Haven't forgotten to post this, but I've been a bit busy and distracted over the past couple of days, what with moving and constantly having to fend off an attack of giant sentient lemurs. So I haven't posted. My friends Sam and Terry finally had their kid earlier this week (Terry did the having...Sam mostly stood around and looked proud...or so I imagine, since I wasn't actually there...they might have decided to switch things up for a change and let Sam have the kid...or not...but I digress...), and they have a photo gallery up online. That's a mighty fine boy they've got there. Click here to see a kodak slide show. The boy's name, for anyone wondering, is Nathaniel Henry Flint.
Say, "Hi, Nate."
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Monday, September 26, 2005
Best Laid Plans
Instead of blogging right now, I'm supposed to be moving boxes into my new home and figuring out how to stack larger furniture on top of Tiffini's car so's we can bring it to the new place. That's really hard to do without keys, though. And I can't get the keys until much later this evening. So I'm here blogging.
This is entirely my fault--I was supposed to call my landlady to arrange a time to get the keys from her earlier, and I simply failed to do that over the past week. So my own damn fault. But still, it's a frustrating thing, nonetheless.
This is entirely my fault--I was supposed to call my landlady to arrange a time to get the keys from her earlier, and I simply failed to do that over the past week. So my own damn fault. But still, it's a frustrating thing, nonetheless.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
I Should be Glad to Go Home, if Home is Where I'm Going
On Thursday, Whitney and I gathered a group together and journeyed out to Muir Woods to see the giant redwoods. We walked through groves of trees that have seen enough time to understand the rise and fall of empires the way we understand the movement of the sun, and Whitney commented that she felt like she was in church. And we were in a church of sorts, but somehow more real than a great many of the little shacks of wood and corrugated metal that I've seen called church before. The energy from these trees was so strong that when I reached out and touched my hands to them, I nearly passed out. My mind couldn't wrap itself around what I was touching, what I was seeing with my own eyes. Surely, some part of me kept saying, these aren't real; they're fiber glass or something.
After the woods, we trekked down to the most beach I've ever seen. Where the mountains slid into the ocean, the ocean whittled them down into black sand and pebbles and sharp, rocky mesas that rose black and ragged from the water. We sat on these and watched the sun set into a distant rim of fog and watched the full moon rise from behind the mountains. I meditated and let the surf wash up onto me and soak my pants. Even though I was cold, I didn't notice it at all.
We drove back, tired and at peace, and dropped off our friends, then Whitney and I made our way to a hot tub that she knows about, a sacred space in Berkley that is set aside for women to go, where men cannot go anaccompanied. She led me through a neighborhood like any other to a house that looked like nothing special and back to a high fence with a coded door. Signs on the door told us no talking or noise was permitted at or beyond this point. Whitney punched in her code and we walked silently through down a leaf-covered path to a prayer garden and dressing rooms where we disrobed. In the darkness I could see nothing but the light of the dressing room. The was no sound but that of rushing water. I stepped naked into the garden and fumbled my way toward the water and climbed into the tub. It was scalding. Kept at 114 degress to kill bacteria and to aid relaxation, the water felt as though it was cooking me. I couldn't go in more than a few feet, and even then I quickly stepped out of the tub and into the garden. Uneasy, trembling from the cold air and from nerves, I walked through the path to find a place to sit and rest. As my eyes adapted, I saw other people--their bodies glowing pale white as moonlight in the unlit garden--praying, stretching, meditating.
I sat in an unoccupied spot and sat down to meditate, but it was freezing out and I couldn't stop shaking from that and from nerves, though I tried very hard to concentrate on meditating, so I stood up and set myself back into the hot tub. It felt great on my skin this time, still hot, still sclading, but the heat felt wonderful for a while. I plunged myself chest deep in the water, had to concentrate in order to catch my breath because the sudden heat really stole my lung control and I was gasping for air. But after a few minutes that settled down and I could breathe just fine and sit back and really let my muscles relax. Then I could walk around the garden, steam rising from my skin, and not feel the cold. I meditated and relaxed and walked among people naked and unafraid, calm as could be. Whitney and I walked home to sleep. I didn't feel the cold for a second.
Friday I saw a couple of shows and wandered around the park with Sue for a while (not in that order), and in the evening met my pen pal for the first time ever. I've had this pen pal for about five years. We met in an AOL chat room during my senior year of college and started sending letters (real letters...honest to God real letters on paper and everything) back and forth, as well as audio letters and tapes and passion fruits and lenses and so on and so forth. For a while, she lived in Germany and sent more e-mails than actual letters, and for a while I haven't carried a notebook to write in, so that's been fine. She's been living in LA for a while, so when I found out I was coming to San Fransisco, I suggested she could come up and hang out for a few days. Which is what she did.
It turns out, my pen pal is as lovely, smart, and charming as her letters would have a person believe. We met up for a glass of wine and to see a show, then went for drinks with other fringers and afterward to a BBQ party where they had excellent sangria. I spent the night at the house where the party was being held, on a mattress the amazingly generous Danielle, hostess of the party, made out of comforters. Slept next to a man who snored so loudly that I dreamed of chicken gyros (figure out the corrolation between the two if you can...I'm at a loss), and the next day met up with Jessica (the pen pal) for breakfast and to wander around North Beach for a while.
Hanging around with Jessica has been lovely. We've foregone a lot of the pleasantries that come with meeting a new person, but there's still a lot of conversation we've never had, so the conversation is constantly moving. It's not exactly like hanging out with an old friend, but more like spending time with a new friend I've met while travelling. Which in a weird way is exactly what she is.
Today I moved out of Whitney's place in Berkely/Oakland and into the hostel. Said goodbye to all of the wonderful people I met up there. And now I'm about to enjoy my last day in San Fransisco by sitting in an outdoor cafe, enjoying this lovely weather the city has decided to provide me, and reading a new book for a while. Then I'm going to catch a show by the incredibly kind people who put me up for the night on Friday (the Neo-Surrealists...former Defiant Theatre members from Chicago) and then a part and then home.
I'm coming back inspired and aware of things I must change in my life if I'm not going to be miserable back home. That includes elements of my external environment and the influences of people, as well as my internal self and the way that I act and approach myself and life and so on and so forth.
But before then, there is tonight. And the future will never happen as long as I keep not wanting it to.
Before I go, a quick quote from Seneca that I found while eating at Cafe Gratitude last night:
"It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare; it is because we do not dare that things are difficult."
See many of you soon. See some of you much later. See all of you eventually.
After the woods, we trekked down to the most beach I've ever seen. Where the mountains slid into the ocean, the ocean whittled them down into black sand and pebbles and sharp, rocky mesas that rose black and ragged from the water. We sat on these and watched the sun set into a distant rim of fog and watched the full moon rise from behind the mountains. I meditated and let the surf wash up onto me and soak my pants. Even though I was cold, I didn't notice it at all.
We drove back, tired and at peace, and dropped off our friends, then Whitney and I made our way to a hot tub that she knows about, a sacred space in Berkley that is set aside for women to go, where men cannot go anaccompanied. She led me through a neighborhood like any other to a house that looked like nothing special and back to a high fence with a coded door. Signs on the door told us no talking or noise was permitted at or beyond this point. Whitney punched in her code and we walked silently through down a leaf-covered path to a prayer garden and dressing rooms where we disrobed. In the darkness I could see nothing but the light of the dressing room. The was no sound but that of rushing water. I stepped naked into the garden and fumbled my way toward the water and climbed into the tub. It was scalding. Kept at 114 degress to kill bacteria and to aid relaxation, the water felt as though it was cooking me. I couldn't go in more than a few feet, and even then I quickly stepped out of the tub and into the garden. Uneasy, trembling from the cold air and from nerves, I walked through the path to find a place to sit and rest. As my eyes adapted, I saw other people--their bodies glowing pale white as moonlight in the unlit garden--praying, stretching, meditating.
I sat in an unoccupied spot and sat down to meditate, but it was freezing out and I couldn't stop shaking from that and from nerves, though I tried very hard to concentrate on meditating, so I stood up and set myself back into the hot tub. It felt great on my skin this time, still hot, still sclading, but the heat felt wonderful for a while. I plunged myself chest deep in the water, had to concentrate in order to catch my breath because the sudden heat really stole my lung control and I was gasping for air. But after a few minutes that settled down and I could breathe just fine and sit back and really let my muscles relax. Then I could walk around the garden, steam rising from my skin, and not feel the cold. I meditated and relaxed and walked among people naked and unafraid, calm as could be. Whitney and I walked home to sleep. I didn't feel the cold for a second.
Friday I saw a couple of shows and wandered around the park with Sue for a while (not in that order), and in the evening met my pen pal for the first time ever. I've had this pen pal for about five years. We met in an AOL chat room during my senior year of college and started sending letters (real letters...honest to God real letters on paper and everything) back and forth, as well as audio letters and tapes and passion fruits and lenses and so on and so forth. For a while, she lived in Germany and sent more e-mails than actual letters, and for a while I haven't carried a notebook to write in, so that's been fine. She's been living in LA for a while, so when I found out I was coming to San Fransisco, I suggested she could come up and hang out for a few days. Which is what she did.
It turns out, my pen pal is as lovely, smart, and charming as her letters would have a person believe. We met up for a glass of wine and to see a show, then went for drinks with other fringers and afterward to a BBQ party where they had excellent sangria. I spent the night at the house where the party was being held, on a mattress the amazingly generous Danielle, hostess of the party, made out of comforters. Slept next to a man who snored so loudly that I dreamed of chicken gyros (figure out the corrolation between the two if you can...I'm at a loss), and the next day met up with Jessica (the pen pal) for breakfast and to wander around North Beach for a while.
Hanging around with Jessica has been lovely. We've foregone a lot of the pleasantries that come with meeting a new person, but there's still a lot of conversation we've never had, so the conversation is constantly moving. It's not exactly like hanging out with an old friend, but more like spending time with a new friend I've met while travelling. Which in a weird way is exactly what she is.
Today I moved out of Whitney's place in Berkely/Oakland and into the hostel. Said goodbye to all of the wonderful people I met up there. And now I'm about to enjoy my last day in San Fransisco by sitting in an outdoor cafe, enjoying this lovely weather the city has decided to provide me, and reading a new book for a while. Then I'm going to catch a show by the incredibly kind people who put me up for the night on Friday (the Neo-Surrealists...former Defiant Theatre members from Chicago) and then a part and then home.
I'm coming back inspired and aware of things I must change in my life if I'm not going to be miserable back home. That includes elements of my external environment and the influences of people, as well as my internal self and the way that I act and approach myself and life and so on and so forth.
But before then, there is tonight. And the future will never happen as long as I keep not wanting it to.
Before I go, a quick quote from Seneca that I found while eating at Cafe Gratitude last night:
"It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare; it is because we do not dare that things are difficult."
See many of you soon. See some of you much later. See all of you eventually.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Here There Be Pirates
At this point, I've done so much in San Fransisco that I'd have a hard time regaling you with my stories without writing one of those blog entries that makes me sound like a hyperactive five-year-old and goes "And then I did this, and then I did this, and then I..." So I'll skip most of that. Basically I've been wandering around San Fransisco, taking in the sights, drinking coffee, reading, getting to know the city, chatting with people, etc. Yesterday I wandered around North Beach for several hours and bought a couple of books from City Lights Bookstore, which is the sister store to Shakespeare and Company and is owned by Lawrence Ferlinghetti (wow...spelled that right on the first try). Was cornered between the world history/ sociopolitical commentary sections by an aging gay man who talked at me for a half hour about New Orleans before Sue called and saved me. Then I walked a labyrinthe in Grace Cathedral and wandered off to see some theatre.
I've seen a lot of theatre in the past week, most of it good, some of it fantastic. All of it fringe. Except for the opera in Golden Gate Park. That was decidedly mainstream.
San Fransisco is a beautiful city. I say that as someone looking at it through vacationer's eyes, but it really is pretty. It reminds me of those beachside towns that you find in New Jersey with their quiet back streets and the smell of salt in the air. Except on a larger scale, and with mountains. I guess it's unlike any city I've ever been to, really. It's peaceful and cozy, small and very walkable, if you can get past the forty-five degree hills. Always there's a breeze. Always it feels like fall.
Today I walked through the Mission district to Dave Egger's pirate store, which the most effective front I've ever seen to cover a writer's workshop. I bought a literary map of the city from them and then walked literally over hill and valley into the Castro, which flies the pride flag over the neighborhood as though it was a country unto itself. Then into the Lower Haight, where we were warned was not for tourists.
And there's so much more to do, and like every traveller incapable of living only in the moment, I see my time creeping steadily to an end. Soon back to Chicago where it's flat and big and unfriendly to long walks. But not so soon I have to think too much on it.
I've seen a lot of theatre in the past week, most of it good, some of it fantastic. All of it fringe. Except for the opera in Golden Gate Park. That was decidedly mainstream.
San Fransisco is a beautiful city. I say that as someone looking at it through vacationer's eyes, but it really is pretty. It reminds me of those beachside towns that you find in New Jersey with their quiet back streets and the smell of salt in the air. Except on a larger scale, and with mountains. I guess it's unlike any city I've ever been to, really. It's peaceful and cozy, small and very walkable, if you can get past the forty-five degree hills. Always there's a breeze. Always it feels like fall.
Today I walked through the Mission district to Dave Egger's pirate store, which the most effective front I've ever seen to cover a writer's workshop. I bought a literary map of the city from them and then walked literally over hill and valley into the Castro, which flies the pride flag over the neighborhood as though it was a country unto itself. Then into the Lower Haight, where we were warned was not for tourists.
And there's so much more to do, and like every traveller incapable of living only in the moment, I see my time creeping steadily to an end. Soon back to Chicago where it's flat and big and unfriendly to long walks. But not so soon I have to think too much on it.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
No Flowers in My Hair
Brief post from San Fransisco. I'm in the common room of the Adelaide Hostel, where my friend Sue is staying, and where there is free wireless access. Sue is upstairs showering or fiddling with headshots for the opening of her show tonight, and Sue's director, Braden, is hanging out in the room.
Yesterday I met Sue, Braden, and our stage manager, J. B. at the hostel, and we briefly paper teched the show. Then we went to the theater and met with the production manager for the EXIT Theatre, a mellow woman named Amanda, and our technician Jean Pierre. We teched for two and a half hours, which was largely spent setting light and sound levels and figuring out what the theater had to offer us. It's a nice little space. Not quite what you'd call a black box, but close.
Afterward, we got lunch at a Thai place and went to Haight-Ashbury to shop for sweaters and be tourists for a while. I'm not much for being a tourist, personally, even when I technically am a tourist, so I was very happy when Braden called a friend of his and she invited us to hang out in her apartment for a while. Ended the night in the hostel talking theatre and life with Braden and Sue until I realized I had better get back to Oakland before the buses stop running (which it turns out never happens...). I spent the night in my friend Whitney's garage (which she and her roommates have converted into an incredibly comfortable, if completely no-frills guest house), and woke up this morning for vegan breakfast with tofu scramble and uberhealthy smoothies with Whitney.
And that pretty much catches you up on what I've done.
A few quick impressions of the city: San Fransisco is beautiful, absolutely beautiful. It's lush and green, even now in the dry season when the hills in the distance are dried wheatgrass brown. The people I've met are friendly and open. There's a sense of community that reminds me of the way things were in Asheville, but in a larger city and with a truer feel to them. People feel genuinely nice. Not just faux nice. This morning on the BART, I made conversation with several total strangers. They acted as though that was the most natural thing in the world.
I find I have an intuitive sense of how to find my way around the city that I didn't get from Chicago for several years. It just makes sense the way things splice together. The way cities in Europe made sense, even though their streets were winding crystalline arrangements of alleys and back alleys. The way New York makes sense to me. And Philly. The air here is sweet and fresh and cool. It's invigorating.
In short, this city feels like an old friend who I just met.
Yesterday I met Sue, Braden, and our stage manager, J. B. at the hostel, and we briefly paper teched the show. Then we went to the theater and met with the production manager for the EXIT Theatre, a mellow woman named Amanda, and our technician Jean Pierre. We teched for two and a half hours, which was largely spent setting light and sound levels and figuring out what the theater had to offer us. It's a nice little space. Not quite what you'd call a black box, but close.
Afterward, we got lunch at a Thai place and went to Haight-Ashbury to shop for sweaters and be tourists for a while. I'm not much for being a tourist, personally, even when I technically am a tourist, so I was very happy when Braden called a friend of his and she invited us to hang out in her apartment for a while. Ended the night in the hostel talking theatre and life with Braden and Sue until I realized I had better get back to Oakland before the buses stop running (which it turns out never happens...). I spent the night in my friend Whitney's garage (which she and her roommates have converted into an incredibly comfortable, if completely no-frills guest house), and woke up this morning for vegan breakfast with tofu scramble and uberhealthy smoothies with Whitney.
And that pretty much catches you up on what I've done.
A few quick impressions of the city: San Fransisco is beautiful, absolutely beautiful. It's lush and green, even now in the dry season when the hills in the distance are dried wheatgrass brown. The people I've met are friendly and open. There's a sense of community that reminds me of the way things were in Asheville, but in a larger city and with a truer feel to them. People feel genuinely nice. Not just faux nice. This morning on the BART, I made conversation with several total strangers. They acted as though that was the most natural thing in the world.
I find I have an intuitive sense of how to find my way around the city that I didn't get from Chicago for several years. It just makes sense the way things splice together. The way cities in Europe made sense, even though their streets were winding crystalline arrangements of alleys and back alleys. The way New York makes sense to me. And Philly. The air here is sweet and fresh and cool. It's invigorating.
In short, this city feels like an old friend who I just met.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Thoughts on Tori, Synchronicity, and My Periodic Need to Cease to Exist
Last night, I went to the Pritzker Pavillion to worship at the altar of a red-haired goddess, sat rapt by her voice, the inhuman whines and growls, sharp leaps in tone, in pitch, which should not have come from a tiny little pixie wood nymph (thank you, Amanda for phrasing), but did. I was lucky enough to get to bring one of my dearest people in with me in the form of a spectral radio presence broadcast over a phone and to have her there with me almost until the very end of the show, when my battery died. Then went home, tired, gone, and slept soundly until the morning for the first time in a long while.
This morning, I woke up and set my feet on the floor of my apartment, which was not flooded with water, and took the train through my city, which has not been destroyed by water, to work at my kushy job where I sat in front of a desk and e-mailed with Bonnie.
Around noon, I called my apartment brokers to ask them if my lease had come in, and the woman on the line said yes, it had, and then "Oh...but it's dated for today." Which wouldn't have been a problem--she said she could just call them and change the date manually and sign off on it--but I had mistakenly put September 1 as my start date when I applied for the apartment, instead of October 1, and the landlords had accepted my application based on that assumed date. They would still let me have the apartment, but for a cost I couldn't afford. So I sat on pins and needles for several hours, waiting for one of their agents to call me, until the end of the day when I called him and he told me to call them and find out whether one of the other places he had shown me were still open (which they presumably could have done at noon, when I was talking to them, and I'm not sure why they didn't).
It was, so in the long run I had an immensely stressful day full of my worst imaginings, from which nothing has come except that I got an apartment I like better for less money. Which is what I should have done in the first place, but what can a fella do?
Tonight, as soon as I finish this entry, I am going to watch my friend Sue perform her one-woman show for...well, me...reason being that I'm her sound-board operator when she performs at the San Fransisco Fringe Festival. Tomorrow I have a rare night off, then Saturday I clean and pack, and Sunday I fly off to San Fransisco for a couple of weeks of theatre, exploration, visiting, joy, relaxation, late-night conversations into the depths of reality. Then back and packing and moving
I'm busy is what I mean. Good busy, but busy. I've been so stretched thin over the past couple of months that, lately, I feel like I'm not in the room a lot of the time when I am. San Fran seems like a dream. An abstraction. It seems like I'm going there worlds away from now in another lifetime, in another me. This is partly because for all that fills my days until then and after then, it might as well be. But it's also because I've never been there. It's a photograph to me, no more connected to an actual place than a molecular spring-model of an ethanol is to a glass of scotch. To use a distiller's metaphor.
It's very exciting, and a bit frightening, and everything that exploration is. Everything I've missed since I became comfortable here. I can't wait.
Talk to all of you after. Maybe during. Who can say?
This morning, I woke up and set my feet on the floor of my apartment, which was not flooded with water, and took the train through my city, which has not been destroyed by water, to work at my kushy job where I sat in front of a desk and e-mailed with Bonnie.
Around noon, I called my apartment brokers to ask them if my lease had come in, and the woman on the line said yes, it had, and then "Oh...but it's dated for today." Which wouldn't have been a problem--she said she could just call them and change the date manually and sign off on it--but I had mistakenly put September 1 as my start date when I applied for the apartment, instead of October 1, and the landlords had accepted my application based on that assumed date. They would still let me have the apartment, but for a cost I couldn't afford. So I sat on pins and needles for several hours, waiting for one of their agents to call me, until the end of the day when I called him and he told me to call them and find out whether one of the other places he had shown me were still open (which they presumably could have done at noon, when I was talking to them, and I'm not sure why they didn't).
It was, so in the long run I had an immensely stressful day full of my worst imaginings, from which nothing has come except that I got an apartment I like better for less money. Which is what I should have done in the first place, but what can a fella do?
Tonight, as soon as I finish this entry, I am going to watch my friend Sue perform her one-woman show for...well, me...reason being that I'm her sound-board operator when she performs at the San Fransisco Fringe Festival. Tomorrow I have a rare night off, then Saturday I clean and pack, and Sunday I fly off to San Fransisco for a couple of weeks of theatre, exploration, visiting, joy, relaxation, late-night conversations into the depths of reality. Then back and packing and moving
I'm busy is what I mean. Good busy, but busy. I've been so stretched thin over the past couple of months that, lately, I feel like I'm not in the room a lot of the time when I am. San Fran seems like a dream. An abstraction. It seems like I'm going there worlds away from now in another lifetime, in another me. This is partly because for all that fills my days until then and after then, it might as well be. But it's also because I've never been there. It's a photograph to me, no more connected to an actual place than a molecular spring-model of an ethanol is to a glass of scotch. To use a distiller's metaphor.
It's very exciting, and a bit frightening, and everything that exploration is. Everything I've missed since I became comfortable here. I can't wait.
Talk to all of you after. Maybe during. Who can say?
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