November 2004 Archives

I was going to do an entry about feeling like an idiot. Actually, a whole series. I was going to have a category along the lines of "Things which make one Cringe upon Remembering." I'll probably still make that category, but not tonight. For, tonight I have decided that I'm through feeling like an idiot. I'm ready to take that next step towards adulthood wherein one hones ones potential to gleefully humiliate ones adolescent children, simply by not "trying to be cool" all the time.

Ah, I remember well my own parents' exploits; cringeworthy, indeed. There was one choice instance when – at Town Day, of all times – my mother decided to do a little song & dance routine out into the crowded street, the street thronged with, in my astute middle school estimation, innumerable potential allies, innumerable potential enemies. And so enemies they would have to remain.

Indeed, growing up in little Aberjona, Massachusetts, we celebrated the anniversaries of the town every year. It was a small, provincial suburb, a ripe three and a half centuries old when I left it, and the ritual of Town Day was so ingrained as a "Who's Who" social gathering that I never stopped to think, "Hmmm, if all that these losers have to do with themselves is go to Town Day & show off their cuffed jeans & freshly feathered bangs, maybe they don't really represent the Standard of Humanity I want to aspire to..."

But that was not the sort of social criticism for which my soul was made. No. I was – and remain – a critic of the Inner ilk. When I am an idiot (and, as I have implied, that is a goodly percentage of the time), I do not let myself rest. Oh!, ho ho, but do I have some stories of imbecilery. I re-live & and re-live the precious moment, using the excellent sound recording faculties of my mind to their best advantage, listening again & again to my fountains of platitude & insipid mediocrity with funhouse-mirror accuracy. "Nice weather," indeed! And, in good turn, do I set this beast loose on my companions of an evening? Do I allow them to feel its stinging whathaveyou? Why, most certainly not! It is not even a matter of principal; it is simply constitution. But, again, do I assume the worst of them when it concerns their opinion of my worth? And how! "I'm sure that I did most of the convincing, but those people I just met must think me the paragon of vapidity & self-centered, space-wasting, garlic-stinking, fashion-bludgeoning, overly-flirtatious, socially-awkward, egotistical, self-loathing long-windedness. How terribly awkward that they felt compelled by sympathy to insist on my joining them for dinner tomorrow, as well."

Well. Well, indeed. I've had it with you, me! I'm not going to tolerate that attitude any longer. I'm going to embarrass myself as gleefully as I'd embarrass anyone else, as long as I believe in whatever it is that I'm doing which is the cause of such effluvium.

Happy Birthday, Dave!

Pictured here as Yosemite Sam (with party-goer).

Yes, happy International Buy Nothing Day.

Of course, being a citizen of the Free World, I started buying stuff even before I woke up! And that stuff is called...

Electricity.

Yes, electricity. It powers our home espresso makers. It brings us Fair and Balanced news reports on our plasma screen T.V.s.

It was heating my bedroom while I slept! And then my alarm went off, and I bought some more electricity. I lay there buying it for a little while, and then I got out of bed & bought a little water at the bathroom sink.

Now, being that I'm a "Commie Portlander," my electricity comes from wind, biomass, science, and other similarly pretend sources. However! This does not stop me from using said pretend electricity nearly all of the time. And, if said pretend electricity goes off for more than a few hours, I become irritable regarding lack of internet access, & denial of other, similarly basic, human rights.

Though I am not, technically speaking, buying nothing today, the holiday certainly has me thinking about how much I do buy, even when I'm not "going to the mall."

As well as about some of the things that I'm thankful for:

I love e-mail. I love being able to have instant, written message exchanges with people far, far away. E-mail is a unique medium of communication.

I love my blog. I love being able to employ my creativity – nearly whenever I want – in a form so suited to my pre-dispositions & interests.

I love a "The Internet." I love being able to learn about stuff that, for all intents and purposes, would not exist without the relatively accessible, global communication network that is the Web. Some totally frivolous, some quite wonderful.

I love being able to go to the bathroom sink & buy some water, just any old time. I mean, not the commodificationish part; but running water is an amazing privilege (the virtues of which my mother is fond of extolling).

I love living in a house – a warm one even! – especially during the rainy season.

I love having the ability to feel physical sensations, and be comforted by them; textures & temperatures, warm water under warm air, cool dirt under hot sun; the gentle pressure of soft skin, arms around my waist.

I love having the ability to see, and to almost imagine that I can feel what I am looking at; the edge formed by the casement meeting the wall, the quality of light on the plaster there; the different shades of green and ruddy tan and brown in the plants and cedar planks outside my window; the steely blues, grays, and greens reflected by the corrugated metal which keeps the earth back from my window so that I can see these things.

I love having the ability to hear, and to be moved so much by sound; another persons voice with all of its depth and nearly palpable texture, crispness, sweetness, smokiness, vibrance; a song which I have always loved but never before quite heard; birds in the hedges.

I love having the ability to smell, and to be taken into the depths of my memory by something which I cannot even describe; freshly dried laundry still gently pulls at my heart with the vividity of a girl I loved when I was in elementary school; the skin of a freshly picked tomato spaces me out to my uncle's garden in New Hampshire, and even to the small plants at 10 Manchester Rd. that I helped my mother with when I was three. And my father has a distinct & comforting smell all his own, which, though I have been exposed to it through many stages of my life, still evokes a feeling of Childhood.

And I love having the ability to taste; I love to eat delicious food with people who I love! It is one of the richest experiences that I could hope to have.

I just had this weird moment where I got kind of caught up in Thanksgiving nostalgia, and then I was like, "I wonder what the Bush family is doing right now..." I don't know why I wondered that; but it was really humanizing, somehow, that even someone who I think of as a despotic emperor has a family, and probably some awkward family dynamics that tend to surface most when, as for a holiday, one tries to put them aside.

I'm listening to this interview on KBOO with a guy who made a film. And the guy is saying "you know" compulsively, & it's really awkward. I mean, like, every four words! AAAHh! I can hardly listen. I totally get into those ruts, and it builds on itself & makes me more and more uncomfortable & nervous until I'm just going, "You know."

So the film is about the residents of an extremely low-income, I guess it's called "single room," residence. It sounds like he tried really hard not to exploit his subjects, which is noble, and between the "y'knows," he seems like he may have done a really good job. He lived in one of these single-rooms, and he seems as sensitive as a homed person could be to the situations of the other people who were there, and who are technically dubbed "homeless."

It's interesting that Home is a grey area.

One time, I was walking down W. Burnside, & I had a brief conversation with this guy where he thought I was homeless. In the course of it I said something like, "Oh, I'm just looking for someplace to go..;" probably in response to, "What's up?," or a similarly innocuous question. And he was like, "You need somewhere to go?," with this particular weight in his voice like he knew how it was. And I was like, "Oh, I just meant to hang out for a while..," with the trepidation of a person who had just refused a proffered fortune.

He may have been soliciting, I guess, but the vibe I got was that he was marginally homed, & he felt for this youngster who was similarly marginal. He was ready to share what he had.

Thank you, Sweetie, for doing so much to convince me that I'm wrong when I assert my predisposition to failure.

I love you.

Today was a beautiful day. It was a sunny November day in Portland. Amazing.

Tonight, the fog came in. And we set out for Oaks Park.

Quite possibly the last word in a conversation I had been having with my friend Alan regarding certain similarities between Portland, OR and the particular oeuvre of a well-known film director, this nigh-centenial amusement park houses a wood rollerskating rink which features one of the most amazing musical instruments I have ever seen.

It is a Wurlitzer Organ. But a Wurlitzer Organ the size of several cars. It produces brass sounds, wood sounds, organ sounds; it has tambourines... all SORTS of sounds! It has huge pipes & huger air ducts – it is beautiful to behold. And it was played for us by Keith Fortune. (apparently his real name! he has his own neon sign and EVERYTHING!..)

AND, there was a photo booth; a weird one that takes quadruple polaroids:

 

I decided that I would have a little, quiet celebration of my pretty, quiet morning; and so I make some French vervaine tea. When I bought the tea, the woman who sold it to me put on a French accent for a minute when I told her what it was that I wanted. I thought it was cute, but I fell like I came off as thinking it was annoying, which made us both a bit awkward. I would have said something in French by way of a reply, but I don't speak French.

When I was visiting the Louvre I had occasion to practice a bit of the Fairer Language. One of the times I graced that particular museum's halls, one of the guards had the "gall," or, Gaul, if you will, to request that I check my backpack. Well. I never. After a brief fisticuffs, I aquiessed; but the man hadn't been so good as to walk my beautiful american can through that melange of a lobby that functions as an entrance into the "Musée" (Do they even have a word for "melange" in France-talk?), so, I was forced to approach the so-called "Information Desk" with my quandry.

Well, I wouldn't be daunted; I walked right up and said, "Parr lay voo On glay?"

She stared at me for a solid five seconds, totally expressionless.

Still, I would not let her mute derrision put me off; "Par ley vou Angléy(s)."

"Yess."

"Do you know where I can check my bag?"

Oh, man.
Nice museum, though.

I woke up before the alarm, today – not something that happens often. And, even though it's November, there was sunlight coming through the paper shade, and a bird singing a little.

I am not a morning person, but sometimes I really regret not being. On days like this, the morning is like a shrine. Each room is touched by its quiet, steadfast delicacy.

A small green-grey soap

Bright verbena, grain like wood

My sink becomes deep

When I'm on the toilet, or in the shower, I am brilliant.

When I am doing dishes or making lunch, I am brilliant.

Why am I not brilliant here?

My arms are SO sore from playing this Japanese Dancing Game at the Arcade. It's so much fun! And you get plenty of good excercise. (emphatic nod)
But it's not actually legal for the game to be in America. Probably something in appendJPARADISE's contract. You know... DJs. (disapproving shake)
There are these "caution" messages where it says "caution" in English & then a bunch of stuff in Japanese. ?

Hi, Sweetie!

Today is my friend Miriam's birthday. Hi, Miriam! (She was my first Girl Friend.) She took this awesome picture of me in the mid nineteen-nineties.

Time to get to it. Hello! Here it is. What it is is an on-going art & web-art project. And directory. I love you all. Even me.