surprised by my eternally excellent friends. Everything has been perfect, to the point that things that had nothing to do with my birthday suddenly seemed like unexpected gifts themselves, such as hanging out at Kramer’s house. Thanks again to everyone.

So, I have a puppy. Well, it’s not mine, but I have it. She’s a tiny pug puppy and she’s fairly adorable, although, as I’m sure longtime dog owners know, the adorable qualities only last until she relieves herself on the carpet. It is quite an experience though and, along with Kramer’s kitten, I’ve had far more tiny, fragile creatures fall asleep on me in the last two days than in all the years previous. I agree with Joe that it’s a feeling only secondary to having a girl fall asleep in your arms. Of course, in the case of the girl, you’re less likely to get antsy and want to move around after a while. Lacey, my little lop-eared, pug-nosed friend, is pretty easily handled. If she’s in her playful, chomping mood, it only takes a short time until she wears herself out and sleeps for a few hours.

The thing that amazes me the most about Lacey and Trooper, Kramer’s little assassin, is how small they are. Lacey is ceaselessly underfoot, which is dangerous when my fairly large hooves are falling from the sky. I could probably seriously injure her if I’m not careful, and thus, all the hard work I went through years ago to stop looking at my feet all the time when I walked is now undone by a little furball. Being able to hold such small animals, though, is an incredible feeling, especially when both of them tried to bite me without much of a result. All the complex requirements of life that go into keeping me walking, breathing, eating, and pontificating are likewise crammed into these beings that are about 50 times smaller than me. Well, not the pontificating, which is a relief. Of course, I also have about 5000 times the responsibilities and concerns of this cute puppy, a mere one of which is said puppy. I don’t mean that I wish to BE a puppy. I wouldn’t have the incredible emotional attachments or the capacity for deep thought that I relish in life if that were the case. It’s just interesting to think of perspectives that way. My life is comprised of looming deadlines, fruitless job searches and the uncertain future. The puppy’s life consists of the bottom three inches of the world, unless she chances to look up, which must be incredibly overwhelming. Thus, I have enjoyed lying down on the floor, feeling Lacey climb awkwardly onto my chest, and then falling asleep in her simple little puppy world.

Due to recent half-joking, half-profound discussions regarding the concept of everyone having their own religions of themselves, I have decideded to create another blog. I Am Not Left-handed will remain the place to find descriptions of my daily life, stories and minor reflections on specific events. The other blog, The Book of Ian, will be a collection of my thoughts regarding general topics. Think of it as a discussion group, wherein a topic is selected for interaction except that I'm talking and you're listening, if you really want to. I'll probably maintain this blog as where I write with my normal voice and a slightly deep tone at times, but I intend the Book of Ian to be fairly thought-provoking and therefore, I'll come off as a windbag, most likely. Right now, it's an experiment. Who knows if I even have anything to write about?

Coming Soon: The remainder of the Jersey Trip. Stay tuned.

For now: http://www.thebookofian.blogspot.com

Ok, so I’m going to wait on the rest of Senior Trip. I’m debating whether or not I’m even going to finish it. There’s really not that much more to say about it. I’ll always remember it as one of the greatest weeks of my life thus far, and very little could top it. Then again, I’m open to the idea that something might.

As for the graduation party, I’d say this weekend was quite the success. My friends came over Friday, enjoyed some time together before finally separating by gender and eventually hitting the sack.

The next day, we drove to the airport at 5:30 in the morning. Amazingly, the presence of my friends allowed me to be a bit more….alive, let’s say, for the ride, as normally I’d be dead to the world until we got to the parking lot. However, that subtle difference in the basic nature of my trip was a harbinger of the weekend to come.

The flight was rather uneventful, with my friends sitting in the row in front of me whilst I sat with Mom and her friend Pam. I wished there was some way to sit with the others, but I guess the nature of the upcoming party would require a bit of separation between them and myself. Nonetheless, I entertained myself by doing the Sky crossword so that some poor fellow will open it up, hoping to find something to do during the flight and find the crossword completed with a little note that says, “Haha, I already did it!” Ok, so I didn’t write the note, but I always feel that way when I get a used crossword on the place.

After arriving in Philly, we got our rental SUV and set out for Uncle Kevin’s, the resting place before the big soiree. Upon our arrival, I introduced my friends to the family, exposing them to people who had previously been the subject of myths, such as the Rhino. My family sort of put on a show for the guests. Sean went out of his way to be around us and to demonstrate his prowess at Playstation 2, Brian made the effort to seem older and perhaps attractive to Kate and Michelle. I don’t think it worked, but then again, I’m not a mind reader. Uncle Kevin and Aunt Hannah were just great, however, being incredibly hospitable and warm to my friends and Pam. Uncle Kevin even offered to take us to go see real life Mennonites, but we were a little tired, so we declined.

Once we had rested enough, we got dressed nicely, somehow managing to have matching outfits, with Michelle and Sterling both in blue, and Kate and I both working the black shirt, khaki pants look. It just struck me as funny-looking, especially after seeing Dan’s play, where the four leads were color-coded. However, everyone looked great, and that made me feel more comfortable, because not only do I have great friends along for the ride, but damn, they clean up well.

We made the drive to Jersey, a ride that used to enthrall me as a child, with its gigantic bridges to cross and the sight of battleships in long lines. Even now, I still felt a bit of amazement at driving over the Walt Whitman Bridge, so much so that I probably had a big childish smile on my face, very unbecoming of a recent graduate, but did I care? Not particularly. We went on to my uncle’s house and, upon entering, we were greeted by early guests and, of course, my family. Erin and my friends were introduced, so as to clarify who exactly was the other celebrated graduate. Erin’s friends were obviously wondering the same thing, as they had been questioning the existence of “this Ian guy” since the invitations went out. I can only think of High Fidelity’s “What FUCKING Ian guy!”

The party eventually picked up as I led my friends into the basement, specifically the back rooms of the basement, which became our basic hangout when not “mingling” with the guests, which was a definite must because all of these people came out to see us and it wouldn’t be very cordial to lurk in the basement and not thank them for coming and commit oneself to a bit of self-importance while also listening to stories of great restaurants in DC. In short, I had a great time, because I actually did get the feeling that I was being celebrated for my hard work and talking to all of the adults gave me a feeling of finally being grown-up myself. However, a mixture of childish adulthood kept consuming me, as I returned frequently to the basement, the longtime sanctuary of the children, to be with the friends that I had found as a somewhat mature individual. Even when I went upstairs from time to time, I brought my friends, partially to support me, as they did unfailingly, and partially because it was interesting to say something to the effect of “These are my friends from Georgia” and wait for the resulting questions. We didn’t get many comments about our accents; however, we were told that our use of “y’all” was “cute.”

The party continued, with great food, fun times with my friends, interesting conversations with interesting people, and the occasional interaction between my family and friends. This was mostly on the part of Uncle Don, whose candor served as a bridge between the two aspects of my life. Eventually, though, my three friends and I became evidently tired, not sharing the same spirit as the dancing revelers upstairs, and therefore, we convinced Mom that it was time to head out.

After goodbyes to the family, thanks specifically for my uncle and aunt who had hosted the party and who were letting us use their beach house, and a final farewell to my fellow graduate, we piled lazily into the car and set off at once for Stone Harbor. Though my mind was slightly tired from the evening, my nostalgic heart was alert with eager anticipation at the thought of going to my favorite place in this world.

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I’m back….or am I? Have I come back from my senior trip as the same person who left the Milton parking lot less than a week ago? I don’t feel like I have. Whatever the change may be, it feels undeniably positive, despite the fact that part of it feels like a loss of innocence, a forfeit of childhood purity for adult maturity.

It started simply enough. Seeing all of the parents dropping the kids off in the lower lot of the school we so recently left behind gave me a sense of all of those church retreats I’d been on. However, not only did the senior trip seem more religious, as I hold my friendships as somewhat holy to me, but it actually had a look to it that suggested that our parents were seeing us off as we ventured into life. I’m sure it wasn’t that deep to anyone else. It wasn’t even that deep to me then. Only now, after I know what the week means to me, do I feel as if the parents were sending us into our own lives, more so than graduation or even the eventual college move-in could make me feel.

The ride up was uneventful, stopping only at the covered bridge to meet up with everyone for the more complicated leg of the journey. During the break, I noticed that the creek spanned by the bridge crossed a small length in which gigantic rock formations had seemingly swollen beneath the current, causing the water to course along the rocks, giving the creek a decidedly bulbous appearance. One could easily walk on the stone through water so shallow that first glance suggested a miraculous walking on water. Something about that sight signified to me that I had reached the beginning of what would be a natural reawakening after years of ignorant, materialistic sleep upon the lavish pillows of civilization. Alpharetta, and especially neighborhoods like the Windward collective, never really inspires you to thoughts of the beauty of nature. Nowhere in the Bible is it written, “On the seventh day, God created Starbucks.” Not that I’m advertising for the Almighty, but it’s nice to be remided that there’s still something out there in the world that can actually instill awe within me.

Once we arrived at the lake and stepped across the threshold of Mic’s grandmother’s house, I felt strangely comfortable. It’s just something about old lake houses, or maybe old houses in general, but they were created for the purpose of life, of existence, as opposed to the million-dollar, four-floors-and-an-entertainment-center “homes” brought to us by “Cribs.” I’m not saying that big modern houses can’t be cozy and filled with love, but the charm and character of those older houses just eases the human soul. From the breezy, screened-in porch to the small yet accommodating kitchen, each room just had a feeling of its own purpose and yet they all came alive wherever we congregated.

When the guys trudged over to their cabin, we were greeted by similar feelings, although not as homey as the first. Our cabin was smaller, more utilitarian, and thus, perfect for the guys. How ironic that the owners are lesbians. It felt good to just drop my stuff and say, “This is home for the next few days.” After the unpacking of the food through a horrifying human conveyor belt system, the main products of which were agitated bottles of soda, we finally sat down, put on some groovy music, and relaxed. In fact, until the moment we left on Thursday, and excepting food preparation, the rest of the stay at the lake was basically a study in repose. If you wanted to do something, you went and did it. If you wanted to just chill, that was cool too. No pressure, no requirements, no bells, no schedules, just leisure. God, it felt good.

Now leisure does come at a small price. It took me a while after jumping in the rather chilly lake to determine that I still did possess my manhood. After a brief period of recovery, however, the body became accustomed to the temperature and new possibilities opened up. The water became the breeding ground for playful games, thoughtful conversations, and simple personal reflection. I especially enjoyed both trips out on the lake in the pontoon boat. It was really amazing to see all of the houses, to analyze their appearances and gauge our desire to live in each one. I particularly found the boathouses intriguing, for here are places that are created for the purpose of simply housing the boats, and yet most owners had made the effort to create some sort of deck or porch off of the boathouses. It seemed as if the plots they had bought weren’t close enough to the water, so they made a place to relax right on the lake, to finalize the separation between themselves and the inland, with all of its responsibilities and concerns. I considered the thought that the trip to the lake itself was like my boathouse, my retreat from the world I know and the life I have to live. At the lake, I could center more around people, whether it be my friends or myself, while simultaneously enjoying the hell out of life. The lake was the first place where I could be just sitting around and not feel like I was wasting time, something I’d only briefly grasped back home with certain people in certain fleeting moments. Sitting around at the lake could never be considered wasting time; I was doing something infinitely important during those few days. I could just sit there and get down to the business of existence: thinking, feeling, loving and living. Sounds a bit cheesy, perhaps, but then again, it sure beats worrying about job applications and move-in dates. Ok, so it wasn’t all Waldenesque soul-searching the whole time. I didn’t think about it while I was doing it. Perhaps that was the truth of it. I was just having fun and enjoying myself. Now, looking back at our time at the lake, I feel as if I spent a few days doing nothing, and yet, in that time, gained more satisfaction with my life than in countless months during which I believed I was doing something.

More to come...