RugWeek
By, Julie Munro
It took me a long time to write this. As I sit here on my twelfth
flight since Willa originally sent out the invitation to write, I can't help
but think that I've had plenty of time where there was not much else to do. Yet,
here we are on Day 12 of the Homage to SweaterWeek, and this is the first time
I've typed a single word.
Was anyone else just completely dumbfounded when they realized
it was the one year anniversary of Robert's death? Like, absolutely astounded?
I was. I still think maybe we're all misremembering the date. Or maybe the
calendar is wrong. We must have skipped a couple of months. Did March or April
ever happen? I forget who wrote the first Facebook post that I saw mentioning
the anniversary, but I remember my first reaction ... "This person is
incorrect. Dead wrong." I clicked back the 52 times in my google
calendar to actually look at the date that I took work off to drive to Albany
for the funeral. The "monthly view" wouldn't have been convincing enough.
I'm thinking back to the last month for inspiration on what to
write here. You might say it’s been an uninspiring month filled with a
million conferences and small-talk conversations and pieces of gum to chew when
my ears pop on the airplane's descent. There have been a lot of hotel
basements. It's been pretty dim, except for one thing that Robert would have
gotten a kick out of. Luckily, I documented these this thing. Rob and I always
had amusements that were fairly well aligned.
And that thing is… carpets. Basically, the sweater of the hotel
industry.
Sheraton
Denver Downtown
This is the one that started the whole shebang. Bright green
leaves and vines of flowers intermixed with stripes in alternating directions. I
can imagine Urban Outfitters selling a bed comforter with this design to millennials.
I think they make removable wallpaper in this style.
The leafy pattern reminds me of the time we visited me freshman
year in college. We literally took out a map, closed our eyes, and pointed a
finger. Our destiny was the Smithsonian National Zoo. (Looking back, not the
grandest adventure given it was a mile from American University in a city that
stretches 100 square miles – but it felt like a trek. At the time, I still didn’t
know my roommate Caitlyn all that well – she was quiet and nice enough but
preferred to smoke weed and talk in some sort of secret code language with her
friends from Columbia, Maryland than hang out with me. We co-existed well. But
when you came to town, that changed. You asked her if she wanted to join us at
the zoo, and she said she was in. I shouldn’t have been surprised … you had
that impact on people.
We explored for a couple hours and swore we had only walked
uphill the entire time. But, we were always decent at math – how could that
possible if we were back where we started? We talked about it for the rest of
the weekend. Unsolved mystery.
East
Avenue Inn and Suites Rochester
A quick wedding weekend in between western work travels. A
disgusting overlapping of beige and light blue circles made up of threading
that smells like what I had imagined a budget hotel carpet in Rochester would
smell like. They’re remodeling. But for now, they’re still living in the 70s.
Vintage.
Speaking of vintage, it’s a wedding full of throwbacks - high
school friends, but not really our high school friends. I remember we used to
joke about how my cousin Cameron and I couldn’t have had more different friend
groups, even though we graduated in the same class of 450 people. There were a
lot of names matched with faces I’m honestly not sure I ever knew. Scott Sonne
and I talked about LA. He mentioned Santa Monica, and in my head I have the
same thought I’ve had the past year when someone mentions Santa Monica – I
can’t ever go back there. My last hours with you were the only few I’ve ever
spent there. Scott and I talked about you, how much we miss you, and then I
changed the subject because the idea of crying at a country club surrounded by
random people of the past was not appealing to me.
But still, I couldn’t help but think how much you would have
loved the stories from this wedding. It’s like the time in college when you,
David and I went were back home and went to the truck stop Stewarts on Route 32
(completely unclear why..) late at night. We played that game where we went
around in a circle just naming the most random people we could possibly think
of from high school. We went around until we couldn’t think of anyone else. We
didn’t have a year book, and I think using one might have been considered
cheating in your mind. Julie Hooper. Bobby Nickles. Tristan Fritz (he was at
the wedding..). I’ll never forget it.
Hilton
Parc 55 San Francisco
A dizzying jumble of connected shapes. I have to stop looking
down shortly after snapping this photo so I don’t pass out, but the intricate
design and pop of color tells me someone cared … 30 years ago I bet they were
given the option of something much more boring and instead some person on the
carpet selection committee thought, “this one’s it .. it’ll brighten someone’s
day”. It reminds me of the patterns on the clothing of the St. Francis Academy
students’ when they ripped off their robes and broke out in sing and dance to
“Joyful Joyful” at the end of our favorite movie.
San Francisco: for most, the city of sourdough and good tacos
and technology companies. For me, the setting of Sister Act 2: Back in the
Habit. True fans of Whoopi’s second time around as a nun are few and far
between, so if not for any other reason it was important for me to keep you in
my life. So many open questions remain: Does Jennifer Love Hewitt credit this movie
for her entire career? How was Mr. Crisp not able to escape that room they
locked him in given that it was only “locked” together with a dessert sausage?
How has Maggie Smith looked the same (old) age for 25 years?
You used to e-mail me pictures of Whoopi through the years
wearing weird outfits. It should come as a shocker to no one that there were
many examples – both from films and IRL Whoopi. I’ll always take comfort in
knowing that someone as well-versed as you in film blessed something with a 7%
on Rotten Tomatoes.
Le
Meridien Indianpolis Downtown
This place was classy. I even some some hardwood peeking out
from behind the carpet at one point. To some, the filet of hotel carpets. To
others, boring and almost not even worth mentioning in a post filled with so
many other gems.
But still, we’re in Indiana – so class is relative. My Uber
driver from the airport is an engineer who in this case doubles as an
incredibly monotone city ambassador. His voice is so low it reminds me of the
incredible base you used to drop when you were singing. He points out
everything to me, including the bowling alley. I think about how unappealing
bowling is to me these days, but how there’s nothing I would have rather done
every Wednesday night in high school. One dollar games, one dollar shoe
rentals, endless opportunities to request that the employees (not DJs
officially, but DJs to us) play “Butterfly” by Crazytown. I’m sure they loved
that. I remember how serious you looked every time you stood up to bowl and how
frustrated you got when we didn’t take it as seriously. Instead, most of us participated in what we
called “controversial bowling”, where we would shout obnoxious things at
whoever was up to bowl. One time Dan bowled a 35. I blame it partly on his
miserable non-skills and partly on the fact that we would wait until the second
he threw the ball to start shouting names of STIs, a nod to his legendary
mother Jan, OBGYN practitioner to most of our mothers. Sorry Dan. Sorry Rob.
Not that sorry.
Hyatt
Regency Orlando
There are a lot of old people here in Florida. It feels like the
interior designers maybe thought, “oh well, everyone is near blind ... let’s go
with this one.” There’s really no other excuse. It’s the biggest eyesore I’ve
ever seen. Someone else even says to me, “did you notice that carpet?” I pay $5
for a bottle of water at the gift shop and convince myself, “Surely that money
must be going directly into the re-carpet fund.”
I don’t know why, but Florida makes me think of bereavement
leave. When you died, I had never taken it. I wasn’t quite sure what it was
even. So, as I went into ADP to indicate that I’d be taking a couple days off I
hovered over the little question mark that explained “for immediate family only”.
I scrolled down and read “Immediate
family" includes the employee's spouse, domestic partner, parents
(including step parents, foster parents, parents-in-law and domestic partner's
parents), grandparents, siblings, children, children of a domestic partner,
step child, adopted child, a child for whom the employee has parenting responsibilities,
and a relative or friend who resides with the employee.”
It had been a rough
couple of days, mostly filled with sadness, but I recall this just making me
feel pissed off. Who are they to tell me when it’s appropriate to bereave? And,
is that even a verb? I decided I wasn’t going to care, and – on the off chance
I was questioned – I even formulated an elaborate story about how you were my
half-brother, proven by my mom’s last name being Hoffman. For my oldest,
25-year friend, “paid time off” just didn’t feel right.
I love you Rob. And, I think upon looking at these hotel
sweaters, you might say it’s been a success for everyone involved.
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