Cairo and Cathay

I'm playing virtually all of the roles in Edna St. Vincent Millay's "To the not Impossible Him" right now. Unfortunate.

Plan has been, for a little while, for Elias to move down here from rural New England and for us to get an apartment together in Brooklyn. We're hoping to be moved within a month and a half. At the same time I have my recurring fantasy of loading up the volvo, tossing a guitar, a case of books, a case of whiskey and my life savings in the trunk, strapping the Raleigh on top, and rolling on down to the foothills of the Great Smokey Mountains. L and I spent an anniversary in the Blue Ridge once, and I fell secretly and instantly in love. Talking to Jay last night about the great heroes of Chapel Hill (the inimitable Archers of Loaf, of course) just solidified my belief that I can have the best of both worlds.

Elias has informed me that when we move in together, he would like to try to have contra dances in the apartment, if we have a room that is suitable. Maybe it's the fact that I'm really beginning to dig bluegrass guitar in every way and I've been looking for an excuse to break out the mandolin; maybe it's a backhanded homage to L who must have spent a collected six straight months of her life trying to convince me to contra dance; or maybe its a creative repression of this wanderlust, the way Freud's society is borne of thanatos.

Either way, I guess I'm still trying at the best of both worlds.
My dear, if I should ever travel.