Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
[Los Angeles]From the belly of the beast***
*** This post has been edited since its original posting to reflect actual events.
I’m writing from Los Angeles, where Jared has come for a class and I tagged along for the company. I brought my bike, and the idea is to keep myself entertained with art. LA has a lot of art to see, it turns out.
In other news, my ALC “tan” on my right leg is peeling. Also, I forgot to tell you about the time a bird pooped on me mid-ride.
We drove down here on Sunday afternoon. It went pretty quickly (the company was good), but did take longer than the Google estimated 6 hours. We stopped a couple times in “America” for milkshakes and Starbucks coffee. Jared said “I would have thought that you’d have a problem with Starbucks.”
I replied “I do, but there aren’t any other options. Anyway, what’s great about Starbucks is that now you can get good coffee anywhere in the world.”
Jared: “Yeah, there was a while there when, in parts of the country, the coffee was really bad. It was as if we were in the coffee Dark Ages, and Starbucks started the Renaissance.”
Me: “Sometimes I like bad coffee. You know, it’s bad coffee about being bad coffee.” And, to my surprise, he shook his head.
Yesterday I went to the Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA) downtown. It was funny because it appears you can't get there on foot. I took the bus, which took an hour, and then walked a couple blocks to the underground loading area where I took an elevator to the main entrance thru a parking garage. Anyway, the art was good.
They have a Rauschenberg exhibit going now. I read recently that he is the most successful living artist, based on the kind of money he gets for his work. I’ve always liked the way he “combines” every day items into his painting, and way he uses color, to create these seemingly random but really quite compelling canvasses. Of course, it helps that he likes chickens and goats (and puts stuffed ones into his work).
I watched the film on him for a short while and learned some interesting things. One friend told a story about Rauschenberg having a bunch of bamboo polls up on the wall in his studio. The friend said, I really like your work here, but I don’t get what’s going on with the bamboo polls. Rauschenberg replied, I bet you’ve put things up on the wall before that you don’t know what they mean. To that I say: LET’S ALL PUT SOMETHING UNEXPECTED UP ON THE WALL THIS MONTH. Maybe it will change your life. Rauschenberg said he works for maximum lack of control so that something might happen that he didn’t think of. This seems like a great idea to keep life unexpected and work fresh.
Also at the museum, I saw a film called “call waiting” where several characters show a story by talking on the phone, in their native languages (subtitles) and English, in various locations. They are working, at home in their kitchen, in a bar, etc., and they receive other calls, either thru call waiting or on other phones there. Between the languages and phone lines, the piece was an interesting fairytale on contemporary American communication.
While riding the bus back to the hotel to meet Jared, a woman asked the bus driver in Spanish which bus she should ride to get home. They had an extended conversation where she spoke Spanish and he responded in English. Eventually, it became clear to her that he didn’t even speak Spanish; he spoke Italian. It also turned out that she was on the wrong bus.
Mid-intersection where the bus was attempting to turn left (it took a while), I noticed a woman attempted to cross the street. She was speaking on her mobile phone and pushing the pedestrian signal activation button constantly. I thought to myself “that’s how those things get broken.” But on the other hand, I understood her frustration. She can’t jaywalk because this is LA and there are too many cars. Her only recourse to having to wait too long at the corner is to keep pressing the button. It’s no consolation to her that it took the bus a long time to make a left turn there too….
We went to Santa Monica last night and Venice the night before. SM was a hit. We walked along the beach with our shoes off. I’ve got this idea that I want to be able to move each of my toes independently, and I heard that walking in sand is a good way to teach those muscles. I waded and forced Jared to get his feet (and pant legs) wet too, and the water was warm and soft.
We decided we wanted tacos, and of course there’s a problem with deciding exactly what you want to eat when you’re in a city and neighborhood you don’t know. SM is pretty up-scale, and we walked along pedestrianized 3rd Street, where street performers dominate and there are white Christmas lights on all the trees. It took some trial and error, but we found a place with tasty fish tacos. Jared said it was even better than what he had imagined.
Venice appears not to be much of a night spot. We found this place on citysearch which people said had excellent sushi and a relaxed “beachy” ambiance. On the real beach, the stalls stood empty and dark, looking kind of dirty and pathetic.
We're staying at the airport, which kinda sucks, but it does mean there are a lot of buses for me to take around. The hotel has a decent gym, pool and hot tub in addition to a view of the runway. I spent some time yesterday morning enjoying the fitness facilities. But today, alas, I just slept in. For some reason we didn’t get the lights off for sleeping until after 1 AM.
I’m writing from Los Angeles, where Jared has come for a class and I tagged along for the company. I brought my bike, and the idea is to keep myself entertained with art. LA has a lot of art to see, it turns out.
In other news, my ALC “tan” on my right leg is peeling. Also, I forgot to tell you about the time a bird pooped on me mid-ride.
We drove down here on Sunday afternoon. It went pretty quickly (the company was good), but did take longer than the Google estimated 6 hours. We stopped a couple times in “America” for milkshakes and Starbucks coffee. Jared said “I would have thought that you’d have a problem with Starbucks.”
I replied “I do, but there aren’t any other options. Anyway, what’s great about Starbucks is that now you can get good coffee anywhere in the world.”
Jared: “Yeah, there was a while there when, in parts of the country, the coffee was really bad. It was as if we were in the coffee Dark Ages, and Starbucks started the Renaissance.”
Me: “Sometimes I like bad coffee. You know, it’s bad coffee about being bad coffee.” And, to my surprise, he shook his head.
Yesterday I went to the Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA) downtown. It was funny because it appears you can't get there on foot. I took the bus, which took an hour, and then walked a couple blocks to the underground loading area where I took an elevator to the main entrance thru a parking garage. Anyway, the art was good.
They have a Rauschenberg exhibit going now. I read recently that he is the most successful living artist, based on the kind of money he gets for his work. I’ve always liked the way he “combines” every day items into his painting, and way he uses color, to create these seemingly random but really quite compelling canvasses. Of course, it helps that he likes chickens and goats (and puts stuffed ones into his work).
I watched the film on him for a short while and learned some interesting things. One friend told a story about Rauschenberg having a bunch of bamboo polls up on the wall in his studio. The friend said, I really like your work here, but I don’t get what’s going on with the bamboo polls. Rauschenberg replied, I bet you’ve put things up on the wall before that you don’t know what they mean. To that I say: LET’S ALL PUT SOMETHING UNEXPECTED UP ON THE WALL THIS MONTH. Maybe it will change your life. Rauschenberg said he works for maximum lack of control so that something might happen that he didn’t think of. This seems like a great idea to keep life unexpected and work fresh.
Also at the museum, I saw a film called “call waiting” where several characters show a story by talking on the phone, in their native languages (subtitles) and English, in various locations. They are working, at home in their kitchen, in a bar, etc., and they receive other calls, either thru call waiting or on other phones there. Between the languages and phone lines, the piece was an interesting fairytale on contemporary American communication.
While riding the bus back to the hotel to meet Jared, a woman asked the bus driver in Spanish which bus she should ride to get home. They had an extended conversation where she spoke Spanish and he responded in English. Eventually, it became clear to her that he didn’t even speak Spanish; he spoke Italian. It also turned out that she was on the wrong bus.
Mid-intersection where the bus was attempting to turn left (it took a while), I noticed a woman attempted to cross the street. She was speaking on her mobile phone and pushing the pedestrian signal activation button constantly. I thought to myself “that’s how those things get broken.” But on the other hand, I understood her frustration. She can’t jaywalk because this is LA and there are too many cars. Her only recourse to having to wait too long at the corner is to keep pressing the button. It’s no consolation to her that it took the bus a long time to make a left turn there too….
We went to Santa Monica last night and Venice the night before. SM was a hit. We walked along the beach with our shoes off. I’ve got this idea that I want to be able to move each of my toes independently, and I heard that walking in sand is a good way to teach those muscles. I waded and forced Jared to get his feet (and pant legs) wet too, and the water was warm and soft.
We decided we wanted tacos, and of course there’s a problem with deciding exactly what you want to eat when you’re in a city and neighborhood you don’t know. SM is pretty up-scale, and we walked along pedestrianized 3rd Street, where street performers dominate and there are white Christmas lights on all the trees. It took some trial and error, but we found a place with tasty fish tacos. Jared said it was even better than what he had imagined.
Venice appears not to be much of a night spot. We found this place on citysearch which people said had excellent sushi and a relaxed “beachy” ambiance. On the real beach, the stalls stood empty and dark, looking kind of dirty and pathetic.
We're staying at the airport, which kinda sucks, but it does mean there are a lot of buses for me to take around. The hotel has a decent gym, pool and hot tub in addition to a view of the runway. I spent some time yesterday morning enjoying the fitness facilities. But today, alas, I just slept in. For some reason we didn’t get the lights off for sleeping until after 1 AM.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
ALC overview
Snapfish: Share:Registration
This year on AIDS/LifeCycle, 1,840 riders raised $8M to end AIDS. People rode for all sorts of reasons: the physical challenge of the ride, a personal experience with AIDS such as the loss of a loved one, or being HIV+ themselves. On the night of the talent show, one man read a devastating poem about the loss or his partner, bringing the entire audience to tears. HIV+ riders had a special club, wore jerseys identifying themselves, and had preferential bike parking. The food was excellent and the entire event extremely well-organized. (In fact, I didn’t have a logistical problem until my first interface with the outside world, when I attempted to ride the Super Shuttle to the airport.) The follow describes a bit of my own experience:
Highlights:
• The peanut-chocolate thing from the top of the first hill, and the pie later that day (day 1) (See Note 1)
• Deep fried artichoke hearts with garlic mayo (day 2)
• Swimming in the river on the longest day (day 3) (See Note 2)
• Half-way to LA and the views from the top, and, honestly, climbing the “evil twins” of which there appeared to me to be 4 (day 4)
• Red dress day and dancing in the street of Casmalia (day 5) (See Note 3)
• Random conversations and learning about people (most days)
• No knee pain (See Note 4)
• “Mom and Dad” (See Note 5)
• Communication with the outside world (See Note 6)
Low points:
• Butt rash (despite at least one application of Chamois Butt’r every day) (See Note 4)
• Back and shoulder pain (See Note 4)
• PMS (See Note 7)
Note 1: We started from the Cow Palace in San Francisco early Sunday morning, and then rode over Hwy 92 to the coast. There’s a hill along that route. I was riding with the pig ladies (cyclists with pink seat covers and curly tails and pink helmet covers with little pink ears). That is, I was trying to keep up with them. We began the climb, and one said “Here comes the hill.”
Not noticing much, I said “this isn’t a hill.”
But she disagreed: “You’ll see.” And then she went on the say something encouraging like: “You’re looking good, looking strong.”
Anyway, there isn’t much to this story, other than for some reason they were very impressed with my climbing. They knicknamed me “frisky girl.” We reached the top, where volunteers generally hand out treats to the riders. I declined the red vines and chips ahoy, but then I saw a man handing out something that looked good. It was a kind of peanut shortbread dipped in really nice chocolate.
The next day, someone was talking about some treat they’d had. They wanted to marry its producer. I mentioned these peanut-chocolate treats. “Oh, I know that guy. But he has a boyfriend. You can’t marry him.” I tried to argue with her, but, well, you can probably guess that it went nowhere.
Note 2: I heard about the swimming that morning, and I wanted to make sure not to miss it. People assured me that that wouldn’t happen. The day was long, and my need for a cool dip increased as it passed.
Before the swimming hole, you cross a bridge. I looked over the edge of the bridge as I rode and saw only men. Now, they’re all gay; so, what difference does it make? But I didn’t want to be the only one in there with different parts. Once I stopped my bike, I realized that the ladies had self-segregated and were bathing under the bridge instead of beside it. I joined them.
The conversation quickly came to this self-segregation phenomenon. One woman had been reading about the “red tent” where women in biblical times would segregate themselves when they menstruated and tell stories similar to the ones in the bible but from women’s perspective. We quickly began to formulate our own adages: “one must wash one’s bottom 3 times before one puts back on one’s bike shorts after bathing if one has sat on a rock.” (The reason being to remove all sand from places where it may cause discomfort before locking it in place with bike shorts.) I was struck by how beautiful all these fit bodies looked – bike clothes don’t do anyone any favors, but this did.
Note 3: I had heard about red dress day before I left for the ride, but I didn’t realize how important it was. The idea began that riders should all wear red so that as they snaked up this one hill they would look like the red ribbon of solidarity with victims of AIDS. You can imagine how this quickly changed from “dress in red” day to wear a “red dress” day. I’ve heard that straight men who do the ride as much for the physical challenge as anything else begin by brushing off this tradition, but by their second year, they’re as decked out as anyone else.
But I only brought a red jersey, alas! I felt left out of the fun and like a disappointment to my fellow riders. Appearances ranged from gorgeous to comic in various get-ups. Someone observed that since the ride goes thru the same towns on day 5 every year, the locals probably think that the AIDS riders dress this way every day.
Day 5 is also by far the shortest day with only 45 miles to ride. So, when, in Casmalia, the second break stop and a small town with Erin-Brockovich-type problems, the general store piped dance music onto the street, I joined the dancers. Dancing in bike cleats is no small task, but we were more than up to it. And I thought to myself, these folks who have been bike touring hard for so many days, trying to raise money to end a pandemic, and are now disco dancing in the street in the middle of the day… these are my people.
Note 4: This is probably more information than some of you want…. But, when training, I had 3 physical complaints: my knees, my shoulders, and my butt. Well, at least one went away and was replaced with a new one: my mid-back. By the end of the ride, I started to notice entirely new pains, in my feet, for example. I heard many people complain of their “crotch” being “on fire” after a week in the saddle. But, strangely, that ended for all of us when we entered the LA City Limit. It’s as if our butts knew we were almost finished.
Note 5: One rider’s Mom and Dad follow the route each year and are somewhere along it every day to cheers us on. They have a sign that says “Mom and Dad” and they wear name tags to that effect as well. They look like any of our Mom and Dad’s – they’re super cute, and they play little drums for us (probably bc it can get tiring cheering for so many hours). I can imagine how much this must mean to some riders whose parents aren’t supportive of them (because they’re riding to end AIDS? because they’re gay?). Every time I saw them, I told them how much it meant to me to have their support.
Note 6: I had my mobile phone turned off during the day, and used it only between when I rolled into camp (between 3 and 7 PM, depending on the day’s mileage) and when I went to sleep (9 PM). I turned on my phone to find voice messages from my mother in France and texts from Jared. They always made me smile.
Note 7: One morning, the breakfast people sang to me as they served my breakfast. If you know me at all, you know how this went over. But I kept my jaw clenched shut and said nothing as I collected my oatmeal, eggs, fruit and breakfast meat. Fortunately, they didn’t have a problem with my silence. I decided it was wise to sit at a table alone and eat my breakfast quietly, avoiding any dangerous interactions.
But it only took a few moments for a couple of chipper women to join me. They bantered pleasantly and asked me how my ride was going. (Note, on the ride, no one says “How was your day?” or “Have a nice day.” Instead the word “day” is always replaced with “ride”.) I said OK, and then I added: “I’m sorry. I’m a non-talking morning person. It’s not personal, and I’m really a very nice person. I just don’t talk in the morning.” They were fine with that, and after a few minutes I was able to talk.
Just to bring the conversation full circle, on day 7 (some time later), I sat down with a group of women at lunch. I remembered one of them from lunch on day 1, but not the other two. One of them said: “I remember you. You were apologizing for your hair the other morning.”
“That doesn’t sound like me, but it’s possible,” I replied.
The second woman laughed, “No, I remember how we know you.” She laughed harder, “You’re the one who doesn’t talk in the morning. You were so funny.”
I guess I managed not to offend.
Around the same time as the breakfast singers, we rode our longest day. It was 105 miles, 5 miles more than the Wine Country Century I did with Jared about a month earlier. By the end of the day, I had had it. I rode into camp and, as usual, dozens of people cheered and welcomed me home. They had no right to do that. I scowled at them, and headed for the bike parking. One person even had the nerve to tell me to “smile, you made it!” I tried to comply, failed, and continued along my way with my mouth clenched tightly shut.
This reminded me of one of the opening speeches, at 5 AM the previous Sunday. Mark Cloutier, the executive director of the SF AIDS Foundation said (I paraphrase): “Over the next week you will be experiencing many emotions. One emotion that people don’t talk about is the grumpy bitch emotion. Riders, grumpiness is not a victimless crime. On day 4, when you find that you have just yelled at the woman trying to hand you a banana, you will think ‘why did I do that? I’m not a bitch.’ So, when you feel the grumpy bitch coming on, I want you to think instead ‘I’m a kitty. You’re a kitty.’” And he made stroking motions with his hand in the air.
I didn’t use Mark’s mantra suggestion, but I still wanted to share it with you. I’m proud that I rode my bicycle from San Francisco to Los Angeles. Now that I’ve done it, I realize that it’s a very very long way to ride a bike. Possibly even more impressive is that, through that process, I didn’t say anything unkind out loud.
THANK YOU to ALL my sponsors. An additional special thanks goes to Alison, for driving me to the Cow Palace at 5 AM Sunday morning (!), and to my mother, for the songs and voice messages of encouragement from France every day of the ride and for her un-equaled assistance with my fundraising efforts. I couldn’t have done it without you!
I’ll add other stories if I remember them.
This year on AIDS/LifeCycle, 1,840 riders raised $8M to end AIDS. People rode for all sorts of reasons: the physical challenge of the ride, a personal experience with AIDS such as the loss of a loved one, or being HIV+ themselves. On the night of the talent show, one man read a devastating poem about the loss or his partner, bringing the entire audience to tears. HIV+ riders had a special club, wore jerseys identifying themselves, and had preferential bike parking. The food was excellent and the entire event extremely well-organized. (In fact, I didn’t have a logistical problem until my first interface with the outside world, when I attempted to ride the Super Shuttle to the airport.) The follow describes a bit of my own experience:
Highlights:
• The peanut-chocolate thing from the top of the first hill, and the pie later that day (day 1) (See Note 1)
• Deep fried artichoke hearts with garlic mayo (day 2)
• Swimming in the river on the longest day (day 3) (See Note 2)
• Half-way to LA and the views from the top, and, honestly, climbing the “evil twins” of which there appeared to me to be 4 (day 4)
• Red dress day and dancing in the street of Casmalia (day 5) (See Note 3)
• Random conversations and learning about people (most days)
• No knee pain (See Note 4)
• “Mom and Dad” (See Note 5)
• Communication with the outside world (See Note 6)
Low points:
• Butt rash (despite at least one application of Chamois Butt’r every day) (See Note 4)
• Back and shoulder pain (See Note 4)
• PMS (See Note 7)
Note 1: We started from the Cow Palace in San Francisco early Sunday morning, and then rode over Hwy 92 to the coast. There’s a hill along that route. I was riding with the pig ladies (cyclists with pink seat covers and curly tails and pink helmet covers with little pink ears). That is, I was trying to keep up with them. We began the climb, and one said “Here comes the hill.”
Not noticing much, I said “this isn’t a hill.”
But she disagreed: “You’ll see.” And then she went on the say something encouraging like: “You’re looking good, looking strong.”
Anyway, there isn’t much to this story, other than for some reason they were very impressed with my climbing. They knicknamed me “frisky girl.” We reached the top, where volunteers generally hand out treats to the riders. I declined the red vines and chips ahoy, but then I saw a man handing out something that looked good. It was a kind of peanut shortbread dipped in really nice chocolate.
The next day, someone was talking about some treat they’d had. They wanted to marry its producer. I mentioned these peanut-chocolate treats. “Oh, I know that guy. But he has a boyfriend. You can’t marry him.” I tried to argue with her, but, well, you can probably guess that it went nowhere.
Note 2: I heard about the swimming that morning, and I wanted to make sure not to miss it. People assured me that that wouldn’t happen. The day was long, and my need for a cool dip increased as it passed.
Before the swimming hole, you cross a bridge. I looked over the edge of the bridge as I rode and saw only men. Now, they’re all gay; so, what difference does it make? But I didn’t want to be the only one in there with different parts. Once I stopped my bike, I realized that the ladies had self-segregated and were bathing under the bridge instead of beside it. I joined them.
The conversation quickly came to this self-segregation phenomenon. One woman had been reading about the “red tent” where women in biblical times would segregate themselves when they menstruated and tell stories similar to the ones in the bible but from women’s perspective. We quickly began to formulate our own adages: “one must wash one’s bottom 3 times before one puts back on one’s bike shorts after bathing if one has sat on a rock.” (The reason being to remove all sand from places where it may cause discomfort before locking it in place with bike shorts.) I was struck by how beautiful all these fit bodies looked – bike clothes don’t do anyone any favors, but this did.
Note 3: I had heard about red dress day before I left for the ride, but I didn’t realize how important it was. The idea began that riders should all wear red so that as they snaked up this one hill they would look like the red ribbon of solidarity with victims of AIDS. You can imagine how this quickly changed from “dress in red” day to wear a “red dress” day. I’ve heard that straight men who do the ride as much for the physical challenge as anything else begin by brushing off this tradition, but by their second year, they’re as decked out as anyone else.
But I only brought a red jersey, alas! I felt left out of the fun and like a disappointment to my fellow riders. Appearances ranged from gorgeous to comic in various get-ups. Someone observed that since the ride goes thru the same towns on day 5 every year, the locals probably think that the AIDS riders dress this way every day.
Day 5 is also by far the shortest day with only 45 miles to ride. So, when, in Casmalia, the second break stop and a small town with Erin-Brockovich-type problems, the general store piped dance music onto the street, I joined the dancers. Dancing in bike cleats is no small task, but we were more than up to it. And I thought to myself, these folks who have been bike touring hard for so many days, trying to raise money to end a pandemic, and are now disco dancing in the street in the middle of the day… these are my people.
Note 4: This is probably more information than some of you want…. But, when training, I had 3 physical complaints: my knees, my shoulders, and my butt. Well, at least one went away and was replaced with a new one: my mid-back. By the end of the ride, I started to notice entirely new pains, in my feet, for example. I heard many people complain of their “crotch” being “on fire” after a week in the saddle. But, strangely, that ended for all of us when we entered the LA City Limit. It’s as if our butts knew we were almost finished.
Note 5: One rider’s Mom and Dad follow the route each year and are somewhere along it every day to cheers us on. They have a sign that says “Mom and Dad” and they wear name tags to that effect as well. They look like any of our Mom and Dad’s – they’re super cute, and they play little drums for us (probably bc it can get tiring cheering for so many hours). I can imagine how much this must mean to some riders whose parents aren’t supportive of them (because they’re riding to end AIDS? because they’re gay?). Every time I saw them, I told them how much it meant to me to have their support.
Note 6: I had my mobile phone turned off during the day, and used it only between when I rolled into camp (between 3 and 7 PM, depending on the day’s mileage) and when I went to sleep (9 PM). I turned on my phone to find voice messages from my mother in France and texts from Jared. They always made me smile.
Note 7: One morning, the breakfast people sang to me as they served my breakfast. If you know me at all, you know how this went over. But I kept my jaw clenched shut and said nothing as I collected my oatmeal, eggs, fruit and breakfast meat. Fortunately, they didn’t have a problem with my silence. I decided it was wise to sit at a table alone and eat my breakfast quietly, avoiding any dangerous interactions.
But it only took a few moments for a couple of chipper women to join me. They bantered pleasantly and asked me how my ride was going. (Note, on the ride, no one says “How was your day?” or “Have a nice day.” Instead the word “day” is always replaced with “ride”.) I said OK, and then I added: “I’m sorry. I’m a non-talking morning person. It’s not personal, and I’m really a very nice person. I just don’t talk in the morning.” They were fine with that, and after a few minutes I was able to talk.
Just to bring the conversation full circle, on day 7 (some time later), I sat down with a group of women at lunch. I remembered one of them from lunch on day 1, but not the other two. One of them said: “I remember you. You were apologizing for your hair the other morning.”
“That doesn’t sound like me, but it’s possible,” I replied.
The second woman laughed, “No, I remember how we know you.” She laughed harder, “You’re the one who doesn’t talk in the morning. You were so funny.”
I guess I managed not to offend.
Around the same time as the breakfast singers, we rode our longest day. It was 105 miles, 5 miles more than the Wine Country Century I did with Jared about a month earlier. By the end of the day, I had had it. I rode into camp and, as usual, dozens of people cheered and welcomed me home. They had no right to do that. I scowled at them, and headed for the bike parking. One person even had the nerve to tell me to “smile, you made it!” I tried to comply, failed, and continued along my way with my mouth clenched tightly shut.
This reminded me of one of the opening speeches, at 5 AM the previous Sunday. Mark Cloutier, the executive director of the SF AIDS Foundation said (I paraphrase): “Over the next week you will be experiencing many emotions. One emotion that people don’t talk about is the grumpy bitch emotion. Riders, grumpiness is not a victimless crime. On day 4, when you find that you have just yelled at the woman trying to hand you a banana, you will think ‘why did I do that? I’m not a bitch.’ So, when you feel the grumpy bitch coming on, I want you to think instead ‘I’m a kitty. You’re a kitty.’” And he made stroking motions with his hand in the air.
I didn’t use Mark’s mantra suggestion, but I still wanted to share it with you. I’m proud that I rode my bicycle from San Francisco to Los Angeles. Now that I’ve done it, I realize that it’s a very very long way to ride a bike. Possibly even more impressive is that, through that process, I didn’t say anything unkind out loud.
THANK YOU to ALL my sponsors. An additional special thanks goes to Alison, for driving me to the Cow Palace at 5 AM Sunday morning (!), and to my mother, for the songs and voice messages of encouragement from France every day of the ride and for her un-equaled assistance with my fundraising efforts. I couldn’t have done it without you!
I’ll add other stories if I remember them.
Email correspondence this morning on Life Purpose(s)
Lilia to Alison
…
Do you ever wonder if there's something you were born to do, and if you're on the right path to do it?
Alison to me
All the time! And about once a month I think I'm on the right career path. The rest of the time I think I am completely off. And you?
Lilia to Alison
Jared and I were discussing this late into the night last night. I feel, rightfully, a bit scattered. Things I have been told over my life that I am talented at:
Singing (yeah, that's a lost cause, of course)
Drawing
Math
Getting information from people (both individually and in surveys)
Project management
Analysis, bringing concepts from one type of analysis into another
Well, those last 2, I decided I was good at, but I still think I'm right.
But how does that work together? And what should I be offering the world? I'm reading this book about Van Gogh, and he really struggled to find the right career path. When he finally decided on art, he failed through out his life to make a living or be recognized. Even his brother Theo, who supported him his entire life as an artist, didn't like his work.
My aunt Judy is another example. What if she had never been handed a ball of yarn? She would never have discovered this amazing talent, but probably lived an equally contented life. What is my ball of yarn?
Joseph Campbell told us to "follow your bliss and the money will come" but what is my bliss?
Alison to me
Joseph Campbell is full of BS.
… I'm pretty cynical; after many years of trying to figure it all out, I'm not necessarily any closer, and my greatest happiness comes from other things in my life (having a partner is on the top of the list). Despite this morning’s hysterics, and still wanting to do a good job and believing in the mission of the organization, it’s still work and a means for me to be able to do other things.
So there.
Lilia to Alison
…
Yeah, I guess I think that it's partly a matter of definitions. Obviously, you can't make any money by being a good partner and having a deep and fulfilling loving relationship. Someone has to bring home the bacon, and in this modern age (in the Bay Area, anyway), probably you both do. But there might be some other thing you will feel compelled to do in your life.
Sometimes I wonder if all of our agonizing about what to do with our lives was exactly the wrong approach. Maybe, sometimes, the right thing is just obvious. It's like relationships. Years ago, I remember complaining to someone I knew about some boy who was giving me mixed messages. She said: "If you're asking yourself these questions. Well, that's your answer. (It's not happening.)" This has certainly been supported by my experience with relationships.
I'm not sorry I do what I do, am trained to do what I'm trained to do. I love it, and what's more, I really believe in it. That said, I don't think it's my highest calling (or at least I haven't found the aspect of it that is my highest calling). I think there's something else I have to offer the world. But, I've decided that agonizing isn't the right approach. I refuse to be tortured. My plan is to go about my business, and, well, see what reveals itself to me. I expect the universe to surprise me.
Alison to me
…
Have you read Po Bronson’s "What should I do with my life?" …
…
Do you ever wonder if there's something you were born to do, and if you're on the right path to do it?
Alison to me
All the time! And about once a month I think I'm on the right career path. The rest of the time I think I am completely off. And you?
Lilia to Alison
Jared and I were discussing this late into the night last night. I feel, rightfully, a bit scattered. Things I have been told over my life that I am talented at:
Singing (yeah, that's a lost cause, of course)
Drawing
Math
Getting information from people (both individually and in surveys)
Project management
Analysis, bringing concepts from one type of analysis into another
Well, those last 2, I decided I was good at, but I still think I'm right.
But how does that work together? And what should I be offering the world? I'm reading this book about Van Gogh, and he really struggled to find the right career path. When he finally decided on art, he failed through out his life to make a living or be recognized. Even his brother Theo, who supported him his entire life as an artist, didn't like his work.
My aunt Judy is another example. What if she had never been handed a ball of yarn? She would never have discovered this amazing talent, but probably lived an equally contented life. What is my ball of yarn?
Joseph Campbell told us to "follow your bliss and the money will come" but what is my bliss?
Alison to me
Joseph Campbell is full of BS.
… I'm pretty cynical; after many years of trying to figure it all out, I'm not necessarily any closer, and my greatest happiness comes from other things in my life (having a partner is on the top of the list). Despite this morning’s hysterics, and still wanting to do a good job and believing in the mission of the organization, it’s still work and a means for me to be able to do other things.
So there.
Lilia to Alison
…
Yeah, I guess I think that it's partly a matter of definitions. Obviously, you can't make any money by being a good partner and having a deep and fulfilling loving relationship. Someone has to bring home the bacon, and in this modern age (in the Bay Area, anyway), probably you both do. But there might be some other thing you will feel compelled to do in your life.
Sometimes I wonder if all of our agonizing about what to do with our lives was exactly the wrong approach. Maybe, sometimes, the right thing is just obvious. It's like relationships. Years ago, I remember complaining to someone I knew about some boy who was giving me mixed messages. She said: "If you're asking yourself these questions. Well, that's your answer. (It's not happening.)" This has certainly been supported by my experience with relationships.
I'm not sorry I do what I do, am trained to do what I'm trained to do. I love it, and what's more, I really believe in it. That said, I don't think it's my highest calling (or at least I haven't found the aspect of it that is my highest calling). I think there's something else I have to offer the world. But, I've decided that agonizing isn't the right approach. I refuse to be tortured. My plan is to go about my business, and, well, see what reveals itself to me. I expect the universe to surprise me.
Alison to me
…
Have you read Po Bronson’s "What should I do with my life?" …
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
City Art Gallery - San Francisco
City Art Gallery - San Francisco
I joined this cooperative gallery, and some of my work will be on display in the back room in August. The opening will be on August 4th. I'm hoping to display in the front room in October when my schedule settles down a bit.
I joined this cooperative gallery, and some of my work will be on display in the back room in August. The opening will be on August 4th. I'm hoping to display in the front room in October when my schedule settles down a bit.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
art and bikes
"Drawing is like riding a bike downhill when you stop thinking about how if you hit a rock you’ll lose the skin on one side of your body."
Diane Olivier, my drawing teacher, today
Today was clean-up day in the print studio. I noticed for the first time that the presses have chains like bikes. The chain connects the hand crank to the surfaces that press together to make the print. It's the same concept as the bicycle's foot crank connecting to the wheel that hits the pavement. Maybe this is obvious to everyone but me, but it seems a beautiful example of how everything conforms to the same fundamental concepts.
Yeah, I should also make some art about bikes.
Diane Olivier, my drawing teacher, today
Today was clean-up day in the print studio. I noticed for the first time that the presses have chains like bikes. The chain connects the hand crank to the surfaces that press together to make the print. It's the same concept as the bicycle's foot crank connecting to the wheel that hits the pavement. Maybe this is obvious to everyone but me, but it seems a beautiful example of how everything conforms to the same fundamental concepts.
Yeah, I should also make some art about bikes.
Friday, May 19, 2006
Photos of me at ALC event
Brian Black Hodes
This link will only be available until May 31st, so
act quickly if you want them.
Click on the "View events" link, then elect "AIDS/LifeCycle Day on the Ride San Francisco". The password to view the photos is dotrsf.
photos with me:
pg: 14 #695
pg: 24 #1220
pg: 40 #1648
This link will only be available until May 31st, so
act quickly if you want them.
Click on the "View events" link, then elect "AIDS/LifeCycle Day on the Ride San Francisco". The password to view the photos is dotrsf.
photos with me:
pg: 14 #695
pg: 24 #1220
pg: 40 #1648
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Exhibition Debut
My printmaking teacher informed me yesterday that this print that I submitted for consideration to be included in the Annual Juried Student Art Exhibition 2006 was accepted. The Juror is Kerri Johnson, Associate Director of the Oakland Art Gallery and Co-owner/Founder of Blank Space.
It's a dry point with aquatint background. I put the image in a really pretty silver frame that I found on the sidewalk somewhere (I don't remember -- it's been around for a while), and it looks really nice. Go check it out at the Art Department on the Ocean Campus. If I'd learned earlier, I would have invited y'all to the reception (and actually attended it myself). The show closes May 18.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Wine Country Century
Santa Rosa Cycling Club
I did it. The landscape was so beautiful, and there was only really one climb worth mentioning. In the spirit of honesty, I did get all moany and complainy in the last 10 miles. Can you blame me?
On the other hand, Jared did the ride on his fixie and was a good enough sport to slow up for me. With breaks, we took about 10 hours to complete it.
I did it. The landscape was so beautiful, and there was only really one climb worth mentioning. In the spirit of honesty, I did get all moany and complainy in the last 10 miles. Can you blame me?
On the other hand, Jared did the ride on his fixie and was a good enough sport to slow up for me. With breaks, we took about 10 hours to complete it.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Monday, May 01, 2006
Immigrants march in cities across U.S.
KRT Wire | 05/01/2006 | Immigrants march in cities across U.S.
A number of my friends are not working today in solidarity. But most notable, to me, is that Mission Street, next to my house, is totally shut down. People are on the streets, but 80% of the shops appear to be closed. They're nearly always open; I've never seen Mission look like that before.
(For you non-locals, the Mission neighborhood is the Latino neighborhood. So, this observation isn't surprising, just strange looking.)
A number of my friends are not working today in solidarity. But most notable, to me, is that Mission Street, next to my house, is totally shut down. People are on the streets, but 80% of the shops appear to be closed. They're nearly always open; I've never seen Mission look like that before.
(For you non-locals, the Mission neighborhood is the Latino neighborhood. So, this observation isn't surprising, just strange looking.)
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Be smarter at work, slack off
Be smarter at work, slack off - Mar. 17, 2006
I can't tell you how many times I've thought of mistakes I might have made in the middle of the night, but I don't think that's what this article is about.... I have noticed that I feel more creative in every aspect of my life when I stopped trying to work so hard.
Have I blogged this already? When I first started working at RIDES, the first time, I was so intense about it. I was determined to make it my big break (which it turned out to be). After a few weeks of that intensity, I had completely worn myself ragged. I noticed, for the first time, in the mail room, someone (probably HR) had posted a little sign that said "The four fold path: show up, pay attention, tell the truth, let go." It gave me a huge sigh of relief. Is that really all I have to do? I finally felt like I could handle what my job asked of me. The rest was imagined. You can't try to be anything at all....
I don't know why, but I was grew up believing that what it took to succeed... at anything... was something I couldn't fathom. I didn't deserve success so much as... not deserve it. In the working world I learned, with my dear friend Carolyn Helmke, that "everyone is incompetent except you and me." But what that really means is that everyone should do what they are. Do be do be do be. Anything else not only leads to necessary failure, but means you have to try so hard that you're bound to fail. It has to feel right to be right.
I can't tell you how many times I've thought of mistakes I might have made in the middle of the night, but I don't think that's what this article is about.... I have noticed that I feel more creative in every aspect of my life when I stopped trying to work so hard.
Have I blogged this already? When I first started working at RIDES, the first time, I was so intense about it. I was determined to make it my big break (which it turned out to be). After a few weeks of that intensity, I had completely worn myself ragged. I noticed, for the first time, in the mail room, someone (probably HR) had posted a little sign that said "The four fold path: show up, pay attention, tell the truth, let go." It gave me a huge sigh of relief. Is that really all I have to do? I finally felt like I could handle what my job asked of me. The rest was imagined. You can't try to be anything at all....
I don't know why, but I was grew up believing that what it took to succeed... at anything... was something I couldn't fathom. I didn't deserve success so much as... not deserve it. In the working world I learned, with my dear friend Carolyn Helmke, that "everyone is incompetent except you and me." But what that really means is that everyone should do what they are. Do be do be do be. Anything else not only leads to necessary failure, but means you have to try so hard that you're bound to fail. It has to feel right to be right.
Smart or pretty, pretty or smart...?
Harvard author and novel she remember too well: extracts - World - Times Online
More on this later, as I am, as always, running late somewhere. Now that I am an artist/bike jock, I have very little time for writing, reading, and examining my navel (or the world). Alas... I like that Lilia.
More on this later, as I am, as always, running late somewhere. Now that I am an artist/bike jock, I have very little time for writing, reading, and examining my navel (or the world). Alas... I like that Lilia.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Scenic, sure, but our city needs tending
Scenic, sure, but our city needs tending
"'This should be fun. We should all be having a wonderful time re-creating our public realm.'"
Go Marshall! I couldn't have said it any better if I'd tried.
"'This should be fun. We should all be having a wonderful time re-creating our public realm.'"
Go Marshall! I couldn't have said it any better if I'd tried.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Goethe quote from my mother
Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative and creation, there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents, meetings, and material assistance which no man could have ever dreamed would have come his way - Whatever you can do or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now! - Goethe
Friday, April 07, 2006
Quote
Public transport is the ideal place to have an epiphany. Riding the
bus this morning, I realised that groups of people travelling
together reminds us that we all share the streets, and the city. The
commute also becomes a destination itself, filled with curious people
of all shapes, moods, and walks of life. Glancing out the window and
looking at the solo car drivers sitting in traffic, I said to myself,
"look, there go the robots of the road, how sad."
Source: Carfree Bulletin #31 by Steven Logan.
bus this morning, I realised that groups of people travelling
together reminds us that we all share the streets, and the city. The
commute also becomes a destination itself, filled with curious people
of all shapes, moods, and walks of life. Glancing out the window and
looking at the solo car drivers sitting in traffic, I said to myself,
"look, there go the robots of the road, how sad."
Source: Carfree Bulletin #31 by Steven Logan.
Monday, April 03, 2006
bike-camping in the rain and the most important things in life
I can't get over the misty, rainy sight to the trees, hills, bay and gray and white and dark and green in the morning. It almost makes me forget the part about biking home Sunday for like 6 hours in the pouring rain. I don't know why we were so slow. It was only 45ish miles.
The weather report didn't lie to us (as it has so often lately). These days, more often than not, it says rain and then doesn't. This simply infuriates me when I take an hour to get across town on the bus when I could be _flying_ on my bike (30 minutes). I guess that's what we figured when we launched the bike trip anyway. You can imagine our surprise when it actually did pour rain Sunday early morning on, without stopping.
Yeah, the ride there was great.... I was trying out my new clipless peddles (purchased the previous weekend at a swap meet in Dublin, which we also biked to). This meant that we had to stop several times to adjust this or that (seat or peddles or rack or whatever). Come to think of it, I always imagined myself as a very low-maintenance person... high-emotion, but low-maintenance.... It's hard for me to accept being cared for… tended to… anyway.
I don't want to make this a whole psycho-chyck self-help blog. So, I'll try to control myself. But in the process of doing this whole art thing I have going on, most of the people I spend time with are interested in their own (and their loved-ones') emotional health rather than politics or the meaning of life or whatever. I am easily steered.
Hmm... That leads me loosely to something that I used to talk about with Grayson all the time. Are we formed by the people around us, or, by choosing them, do we form ourselves? I try to be a positive, forgiving person (some of my friends call me "the public defender" bc I can defend almost anyone for doing almost anything when dirt is being dished), but I like some people A LOT more than others. I want to say that it's like matching colors, but I really don't know what that means. I like some people more than others, and they, in turn, make me who I am. I guess, hopefully, that person is someone I want to be.
On Tuesday and Thursdays, I make art all day long. We've formed this little lunch group with a few core members and some who sometimes show up. I LOVE LOVE LOVE my little lunch group. (Actually, I LOVE LOVE LOVE my life right now. It rocks. But that's another story that I wouldn't feel comfortable trying to parse out for you.) Anyway, we share all sorts of inappropriate things with each other (from sexual preferences to substances abuse issues to family dramas, you name it, we discuss it in detail). And I guess that's influenced the things I've been thinking about lately. Not sure how I feel about that, but anyway....
OK, back to the bike trip... We woke up early (likely -- though we did not look at a clock) but since it was raining, it seemed to make sense to stay in the tent until it stopped. Yeah, that was funny... since it didn't stop! The good part was that neither of us had slept well in the night (the air too cold, the bag too hot...) but in the morning we could actually get some rest. We packed up camp in the rain, washed at a cold-water facet sticking up from the ground, and hit the road... in the rain.
It was fine, mostly, until we got back to the Marin bike path, stopped for the toilets, and got cold. I think it started to rain harder too. I mean, Jared may have started hating it before then, but that's when I got upset. (Incidentally, we bumped into a friend of Jared's, also biking in the rain, on that Corte Madera hill -- strange!) I got a lot more upset when, back in SF and after it had gotten dark, when my brakes stopped working! You can imagine what a hit that was with me. Ugh. OK, worst part: Jared was fearlessly crossing Market Street to turn left onto Valencia, dark, bike loaded, and he slipped on the light rail tracks and went down hard. Yeah, he got roughed up a little, but the worst part for me was the car that zoomed up behind him... and... nearly killed him. Yeah, I'm not over it at all. (When I told my mother about it earlier this week: "He could have been killed," she said to me. "And you would have left society and lived in a little cottage by the ocean tending to houseplants for the rest of your life." …She's so cute.) But, since Jared WASN'T killed, I don't regret the trip. I think we're both up for a low-key weekend now, however.
Have I had too much to drink? I still have more to say.... To make a short story… as short as possible coming from me, I’ll go right to the punchline on this one. The most important things in life are:
1) Treating everyone with dignity and respect... and not hurting people's feelings if at all possible, and
2) Having adventures/good stories to tell/being interesting to yourself and others.
I think that's enough "wisdom" to leave you with today... but the gates have been unleashed... I keep thinking of more things I want to say....
The weather report didn't lie to us (as it has so often lately). These days, more often than not, it says rain and then doesn't. This simply infuriates me when I take an hour to get across town on the bus when I could be _flying_ on my bike (30 minutes). I guess that's what we figured when we launched the bike trip anyway. You can imagine our surprise when it actually did pour rain Sunday early morning on, without stopping.
Yeah, the ride there was great.... I was trying out my new clipless peddles (purchased the previous weekend at a swap meet in Dublin, which we also biked to). This meant that we had to stop several times to adjust this or that (seat or peddles or rack or whatever). Come to think of it, I always imagined myself as a very low-maintenance person... high-emotion, but low-maintenance.... It's hard for me to accept being cared for… tended to… anyway.
I don't want to make this a whole psycho-chyck self-help blog. So, I'll try to control myself. But in the process of doing this whole art thing I have going on, most of the people I spend time with are interested in their own (and their loved-ones') emotional health rather than politics or the meaning of life or whatever. I am easily steered.
Hmm... That leads me loosely to something that I used to talk about with Grayson all the time. Are we formed by the people around us, or, by choosing them, do we form ourselves? I try to be a positive, forgiving person (some of my friends call me "the public defender" bc I can defend almost anyone for doing almost anything when dirt is being dished), but I like some people A LOT more than others. I want to say that it's like matching colors, but I really don't know what that means. I like some people more than others, and they, in turn, make me who I am. I guess, hopefully, that person is someone I want to be.
On Tuesday and Thursdays, I make art all day long. We've formed this little lunch group with a few core members and some who sometimes show up. I LOVE LOVE LOVE my little lunch group. (Actually, I LOVE LOVE LOVE my life right now. It rocks. But that's another story that I wouldn't feel comfortable trying to parse out for you.) Anyway, we share all sorts of inappropriate things with each other (from sexual preferences to substances abuse issues to family dramas, you name it, we discuss it in detail). And I guess that's influenced the things I've been thinking about lately. Not sure how I feel about that, but anyway....
OK, back to the bike trip... We woke up early (likely -- though we did not look at a clock) but since it was raining, it seemed to make sense to stay in the tent until it stopped. Yeah, that was funny... since it didn't stop! The good part was that neither of us had slept well in the night (the air too cold, the bag too hot...) but in the morning we could actually get some rest. We packed up camp in the rain, washed at a cold-water facet sticking up from the ground, and hit the road... in the rain.
It was fine, mostly, until we got back to the Marin bike path, stopped for the toilets, and got cold. I think it started to rain harder too. I mean, Jared may have started hating it before then, but that's when I got upset. (Incidentally, we bumped into a friend of Jared's, also biking in the rain, on that Corte Madera hill -- strange!) I got a lot more upset when, back in SF and after it had gotten dark, when my brakes stopped working! You can imagine what a hit that was with me. Ugh. OK, worst part: Jared was fearlessly crossing Market Street to turn left onto Valencia, dark, bike loaded, and he slipped on the light rail tracks and went down hard. Yeah, he got roughed up a little, but the worst part for me was the car that zoomed up behind him... and... nearly killed him. Yeah, I'm not over it at all. (When I told my mother about it earlier this week: "He could have been killed," she said to me. "And you would have left society and lived in a little cottage by the ocean tending to houseplants for the rest of your life." …She's so cute.) But, since Jared WASN'T killed, I don't regret the trip. I think we're both up for a low-key weekend now, however.
Have I had too much to drink? I still have more to say.... To make a short story… as short as possible coming from me, I’ll go right to the punchline on this one. The most important things in life are:
1) Treating everyone with dignity and respect... and not hurting people's feelings if at all possible, and
2) Having adventures/good stories to tell/being interesting to yourself and others.
I think that's enough "wisdom" to leave you with today... but the gates have been unleashed... I keep thinking of more things I want to say....
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