Come with me to the Casbah

From this town, we'd escape...

2008-06-21T10:38:00.003-04:00

Well, I'm back.

I am finally beginning to catch up on things around here: primarily work, sleep, and reclaiming my health. Work has been a madhouse; after driving ten hours on Monday, I had to rent a van and journey up to DC to pick up a shipment from Lufthansa on Tuesday. Too many miles. The last few days have been consumed by dealing with the new pieces (inventorying, cleaning, pricing, etc.), working on a new exhibit for the gallery, and generally breaking my back in two schlepping things around.

Today marks the first day I have woken up without any trace of the dreaded Bonnaflu since my return. My symptoms definitely cleared up a lot quicker this year than in years past, however all the dust, malnutrition, lack of sleep, and general exertion takes its toll. I am hoping that by the start of next week I'll be back on my regular schedule and in Grade-A shape.

With all that housekeeping out of the way, I feel like I can finally talk about the festival a little bit. In short, I had a fabulous time. Volunteering was one hundred percent the correct decision, as I had plenty of time to rest and enjoy myself in between my (extremely easy and extremely short) shifts. I saw plenty of wonderful music, by musicians that I've been listening to for years and by folks I'd never heard of before. And of course I met countless interesting and insane people, which is always a pleasure.

Retelling every story would take far too many words, but I can at least give an abbreviated account of my time in Tennessee. Specific stories will follow, I'm sure. Until then...

Best Four Hour Endless Set in the Rain: My Morning Jacket

Most Stalking: Randomly caressing Ben Folds as he walked by

Biggest Heart Flutter: Cat Power throwing me a flower

Biggest Missed Opportunity: Kanye West

Most lolz: Chris Rock

Closest to Being on VH1: Running into (literally, as in colliding with) a group of Best Week Ever commentators

The boy with the coin...

2008-06-15T13:19:00.002-04:00

Hello, far-flung friends. I am checking in from Manchester, TN, my annual hell in the sun. Work this year hasn't been too bad thankfully. Short shifts, excellent seating at some great shows, and a lot of great people.

I'll detail some of the more memorable moments when I get back home on Monday or Tuesday, but for now you can all rest assured that I am alive, very warm, very dirty, and generally pleased.

Also, I touched Ben Folds.

This is a city for not sleeping...

2008-06-10T19:47:00.002-04:00

Alright, about an hour away from departure. The possibility now exists for me to pick up another rider from Charlottesville, so I am hanging out until a little past nine to see if that pans out. At this point, I'm hoping it will so I won't feel so guilty about driving to Tennessee solo (also, I won't have to eat the massive fuel bill myself, which will be nice).

But honestly, I'm not worrying too much about Bonnaroo and getting down there and all the other trials the next ten hours will bring. I'm just immensely pleased with Charlottesville and everything else at the moment. I've got enough positive feeling in me right now to blow through being hit by two cars this year and not even care. Well, maybe a little, but only if they screwed up my regularly scheduled martial activities.

I am stoked for:

Cat Power

Kanye

M.I.A.

Tegan or Sara (I'm not picky)

Sigur Ros

And really so many more.

*News Flash* No other rider for me. Looks like I'll be making the long trek south solo, which means there isn't a big reason for me to stick around. Signing off again.

I see a salty message written in the eaves...

2008-06-10T12:47:00.004-04:00

So, I am scheduled to leave for Tennessee in somewhere between six and twelve hours. I may or may not spend the night in the cheapest hotel I can find in Knoxville. Alternatively, I may sleep in my car (doors locked) at the volunteer check-in. As of yet, I have zero additional riders to defray the cost of gas, lodging, the damage to Mom Earth, etc.

What I do have is a giant amount of stress, a pile of camping gear (unpacked but categorized) in my living room, and a building amount of excitement. Hopefully I won't get hit by a car this year.

Once you are settled into a pleasurable routine, I think there is always a small amount of trepidation when heading off on some ill-planned expedition. Instead of delicious lunches at Rev Soup (sadly sans CSG.) for example, I'll be dining on Oriental style ramen for a week. This is obviously a downgrade. However, I'm looking forward to all the misadventures that I am sure to get into, and will return home stuffed with stories exotic and sublime. Plus, it's only a week. Again, let me emphasize again how much I would like to avoid being hit by a car this year (Ceiling Cat, can you hear me?).

I'll see if I can update the blog when I am down south, but it is possible you will all have to wait until my return on Monday for news from the front. Until then my droogs.

Blame my mouth if the house is burning...

2008-05-29T10:46:00.003-04:00

We have now returned to my regular blog-updating pace; daily posts are a distant memory, now monthly Reader's Digest editions of my life are all that remain. At least I am consistent.

Despite the general malaise that has haunted my respiratory system for the last five or six weeks, things have been good. We are rapidly speeding towards the one year anniversary of my return to Charlottesville (as well as my birthday), which has led to quite a bit of introspection/life-planning. I am not sure how I will look back on my twenty fifth year here on Terra (have I mentioned how much I would prefer not to turn 25?), but at the moment I struggle to find any watershed moments from the last twelve months. Perhaps they will illuminate themselves with time.

All that subtle ennui aside, conditions have steadily improved since December, so I can't complain too much. Life in Charlottesville is easy as a Sunday morning, made only easier by good company, a busy schedule, and a Spring that refuses to go quietly into the night.

I've taken a break from my planned to read/to watch lists over the past few weeks. The slow, lazy days at work provide a perfect opportunity to catch up on my reading. I am interrupted moderately often however, so keeping my mind in a sharp, analytical mood can prove difficult. These conditions have caused a shift in my reading selections, with some Heinlein short stories and various collections of poetry (recently Keats and Ginsberg) replacing the heavier literature that had been higher up the queue. I am going to try and reread Anna Karenina this summer (it has been ten years); that will probably be more of an evening/day off pursuit than an at-work time killer.

The NetFlix queue has been gummed up for a few weeks, so not a lot of new activity there. I did catch Les Diaboliques a bit ago, and it was amazing. I was expecting just your normal, run of the mill murder mystery, but what I received was much eerier. An hour and a half of ponderously slow weirdness building up to fifteen minutes of sheer insanity is pacing that is right up my alley. It also contains probably one of the creepiest moments I have ever seen on film (impressive when you consider its age and the over-the-top shock value of a lot of modern thrillers).

I don't know the cinematic education of the directors of Ringu, Ju-on and the other big first-wave Japanese horror flicks, but I wouldn't be surprised if they had all seen Les Diaboliques. After watching the final scene, I sat around (with a considerable amount of goosebumps still present) combing my mind for why it seemed so familiar. A few days later it hit me; while the stories of the Japanese flicks are thoroughly Japanese in nature (they are basically kaidan, or old-fashioned, vengeful ghost stories), the last fifteen minutes of Les Diaboliques feel very similar to the much later J-Horror pieces, at least visually.

Come to think of it, Les Diaboliques is kind of a kaidan as well. Hm, cultural exchange works both ways.

Anyways, I should return to the great art world at the moment. I am in a mindless writing kind of mood today; more updates might be forthcoming!

It's not the scene you're thinking of...

2008-05-08T15:00:00.004-04:00

Normally I love the time right before a thunderstorm rolls in. I love the little gusts of wind, the trees and their upturned leaves, the electricity in the air. I love the expectation of it all. Today however, that expectation hangs, turning into a thick tension that hovers just outside the windows. The wind is gone now, and all that remains is the gloom and the muggy heat and a grim promise of the storm to come.

Maybe it's the weather, but I feel like life has gotten stuck in place these last few weeks. The housing search drags on, with occasional leads that vanish as soon as I move towards them. This has left me caught in limbo; it is the distorted glass through which I view the other aspects of my life. Thankfully, most of those other aspects are cruising along smoothly at the moment. Work is as easy as ever, and I am finally beginning to feel like I am only making up half of what I say.

The martial life is going along fine as well; five practices a week keeps me busy, exhausted, and happy. Outside of class, I've been as active as ever, and the steady stream of endorphins being released into my blood stream helps mellow out my mood somewhat. And then there is FT-, which needs little discussion, as it is the boon which has made the past few months much more enjoyable. And also mildly inappropriate, but only in the most hilarious way.

Also, Girl Talk. Amazing. Sweaty. Transcendent. Far too out of breath to describe in sentences longer than one word. Gregg only did his thing for about ninety minutes, so it was a little on the short side, but I still loved it. Also, it provided the perfect occasion for embarrassing pictures of me to be taken and then posted on the internet. On a related note, I am unsure of how anyone from my generation will be elected to public office, when proof of public debauchery is only a few archived Facebook pages away.

So overall I have little to complain about. Kvetching is one of humanity's great skills however, and I still enjoy the occasional indulgence. As for my posting schedule, I am back to writing when the mood strikes, and so updates will come when they do. I am considering a short essay on the complete appropriateness of internet-stalking in our modern world, perhaps I will throw something together during the weekend. Or maybe not. xoxo's until then, buddies.

ps - I bought a new tent, and I am very excited.

ps +1 - Retail therapy via the internet is the best.

Try to control the pull of one magnet...

2008-04-28T17:38:00.004-04:00

At this moment, what is not to love?

My day has contained thus far:

Afternoon tea
Miles Davis
The sound of falling rain
Tag-team crosswording
Fawning art lovers
Walt Whitman
Facebook friend time
Fiery Dialogue
Very little actual work

But we love trees, we love the snow...

2008-04-26T12:36:00.002-04:00

Once again I come to you in apology, having been derelict in my solemn duty as a Blogger. To paraphrase, the spirit was willing but my schedule has been weak. Or rather, strong. Maybe more accurately, filled. That is all to say that I've been busy this past week and haven't had the time to write as much as I would like. But dear friends, forget all this. We move onwards!

I am currently at work, in the (blissfully) air-conditioned solitude of a high-end retail store during a recession. Despite hundreds of people milling about just outside my front window at the market, only a handful have ventured in; none have shown any serious intent to purchase. The boredom is such that even the Internet, o' Holiest of Holies, can do little to keep my eyelids open. The allure of retail therapy claws at me (I need to buy some kit for hiking this summer/Bonnaroo), but I know that conducting e-commerce while bored is even more dangerous than grocery shopping while hungry. The damage I could do with check card held in front of me with eyes closed is unfathomable. If I can make it to 1:30, then I will be able to eat lunch, have tea, read the paper, and perhaps kill enough time to escape the day without draining my bank account.

Also, in unrelated news: I need to nap like woah (as the kids say these days). This week has been phenomenal, however I find myself being drawn into that all-too-familiar nocturnal sleep cycle (which for the record works wonderfully as an opium den/comic shop employee, but is somewhat taxing for a nine-to-fiver, or ten-to-sixer, as the case may be). A trip to the Mudhouse for some overpriced stimulants might be in order.

Additional entries may be forthcoming in the hours to come. But for now, I leave you with a list.

Assorted Things Done this Week:

Injured left bicep (almost all better)
Stopped food journal, initiated paperless monitoring
Cursed birds at five thirty in the morning
Was compared to the sweetest dancer on daytime television
Demonstrated my deep knowledge of baseball and socialist firebrands at Pub Quiz
Built karma with the next generation of Navy lawyers
Spit hot fire

Iron, lion, Zion...

2008-04-18T15:36:00.002-04:00

I'll admit, there is certainly something to be said for a job that allows one to luxuriate on piles of rugs blogging, pumping reggae through the stereo. At this moment however, most of what I would have to say would be mindless kvetching about the level of boredom that today contains. Apart from a few minutes of frantically packing boxes for shipment before the UPS truck arrived, the majority of my day has consisted of checking my e-mail obsessively and pacing around an otherwise empty gallery.

While I have not yet proved that idle hands are the devil's plaything, I assume it is only matter of time.

Send me an IM I'll be your friend...

2008-04-17T22:31:00.004-04:00

Alright, first of all, I'd like to thank Blogger for erasing my saved drafts from earlier today, through whom all things are possible.

Moving on, it's probably a good thing I am having to rewrite things, as there are bigger and better topics to discuss. Could I be referring to http://blogthecasbah.blogspot.com/? As my friends from das Vaterland would say, "Natürlich!". I must admit, the fact that D- and S- actually followed through on their promise (threat?) to meta-blog is somewhat surprising. For now, I approve (despite the fact that my approval counts for very little in this matter). So if for some sick reason your life doesn't contain enough B- (that would be me), feel free to head over and learn all the hilarious facts about me that I don't self-report.

Moving on, I spent a decent amount of time this past week indulging my insatiable hunger for cinema. The week started out with Shadow of a Doubt, reportedly Hitchcock's favorite film in his large body (har har!) of work. It had a cool pseudo-doppelganger thing going on. I say pseudo because the character in question didn't have a physical twin, more like two distinctly different personalities that he presented during the film. As an added bonus, there was a smattering of gratuitous Dutch Angles, which we all know I enjoy. Also, any film that reminds me of Anna Karenina, in any way, earns big points.

Speaking of insatiable hungers, I then got my fix of the Nouvelle Vague, courtesy of A-, through The 400 Blows (Les Quatre Cents Coups). I love the way the New Wave directors play with the camera, exploring different ways to capture real life on film. To top it off, "FREEZE FRAME. FIN." is just a damn classy way to end a movie. Anyways, when you watch the films coming out of France in the late fifties, early sixties, you see the genesis of so many of the cinematic techniques we take for granted today. Jump cuts? Check. Handheld cameras? Check. Gritty realism? Check check.

University instilled in me a love of contrasts, and so I capped the week with Le Samourai. As opposed to the flowing, almost organic nature of a lot of New Wave direction, Le Samourai was methodically shot. The pacing is almost brutally slow, which leads the audience's attention to stray away from the characters to the bleak, precise world around them. Each scene is more painting then a series of shots. It is a film meticulous in its minimalism. I could go on (I found this film, while a great art piece, tremendously entertaining in general), but I've probably said enough about images etched on celluloid for one night. Anyways, a good six or seven days film-wise.

Well, I will endeavor to write more frequently in the upcoming days. Work has been relatively slack of late, what with the boss out on holiday, so I am sure a bored, bitter B- will return for some midday blogging soon. Until then, friends.

We only ever wanted to feel you...

2008-04-11T23:52:00.003-04:00

Confession time. I've been deeply remiss in my lack of blogging activity this week. To my legions of admirers (read: cyberstalkers), I apologize, and can only promise a return to my normal writing schedule later this weekend.

Until then, I will offer up a brief list of things which have been on my mind or in my life during the past six days:

Kitting up for Bonnaroo
Attempting to organizing fellow Bonnaroo volunteers
Waiting for the boss to leave the country so I can get a haircut
The addictive properties of mix-tape creation
The addictive properties of mix-tape listening
The small discoveries of getting to know someone
Displeasure at a potential housemate's poor communication skills
Shadow of a Doubt and The 400 Blows
Thrifting
Girl Talk in Cap City in less than a month (!)

And they're dancing as the Shenandoah rolls on by...

2008-04-06T23:34:00.006-04:00

I need to write so badly my hands hurt. I've sat in front of a screen for over an hour trying to wring words from these damned lifeless keys and I just can't do it. Tonight I need to press ink into paper. I need to feel that familiar sense of the destruction of a blank page and the birth of something new. Maybe when I am through I'll type up some of the more coherent sections. But most likely I'll just sleep.

You've got a lot to learn about me...

2008-04-03T23:04:00.002-04:00

For once, I am writing sans accompagnement. It's not that I particularly enjoy the lonely sound of keystrokes filling an otherwise silent room, but I've been having a spiritual experience (battle might be a more appropriate choice) with iTunes for the past few hours. My eyes are watering. The number of useable (read: non-blown) headphones and earbuds in my possession is dwindling. My ears are bleeding.

And I haven't quite yet found satisfaction. But I will. Soon. It's only a matter of time.

As I am blessed with a Y chromosome, I'm pretty sure making mixtapes is the closest I'll ever get to giving birth. In my experience the process is a painful, but ultimately revelatory one. And at this moment it feels like I've been in labor for fifteen goddamn hours and I just want this done now! Oh well, at least fatherhood should be a breeze.

If you really want to see me check the papers and the tv...

2008-04-01T23:12:00.005-04:00

Being sick is a drag; but it does have it's benefits. Namely loafing around all day instead of working, catching up on reading and the NetFlix queue.

I didn't get much sleep last night (a state exacerbated by my sleeping on the unseasonably chilly sun porch while Y- crashed in my room), and what Z's did pass in front of me were of universally poor quality. So I woke up at eight tired, cold, and running a fever. I tried to get up and ready for work, but decided to just call it in instead. That meant a day of riding the sofa being miserable, trying to entertain myself with books, movies, and food.

I finally got around to watching Strangers on a Train, which was excellent. I've been meaning to fill holes in my list of unwatched Hitchcock films, and this was a big one that had been sitting at the top of that list for a while.

The direction is spot on, with the film coming at a time (1951) when all the pieces were falling into place for the distinctive "Hitchcock Style". Thematically, the story shares the motif of an ordinary person suspected of a grievous crime, struggling to prove their innocence to the police, with several other Hitchcock works (He was notoriously paranoid and fearful of the authorities). From a storytelling point of view, the plot is slightly improbable, but unique and engaging enough so that any flaws are easy to look beyond.

Visually, the film is amazing. Classic noir elements are used to good effect. Two "conspirators" hide behind a gate, the bars casting shadows across their faces like prison cell bars. Guy Haines, suspected of murder and trapped in his house under police surveillance, wears striped pajamas, again as if in prison. My beloved canted-, or "Dutch"- Angle is used in two or three places to show confusion, chaos, and surprise. The majority of the film is shot indoors, with the cramped rooms creating claustrophobic angles for filming. And to ensure that the outdoors offer no escape, those scenes shot in the open are infused with so much tension that the viewer wishes to hole up behind some locked door and wait for everything to be over. Great work.

There are so many excellent bits of film-making to discuss, you could really talk about this movie forever. The scene reflected in a pair of glasses (redone countless times in other films). The visual matching of Bruno and Guy: Negative and positive images of the same picture. Hitchcock's use of lighting and shadows. The out of control Merry-Go-Round. All good stuff.

My favorite shot though has got to be of Guy waiting his turn for a practice match on the court. As he sits on the sideline, watching the ongoing play, his view rises up into the crowd of spectators. In a see of onlookers dressed in sharp white, their heads craning sharp left, then right, back and forth with the motion of the ball, sits Bruno, clothed in a dark suit and hat, staring directly at Guy. And he's smiling. That smile is the most unnerving part of all. Behind it lays a madness, an insanity that will track you into your most private and sacred enclave, in this case Guy's tennis court. And the best part is you kind of like the guy! Bruno is a nut-job, but he's such a charismatic and jilted nut-job that you feel for him. That is good storytelling.

So, an A to Strangers on a Train. Not my favorite Hitch piece, but now definitely in the top five.

In non-movie geek news, I got an e-mail tonight telling me that I've been accepted as a Bonnaroo Vol this year, which pleases me greatly. Free admission, short shifts, and not having to direct traffic all make me a happy boy. The sis applied late, and so got wait-listed, which is weak, but maybe she'll make it in anyways. If she is up for going, I am sure I could get her work with the security company, it just wouldn't be that much of a laid-back experience. Now to just clear things with work and find a carpool to join. Ah, I can almost feel the dust in my lungs now!

Finding myself making every possible mistake...

2008-03-30T23:45:00.003-04:00

Man, talk about schadenfreude.

I know my life is pretty much a wreck at the moment, and to be honest, I'm okay with that. I have confidence (because I was raised in America, the Land of Opportunity and the a place where you can achieve anything if you put your mind to it) that in the end things will sort themselves out and I will eventually be content and successful. But despite this faith in the future, there is still the awareness that things are pretty lame now.

I think that after a few months of this stagnation, it's easy to lose sight of the fact that other people are just as screwed up as you are. So when you have basically a week of hearing bad news from the folks around you, capped off by an evening talking with a fellow twenty-something but otherwise perfect stranger (well, almost) about the multitude of insecurities in their life, the load is lightened, so to speak. You realize that despite your overall poor condition, you aren't in this whole life thing alone.

Sure, finding an affordable apartment in Charlottesville is a task of Herculean proportions, but at least I don't have to balance that with finding short-term housing and splitting up the accumulated possessions of a three year relationship. And even though I'm going to have to spend more than I'd like for a new set of tires for the Volvo, at least I have a car, and the flexibility to work where I chose without consideration of how I'll get there.

So tonight I'm not so much basking in other people's sorrows as commiserating. Helping to remind us all that as much as we are collectively screwed up, it could be worse. Offering up amusing antics of my own failures and embarrassments (up to and including the quality of writing on this blog) so others might look to me as an example of how things might be more unbearable in their own lives.

It's so confusing understanding you...

2008-03-27T22:38:00.004-04:00

First things first. For some reason the combination of schlepping stuff at work and class tonight has made me super sore and grumpy. Well, not actually grumpy, because I tend to take things pretty well in stride, but maybe a little whiny. Which is basically what I am doing now. Pointing out the fact that I am beat up so that maybe you will feel sorry for me.

Alright, onwards to a recap of the past few days. Wednesday I got up super early to go hiking, but as I was heading out of the house I checked the e-mail and found I had an appointment to look at a house for rent early in the day, so my super long day trip had to be postponed. I did go for a little walk in the woods, but it's really not worth talking about. Afterwards I swung by all the usual clothiers and thrift-shops, looking for interesting things to wear to work during the spring and summer (my warm weather wardrobe is somewhat lacking). I picked up a kind of weird colored "work shirt" (not sure what you call these, but the kind of western style cowboy shirts) that was on sale for nothing (probably because it looks weird as hell). Anyways, it met my two biggest criteria for buying clothes: Be cheap and fit snuggly.

Seriously. Did I just type that? Le sigh.

So then I went and looked at the place, and it was darling. Like, I loved it. We're talking married with two kids loved it. Spacious. Hardwood floors. High ceilings. Tons of windows. A fireplace. I could walk to work. Perfect.

So of course it rented in a few hours, before I could get M-, my potential future housemate, to take a look at it. Oh well, that's life. Like everything else in the world, another perfect house is just around the corner, you just have to keep your eyes open.

Then, on Wednesday night, we did the Pub Quiz, which was good times. At first I was worried that no one was going to show up after last week's aborted attempt to get a table, so J- (the kid sister) and I sat around at a booth alone for about two hours griping about work and life, but then people starting showing up, and then even more people showed up, and things were super cramped and hot and out-of-control in a UVa undergrad style, but I think everyone had a good time. A- even came out and surprised me (!), and met my sis, and made fun of me in all the normal ways that I enjoy.

Anyways, walking back to das Auto, it struck me how lucky I am to have friends that don't run for the hills (lollerskatesrockbandjoke!) when I start singing loudly and obnoxiously without provocation. It's not like I have a ton of close friends, more like a medium amount of acquaintances, but the friends that do exist are of superior quality.

Speaking of singing in public... I was perusing the J. Crew sale racks (because let's be honest, their shit is expensive), looking for things that were going through their third and fourth discounts, and apparently I didn't think that I stood out enough already (my sort of nerdy-hip, Rivers Cuomo look doesn't really match so well with the J. Crew vibe, but what can I say, I like the way their pants fit me), so when this Kate Nash song came on the in-store stereo that kind of happens to be my jam (Pumpkin Soup), without really realizing it I seriously started rocking out. There might have been dancing. At the very least there was feet shuffling and head bobbing. Along with the singing.

That's kind of when I decided to slink out of the store whistling.

And then today happened, which was pretty boring up until the point where I flipped some loose gripped kouhai's shinai out of their hands, and poked a hole in a ceiling tile at the gym. Best. Feeling. In. The. World.

Tomorrow I am sure I will return to general suckage at kendo, but tonight, I sleep well.

xoxoxoxo,

B-

I'm not dumb, just want to hold your hand...

2008-03-25T22:05:00.004-04:00

When I stop and think about it, I realize the course of my entire life has led me inescapably down the road towards early deafness. This epiphany struck when, before being able to start writing, my whole being cried out for my headphones to be snuggled tightly around my ears, volume turned to eleven, sound waves shaking my very core.

Ah, one need fulfilled. Now we can get started.

The work week is young; but so far so good. I've been learning a little sewing/weaving/textile repair, which is actually kind of cool. I was never too good at stitching on missing buttons, but I've enjoyed lending my hand to various mending projects. Building overly specific and bizarre skill-sets is kind of my forte at this point. Also, S- seems to think that I need an in-store nickname, an idea I am not completely set against. At first we were going to default to some random Turkish name, an idea which was deemed not kosher by Mrs. S-. I floated various ideas, such as my full middle name (which I will not share here) and Bear, which I always thought would be an apt and badass nickname in the past. As to the latter, I was judged not "wide" enough, so we are apparently still on the hunt. Suggestions are welcome.

Also, my work schedule makes Tuesday the new Friday! Or perhaps more accurately, Wednesday the new Saturday. The weather looks as if it will be lovely in the morning and early afternoon, so I think I will wake up in the pre-dawn and drive out to Madison, maybe get in a quick morning hike of Old Rag. If so, I'll do my best to take interesting pictures. For this plan to work, of course, I'll need to fall asleep in the next half hour or so, an hour certifiably octogenarian. These are the sacrifices we make to do interesting things, I suppose. Good thing Bodo's opens at 0630. Nothing like some breakfast bagels and schmear.

Finally sent some lingering movies back and reorganized the NetFlix queue, so maybe by the weekend I'll have some new stuff to watch/post amateur critiques of.

Lastly, in case you were wondering - it's never a good idea to suggest keeping score of the nightly house viewing of Jeopardy. Feelings are hurt. The fun quotient is dropped dramatically. And in the end you realize that all the random, incorrect answers you blurt out at home leave you $3,200 in the hole. Who's a champion?

It's okay, it's your right, come on take a chance...

2008-03-24T22:53:00.003-04:00

Alright, I am pretty much decided. I am going back to Bonnaroo.

I'm beginning to realize that I go through the exact same decision making process each year. The two months immediately following the festival, all I can think of is the choking dust, the smothering heat, the getting hit by cars, etc., and like any sane person I swear solemn oaths never to return. As summer starts to fade, so do the memories however, and by late fall I can recall only a general feeling of dirtiness, with some pleasant memories starting to reassert themselves.

This trend continues, and now it's March. With Bonnaroo two and a half months away, all I can think of is how much I want to be back. Intellectually, I suppose, I know that all the stuff that gets me down every year will still be there (Having the black lung until July, being caked in dirt and grime and sweat for a week, not being able to sleep because it's a million degrees outside, the fact that with 80,000 folks in attendance, even having a five percent asshole rate means there are still 4,000 jackasses wandering around), but my brain manages to block all those rational thoughts out, and all I am left with is: Cat Power! Kanye! Sigur Ros! Iron & Wine! Ben Folds! So many other people! Playtime in the sun with new friends! Drinking warm Blue Ribbon and loving it!

So now that my mind is set, I guess I have to figure out how to get down there. Actually paying to get in is obviously out of the question, and I am disinclined to work for the secret police again this year (I had my fill of dodging angry traffic and being left all night with no food and no relief last year). So that leaves me with a couple of options. I filled out a volunteer application with Bonnaroo proper, which would probably be the coolest option - free admission, free food, nice camping, short shifts (the key), so we will see how that goes. I also am thinking about trying to hook up with the Clean Vibes folks (the nice people who handle all the trash/recycling), which is what I say every year, but I might actually follow through this time. Basically, they are always the most chill, enthusiastic, happy folks there (could just be massive amounts of herb, who knows?), and with them I would get paid, which would be nice since I'd have to take a week off work.

I might also be able to find a local company who was sending people down, and see if I could make friends and tag along with them? I know a guy who knows a guy, maybe, so we will just have to see about that route.

And if all else fails, I could always do security work again. I'd have to re-up my credentials in the Volunteer State, but that shouldn't be too difficult. The hours are long, and the work pretty lame, but at least the pay would be good.

Anyways, I am sure if I end up making my way down in June, I'll get my just desserts, and will post lengthy tirades here when I get home on how it was awful, and the reasons why I will never return; I am well on my way to making not learning from my mistakes a personal trademark. It's just that sitting here, in the bitter cold of "Spring", reading the artist lineup, looking at pictures from years past, the prospect of escaping from the everyday world seems like a shot at paradise, even if that escape is only four days long.

With sparks that ring and bullets fly...

2008-03-23T16:08:00.002-04:00

At last, a break! The past few days have been a maelstrom of work and cleaning and hustling from one place to another; finally I am able to rest for a moment. I had planned to head instantly for a well deserved nap, but decided to do the internet thing for a few minutes before I curled up in the sun.

In work news - I sold my first pieces of textile art yesterday! I also managed to not make a complete ass of myself when talking with folks about the kind of stuff we do. Monsieur S- (the owner) seemed pleased with the whole hiring me decision, which was nice to hear (despite my already having a general awareness of how awesome I am). After work, headed out to the pub with "The Family", a group of employees past and present, friends of the store, etc., which was a good time made better by being accidentally served an extra (and so free, apparently, although I still offered to pay) pint of Guinness.

Upon heading home from the pub, I was invited multiple times to a free spoken word/hip hop thing, which I rushed off to after quickly feeding the dog, changing pants and shoes, etc. I got in a bit late, but it was still pretty good. Then wandered around for a bit downtown with A-, the biting cold (I am ready for Spring!) made tolerable only by her cheery company.

I arrived home to find no new movies in the mail (drat!), and so succumbed to sleep soon after. Thus far, today has been filled with the mundane tasks that often fill days off from work: laundry, catching up on schoolwork, searching for apartments, and other even less interesting details. However, with the sun warming the floor underneath my window, a good nap promises to ease the transition from Sunday afternoon to Sunday evening.

Perhaps more thoughtful musings to follow after I wake up. For now I only have these dull memories.

There will be teeth in the grass...

2008-03-19T23:32:00.003-04:00

First of all, I should probably put of writing until the morning; I definitely don't produce quality work when sleepy, and already my eyelids are heavy. All that being said, I am going to press on, for no other reason than obeying the urge to write and excise some of the muddled thoughts and feelings from my head.

I finished reading L'Etranger this afternoon (Ah, to not take advantage of days off!). As an academic exercise I thoroughly enjoyed it; it has been months since I have switched my mind to its "Literary Criticism" setting. From a purely visceral viewpoint however, I am still mulling things over. After my first read through, I saw a little too much of myself mirrored in Meursault. To some extent, I share in his emotional detachment from those around him (though his separation is much more pronounced, and unlike Meursault, I am keenly aware of this void); and though in a majority of ways his character is what I would consider my polar opposite, to see some of yourself reflected by such a pariah can be a little disconcerting.

That all being said, I am already chapters into The Plague, another Camus novel, so I obviously wasn't too put off.

I tried to get a group together for Pub Quiz tonight, but when I arrived three hours early to grab a table, the place was already packed and a healthy line already forming out the front door. It has probably been six months since I've gone to Mushroom for trivia, but showing up at seven was always plenty of time to grab a table in the past, even for a large party (we were going to have eight tonight). So we decided to eighty-six trivia, sub Trivial Pursuit/Rock Band, which was a little irritating, for a few reasons. I still had a good time back at J. and S.'s, but it wasn't quite what I had been looking forward to. Oh well, such is life.

Anyways, if The Stranger taught me anything, it's that we each lead our own life, and that there is ultimately nothing responsible outside of ourselves for the course it runs. So I suppose I should stop fretting about what is past and start focusing on the steps immediately in front of me. Those are the only ones I can change, in any case.

iTunes conveniently just started playing Nick Drake, which means dreams will be soon descending upon my tired mind. Goodnight for now, world.

Sometimes the world gives you an itch...

2008-03-17T21:47:00.007-04:00

I often wonder what drives people to blog; what need is being fulfilled by writing in these largely hidden, albeit open, diaries. I know these words will go (largely) unread. There should be no self-consciousness in what I choose to relate here. A few friends might stop by and read a few lines occasionally, but for the most part the people I cross paths with each day have no knowledge of these thoughts. I think this is probably true for most people.

But part of the allure must be the possibility that someone will read the words we have transcribed. Perhaps a curious stranger. Perhaps someone we have known our entire life. The girl at the soup shop. Our coworkers. Anyone and everyone. We fill out just enough information in our profiles that a moderately informed party could track us down, if they so desired. I would not say I write for those people; but in a lot of ways I think I do. I think a lot of us do. We write the things we are not brave enough to say in person. We type the things we would not admit to aloud, but will willingly offer them up into the aether.

Maybe I am writing for these casual voyeurs. Maybe I am writing for myself, putting into words what my brain is still trying to get a grip on. Maybe I need to stop meta-discussing and just ask myself the question that has been on my mind since this weekend.

How long will I keep dressing up everywhere I go in case I happen to run into you? I'm going to be honest, I only have so many different combinations of sweaters and ties to put on.

Are you some kind of hypnotist...

2008-03-16T00:56:00.005-04:00

We've crossed over from Saturday night into Sunday morning, which means I probably won't be making it to kendo/karate tomorrow morning. I really need to make an effort to start waking up earlier on my days off so I can make it to class. Something to work on, I guess.

I had my two-session Conflict Resolution course this weekend, and it certainly lived up to my expectations of being the biggest waste of time imaginable. In a brief ten hours (blissfully cut down from the scheduled 14), it managed to encapsulate everything about the education system that I have fought against since I was fifteen. All the greatest hits were present: meaningless busy work, paying only lip-service to serious issues, uninformed discussion, unengaged professors, and students who aren't any better.

It seemed morbidly fitting to me that after the many starts and stops I have had in my undergraduate career, the main obstacle standing in between myself and some sort of magical piece of paper was the perfectly condensed epitome of all I loathe about how we as a society educate ourselves. But... and I am letting the stress and aggravation flow out of me... it is over. Hopefully, for the last time.

I watched Ascenseur pour l'echafaud this afternoon and it was brilliant. I appreciated its atypical portrayal of Paris; not as the romantic, shining capital of the republique, but as a dark, lonely, and isolating place. Even surrounded by the bustle and commotion of city life, Florence seems totally removed from humanity as she wanders the rain-soaked streets looking for her missing lover. I also loved the final shots of the film; though not terribly important or dramatic from a story-telling point of view, I still thought they were excellently conceived.

Also, the music was phenomenal and had me digging through my crates of vinyl looking for Miles Davis albums.

Time to go fiddle with the Netflix queue, I suppose.

Я вас любил...

2008-03-13T22:10:00.003-04:00

Things I dislike:

Queueing up for the shower before work.
Paying five dollars for a small cup of soup.
Knees that act up in the middle of class.
Having to spend all my hard-earned money on clothes to wear to work.

Things I like:

Marveling at the amount of alcohol and tobacco consumed by people in old movies.
The amazingly delicious taste of five dollar cups of soup. Rosemary potato; how I love thee!
Facebook stalking at work.
Thinking about the sweet-ass argyle sweater vests I am going to buy to wear on the job.

You can have your friends round...

2008-03-12T18:59:00.005-04:00

Yesterday was massage day at work.

Apparently to make up for all the schlepping heavy textiles (my personal euphemism for rugs) around, a masseuse come by the shop twice a month to work on our backs.

It was my first massage, and honestly the thought of some stranger getting all up in my business was a little weird, but I decided just to roll with it. The only thing I could think of the whole time was the scene from the Godfather where Mo Green gets it through the eye while he's on the massage table. Not the most calming thought to have running through your head.

Anyways, after a while, I let myself relax a bit. The woman who was doing the massages and I chatted a bit, about my aborted hike plans and my torn hamstring, and all the other various injuries I've inflicted upon myself over the years. Talking shop about aches, pains, and scars always puts me in a good mood; I may be damaged goods, but at least I have a host of good stories to tell.

In the end, my back felt pretty good, I got a nice hour break from work, and I didn't get a bullet through my glasses. Sounds like a hat trick to me.

Have we missed an opportunity...

2008-03-09T22:12:00.003-04:00

Ah, another week in the books. No big accomplishments for the week of 03.02.2008, but a respectable number of small victories. In all, I'll fall asleep tonight pleased.

I wrapped up my first week at the new job without destroying any priceless textiles, so I will award myself full marks there. Somewhere in between luxuriating on a pile of fabulous carpets reading books on the history of the silk road and enjoying afternoon sherry and tea with friends of the store, I realized I've landed a pretty sweet gig. There is a staggering amount to learn, to be sure, but it is a challenge that will keep me entertained and off the streets, at least.

Saturday I was able to grab dinner downtown with some friends, free from guilt, as I am once again gainfully employed. Afterwards there was some laid back hanging out, with our normal amount of game-playing; some movie trivia board-game slash dvd thing (At which I dominated) and an hour or so of Rock Band (not so dominant at the singing, but still a good time).

And today was a day for sleep, and food, and relaxing. When every day is a day off, you forget just how good having a break feels. And so I basked in the laziness of it all: eating junk food, watching some college hoops, and cracking jokes to Indiana Jones (how excited are you for the new movie, despite any Shia LaBeouf antics?). I have certainly had worse weekends.

Well, time to dig around in the nice clothes section of the closet and get ready for work tomorrow. доброй ночи.

L'amour Ne Dure Pas Toujours...

2008-03-05T22:06:00.002-05:00

Man, getting up for work every morning is a drag. Don't get me wrong, I am loving the new job. The combination of history and art and zany characters that normally only exist in the imagination makes for an amazing workplace. It's just that when you add up the last few months of my "self-employment" and the past two years of holding down comic and hobby shops, you realize that I haven't had a real job in a long time.

To be honest though, I am not sure that my current work environment is what a lot of people would consider a "real job". It is certainly not what my father's idea of real work would be. I am alright with that though. It's taken years, but I think I have finally realized that society's concept of what it means to be an adult doesn't quite fit me.

I dropped out of college when I was eighteen after two semesters of trying to be a future-lawyer. Now I am twenty-four with six years worth of undergraduate education, no degree, selling nomadic art. And I'll be damned if I'm not a little bit pleased with how I am turning out.

Heaven's Gonna Burn Your Eyes...

2008-03-04T22:36:00.003-05:00

Alright, so the plan was just to jump straight into the blogging/emo poetry/lolcats, but starting up a new thang without some sort of introduction didn't feel right. In short, my old blog (which hadn't been updated in months) reminded me too much of the overly cluttered writing I am trying to shake myself free from. A clean break was needed. A fresh start. An adjective noun, if you will.

I realized what I wanted most was a space to put down the random thoughts that float around upstairs, without them devolving into the novella sized stream of consciousness rants that I so enjoy writing. A place where the entries will be quick and dirty (That's what she said?), on whatever topic come to mind, updated often, and (mostly) free of fallen English major pretension... these are the things that I hope for in this little project.

So there you have it. No doubt in a few weeks it will become clear that my only goal is to gluttonously consume obscure Blogspot domains, but for now let's both pretend that I'll stick to the plan this time. What's the harm of a little make-believe?