the music our collisions make

Tomorrow I start school [school!] again, and the thought of it is already wrenching my nerves. In short I am kind of terrified.

Though there is also this, and I feel there is at least this on which to cling:

But the poetry of that kiss, the wonder of it, the magic that there was in life for hours after it – who can describe that? It is so easy for an Englishman to sneer at these chance collisions of human beings. To the insular cynic and the insular moralist they offer equal opportunity. It is so easy to talk of “passing emotion,” and to forget how vivid the emotion was ere it passed. Our impulse to sneer, to forget, is at root a good one. We recognize that emotion is not enough, and that men and women are personalities capable of sustained relations, not mere opportunities for an electrical discharge. Yet we rate impulse too highly. We do not admit that by collisions of this trivial sort the doors of heaven may be shaken open. To Helen, at all events, her life was to bring nothing more intense than the embrace of this boy who played no part in it. He had drawn her out of the house, where there was danger of surprise and light; he had led her by a path he knew, until they stood under the column of the vast wych-elm. A man in the darkness, he had whispered: “I love you” when she was desiring love. In time his slender personality faded, the scene that he evoked endured. In all the variable years that followed she never saw the like of it again.

- Forster, Howards End

Said, if you’re gonna play the game, boy, ya gotta learn to play it right.

One thing I’ve learned a lot about since moving is Stephen Starr, whose name and lore I had never heard before living in Philadelphia. “That’s a great restaurant… is it a Stephen Starr?” “No, we’re going to the other ice cream shop – the one by the new Stephen Starr?” “It was great, but no Stephen Starr, you know?” I didn’t know. But now I am getting the idea. Stephen Starr = stylish and ambience-drenched dining and entertainment establishments that have good food and are almost affordable and manage to come across as cool and not snobby. The whole Starr thing is just one of those instances where you feel like the last person to find out about something, and then when you do, it’s like you can’t escape it. Like Rachel Ray, or the Purpose Driven Life.

So anyhow, my mother and sister and I were planning a [very brief] beach vacation, and we decided to go to Atlantic City because its cheaper and more alcoholic and gambly than its Jersey shore neighbors. I was excited because I had never been in a casino and figured it would be weird and entertaining if nothing else [it was], but I let everyone else handle the details. So naturally my mom hears about this new and fancy hotel on the beach and its wildly cheap opening week promotional rates, and of COURSE it’s a Stephen Starr hotel.

So we went to AC and stayed at this über-everything mod 60’s style luxe hotel establishment, complete with retro-modern couches all over the place and faux rococo details and all the expensive wallpaper patterns I’ve been ogling for the past year on design blogs. It was pretty great, especially when I spent the entire time pretending I was sort of person to stay in luxurious hotels that actually have a design scheme and unifying theme.

okay, so this pool? pretty fance, but totalllly not as huge as it looks here. also worth mentioning is that you have to picture this space teeming with small children and construction sounds - as most of the swinging and stylish amenities of this future casual-hip Venetian-modern hot spot aren't built yet...

But other than that, Atlantic City is very much how you remember it, if you’ve been there in the past 35 years. Casinos are SO WEIRD. There’s like 20 different identical places to choose from [the gold leaf classical vibe of Cesar’s Palace? or the Branson, Missouri-esque Bally’s?] And when we finally picked a place where I “felt lucky”, I felt like I was going to have an epileptic seizure. Slots are crazy. Can you imagine people spending an entire DAY there? I tried to shove a wrinkled ten through the change converter [I trust myself to play nothing but nickel slots] and literally was bowled over by a worn-looking over-Blonde who just HAD to break her HUNDRED dollar bill for a game of Kino. Insane.

To put things into perspective, it took me two hours to play [and lose] five dollars in penny and nickel slot machines. Which may mean that I was “too careful”, but also means I only spent five dollars and would probably die of smoke inhalation and overstimulation if I would actually try to do this sort of thing for realsies. As far as I can tell, the trick with playing the slots is to pick machines with pictures of stuff on them that you like. There’s really no other rhyme or reason to it – all the games are pretty much the same except for the sounds that ring when you win or lose 15 cents. I played Enchanted Unicorn, Jeopardy, Alien Resurrection, and Dolphin Magic slot machines before settling on Kenny Rogers’ The Gambler, which was ridiculous and funny for obvious reasons. I doubled my five dollars on the Free Spin Slot Car Bonus Round and enjoyed the animated Kenny Rogers headshots and ricochet sounds for about a half hour before that wily rogue snatched it all away in a matter of seconds. That’s Vegas, baby. I mean, that’s Vegas’ snarky and dingier East Coast cousin… baby.

I guess it’s fitting that I learned my greatest lesson of the weekend from the Gambler himself:

Islands in the stream, that is what we are

No one in between, how can we be wrong?

Sail away with me. to another world

And we rely on each other, uh huh

From one lover to another, uh huh.

Uhhhh huh. But seriously, if anyone is going to AC anytime soon, let me know. I can feel that casino glitter calling my name, and I think maybe a few more hours and I could break even. Seriously!

____________________

an important afterthought, inspired by staying up all night to watch an Ace of Cakes marathon:

Ace of Cakes is one of my favorite shows on television…nay, things about LIFE, ever. One thing I wonder about, though, is NOT if they are really cakes [I know they are really cakes. I’ve seen enough Food Network fondant draping in my day to understand how gum paste works], but how Chef Duff manages to employ exclusively mild-mannered and low-speaking girls and boys. They work in a novelty CAKE SHOP that has its own REALITY SHOW. But somehow every cake decorator on the show uses the same monotone, all the time, no matter what they are doing or how sad/frustrated/happy they may be. I still find them all entertaining and delightful, but I just wonder how people can be so even-tempered… especially in the presence of so much sugar. I guess it’s a good thing, though, because a more excitable human [me, in my wildest dreams… which would also include a pet mini horse] would probably be knocking over all the delicate marzipan all the time.

maroon, yellow, blue, gold, and gray

This morning I woke up for the first time in my new house in Philadelphia. I could hear leaves rustling in a morning breeze, and it was so lovely. In spite of the piles of mess everywhere, I was really excited for the new day.

So even though I am getting acclimated to the weight of academic anxiety and sharply spiking financial concerns, trying to figure out the balance between city awareness and paranoia, and determining how to fit 37 dresses and 29 pairs of shoes into a crumbling plaster trapezoid-shaped closet, I was feeling pretty good.

So I decided to shuck all pretense of being a local and run up the steps of the art museum.


And it felt great.