I’ve been routing thru stuff which I guess is a healthy reaction to the New Year and all. Anyway, I finally found my rain pants, which I thought I had gotten rid of already. I thought I would have decided that I’m not going to be a fanatical bicycle commuter any more, but I guess I didn’t think that hard enough. Good! Anyway, they reminded me how much I would have appreciated having them in AK. And that reminded me to finish my last story.
When we last saw our heroes they were waiting for the Ranger’s office to open in Petersburg in hopes of reserving a cabin in the wilderness but out of the rain for a day or so. Finally, it did, and a squat little local lady manned the desk.
“Are there any cabins available for tonight and/or tomorrow that we can hike to?”
“Oh, no, there all booked,” She shook her head.
“How do you know without looking?”
“I’m in charge of reserving them. So, I know.”
I took out a booklet that listed the cabins and began asking her about each in turn. “What about Raven’s Roost?” This one had been written up in both our Lonely Planet guide and an article I’d found someplace. “It came highly recommended” were Jared’s words.
“Oh, that one’s available, I think. Let me check.” She pulled out a big binder and began leafing through the pages. I was not allowed to look at them as she did. “Yes, that one’s free for tonight and tomorrow night.” I asked to book it. “For the same day, you have to book online,” She replied.
“Can we book it on your computer here?” I motioned towards the computer at her desk. “Or is there an internet café in town?”
“No, I guess you can’t use the cabin,” she shook her head.
At this point, her supervisor popped out from behind the cubical walls and set her straight. Then, there was some kind of delay during which she began to tell me about her daughter’s wedding and all the seafood they caught for it. The daughter now lived in Seattle, but she had her wedding in Petersburg where she grew up. They caught all the food from the sea – it cost them nothing! Anyway, about 2 hours later, she finally managed to book the cabin, but not finish telling me about her daughter’s wedding. Her phone rang, and Jared took this opportunity to extract me.
Raven’s Roost is a 4 mile “difficult” hike from the roadway near the airport. First, I misread the map and we ambled in the rain for a while on the wrong road in search of the trailhead. The map quickly disintegrated. Jared was sure to emphasize that this was the kind of situation that made him question our relationship. Was I not sorry enough? I don’t know. But eventually, with Jared navigating, we found the trailhead and began walking our bikes up it.
This lasted about 200 feet. The trail turned into a series of uneven steps, and the rest thick mud. Quickly, we decided to leave the bikes in the shrubbery and carry our panniers ourselves along with our sleeping equipment (which had been strapped to the top of the racks). It’s only 4 miles, right? That should take us about an hour... Wrong! So, Jared turned into a pack animal, with the panniers and sleeping mat strapped across his shoulders using ropes that dug into his muscles. I believe I continued to carry mine like shopping bags. The part I think I haven’t mentioned recently enough was that the trail was deep with mud and required hands a good bit of the time (like bouldering but on roots and thru mud). This continued for 4 miles, or, in our case, 6 hours… in the pouring rain. Remember, more rain means more mud.
I’m sure there are many entertaining anecdotes from the hike, but I have blocked them out. When we thought we were pretty close, we left some of the bags behind, with plans to return for them once we found the cabin. Except, it turned out to be about half way. Every time we rounded a bend, I hallucinated a cabin, and, eventually, about 2 hours after I thought we must be on the wrong trail or we would have found it by now, my hallucination became real. You’ve seen the photos.
We were completely wrecked. But there was still the small matter of the bags we’d left 2ish miles back. Jared went for them. I stayed at the cabin intending to get the heat going and have some tea and dinner ready for him when he got back. But, alas, the heater didn’t work. I tinkered for a while, and then entertained myself instead by unpacking all of our soaking wet belongings. The food and camp stove were not among them.
Once Jared returned, he was able to rig up something (again, you saw the photo) to keep the heat going thru drip from a fuel-refilled whisky bottle. It was kind of amazing. We never found the spring for fresh water but contented ourselves with drinking boiled bog water during our 2 days there.
Before I let the whole Alaska thing die, I wanted to include some suggestions:
• Ludvig’s Bistro in Sitka is so tasty. Imagine gourmet food with AK-scale seafood. I’ve never had anything like it.
• We were also really taken with the small businesses in Haines such as Sockeye Cycle Co. (the only full-service bicycle shop in the state), Dejon Delights (selling smoked fish), and, as I mentioned earlier, the Haines Brewing Company (!).
Friday, December 29, 2006
Christmas Family Bike Trip
My mother, sister and I rode our bikes from Colma BART to Pigeon Point on the 22nd. The next day, we rode the remaining 25 miles to Santa Cruz. On Christmas Eve morning, I rode by myself over the hill (Glen Canyon Road, Scotts Valley Drive, Glenwood Drive, Mount Charlie Road) to Los Gatos where the others picked me up, and we drove back to SF.
Along our entire route down the coast, our path was marked with brussels sprouts. They were infrequent in the beginning, but as we neared Santa Cruz, a brussels sprout rested on the edge of the road every few feet. I thought of them as Gretel’s bread crumbs directing us through our coastline “forest”.
Of course, the view was incredibly beautiful – it’s almost not even worth saying. The hot tub at Pigeon Point was mind-blowing as usual with the stars and the crashing waves. The lighthouse itself is also remarkable, and the hostel’s common space comfortable and pleasant. I was worried my mother wouldn’t be able to ride the first day’s 40 miles, but they pulled into Pigeon Point just as the sun went down (I had ridden ahead to get us some food in Pescadero). The local food (bread, cheese, wine…) from Pescadero was so yummy.
The next morning we had a reservation an Ano Nuevo for 9:30 to see the elephant seals. Mother had figured out something with her gears and was getting much faster. So, we actually made it! Elephant seals have an interesting society. Each year, the males attempt to bread with as many females as possible. About 5% get to. Each year, every female reproduces. Which males get to mate is based on fighting between the males to determine dominance. Dominant males often die that same year bc they have exhausted themselves fighting and mating. However, they have fulfilled their biological imperative by siring a great many young with their DNA. The females are only interested in the male during the short period of time when they are fertile, and then they focus on their pregnancy and their young. To the untrained human eye, the seals are mostly lying around sunbathing.
It was our guide’s first tour of the year, and he was very excited. His enthusiasm was effective; we especially enjoyed our tour. The gift shop sold stuffed animal birds that made the same sound as the bird represented. My mother bought one of each. Then we sat next to a rock where we left the bikes and ate chicken from the night before as our first lunch.
We rode along the gorgeous Pacific Ocean to our next stop of Davenport. I love the café there. However, their fish and chips (my second lunch) was so-so, a bit dry. The sauces were good though. Then we rode the rest of the way to Santa Cruz.
John met us there. We stayed again at the Santa Cruz Youth Hostel, but got 2 private rooms. My mother’s and John’s was a bit noisy, but Ilana’s and mine, on the second floor of the main building, was perfect. The Carmelita Cottages are so lovely. That night we ate unremarkable Thai food served by the nicest wait-staff ever. The other interesting thing about the hostel is it’s wealth in left foods. One could stay there and never have to buy any. For example, for breakfast I had a soft-boiled egg on half a bagel, all free to guests.
The others all had friends they wanted to visit in the morning, and I was antsy to hit the road. So, that’s what we did. I’ve done a lot of rides by myself, and I’ve done a lot of new rides with other people. But I don’t think I’ve ever done a completely new ride all by myself. Mt Charlie Road was… well… over a mountain, and there were a couple points there I thought I was going to have a heart attack, but I didn’t (“is that all there is?”). I would totally do that ride again!
They picked me up in Los Gatos, and we all drove back to the City together, which was faster than the Caltrain would have been.
Along our entire route down the coast, our path was marked with brussels sprouts. They were infrequent in the beginning, but as we neared Santa Cruz, a brussels sprout rested on the edge of the road every few feet. I thought of them as Gretel’s bread crumbs directing us through our coastline “forest”.
Of course, the view was incredibly beautiful – it’s almost not even worth saying. The hot tub at Pigeon Point was mind-blowing as usual with the stars and the crashing waves. The lighthouse itself is also remarkable, and the hostel’s common space comfortable and pleasant. I was worried my mother wouldn’t be able to ride the first day’s 40 miles, but they pulled into Pigeon Point just as the sun went down (I had ridden ahead to get us some food in Pescadero). The local food (bread, cheese, wine…) from Pescadero was so yummy.
The next morning we had a reservation an Ano Nuevo for 9:30 to see the elephant seals. Mother had figured out something with her gears and was getting much faster. So, we actually made it! Elephant seals have an interesting society. Each year, the males attempt to bread with as many females as possible. About 5% get to. Each year, every female reproduces. Which males get to mate is based on fighting between the males to determine dominance. Dominant males often die that same year bc they have exhausted themselves fighting and mating. However, they have fulfilled their biological imperative by siring a great many young with their DNA. The females are only interested in the male during the short period of time when they are fertile, and then they focus on their pregnancy and their young. To the untrained human eye, the seals are mostly lying around sunbathing.
It was our guide’s first tour of the year, and he was very excited. His enthusiasm was effective; we especially enjoyed our tour. The gift shop sold stuffed animal birds that made the same sound as the bird represented. My mother bought one of each. Then we sat next to a rock where we left the bikes and ate chicken from the night before as our first lunch.
We rode along the gorgeous Pacific Ocean to our next stop of Davenport. I love the café there. However, their fish and chips (my second lunch) was so-so, a bit dry. The sauces were good though. Then we rode the rest of the way to Santa Cruz.
John met us there. We stayed again at the Santa Cruz Youth Hostel, but got 2 private rooms. My mother’s and John’s was a bit noisy, but Ilana’s and mine, on the second floor of the main building, was perfect. The Carmelita Cottages are so lovely. That night we ate unremarkable Thai food served by the nicest wait-staff ever. The other interesting thing about the hostel is it’s wealth in left foods. One could stay there and never have to buy any. For example, for breakfast I had a soft-boiled egg on half a bagel, all free to guests.
The others all had friends they wanted to visit in the morning, and I was antsy to hit the road. So, that’s what we did. I’ve done a lot of rides by myself, and I’ve done a lot of new rides with other people. But I don’t think I’ve ever done a completely new ride all by myself. Mt Charlie Road was… well… over a mountain, and there were a couple points there I thought I was going to have a heart attack, but I didn’t (“is that all there is?”). I would totally do that ride again!
They picked me up in Los Gatos, and we all drove back to the City together, which was faster than the Caltrain would have been.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
On believing....
I had dinner at Gabriel's last night. Of course, he had a lot of stories from his life and interesting insights into mine. We hadn't seen each other in a while. We spent most of the evening discussing relationships, and one of his early thoughts was this Henry Ford quote: “Whether you believe you can do a thing or not, you are right.”
I figured this out a long long time ago, but I think I lost track of that "knowledge" along the way. I observed when I was 20, and remembered now, that all that it really takes to share your life with another person is the firm belief that you can.
Brian likes to tease me for being such a girl. I talk a little about politics and a little about happiness and mostly about relationships and how hard they are. But I don't believe that's really all I'm talking about. I'm talking about the Middle East. I'm talking about human nature. I'm talking about economics. I just talk about all of it in terms of two people who love each other finding a way to share their lives. It's like a _metaphor_, you know?
But back to Ford... I was perusing the internet today and someone was talking about how in "On Intelligence" Jeff Hawkins posits that for the brain to learn it requires pattern recognition. It won't record new patterns until they have been used several times indicating that those patterns work. Likewise, if you already have the patterns for success at whatever you're trying to do (whether it's get along with someone, build an automobile, or climb a mountain), it's more likely to happen.
Similarly, children in school tend to perform as well as they are expected to. So, if you expect your neighbors to try to kill you, or your partner to be insanely jealous or leave you, or to fail professionally... is that internal expectation really translatable to the outside world? After all, not everyone can hear your thoughts and act accordingly.
In life, we repeat the same mistakes until we're tired of them and refuse to continue. They say the definition of crazy is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Every time you "learn" something, inside or outside of your brain, you're being predisposed to "learn" it again but potentially permanently.
To combat this, "The Rules" advises eligible bachelorettes to act on the assumption that men adore them. This way, eventually, the right one will get the message and fall in love. It also keeps the way clear when men who don't and can't adore them attempt to waste the young woman's time and affections. Here, again, ones expectations should eventually be met with reality.
There are a couple different ways to manifest these events. You can tell yourself about your success over and over (a l'Affirmations) or you can act like a successful person (a la Rules and probably lots of business books too). (I remind myself of that song: "whenever I feel afraid, I hold my head up high and whistle a happy tune....") Both systems probably work, and maybe they even work best in combination with each other, but it doesn't really matter bc ultimately you need to "learn" to believe it by creating and affirming the desirable patterns in your brain.
Sometimes my posts pour out in perfect order. Other times they’re a big scrabbled mess. I fear this accidental post may be the latter. Sorry about that.
I figured this out a long long time ago, but I think I lost track of that "knowledge" along the way. I observed when I was 20, and remembered now, that all that it really takes to share your life with another person is the firm belief that you can.
Brian likes to tease me for being such a girl. I talk a little about politics and a little about happiness and mostly about relationships and how hard they are. But I don't believe that's really all I'm talking about. I'm talking about the Middle East. I'm talking about human nature. I'm talking about economics. I just talk about all of it in terms of two people who love each other finding a way to share their lives. It's like a _metaphor_, you know?
But back to Ford... I was perusing the internet today and someone was talking about how in "On Intelligence" Jeff Hawkins posits that for the brain to learn it requires pattern recognition. It won't record new patterns until they have been used several times indicating that those patterns work. Likewise, if you already have the patterns for success at whatever you're trying to do (whether it's get along with someone, build an automobile, or climb a mountain), it's more likely to happen.
Similarly, children in school tend to perform as well as they are expected to. So, if you expect your neighbors to try to kill you, or your partner to be insanely jealous or leave you, or to fail professionally... is that internal expectation really translatable to the outside world? After all, not everyone can hear your thoughts and act accordingly.
In life, we repeat the same mistakes until we're tired of them and refuse to continue. They say the definition of crazy is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Every time you "learn" something, inside or outside of your brain, you're being predisposed to "learn" it again but potentially permanently.
To combat this, "The Rules" advises eligible bachelorettes to act on the assumption that men adore them. This way, eventually, the right one will get the message and fall in love. It also keeps the way clear when men who don't and can't adore them attempt to waste the young woman's time and affections. Here, again, ones expectations should eventually be met with reality.
There are a couple different ways to manifest these events. You can tell yourself about your success over and over (a l'Affirmations) or you can act like a successful person (a la Rules and probably lots of business books too). (I remind myself of that song: "whenever I feel afraid, I hold my head up high and whistle a happy tune....") Both systems probably work, and maybe they even work best in combination with each other, but it doesn't really matter bc ultimately you need to "learn" to believe it by creating and affirming the desirable patterns in your brain.
Sometimes my posts pour out in perfect order. Other times they’re a big scrabbled mess. I fear this accidental post may be the latter. Sorry about that.
Punk Rock and Marriage
There was this guy in my printmaking class, Ryan. He wore vests and had a handlebar mustache despite being in his 20s. He considered himself “punk rock”. Another young guy in the class (also married, but in his 30s, also alternative) asked him how he reconciled being a punk rocker with doing something so traditional as to get married. He said something like: “Punk is about commitment. For example, when you get a tattoo, you’re committing to it for life. So, what could be more punk rock than getting married? It’s saying ‘I believe in you. I am willing to commit to believing in you, like I believe in punk rock, for life.”
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Say Yes to Mess
NYT: IT is a truism of American life that we’re too darn messy....
I first clicked on this article thinking of sending it to Grace, who is a professional organizer. But the more I read the more people I thought of: my mother, my sister, Grayson, Sam.... The list goes on. While my associations are somewhat personal (do you remember the time when you said...), a long list still merits the blog. Here it is.
I first clicked on this article thinking of sending it to Grace, who is a professional organizer. But the more I read the more people I thought of: my mother, my sister, Grayson, Sam.... The list goes on. While my associations are somewhat personal (do you remember the time when you said...), a long list still merits the blog. Here it is.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Slate on the U-Boat watch
Slate: Mr. Hitler, Do You Have the Time?
I found this essay very interesting.
I found this essay very interesting.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Things I want/Things I have
I would like:
arm and leg warmers for biking
noise cancelling earphones
sweaters (good colors, but not with that wide neck I see in all the stores right now)
gloves for sailing
a bag for my yoga mat
a new "safety" jacket for biking (bright colors, water proof (pref), with pockets)
a pressure cooker
I have (to give you):
circular slide carousels
house plants
various articles of clothing and used cds
arm and leg warmers for biking
noise cancelling earphones
sweaters (good colors, but not with that wide neck I see in all the stores right now)
gloves for sailing
a bag for my yoga mat
a new "safety" jacket for biking (bright colors, water proof (pref), with pockets)
a pressure cooker
I have (to give you):
circular slide carousels
house plants
various articles of clothing and used cds
Friday, December 15, 2006
I crack myself up.
Yesterday, I rode my bike in the rain in West Oakland to pick up my greeting cards. (Likely you’ll receive one soon. If not, remind me.) It only took an hour all together, but the journey was just so gritty and wet and weird. I rode along Mandella Parkway, which has a bike lane that the cars park in and cut thru – I don’t think they’ve ever seen a bike on the road before. Meanwhile, other bicyclists don’t know how to use the road either. One helmetless woman on what looked like a Target bike loaded down with plastic shopping bags (remember the rain), swerved around the left hand lane. I didn’t have the heart to stop and explain the whole thing to her.
Once I got to SF, I got a flat. The men at Blazing Saddles lent (and gave, in the case of the patch) me their equipment and flirted with me, which was nice. Honestly, I don’t remember the last time I got a flat on one of my bikes.
So, I was late to the final printmaking class. I gave my teacher a print (which is required but also to be included in a show). He insisted on the True Love Frogs, which seems to be everyone’s favorite. (He got a pink one.) As a brief aside, I showed Matt some of my work last night and he said, “Where are the chickens?” His favorite was Girl in Chair.
Class was spent cleaning the studio, but I slipped out for a minute bc I was starving. I tried to get the counter girl at Green’s to take a credit card, but they have a $10 limit. “I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today,” I mumbled, but she didn’t hear me. So, I was just this crazy lady laughing at my own jokes that no one else can hear. I explained this to her, and she went on about how important it is to be entertained by yourself. In fact, I had trouble getting away.
I had some time to kill at Fort Mason after class ended; so, I wandered around and went to the bookstore. They had $1 book tables. I wasn’t planning on buying anything bc I’m trying to get rid of all of my stuff, but I found 2 books I wanted:
The Rules (time tested secrets for capturing the heart of Mr. Right), and
Success with the Gentle Art of Verbal Self-Defence.
Once I got the books home, I realized that, especially, they are 2 books on the same subject.
The short version: I found myself very amusing yesterday.
Once I got to SF, I got a flat. The men at Blazing Saddles lent (and gave, in the case of the patch) me their equipment and flirted with me, which was nice. Honestly, I don’t remember the last time I got a flat on one of my bikes.
So, I was late to the final printmaking class. I gave my teacher a print (which is required but also to be included in a show). He insisted on the True Love Frogs, which seems to be everyone’s favorite. (He got a pink one.) As a brief aside, I showed Matt some of my work last night and he said, “Where are the chickens?” His favorite was Girl in Chair.
Class was spent cleaning the studio, but I slipped out for a minute bc I was starving. I tried to get the counter girl at Green’s to take a credit card, but they have a $10 limit. “I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today,” I mumbled, but she didn’t hear me. So, I was just this crazy lady laughing at my own jokes that no one else can hear. I explained this to her, and she went on about how important it is to be entertained by yourself. In fact, I had trouble getting away.
I had some time to kill at Fort Mason after class ended; so, I wandered around and went to the bookstore. They had $1 book tables. I wasn’t planning on buying anything bc I’m trying to get rid of all of my stuff, but I found 2 books I wanted:
The Rules (time tested secrets for capturing the heart of Mr. Right), and
Success with the Gentle Art of Verbal Self-Defence.
Once I got the books home, I realized that, especially, they are 2 books on the same subject.
The short version: I found myself very amusing yesterday.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
A few words on Happiness
I don’t know what the impetus was, but Slate recently had an essay on Happiness. Since this is one of my subjects of interest, I jotted down a few notes. The essay noted that you choose your spouse but not your parents, yet most people report enjoying time spent with their parents more than their spouse. I see 2 possible reasons for this: 1) you spend a lot more time with your spouse than your parents. Time with parents is limited, and therefore more valuable (basic supply and demand, economics is, afterall, really about human reactions to things). 2) Because you spend more time with your spouse, they become an extension of you. Your frustrations with your life are showcased. Your parents generally think you’re great no matter what you do. You’re their superhero. Your spouse, alas, knows that you’re human.
However, the essay notes, married people report being generally happier than single people. (I believe this is for entirely different reasons of the basic need for love, physical affection, companionship and support.) It follows up this discrepancy with observations about differences in methodology. One study asked people for their overall feeling about their life. The other interrupted their day for periodic ranking of their mood. (I’m sure I’m over-simplifying.) What we can learn from these observations is that our perception of our happiness is based on heavily edited memories influenced by our immediate surroundings. For example, if the sun is shining or your find a coin on the floor shortly before being asked about your life, you’re more likely to report a higher level of happiness.
However, the essay notes, married people report being generally happier than single people. (I believe this is for entirely different reasons of the basic need for love, physical affection, companionship and support.) It follows up this discrepancy with observations about differences in methodology. One study asked people for their overall feeling about their life. The other interrupted their day for periodic ranking of their mood. (I’m sure I’m over-simplifying.) What we can learn from these observations is that our perception of our happiness is based on heavily edited memories influenced by our immediate surroundings. For example, if the sun is shining or your find a coin on the floor shortly before being asked about your life, you’re more likely to report a higher level of happiness.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Review of The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood
Penelope was the faithful wife of Odysseus, left alone for 20 years while her husband fought wars and slept with goddesses, or so says Homer. But Atwood was troubled by an inconsistency in the story. When Odysseus returned, why did he murder Penelope’s 12 maids who had been raped by her suitors? So, she wrote a novel presenting, at least, their side of the story.
She speculates that they were symbols, of the months, of virginity, or something. I can’t help but wonder if they were symbols of Penelope’s adventures in his absence. In order for Odysseus to believe his wife had waited patiently for him for 20 years (10 more than was necessary, it appears), he needed first to “murder” the “lives” she led while they were apart. But maybe that’s just me.
Does Atwood always write this way? Helen was “beautiful” but we never heard about the texture of her hair. Ithica was not as grand as Sparta, but we never heard why… or how. At first, I found it a bit hard to invest in, but I learned to just go with it.
Here are a few quotes:
To have a child was to set loose a force in the world. Pg 24
I was clever, everyone said so – in fact they said it so much that I found it discouraging – but cleverness is a quality a man likes to have in his wife as long as she is some distance away from him. Up close, he’ll take kindness any day of the week, if there’s nothing more alluring to be had. Pg 29
Nothing helps gluttony along so well as eating food you don’t have to pay for yourself, as I learned from later experience. Pg 40
As for my mother, she stopped swimming around like a porpoise long enough to attend my wedding…. Pg 43
Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can’t go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does. Pg 43
I had to agree – at least in public – that Odysseus was probably dead. Yet his ghost had never appeared to me in a dream, as would have been proper. Pg 111
“Which prayer shall we answer today?” they (the Gods) ask one another. “Let’s cast a dice! Hope for this one, despair for that one, and while we’re at it, let’s destroy the life of this woman other there by having sex with her in the form of a crayfish!” pg 135
Also, if a man takes pride in his disguising skills, it would be a foolish wife who would claim to recognize him: it’s always an imprudence to step between a man and the reflection of his own cleverness. Pg 137
But he knew me well – my tender heart, my habit of dissolving in tears and falling down on thresholds. Pg 145
She speculates that they were symbols, of the months, of virginity, or something. I can’t help but wonder if they were symbols of Penelope’s adventures in his absence. In order for Odysseus to believe his wife had waited patiently for him for 20 years (10 more than was necessary, it appears), he needed first to “murder” the “lives” she led while they were apart. But maybe that’s just me.
Does Atwood always write this way? Helen was “beautiful” but we never heard about the texture of her hair. Ithica was not as grand as Sparta, but we never heard why… or how. At first, I found it a bit hard to invest in, but I learned to just go with it.
Here are a few quotes:
To have a child was to set loose a force in the world. Pg 24
I was clever, everyone said so – in fact they said it so much that I found it discouraging – but cleverness is a quality a man likes to have in his wife as long as she is some distance away from him. Up close, he’ll take kindness any day of the week, if there’s nothing more alluring to be had. Pg 29
Nothing helps gluttony along so well as eating food you don’t have to pay for yourself, as I learned from later experience. Pg 40
As for my mother, she stopped swimming around like a porpoise long enough to attend my wedding…. Pg 43
Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can’t go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does. Pg 43
I had to agree – at least in public – that Odysseus was probably dead. Yet his ghost had never appeared to me in a dream, as would have been proper. Pg 111
“Which prayer shall we answer today?” they (the Gods) ask one another. “Let’s cast a dice! Hope for this one, despair for that one, and while we’re at it, let’s destroy the life of this woman other there by having sex with her in the form of a crayfish!” pg 135
Also, if a man takes pride in his disguising skills, it would be a foolish wife who would claim to recognize him: it’s always an imprudence to step between a man and the reflection of his own cleverness. Pg 137
But he knew me well – my tender heart, my habit of dissolving in tears and falling down on thresholds. Pg 145
Two other stories about my trip
I have 2 other stories I want to share. You may want to skip the first. On Monday, I went to the airport before 7 AM. I’m almost never out at that hour these days; so, maybe what I saw was an every day occurrence. Capp Street has a bad reputation, which I have thought was not justified over the past 4+ years I’ve lived there. I walked along it towards the 24th Street BART Station. First, at the corner of 23rd, I saw a person lying in the gutter in the fetal position with her pants around her thighs, bottom complete exposed. I don’t know if this was the result of some kind of sexual activity or if she was relieving her bowels and then passed out. A few cars down, a man was relieving his bowels in the gutter between two cars. He may have been the partner of the other (who I assumed to be a woman, but couldn’t be sure). I was so traumatized that I feel the need to tell the world.
My second story is much nicer. In Old Town Alexandria, there is a coffee shop that Ilana loves and I have forgotten its name. They seem to be the real thing, with jars of coffee all around looking fresh and handmade. At one end of the café, there are a bunch of small tables, all empty, and at the other end of the end of the café is a large community table. The community table was completely full. About 12 people took up tiny spaces at the table, using their laptops, talking on their phones, reading the paper, smoking, chatting with each other. Ilana asked the café worker, and she said they don’t know each other, but they just like to be together.
My second story is much nicer. In Old Town Alexandria, there is a coffee shop that Ilana loves and I have forgotten its name. They seem to be the real thing, with jars of coffee all around looking fresh and handmade. At one end of the café, there are a bunch of small tables, all empty, and at the other end of the end of the café is a large community table. The community table was completely full. About 12 people took up tiny spaces at the table, using their laptops, talking on their phones, reading the paper, smoking, chatting with each other. Ilana asked the café worker, and she said they don’t know each other, but they just like to be together.
Day 3 in DC or Panda Porn
On my 24th birthday, Grayson and I went to the Saigon Zoo. The experience scarred me. I haven’t wanted to see a zoo since, and I’ve been pretty successful at avoiding them. However, when I asked Mitja what he thought I should see in DC, he said: “I really like the Pandas. You should go to the zoo.”
“Is this because you’re a new dad?” I teased.
“No, I liked the Pandas even before Citrus was born.”
Meanwhile, my mother’s best friend from college, Dorothea, announced to my sister that she was coming to see the Pandas on Thursday. (I imagined that she had arranged to come bc she knew I was here, but it turned out to be a coincidence.)
We saw clouded leopards, red pandas, elephants, a tiger, a female lion who growled, and, yes, the Giant Pandas. We saw the father panda first; he was napping on a rock. The mother and baby panda napped too, but shortly after we found them, the mother started wandering around and eating bamboo shoots. (They have to eat bamboo something like 16 hours a day to stay alive!) Their little faces are so cute. The father has been rather depressed lately bc he needs to be separated from the mother while she’s lactating, which will last up to 1.5 years. It’ll be better for him when they can be together.
China can take the baby back once he’s 2 years old, but they might not. The pandas they have there have been prolific lately; so, they might not have the space for another one. On the other hand, they need to be aware of inbreeding, and this mother’s genes are unique, making the baby more valuable for future breeding. You can imagine that a lot of inbreeding goes on when there are only a few pandas breeding in captivity.
Male pandas raised in captivity, it turns out, don’t know how to mate instinctively. In the wild, they see it, but since breeding in captivity is unusual, they don’t get that example there. So… the zoo keepers show the adolescent male pandas Panda Porn for them to learn.
My other favorite animal was the hippo. He stayed there in the water, otherwise huge, with his little eyes and ears a nose just above. I felt a bit blasé about the elephants, and then I thought that was weird.
Ilana lives a short walk from the zoo, and after we’d seen the animals, we walked over to her place for tea. On our way there, Dorothea’s friend Gail said that she’d read about this neighborhood – that there were a lot of muggings here.
I said: “what’s the name of the neighborhood?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” And then she pointed out the bars on some of the windows.
I think living in a city is good for democracy. There was all that talk a few years ago about talking to people about politics especially when we know their views are different from ours as a form of public education (both ways!) and outreach, to help us all care about and understand politics. You’re supposed to follow your intuition about your own safety, but I was surprised that she would be afraid of such a beautiful neighborhood (old brownstones, trees lining the roadway) just because (it seemed) it’s a city. I’ve talked about this a lot, but I believe that Fear drives us to do all kinds of destructive things. And the more we know about each other, and by extension, ourselves, the more we can make decisions based on more positive emotions, intuitions, than fear.
Dorothea brought us some etchings she’d done (www.cdlimited.com/doba.html), and I showed her mine as well (tho I wasn’t able to give her one). Then, we went for lunch at a nearby Peruvian chicken place where we ordered way too much food for about $1. After lunch, we walked Dorothea and Gail too the Metro.
I had forgotten how much I love Dorothea and she loves me, I told Ilana on our way home.
“That’s because you never see each other,” was her explanation.
But I don’t think that’s right. I think that if you love someone, and they love you, you’d better have a pretty good reason for not keeping in touch. Anything else is superficial. Love is the only real thing in this world. Now that I’m reminded, I hope to be better about that. I even got her email.
In the evening, we met Ilana’s friend Jeff at a bar a short bike ride away. At some point in the evening, I asserted that everyone should get therapy just like everyone should see a dentist. Ilana thought that people should get therapy during times of crisis in their lives. Jeff and Ilana seemed to agree that some people shouldn’t ever get therapy bc it makes them even more self-absorbed than they were at first. (At one point in the conversation, I said to Jeff: “maybe you don’t know enough crazy people.” Now this was pretty funny since he works with the homeless – that’s his job!)
Anyway, what I think I meant to say is that people’s mental and emotional health should get just as much attention as other kinds of health. We should get check ups. But not every mental health program works for every person. For example, some people might get more from prayer and going to church while others might get more from a shrink. Some might be best treated with medication while others exercise. But I think regular checkups and treatment program adjustments should be built into our system like teeth cleanings.
Now, here’s a question: do even smart people get stupid when drunk? There was this guy at the bar who tried to hit on us. He saw my bike helmet and asked if I’d been for a ride. Then, he could not understand that I had ridden the bicycle _For Transportation_. Despite the potential political ramifications of him gaining that understanding, I gave up after a few exchanges. He wouldn’t have remembered anyway.
I’m on the Amtrak to Durham right now, and of course the train is already an hour late. A friend of Sara’s warned us that we should expect to be between one and three hours late on this line, much like the one I’ve ridden in CA. What’s wrong with Amtrak?
Speaking of transportation, I thought DC’s signal timing system particularly pedestrian-friendly. For one thing, the lights count down from when they first turn green (not once the red hand begins to flash like in SF). People are always happier with more complete information. The lights count down from like 96 sometimes. You can nearly always make it across without risking death even after the light has changed against you. I didn’t notice a long all-red time, but I did notice that the drivers appear to be willing to wait a few seconds after their light turns green before going. This must be cultural. Mitja said that the DC drivers are the worst – the upshot being that they make stupid maneuvers despite there being plenty of room on the roadway.
The Metro, too, seemed to work. Each line has a color. Each platform displays where the train is going and where you can transfer. How many minutes until the next train comes is constantly shown on a screen, and the numbers are usually small. The lights flash when the train is coming (this is probably an ADA thing). My only complaint is that I would have liked to have seen more system maps on the platforms. If I have a general idea, I would rather figure out the details while I wait for a train to come. I also haven’t decided yet if I think that fare system was unnecessarily complicated. I bought a $10 ticket (which I didn’t use up.), but each time I rode the train, they deducted a different amount. It wasn’t a problem, I just never knew what to expect. Does that matter?
Now the winter trees and frozen lakes wiz past the train windows. I remember that it snowed, just briefly, last night before we went to the bar. The flakes were barely noticeable tiny angels floating through the air. Nothing stuck.
“Is this because you’re a new dad?” I teased.
“No, I liked the Pandas even before Citrus was born.”
Meanwhile, my mother’s best friend from college, Dorothea, announced to my sister that she was coming to see the Pandas on Thursday. (I imagined that she had arranged to come bc she knew I was here, but it turned out to be a coincidence.)
We saw clouded leopards, red pandas, elephants, a tiger, a female lion who growled, and, yes, the Giant Pandas. We saw the father panda first; he was napping on a rock. The mother and baby panda napped too, but shortly after we found them, the mother started wandering around and eating bamboo shoots. (They have to eat bamboo something like 16 hours a day to stay alive!) Their little faces are so cute. The father has been rather depressed lately bc he needs to be separated from the mother while she’s lactating, which will last up to 1.5 years. It’ll be better for him when they can be together.
China can take the baby back once he’s 2 years old, but they might not. The pandas they have there have been prolific lately; so, they might not have the space for another one. On the other hand, they need to be aware of inbreeding, and this mother’s genes are unique, making the baby more valuable for future breeding. You can imagine that a lot of inbreeding goes on when there are only a few pandas breeding in captivity.
Male pandas raised in captivity, it turns out, don’t know how to mate instinctively. In the wild, they see it, but since breeding in captivity is unusual, they don’t get that example there. So… the zoo keepers show the adolescent male pandas Panda Porn for them to learn.
My other favorite animal was the hippo. He stayed there in the water, otherwise huge, with his little eyes and ears a nose just above. I felt a bit blasé about the elephants, and then I thought that was weird.
Ilana lives a short walk from the zoo, and after we’d seen the animals, we walked over to her place for tea. On our way there, Dorothea’s friend Gail said that she’d read about this neighborhood – that there were a lot of muggings here.
I said: “what’s the name of the neighborhood?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” And then she pointed out the bars on some of the windows.
I think living in a city is good for democracy. There was all that talk a few years ago about talking to people about politics especially when we know their views are different from ours as a form of public education (both ways!) and outreach, to help us all care about and understand politics. You’re supposed to follow your intuition about your own safety, but I was surprised that she would be afraid of such a beautiful neighborhood (old brownstones, trees lining the roadway) just because (it seemed) it’s a city. I’ve talked about this a lot, but I believe that Fear drives us to do all kinds of destructive things. And the more we know about each other, and by extension, ourselves, the more we can make decisions based on more positive emotions, intuitions, than fear.
Dorothea brought us some etchings she’d done (www.cdlimited.com/doba.html), and I showed her mine as well (tho I wasn’t able to give her one). Then, we went for lunch at a nearby Peruvian chicken place where we ordered way too much food for about $1. After lunch, we walked Dorothea and Gail too the Metro.
I had forgotten how much I love Dorothea and she loves me, I told Ilana on our way home.
“That’s because you never see each other,” was her explanation.
But I don’t think that’s right. I think that if you love someone, and they love you, you’d better have a pretty good reason for not keeping in touch. Anything else is superficial. Love is the only real thing in this world. Now that I’m reminded, I hope to be better about that. I even got her email.
In the evening, we met Ilana’s friend Jeff at a bar a short bike ride away. At some point in the evening, I asserted that everyone should get therapy just like everyone should see a dentist. Ilana thought that people should get therapy during times of crisis in their lives. Jeff and Ilana seemed to agree that some people shouldn’t ever get therapy bc it makes them even more self-absorbed than they were at first. (At one point in the conversation, I said to Jeff: “maybe you don’t know enough crazy people.” Now this was pretty funny since he works with the homeless – that’s his job!)
Anyway, what I think I meant to say is that people’s mental and emotional health should get just as much attention as other kinds of health. We should get check ups. But not every mental health program works for every person. For example, some people might get more from prayer and going to church while others might get more from a shrink. Some might be best treated with medication while others exercise. But I think regular checkups and treatment program adjustments should be built into our system like teeth cleanings.
Now, here’s a question: do even smart people get stupid when drunk? There was this guy at the bar who tried to hit on us. He saw my bike helmet and asked if I’d been for a ride. Then, he could not understand that I had ridden the bicycle _For Transportation_. Despite the potential political ramifications of him gaining that understanding, I gave up after a few exchanges. He wouldn’t have remembered anyway.
I’m on the Amtrak to Durham right now, and of course the train is already an hour late. A friend of Sara’s warned us that we should expect to be between one and three hours late on this line, much like the one I’ve ridden in CA. What’s wrong with Amtrak?
Speaking of transportation, I thought DC’s signal timing system particularly pedestrian-friendly. For one thing, the lights count down from when they first turn green (not once the red hand begins to flash like in SF). People are always happier with more complete information. The lights count down from like 96 sometimes. You can nearly always make it across without risking death even after the light has changed against you. I didn’t notice a long all-red time, but I did notice that the drivers appear to be willing to wait a few seconds after their light turns green before going. This must be cultural. Mitja said that the DC drivers are the worst – the upshot being that they make stupid maneuvers despite there being plenty of room on the roadway.
The Metro, too, seemed to work. Each line has a color. Each platform displays where the train is going and where you can transfer. How many minutes until the next train comes is constantly shown on a screen, and the numbers are usually small. The lights flash when the train is coming (this is probably an ADA thing). My only complaint is that I would have liked to have seen more system maps on the platforms. If I have a general idea, I would rather figure out the details while I wait for a train to come. I also haven’t decided yet if I think that fare system was unnecessarily complicated. I bought a $10 ticket (which I didn’t use up.), but each time I rode the train, they deducted a different amount. It wasn’t a problem, I just never knew what to expect. Does that matter?
Now the winter trees and frozen lakes wiz past the train windows. I remember that it snowed, just briefly, last night before we went to the bar. The flakes were barely noticeable tiny angels floating through the air. Nothing stuck.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Day 2 in DC
I’m feeling rather depressed and upset about coordinating xmas with my family at the moment. I’m the only one with a “home” in the Bay Area, but my place is small. So, there isn’t any place for even the nuclear family to descend. For various reasons, it’s best for us to celebrate there. I guess these are what Alison calls “white girl problems”, but I’m already feeling delicate, and I need all the loving wholeness I can get.
Ilana and I spent today on bikes. I rode a really cute vintage Trek (with lugs!), turquoise, that looked super girly with my baby pink hat and gloves. I loved that. Unfortunately, I did not love the seat. She gave me a tour of downtown including her former office buildings with the World Bank and where she’d met boys for dates. We stopped off at the Vietnam Memorial, hidden there under the hill, and then at the Lincoln Memorial resting majestically above the Mall.
From there, we crossed the Potomac and rode along its banks for about 10 miles to Old Town Alexandria. On the way, we passed the DC Airport (where I flew in 2 days before), and spent a moment at the end of the runway watching the planes hit the ground a few feet away from over our heads. Also sitting there was a middle-aged couple who took pains to write down our names correctly in order to pray for us. (At first, I gave them my correct name, but then I got a little worried and “corrected” my spelling. I had no idea Ilana’s name could be spelled so differently!)
The weather was gorgeous despite it being winter, the grass was green and the trees were there. The surface of the Potomac lay flat despite the cold air, bc the wind stayed low. The bike path runs between the highway and the river, but across the river the view is of the Capital. The Town’s super cute, and we looked at the art at the Torpedo Factory Art where we saw some really cool ceramic animals and pottery. Ilana fell in love with a little cow, but she couldn’t justify spending $38 on it. Alexandria has some outlet stores, and in addition to lunch we tried to shop. Ilana bought some blue shoes. I’ve lost some weight lately, which means that all my pants are way too big. Ilana wanted me to find some that fit at the Gap outlet, but alas, none of their 12 styles are made for my body.
We biked back in the dark, which was particularly scary on the bike path where there was NO light at all (of course I lacked a headlight). I thought of Carolyn smashing her face in on the Oholone Greenway in Berkeley. What was spectacular was the view of the Capital all lit up in the night across the river. By this time, the river wasn’t so placid, and tiny waves lapped against the bank.
Our evening destination was Sam and Jess’s house in Capital Hill. They live in an amazing 3-story townhouse. I guess it’s been a few months since they left San Francisco, but it didn’t feel like any time had passed at all. Their lives have changed though. I also really enjoyed catching up with Nomar (the parrot, who, incidently let me pet him and pooped on my leg) and Muni and Bart (the guinea pigs).
Ilana and I spent today on bikes. I rode a really cute vintage Trek (with lugs!), turquoise, that looked super girly with my baby pink hat and gloves. I loved that. Unfortunately, I did not love the seat. She gave me a tour of downtown including her former office buildings with the World Bank and where she’d met boys for dates. We stopped off at the Vietnam Memorial, hidden there under the hill, and then at the Lincoln Memorial resting majestically above the Mall.
From there, we crossed the Potomac and rode along its banks for about 10 miles to Old Town Alexandria. On the way, we passed the DC Airport (where I flew in 2 days before), and spent a moment at the end of the runway watching the planes hit the ground a few feet away from over our heads. Also sitting there was a middle-aged couple who took pains to write down our names correctly in order to pray for us. (At first, I gave them my correct name, but then I got a little worried and “corrected” my spelling. I had no idea Ilana’s name could be spelled so differently!)
The weather was gorgeous despite it being winter, the grass was green and the trees were there. The surface of the Potomac lay flat despite the cold air, bc the wind stayed low. The bike path runs between the highway and the river, but across the river the view is of the Capital. The Town’s super cute, and we looked at the art at the Torpedo Factory Art where we saw some really cool ceramic animals and pottery. Ilana fell in love with a little cow, but she couldn’t justify spending $38 on it. Alexandria has some outlet stores, and in addition to lunch we tried to shop. Ilana bought some blue shoes. I’ve lost some weight lately, which means that all my pants are way too big. Ilana wanted me to find some that fit at the Gap outlet, but alas, none of their 12 styles are made for my body.
We biked back in the dark, which was particularly scary on the bike path where there was NO light at all (of course I lacked a headlight). I thought of Carolyn smashing her face in on the Oholone Greenway in Berkeley. What was spectacular was the view of the Capital all lit up in the night across the river. By this time, the river wasn’t so placid, and tiny waves lapped against the bank.
Our evening destination was Sam and Jess’s house in Capital Hill. They live in an amazing 3-story townhouse. I guess it’s been a few months since they left San Francisco, but it didn’t feel like any time had passed at all. Their lives have changed though. I also really enjoyed catching up with Nomar (the parrot, who, incidently let me pet him and pooped on my leg) and Muni and Bart (the guinea pigs).
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Day 1 in DC
I had a pretty good day here in our fine country’s capital. Ilana and I spent a leisurely morning in her lovely Mt. Pleasant apartment. She has a little xmas tree with a short string of white lights and nothing else. She also has a collection of heart-shaped rocks pinned around one her front window. The place feels homey, and I was amazed how she does everything right. It’s probably bc she’s my sister – we figured out a lot of things together.
So, I finally got my butt in gear and decided to go see an exhibition on American Modernism at the Philips Museum. I walked there (DuPont Circle) from here. But once I got there, paid my admission, I realized there was a problem: I already saw this exhibition last summer in LA. And it wasn’t so interesting of an exhibit that I wanted to see it again (for another $10 when I’m living mostly off my savings and taking a trip for no reason).
But I’ve got this idea for a bicycle art exhibition, and I did see a painting with a bicycle. So, note to self: Braque’s The Shower, 1952.
Yeah, otherwise, I felt like a real turkey. Which leads me to something I was just talking about with my mother. I tend to blame myself for most everything that goes wrong: a stubbed toe, a burned cookie, when my sailing teacher takes out a boat with a broken spreader, the holocaust. I often do my best to hide this bc it would…. Well, just because. Meanwhile, the woman who lives downstairs from me apologizes for everything whenever I see her, and it makes me feel like she’s got serious confidence issues or that she’s a manipulator. Either way is bad. Anyway, there’s a balance, but sometimes finding that balance takes a lot of thought, not just about responsibility, and personal responsibility, but also about social objectives and the messages we put out into the world. I need to think not only about what my role was in something that went wrong, but also about what I can gain by taking, or not taking, responsibility for that mistake. Anyway, it’s complicated.
From there, I had a little time to kill. So, I strolled around the neighborhood and finished the Crispy Crème donuts I’d bought for my lunch. (Ilana offered me OJ with my breakfast, but I declined bc juice has too much sugar. I should have clarified that I like to be very selective about where my sugar comes from.) I then took the Metro to the massage appt that Ilana made for me.
She found this massage school where you can get one for a very reasonable price. She went last week, and I happened to speak with her bf and after her appt. The idea is that it’s hard to be single, without hugs and caresses day after day. (I burst into tears when a friend gave me a very empathic hug the other day, but then, that’s nothing unusual these days.) So, getting a regular massage not only keeps your body feeling good and relaxed, it also gives you human contact that we all so desperately need.
I had a sort of dream during my massage. There was a city made out of glass, and it was Paris. Except something happened, and it all shattered. The lights and colors and shimmering glass were still so beautiful, and we played in the broken glass, throwing it into the air, and it didn’t hurt us.
I glanced in the mirror after my massage, and the bags under my eyes were especially puffy. I had to rush to meet my old high-school friend Mitja at his office. He works at AARP, and he looked great. We went to a fancy restaurant, Zola, bc I said I wanted an experience special to DC. He had chowder and we shared some fries for a starter. The fries were good, but the exciting part was the mustardy mayonnaise they gave us to dip them. For our mains, I had the chicken which involved a fig sauce, a butternut squash puree over that, and then chicken breast covered with brussel sprouts and zucchini and cheese. Mitja had monk fish with some kind of asian sauce and spinach. Also tasty. Since Mitja had already tried the chocolate bomb they make, we had the chocolate fondue s’mores for dessert.
The air outside was freezing cold, but I convinced him to take me for turn on the Mall. Earlier in the day, when I was having trouble leaving Ilana’s, I felt a bit panicked that I would somehow miss seeing “DC”. I am less worried about that now I have strolled up to the well-lit White House (were there really people in all of those rooms with their lights on??) and then back towards the Washington Monument.
Of course, the conversation this whole time was lovely, and it was great to see him. He drove me home in his red Miata (inherited from his father, he assured me when I said “you’re joking, right?” in response to the car). You might have to know him to get the joke.
Now I’m back at Ilana’s, wading thru email for the first time in 2 days. I really need to buy my train ticket to Durham. Ugh.
So, I finally got my butt in gear and decided to go see an exhibition on American Modernism at the Philips Museum. I walked there (DuPont Circle) from here. But once I got there, paid my admission, I realized there was a problem: I already saw this exhibition last summer in LA. And it wasn’t so interesting of an exhibit that I wanted to see it again (for another $10 when I’m living mostly off my savings and taking a trip for no reason).
But I’ve got this idea for a bicycle art exhibition, and I did see a painting with a bicycle. So, note to self: Braque’s The Shower, 1952.
Yeah, otherwise, I felt like a real turkey. Which leads me to something I was just talking about with my mother. I tend to blame myself for most everything that goes wrong: a stubbed toe, a burned cookie, when my sailing teacher takes out a boat with a broken spreader, the holocaust. I often do my best to hide this bc it would…. Well, just because. Meanwhile, the woman who lives downstairs from me apologizes for everything whenever I see her, and it makes me feel like she’s got serious confidence issues or that she’s a manipulator. Either way is bad. Anyway, there’s a balance, but sometimes finding that balance takes a lot of thought, not just about responsibility, and personal responsibility, but also about social objectives and the messages we put out into the world. I need to think not only about what my role was in something that went wrong, but also about what I can gain by taking, or not taking, responsibility for that mistake. Anyway, it’s complicated.
From there, I had a little time to kill. So, I strolled around the neighborhood and finished the Crispy Crème donuts I’d bought for my lunch. (Ilana offered me OJ with my breakfast, but I declined bc juice has too much sugar. I should have clarified that I like to be very selective about where my sugar comes from.) I then took the Metro to the massage appt that Ilana made for me.
She found this massage school where you can get one for a very reasonable price. She went last week, and I happened to speak with her bf and after her appt. The idea is that it’s hard to be single, without hugs and caresses day after day. (I burst into tears when a friend gave me a very empathic hug the other day, but then, that’s nothing unusual these days.) So, getting a regular massage not only keeps your body feeling good and relaxed, it also gives you human contact that we all so desperately need.
I had a sort of dream during my massage. There was a city made out of glass, and it was Paris. Except something happened, and it all shattered. The lights and colors and shimmering glass were still so beautiful, and we played in the broken glass, throwing it into the air, and it didn’t hurt us.
I glanced in the mirror after my massage, and the bags under my eyes were especially puffy. I had to rush to meet my old high-school friend Mitja at his office. He works at AARP, and he looked great. We went to a fancy restaurant, Zola, bc I said I wanted an experience special to DC. He had chowder and we shared some fries for a starter. The fries were good, but the exciting part was the mustardy mayonnaise they gave us to dip them. For our mains, I had the chicken which involved a fig sauce, a butternut squash puree over that, and then chicken breast covered with brussel sprouts and zucchini and cheese. Mitja had monk fish with some kind of asian sauce and spinach. Also tasty. Since Mitja had already tried the chocolate bomb they make, we had the chocolate fondue s’mores for dessert.
The air outside was freezing cold, but I convinced him to take me for turn on the Mall. Earlier in the day, when I was having trouble leaving Ilana’s, I felt a bit panicked that I would somehow miss seeing “DC”. I am less worried about that now I have strolled up to the well-lit White House (were there really people in all of those rooms with their lights on??) and then back towards the Washington Monument.
Of course, the conversation this whole time was lovely, and it was great to see him. He drove me home in his red Miata (inherited from his father, he assured me when I said “you’re joking, right?” in response to the car). You might have to know him to get the joke.
Now I’m back at Ilana’s, wading thru email for the first time in 2 days. I really need to buy my train ticket to Durham. Ugh.
Winterfest 2006
I had a particularly good time at the San Francisco Bicycle Coalition's Winterfest this year, but I don't know how to explain why. I was busy. The company and conversation were outstanding. I felt on my game. The beer was really tasty. On the other hand, they seem to have decided to gear it towards the auctions and reduce many other forms of entertainment. Last year I enjoyed the films, but maybe they ended up being a social crutch. Here is photo of my from the photo booth (something they do every year).
Sunday, December 03, 2006
NeXmap Review, etc.
My hands are all messed up from sailing. I need to get some sailing gloves, and I hear they do exist. My hands feel like sand paper. But the weather was beautiful, and my fellow sailors sweet. We took out a Precision, which doesn’t steer with much. I think I’ll try to stick with the Lidos for a bit longer.
I had a lot of competing invitations last night, but ultimately I decided to go to Kristin’s video art show. It seemed important to support her in this project, and also I thought I would enjoy it (of course). It was called “NeXmap: New Experimental Music, Art, Performance” in the “recombinant media labs”, this cool space south of Market. They showed 6 pieces.
In the first one, a violinist played notes (music) and computer responded with harmonizing or dissonant notes. I believe they were the result of the computer processing her sounds. The effect was really interesting. At the same time, a Durer etching was projected on the screens (along the entire wall of the space, 360 degrees), first so blown up that all you saw were a few pixels, then slowly we got to see the image until it became so small that it was a tiny, quivering dot on a black screen.
The second piece was a series of photos and recordings of people in urban settings. It was called “a strange intimacy”, and seemed to be about how, in urban settings, we are always surrounded by people we don’t know, and maybe we like it that way. He talked about the closeness of it, but I also wonder about the alienation of it.
In another piece, a Claronetist played very powerful music called “Dust” which he said was about 9/11. Kristin’s piece was 5th, and she had edited a dance performance into waves so that it looked like the dancers were rolling into and out of the water.
Julie said that the final piece made her feel like she was in hell. (She arrived with a headache.) The room was black, and we lay on the floor. The composer said it was about the Tsnami in Thailand. It sounded like huge rats crawling in the walls and floor and ceiling all around us. As the music built, and became more frantic, I began to feel unsafe. It was a tremendous feeling. But then I remembered that I was in a black room in downtown San Francisco at a music performance. Of course I was safe – these were just sounds. It made me wonder about our basic human reactions to other situations – maybe we’re nearly always safe. How much of modern life is simulated, and how much of it can be controlled and made to be a positive rather than negative experience through thought?
I thought about horror films and how I find them “too scary”. I like that they cause you to clutch the person next to you for “safety”. I like that they instigate human contact. Our world right now has so many fewer risks than when humans were more active members of wildlife. And yet, we find things to be afraid of anyway. We are afraid of our airplane falling from the sky, or of having our hearts broken by the careless, or of slipping in the shower. We’re afraid of having things we value taken from us. We’re afraid of dying too soon.
I always talk about letting go of these fears. “Forget safety,” I say. “Loosen your grip,” I think. But right now I realize that that disregards our most basic human programming, real or not. Feeling fear is part of being human. What that leaves is a question of how we react to our fears. Do we bomb foreign countries? Do we run away from Love? Do we stop bathing? Well, we all know the answers to these questions for ourselves, but I guess the thing I want to keep in mind is what these reactions mean and if they are an appropriate reaction to the real level of risk I face.
I had a lot of competing invitations last night, but ultimately I decided to go to Kristin’s video art show. It seemed important to support her in this project, and also I thought I would enjoy it (of course). It was called “NeXmap: New Experimental Music, Art, Performance” in the “recombinant media labs”, this cool space south of Market. They showed 6 pieces.
In the first one, a violinist played notes (music) and computer responded with harmonizing or dissonant notes. I believe they were the result of the computer processing her sounds. The effect was really interesting. At the same time, a Durer etching was projected on the screens (along the entire wall of the space, 360 degrees), first so blown up that all you saw were a few pixels, then slowly we got to see the image until it became so small that it was a tiny, quivering dot on a black screen.
The second piece was a series of photos and recordings of people in urban settings. It was called “a strange intimacy”, and seemed to be about how, in urban settings, we are always surrounded by people we don’t know, and maybe we like it that way. He talked about the closeness of it, but I also wonder about the alienation of it.
In another piece, a Claronetist played very powerful music called “Dust” which he said was about 9/11. Kristin’s piece was 5th, and she had edited a dance performance into waves so that it looked like the dancers were rolling into and out of the water.
Julie said that the final piece made her feel like she was in hell. (She arrived with a headache.) The room was black, and we lay on the floor. The composer said it was about the Tsnami in Thailand. It sounded like huge rats crawling in the walls and floor and ceiling all around us. As the music built, and became more frantic, I began to feel unsafe. It was a tremendous feeling. But then I remembered that I was in a black room in downtown San Francisco at a music performance. Of course I was safe – these were just sounds. It made me wonder about our basic human reactions to other situations – maybe we’re nearly always safe. How much of modern life is simulated, and how much of it can be controlled and made to be a positive rather than negative experience through thought?
I thought about horror films and how I find them “too scary”. I like that they cause you to clutch the person next to you for “safety”. I like that they instigate human contact. Our world right now has so many fewer risks than when humans were more active members of wildlife. And yet, we find things to be afraid of anyway. We are afraid of our airplane falling from the sky, or of having our hearts broken by the careless, or of slipping in the shower. We’re afraid of having things we value taken from us. We’re afraid of dying too soon.
I always talk about letting go of these fears. “Forget safety,” I say. “Loosen your grip,” I think. But right now I realize that that disregards our most basic human programming, real or not. Feeling fear is part of being human. What that leaves is a question of how we react to our fears. Do we bomb foreign countries? Do we run away from Love? Do we stop bathing? Well, we all know the answers to these questions for ourselves, but I guess the thing I want to keep in mind is what these reactions mean and if they are an appropriate reaction to the real level of risk I face.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Random quotes
If there’s an upside to freefalling, it’s that you give your friends a chance to catch you.
Grey’s Anatomy (TV show)
Each day, we must learn
again how to love…
Excerpt from "In the Middle" by Barbara Crooker, from Word Press. © 1998
…too full to swallow any sorrow…
The Joy Luck Club (the movie)
Grey’s Anatomy (TV show)
Each day, we must learn
again how to love…
Excerpt from "In the Middle" by Barbara Crooker, from Word Press. © 1998
…too full to swallow any sorrow…
The Joy Luck Club (the movie)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
