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| Just for fun....our friend Joe naively agreed to help us with one of our films this summer. |
I still can't believe we live in Ohio. I can't believe it's going to be 60 degrees tomorrow and I can't believe how good the mountain bike and road riding is here.
School.
School is good because I like having more to do than I could ever possibly get done. Vince likes it too. Even though we feel really lucky to have this opportunity, we complain about things all the time because we're students and that's what students do.
We complain about stuff like when the professor scolds us for being 30 seconds late but it's OK if they cancel a class because of having to pick someone up at the airport. Or when we're up until 2 am finishing an assignment that's due the next day and because no one else gets it done, the professor gives everyone another week. Or when a professor goes to the west coast for a week and tells us how lucky we are because they're giving us time to catch up. No one else in the class complains about stuff like this but then no one else thinks of a class as something that cost them a hundred thirty dollars.
Being in Ohio for the election and voting made me feel oddly important. Obama came. I rode my bike to the rally where I was joined by 15,000 others. I cabled my bike to a lamp post, snapped the lock closed and realized I didn't have a key but decided to worry about it later. Vin happily (not) rode up and gave me the key. It was a nice night. I had a light and my bike again so I decided to go for a little ride on the bike path along the river wearing my overstuffed backpack. Behind the university, blocking the bike path, a police car with lights surrounded by a handful of spectators tried to catch a glimpse of the president sneaking away. Thinking about how it was such a nice night, I rode around them on the grass. Someone yelled something. Probably still pumped from the rally. Ahead I could see I had the path to myself. The big dipper was on my right. I heard crickets. "Oh look there's a really big guy running," I noted. "Ha. Looks like he running toward me....shit, he is running toward me." All of a sudden, he tackled me. I didn't go down like 'tackle' might imply, but I could have. Still running, he immobilized my arms (just as he was trained, I'm sure) and in one smooth motion, turned my bike and me 180 degrees toward the siren and lights racing down the bike path for me. Yelling something that meant 'you can't be here and how did you get past our barricade'?, he let go of me. I put on my 'I know exactly what I'm doing' demeanor and rode past the police car toward home. Always something.
Our typical day.
We get up. Maybe take Max for a little walk. Hang out some laundry. Ride our bikes to acting class. Get a coffee at Court Street during our break. Ride home for lunch and to walk Max. Ride to screenwriting class. Get a coffee at Court Street during our break. Stop at the food co-op on our ride home. Walk Max. Go for a real bike ride. Get home. Make pizza. Eat, while watching something on our big screen. Do homework. We're so spoiled.
Our little house is perfect.
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| It faces east to the brick street. |
