The First

I'm in Philadelphia this weekend, hanging out with some old D.C. friends going to see what's left of a band we used to see at least 3 times a year back then: Dean and Britta. Dean and Britta were the guitarist and bassist for the band Luna- well, Britta was the second bassist. The first bassist, Justin, left after Pup Tent came out because he wanted to move back to his native New Zealand. Anyway, Luna broke up several years ago, but Dean and Britta, now married, have continued on as duo. They are opening up for Mercury Rev here on the East Coast. So, a group of us are meeting this weekend in Philly to go to the show. I would have been alright but for on the flight from Dallas to Philly, we flew right over D.C. There in the night, I could see D.C. all lit up- I could trace the outline of Haines Point, follow the Potomac up and see where the Anacostia splits, and I could make out the Mall. At that point, something stirred in me- something I was hoping to keep down: nostalgia.

Nostalgia is a cruel feeling. It's a feeling of knowing how something used to be, and, no matter how good things are going now, feeling that if you hadn't made a certain choice, it would be better. In my case, my wife and I left D.C. for San Francisco. We left our friends, our jobs, and our old lives. I lived in D.C. for 8 1/2 years, from 22 through 30- and I had a great time. But, I'm always the first to leave. In college, I was the first of my friends to finally leave Waco, and everyone knew it was going to be me. The first year in D.C., I knew, really, really knew, that I should have stayed in Waco. There was no real reason why I felt like that, it's just something that I did. That's nostalgia. The sepia toned memories of days gone past- sitting on the front porch with friends drinking; going to concerts every night, and knowing one of the bartenders who gives you free drinks; just living the day. It's always easier to live in the past; the present is full of so many things- money, jobs, real relationships. Nostalgia just glosses over those things, and focuses on the good times.

I got in my friends' car at the airport, and one of the first things I said was "Are we in the city yet"? It's a meaningless statement, but there's an association to it. Was in Philly many years ago, with most of the same people this weekend, and one of the running jokes was this line- Are we in the city yet. It was funny the first time it was said, but we just kept saying it. Now, I just say it both to annoy and to be funny. It's just what we say. But none of us are where we used to be. We are all older, married, and either pregnant or soon to be pregnant. We can't go back. Instead, we try to relive the good times- driving to Philly for a Luna show (or Flaming Lips or Guided by Voices), say the same funny lines, and do the same stupid stuff. We are supposed to be wiser, yet, we do our best to recreate those times.

Living in California these past almost 3 years, and coming back to the east coast in December, we had to pull out the pea coat, and dig around for the hat and gloves. Landed and it was 30 degrees- a far cry from the 62 in San Francisco. I miss the cold. I always liked the cold, and winter cold is different than San Francisco cold. Winter cold is dry and hits you deep- you take a breath, and you can feel it in your lungs, and it shivers you from within. San Francisco cold is a humid, wet and windy cold- like walking into a 60 degree sauna, then someone turning on the fan. The moisture on your skin is cold, then it hits you with a wind that moves through you and seeps through your clothes. When I lived in D.C., I would live for the cold mornings, walking from my apartment to the Metro station. Pea coat, gloves, hat and scarf; I walk outside, take a deep breath and slowly exhale. I always knew that I was never meant to stay in D.C., I always knew that I should enjoy and live each moment in D.C. I'd walk to Union Station and run my fingers along the walls, hoping that I would be able to remember the rough texture of the walls and columns. I would walk and always try to see the Capitol, even though we had a view of the Capitol from our apartment. Heck, sometimes in our apartment, I'd just stare out the window, amazed that I had a view of the Capitol, amazed that I could just look out the window and see it; see something that millions of people everyday visit, there it was, right out my window.

I live with nostalgia. Every so often, I ride the 21 bus from the Richmond to work, and it goes right past Alamo Square. It's a tremendous view of the city. When I ride the 5, there's an ever so quick glimpse of the city with Marin in the background. Sometimes, and I can do this because I have a monthly Muni pass, I just ride the cable cars because I can; I listen to the ringing of the bell, the shuddering up or down a hill, the creaking of the wood, and the views of the city.

We all associate things, people, places and events with our past. Once it's gone, we try to relive it. I know that I live with this, and I plan for nostalgia before it even happens. When I left Waco for D.C., I had been planning what song to play as I drove out of town (REM- Nightswimming). I was already nostalgic for leaving a place I hadn't left yet. I did that with college and I did that with D.C. And I'm doing that with San Francisco, even though I grew up in the Bay Area.

So, this weekend will be full of nostalgia. Seeing concert going friends, going to a concert for a members of band we would travel far and wide to go see (and we did), and moving on. Nostalgia is a funny thing. It tricks you, but you don't want to leave it. It brings on memories of supreme contentment and joy. Maybe I've been lucky, maybe it's just me.

Maybe I need to watch Noah Baumbach's Kicking and Screaming again. Max, played by Christopher Eigeman has a line- "I'm nostalgic for conversations I had yesterday. I've begun reminiscing events before they even occur." I think my college friends always associated me with another character in that movie, but for some reason, I've always associated myself with Max. Maybe I'm just nostalgic about watching that movie, and how it just fit perfectly with my friends and our "what do we do when we graduate" feelings. Whatever it was, it's still with me. It's the same way how certain songs we associate with certain people, events or times in our lives. I'm comfortable with my nostalgia. . .I want to remember events and places, but I do not let it define me.

Nostalgia. . .here I come. I must keep my nostalgia before it turns into a simple remembrance.