The Trials and Tribulations of Crazy McGee

My Message for Organizing America

2010-12-07T23:17:00.000-05:00

I got an email soliciting feedback from the President's project "Organizing for America" and I had to respond. It's not glorious, or special. It is, however, something worth sharing... and I hate to think that the only eyes that will ever see it will be those of a staffer who has more pressing messages waiting on facebook.

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First off, thank you for taking the time to both share this message and read the countless comments that this is producing.

I deeply appreciate the message from the President, and I understand the importance of compromise both in terms of good faith arrangements and in the spirit of getting things accomplished. I am grateful that our president is brave enough to face this difficult problem with poise and patience, looking ultimately to make choices that will best serve all Americans.

I am, however, frustrated and disappointed. As a young professional making less than $35,000 a year, I have serious doubts that I will ever have the earnings and savings to own a home. I have serious doubts that I could afford a family, or to care for my parents when they retire. I have serious doubts about the financial direction of our country.

At 28 I have completed three degrees and worked tirelessly to fulfill both my artistic passions and my civic obligations. I have worked to give back as much as I can by counseling low-income, underprivileged potential college students; by working at a public college to support faculty in their quest to cultivate their teaching techniques; by patiently trusting that our democratic system has the best interest of it's members in mind.

I believe, wholeheartedly, in the principles this country is founded upon. I do not, however, believe that we can continue to purposeful and willfully fund an ever deepening divide between high and low income earners. I fear that the ideals of our prized institutions are lost when so many cannot aspire to the same dreams of their parents.

There are, of course, important issues to consider in this negotiation between right and left. There are, of course, difficult paths to be traversed in this difficult political time. What I do not hear, however, is a call to responsibility. Our Country's highest earners did not accrue their wealth in a vacuum, they did so in a country that allowed them to prosper; in a country that rewarded them for ingenuity and creativity; in a country that supported their endeavors and dreams. But the fulfillment of our dreams does not come without cost. Those who are the most successful, must be encouraged to see that their very success stems from the structure, laws, and government of the country that they inhabit. I am glad for my brothers and sisters who earn more than I do, but their success comes at a great price, a price that they must help to pay.

I encourage the President to, if only for a moment, hear the deep concern of his supporters and our call to bravely face these difficult times and issues.

Sacrilegious-ness

2010-03-28T22:08:00.004-04:00

1: In the beginning The Internet created the heaven and the earth.

2: And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Code of The Internet moved upon the face of the waters.

3: And The Internet searched for, “Let there be light;” and there was light.

4: And The Internet found the light, that it was good: and The Internet divided the light from the darkness.

5: And The Internet called the light Day, and the darkness it called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day.

6: And The Internet said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters.

7: And The Internet made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament: and it was so.

8: And The Internet called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and the morning were the second day.

9: And The Internet said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together unto one place, and let the dry land appear: and it was so.

10: And The Internet called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the waters were called Seas: and The Internet saw that it was good.

11: And The Internet said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after his kind, whose seed is in itself, upon the earth: and it was so.

12: And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after his kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed was in itself, after his kind: and The Internet saw that it was good.

13: And the evening and the morning were the third day.

14: And The Internet said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years:

15: And let them be for lights in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth: and it was so.

16: And The Internet made two great lights; the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night: it made the stars also.

17: And The Internet set them in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth,
18: And to rule over the day and over the night, and to divide the light from the darkness: and The Internet saw that it was good.

19: And the evening and the morning were the fourth day.

20: And The Internet said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven.

21: And The Internet created great whales, and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind, and every winged fowl after his kind: and The Internet saw that it was good.

22: And The Internet blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and evolve, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl evolve on the earth.

23: And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.

24: And The Internet said, Let the earth bring forth the living creature after his kind, cattle, and creeping thing, and beast of the earth after his kind: and it was so.

25: And The Internet made the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth after his kind: and The Internet saw that it was good.

26: And The Internet said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.

27: So The Internet created man in his own image; in the image of The Internet: male and female created them.

28: And The Internet blessed them, and The Internet said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.

29: And The Internet said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat.

30: And to every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the air, and to every thing that creepeth upon the earth, wherein there is life, I have given every green herb for meat: and it was so.

31: And The Internet saw every thing that it had made, and, behold, it was very good. And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.

No I Get it, I Really Do

2010-03-22T13:24:00.005-04:00

You're right Republicans. There, I said it. As a progressive young person I've conceded that you are, in fact, right to have the concerns you do about the coming change in Health Care Reform. While we're at it, I want to say "Thank You." You raise strong points, emphasize the fact that this change will indeed have a cost which tax payers will contribute to, will shift the way we think about the medical care industry, that this new system will have its share of bureaucratic foibles and misappropriations, and in general will have challenges and hurdles to overcome for all of us. You are, in fact, right on all counts when the rubber meets the road.

I should clarify that when I say that you're right I mean that you are factually correct, not morally sound. "But, how can that be?! As a republican I have the best interests of my constituents in mind, and stand on a higher religious firmament. After all, who else is aiming to protect the sanctity of life and marriage?! Who else is working to curb spending? Who else is pushing for smaller government and greater capitalist freedoms?!" Well, slow down sparky because you're missing some key elements in your argument. I can't address all of those points, so let's just see if we can't address the fact that being factually correct doesn't leave you in a position to be morally sound.

Let's take a look back through history for a moment. Way-back in the olden times, the Confederacy pointed out (time and again) that abolishing slavery would: have a tremendous economic impact on those who held salves; argued that it would cause catastrophic social change; that it would change whole economic systems, specifically bringing about the collapse of plantations; and shake the very foundational ideologies our country was built upon. I should point out that they were, on these points, factually correct. It did have a tremendous and devastating impact on plantation economics, it did cause the collapse of many plantations, and it led to a civil war (if that's not shaking our foundational ideologies, I don't know what counts). However, I think most of us could agree that what happened was morally right. That is to say that it while difficult, hard, and controversial, the choice to take the steps necessary to move our country towards equality were morally sound. Easy, no. Costly, yes.

For other examples of choices that were costly, but morally sound please see: women's suffrage, the civil rights movement, independence, and many others.

I'd leave my own experiences out of it, but I think they matter. As an uninsured american you make it sound as if I've done something wrong. As though it's my fault that I don't have heath care, or that I've chosen to opt out of coverage. I'd like to object to that notion. I worked my way through college. It took me 6 years, but I worked to ensure that I didn't have any debt. I got a degree. I got a job. For nearly four years I worked for a government funded program geared towards providing educational opportunities to low-income students. For all of my time giving myself away I was hardly compensated fairly, and I never saw any benefits. For doing something morally appropriate, I was punished - at least if you adopt the ethical egoist's perspective.

I've heard "You should have picked a better job," or "the poor are only poor because they're lazy," or "this is America, anyone can succeed," or "you must not have wanted health care, otherwise you would have found a job with it." Go ahead, throw around ideas of pulling yourself up by your bootstraps all you want, but after my first hand experience I can tell you for a fact that those who live in poverty are treated like second rate citizens. For that matter, just working for them meant that I was often treated like a second rate citizen.

I'm an educated, well rounded, respected, productive, and a competent member of the work-force. I don't have health care. In fact I recently want to the ER for an injury. I waited three weeks before going to the ER, waited until the pain was almost intense enough to keep me from walking, waited until the fear of a blood borne infection kept me from sleeping at night. My total bill was over $2000. What did I get in exchange for nearly 10% of my take-home salary? A physician's attention for little over ten minutes: she looked at my infected wound, poked me twice, gave me an antibiotic, and sent me home. Thank you.

I'm sure you're going to tell me that I should have invested in private insurance. That's a great idea, though some of the cheapest in my area has a monthly premium of $200, covering only scheduled visits to a physician, with a deductible of $3000. If I had been paying for private insurance, my $2000 ER visit would have cost me closer to $4400.

There's more to say, there always is when it comes to these kinds of topics, but let me just leave you with a thought that keeps coming back to me. Your push against reform, your stance that what we have is good enough makes it sound like you know who deserves to be protected. It's as though what I've contributed to the world isn't good enough to dog-ear me as a human worth saving. You know, that's really ironic in many ways. Given the recent abortion-issue soap box so many of you have stood upon, it sounds an awful lot like an unborn fetus is more important than the young college grad working to make the world a better place. It sounds an awful lot like I should play by your rules to prove that I'm worth saving before you'll throw me a life-line. It sounds an awful lot like human life is only worth saving while it it's still in the womb. It sounds an awful lot like life isn't worth paying for.

TaDa

2009-12-02T12:06:00.001-05:00

DSCN1022, originally uploaded by raganmd.

Nothing like a Two-High at the mission in sunny Santa Barbara

Health Care Debate

2009-08-26T11:26:00.000-04:00

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

Exclusive - Betsy McCaughey Extended Interview Pt. 1

www.thedailyshow.com

Daily Show
Full Episodes

Political Humor

Healthcare Protests

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart

Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c

Exclusive - Betsy McCaughey Extended Interview Pt. 2

www.thedailyshow.com

Daily Show
Full Episodes

Political Humor

Healthcare Protests

UBer News Episode 2

2009-07-13T03:28:00.000-04:00

UBer News Episode 1

2009-07-13T03:27:00.000-04:00

Brain, Please Stop

2009-04-18T17:19:00.002-04:00

I've struggled a lot with the idea of worth... in some ways I think I've struggled with it my entire life. Part of this has roots in my relationship with my father, part of it is related to my religious up bringing, and some of this is more recent as the product of a relationship now eight years gone. It's this last experience that I need to write about today. One great realization to come out of some of my recent thinking is that I process a tremendous amount of the world as words, specifically through writing be it pen on paper, or fingers furiously tap-tap-tapping keys. Please now bear with me as I get some of the insane out of my membrane.

A long time ago I was engaged. Things were rough. Our time together was never really that great but I stuck around a long time convinced that I could heal all of her hurts with enough love and sacrifice. I was wrong. All I really ended up doing was hurting myself, and living a life of self-hatred... for much longer than I should have. The best thing, however, to come out of this time in my life has been a deep and beautiful friendship with her sister and her sister's husband (they weren't married when I met them, and have had the great privilege of being a part of their lives). When these two recently got married I was overjoyed for them. I cannot think of a couple more fit for a life together, and I've been honored to have shared in their lives. Two years of secret planning left them with a surprise wedding on the beach where they shocked a small group of their friends and family. Now, they're taking an opportunity to celebrate with extended family, friends, and to publicly share their love for one another. It's beautiful, and I feel greatly honored to know that I'll be attending. There has, of course, been drama connected to all of this and this is hardly to place to share all of those nitty gritty details.

What I can share, is that my former fiancée and her mother are livid that I'll be attending. There are few people in this world who have said vehemently ugly things about me, perhaps this is because there are few people I have hurt as deeply. Whatever the case, it seems that I am unforgivable in the hearts of these two people. While I've long since stopped caring what these two people think of me, I find it especially maddening that they insist on using my relationship with my close friends as a weapon against them. You don't have to like me, you don't have to care about me, in fact I can't really say that I care if you curse me and the horse I rode in on. What I cannot stand is being used as a means of manipulating someone else. Especially when those committing such ugly transgressions insist upon their pious and saintly intentions. How dare they, with their protective robe of Christian good intentions, spit and vomit-up ugly hateful remarks. How dare they claim to worship a mythology grounded in love for others, when all they do is hate. How dare they hurt, willfully, the very people they should care the most for.

I began this blog struggling with feelings of being unforgivable, but that's not really what's at the center of all of this. Hate me, fine, I don't care. But don't, for one second believe that the world can be anything less than miserable if it is impossible for you to see beyond yourself. We live in a world that is infinitely interconnected, our lives being wound in and out of each others in more ways that we can even perceive. How dare you turn a blind eye to such a reality. How dare you judge and hate and water the resentment in your hearts because you were too selfish to think of another... because you were too selfish to love. Enjoy the view from your glass house as you throw stones, but don't be surprised when you no longer have any visitors.

Taxes are the lamest part of LameTown

2009-03-19T17:27:00.003-04:00

What’s with this grown-up shit?! I think I need to take a chill pill. I did my taxes today, and while that’s not exactly what I’d call fun times, it was harder for me to actually look at how much I made as well as what I actually lived on. I have no problem paying taxes: it allows the infrastructure to operate, provides services to the whole country, does many wonderful things, and many destructive things as well. All of that aside, my thoughts don’t turn to how my contribution is being used, but rather to how I spent the money that I’ve earned. I don’t make tons of money, but I certainly live a life that’s vastly different from the manner in which I grew up, as well as something much more different than the experience of being starving and broke in college. I don’t come home to an empty pantry unless I haven’t gone shopping for food. I have the privilege of introducing new technology into my life, I have the opportunity to travel, I can go out to eat, I can go to movies, I can do more now than I have ever previously been able to do. Yet, I still worry about money. I worry about how I’d pay for grad school, about what I’d do next, about how I’ll live in a year, how I’ll pay for whatever’s next, worry that I’m not saving enough. From childhood through adolescence, I always hated money. I hated it because its value was always held over my head. My dollar value was always made clear to me, and in ways that left me feeling as though I should never spend it. Ironically, that’s what you do with money. You spend it. Its worth exists in a system based upon exchange and trade. If you horde up the stuff, its value is invisible. Regardless, all through my teens and into my twenties I couldn’t help but recognize that whatever money was worth, I shouldn't be worth any of it. Part of that was eating ramen everyday, part of that was only wearing hand-me-downs, only ever being allowed to shop from sale racks, never being taken to dinner (with the exception of my mother’s birthday), never going to movies, never being allowed to buy music. . . part of that was the day I was given a $20 to spend with my cousins at the mall, only to be berated and shamed until I cried for spending what I was given. It was a test. I was supposed to take the picture of Jackson, carry it in my pocket, and bring it home. I was supposed to refuse to spend what I was given. I had “wasted money,”the words that I heard again and again. Later in childhood I was lecture about what I spent my own money on. . .birthdays, and odd jobs sometimes leave a kid with some cash, and whatever I decided to purchase was always wrong. One birthday I was given a bike as my present. . . a bike that was purchased with my own savings.

So here at 27, how dare I spend money on myself; how absurd that I take myself to the movies; how simply abhorrent that I allow myself indulgences, however infrequent. I am haunted by the memories of a childhood where I was conditioned to value myself as less than nothing. . . worth what others were throwing away, and always tested to see if I could remember exactly what I wasn’t. . . pushed to remember that money was not something I deserved. I’ve worked so hard to leave those parts of me behind, worked to forgive the mistakes of others, worked to cultivate my own ideas about money. But here, looking at taxes, worrying that I haven’t shared enough, worrying that I haven’t been generous enough, worrying that I could have spent less, or lived smaller, that I shouldn’t have gotten those shoes, or that coat, regardless of need. . . here I am, worried that I didn’t bring that stupid twenty dollar bill home, and that I’ve failed again.

Blog-a-rific Time

2009-02-09T17:48:00.002-05:00

Why do I watch movies like "He's just not that into you"? It just makes me feel crazy... or like a girl, or like I'm obviously incapable of ever finding a lasting relationship. I had a realization as I was driving home from Contra Dancing the other night.

Humble is not a trait that we consider attractive. Humble doesn't land you the job, or the raise, or the hot girl... at least not in the movies. Humble, kind, openly communicative, non confrontational, empathetic, compassionate, etc. are not traits that boys should have. Or maybe we should have them, but only share them when the chips are down... like a secret super power that if we use too much will be ruined or depleted. Maybe part of my problem is how I see myself. I recently did a photo shoot on some circus equipment. It was super fun, exhausting, and so on. What was interesting was to see the pictures after we were done... my body, in reality, is not what I see in my head. I was looking at the photos with one of my room mates and she said, "god damn your shoulders are jacked." I don't see myself that way at all. I still see myself as this skinny rail of a kid without muscular definition or tone. I don't see myself accurately. More importantly, I think this goes far beyond just physical appearance... goes deeper to how I see myself in general. I see a collection of faults and shortcomings. I see failures distinctly, and successes only vaguely. In some ways I feel distinctly undeserving because I see myself as so imperfect. I'm happy to forgive others their trespasses, but reluctant to forgive my own. I expect more, expect perfection, expect an unrealistic and unattainable standard. What do you do with this? How do you come to terms with this?

I don't know. Perhaps you start with accurate assessment? Maybe you have to suspend assessment. Maybe you have to accept yourself as human, fallible, imperfect, flawed, and better for being so. More than imperfection, I'm trying to like the feeling of embarrassment and humility. In terms of western perspective, we see those as largely negative emotions. Other cultures, however, seem them in a very different light. Some, even, see them as positive and necessary. What if failing gave you the opportunity to embrace your fallibility? What if being imperfect gave you the chance to feel unequivocally human? No one is perfect, and what better way to understand that truth than to fall flat on your face? We are so proud, why? Why not feel good when you receive a correction, or an edit? A little does of humility keeps you grounded, keeps you honest about who you are. Why is that bad? Why do we flagellate ourselves with our shortcomings? Punish ourselves with our foibles? Why can't being human be good?

Because I want to be independent, self-sufficent, and autonomous! Because I don't want to rely on others! Because I don't want help! Because I don't want to surrender to the idea that I'm a part of something larger than myself! Because I want to feel in control!!! Because I want to believe that I am the MOST important thing in MY LIFE! Ego, ego, ego. Though, a brilliant lecturer I was listening to recently made the point that we wouldn't be any happier if we were part of an egoless society. Maybe it's all about discipline. We need balance... a time to look after others, and a time to look after ourselves. Why is it so fucking hard then?

As a dancer/circus kid I can't help but draw the literal parallel. Balance is about strength and flexibility. If you are strong, but not flexible, you soon find that you are limited, bound, and caught. Your range of expression is limited, and while you may do a few things well there are many things you cannot even attempt. If you are flexible, but not strong, you soon find yourself unable to maintain a posture. You are supple, but cannot hold fast when it counts. You must be both, developing one and then the other. Your period of harmony is fleeting as both flexibility and strength cross in a beautiful eclipse.

Rings and Babies

2009-02-03T15:13:00.002-05:00

In a recent letter from my Dad's husband I was asked about my feelings on marriage and children. Here's the latest installment in Letters From a Crazy Kid.

Let's talk marriage before babies
When it comes to marriage I have a grab-bag of ideas, hopes, dreams, ideals, and realistic observations. As you know, I'm a big proponent of social justice and it follows that I feel that anyone should have the right to enter into a formal consensual committed relationship. Everyone should have the right to be married if they so choose, and it should in no way be constrained by the color of their skin or their choice in partner. I am, perhaps, a bit obstinate about this issue as I feel that love has no boundaries, and should therefore meet no obstacles. I have great respect for those who are married. I think it takes a great deal of courage, patience, and understanding from both partners. Ideally, I think that such a commitment should be colored by tremendous mutual respect, support, equality, open and honest communication, ,play, fun, love, passion, and an unending curiosity (for one another, and for the larger world). As for myself, I have no hope for marriage and little desire for it. This is not a "boo-hoo, I came from a broken home, so I can't possibly understand love and commitment," kind of statement on my part, but rather an honest, and carefully considered conclusion. I think my stance has come out of a careful examination of my life: who I am, what I expect, what I want, and the standards I've set for myself.

Why:
I'm difficult to love, romantically. I make a great friend. I sacrifice, I give, I love as openly and freely as possible, I do all that I can to be a supportive and positive force in the lives of others. I do not, however, let many people past my own walls. I'm difficult to know. Or maybe it's better to say that I'm difficult to understand and predict. Past partners have called me, "cold and calloused," "empty and vain," "closed and hidden," "aloof," "removed," "distant," "calculating and heartless," and of course, "emotionally unavailable." That's just a few of the things I've heard about myself, though I'm confident that such words must be taken with a grain of salt. It's always easy to say hurtful things when we feel that we've been hurt. I know what it is to lash out at others recklessly, and so I offer great patience to those who do the same.

The words, however, remain and it is not impossible for me to understand why I've been called such things. I like to have time to explain myself. That is to say that I like to have time to carefully consider what it is that I'm feeling/thinking and to construct meaningful observations before I speak. I require a significant amount of processing time, which I'm sure can look as though I'm removed. I don't like fighting. Name calling, reckless insults, attacking another person to prove a point, being knowingly hurtful, pushing buttons, slurs, bringing up past arguments, and so on are unacceptable. I won't fight back, and typically I'll refuse to fight on based upon principle. Worse yet, I'll call out individuals who picking a fight. Someone can kick and scream, but I'll use my counselor voice, ask why they're so upset, and make it a point to distinguish ownership for problems (just because someone has a bad day does not entitle them to take it out on me). If cornered and forced to fight back, I am ruthless. I will quickly point out logical incongruities in another's argument, call into question their motivations, question their espoused principles, and point out how they are complicit in their own unhappiness. Knowing this about myself, I walk away or request a break during heated arguments. I find it nearly impossible to speak with someone rationally when they're upset, especially if one individual is upset and the other is not. Calmly speaking about frustrations or disagreements is about the only way I'm willing to address interpersonal problems these days.

I'm also difficult to know because I'm careful with how much I disclose about myself. I like to be self reliant, independent, and strong. Vulnerable is difficult, and while I often ask others to be vulnerable I'm not very good at it myself. There's a metaphor that I think is appropriate in this case. The face we all wear in public is a facade. It's a painting, a construction of social behaviors, and social performances. I don't really care if someone knows the painting, I want someone who is fascinated by the painter. I play a lot of different roles in a lot of different places to a lot of different people. What I want is someone who peers past all of those differences to find me. That requires a lot of patience, it requires a lot of observation, it requires a lot of contemplation, and significant investment.

I also require a lot of trust. Performance, especially dance and circus, are known for a larger distribution of females in comparison to males. I work with a lot of women. I dance with a lot of women. Part of the dance work I do entails lifts, balances, and very physically close work with others. It's easy to be jealous, and I happen to be in an artistic field that promotes jealous feelings. I also have an inconsistent schedule. One week I've got a lot of free time, and the next I have none. Dating me requires my partner to trust that I will be faithful, and that I will come back... even when I have weeks at a time when I'm almost a ghost.

I have high expectations. When I'm involved with someone I expect them to reciprocate what I offer. No one should do all the work in a relationship, and if I'm doing all the work I won't stay for long. There are many things that I don't expect reciprocation for, but I do expect a high degree of emotional reciprocation. I want to feel that the other is as invested in me as I am in them. That rings true in terms of personal drive, and personal care. Having a driven and motivated life is important to me, and I'd like that to be true in a partner. I maintain the appearance of my body to ensure that I look attractive and appealing, I expect the same in a partner. I feel like a relatively intelligent person who is interested in continued learning for my whole life, I expect the same in a partner.

Finally, I require investment. To marry someone, they would have to stick around. They would have to see me when I'm heartbroken, hurt, beat down, frustrated, stuck, miserable and they would have to love me in spite of all of those things. Given the chance to leave, they would have to stay. No one has met these requirements yet, so I remain wedding-ring-free. I could also easily say that I have this laundry list of requirements to ensure that no one qualifies. I'm protected by my list, and therefore shielded from commitment. I don't know that I fear commitment so much as I fear vulnerability and acceptance. There have been very few times in my life when I've felt loved without restraint or limitation. Few times when I've felt accepted, embraced, and cherished. Few times when I've felt the freedom to be totally vulnerable without judgment.

Marriage seems impossible if there is no one who has been in my life long enough to show the above as possible. Moreover, I don't want a failed marriage. I'd rather have a life of serial monogamy and failed love affairs. Again, one could look at this and say that I fear being loved. That I'm insecure in my worth. That I don't believe that another person would stay with me, would love me, would care for me the way that I would care for them. Maybe. I have great doubts in ever finding a partner who will love me deeply, but so what? All the more reason to celebrate the love that others have found in their lives.

Babies and Diapers Oh My!
I love children. I think they are about the coolest thing ever. Kids love make-believe, are curious, interested, fascinated, and all things human... just smaller. My problem with having children of my own is multifaceted. First off, you have to find a partner. So far, no luck there. More complicated than just finding a partner, however, are my feelings about raising a child. Provided I was in a loving relationship where a child was a potential, I would be absolutely uncompromising on childcare. I would be selfish, and I would want to stay at home for at least the first 5-8 years. I would want to be involved in my child's life. I don't feel like children are adequately socialized these days, and to raise a good human being requires a lot of time. It requires a lot of patience, and a lot of love. I would worry that such a commitment to raising a child could potentially undermine a relationship with a partner. I would worry that it would compromise my own life as well, in fact there would be no way for a child not to change a person's life completely. Am I selfless enough to give up much of my own hopes, dreams, aspirations, and goals for a child? Right now, no. Honestly, I don't know that I would ever feel totally comfortable in making all of the appropriate sacrifices. If I wouldn't be willing to change my whole life, if I wouldn't be willing to make large scale sacrifices, if I wouldn't be willing to think of another before myself in every situation, than I shouldn't have a child. I think this comes back, again, to the fact that I have very high standards.

I suppose all of this is to say that I don't see myself getting married, or having children. I'm not staunchly opposed to the ideas, but I don't see them working in the life that I've created for myself.

The Exchange Continues

2009-01-27T14:58:00.003-05:00

I've shared some of the letters I've recently written to my Dad's husband, and here is yet another installment. I know that he's deeply concerned for me, and I'm hopeful that the letters we've shared will help assuage his fears. Here is the latest.

I don't think there are nearly the deep differences in the way we think as it sounds like you may believe. Consequently, I don't think I'm adequately expressing my stance: I too absolutely believe that hate crimes destroy hearts, and lives; I too see myself as deserving of the same respect I offer to others; I too believe that differences of opinion are entitled to everyone; I too believe that violence, whatever the motivator, should not be tolerated as a means of oppression. I think we are, mostly, on the same page here.

I am a firm believer in social justice, and social change. My own convictions about social change are motivated by the religious and philosophical works that I've read, centered around demonstrating equality and non-violence as methods for addressing social problems. Many social issues are so deeply rooted in the infrastructure of our social systems that it requires careful examination of a variety of these interconnected systems to find cause and solution for oppressions. Social change, however, does not come cheaply. It requires bravery, leadership, and courage. It requires that individuals stand in the front lines and openly face discrimination, knowing that such actions are not free of consequence. Hatred, bigotry, and ignorance exist openly, and someone must openly stand against them. Not with a sword, but with a pen. Not under armor and afraid, but naked and fearless.

While I don't believe in the god of the Bible, I do think there are some phenomenal teachings presented therein:

In the Sermon on the Mount in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus says:

You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.' But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.

—Matthew 5:38-42, NIV

A parallel version is offered in the Sermon on the Plain in the Gospel of Luke:

But I tell you who hear me: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. If someone takes your cloak, do not stop him from taking your tunic. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you.

—Luke 6:27-31. NIV

A figurative interpretation relies on historical and other factors.^[1] At the time of Jesus, striking someone deemed to be of a lower class with the back of the hand was used to assert authority and dominance.^[2] If the persecuted person "turned the other cheek," the discipliner was faced with a dilemma. The left hand was used for unclean purposes, so a back-hand strike on the opposite cheek would not be performed.^[3] The other alternative would be a slap with the open hand as a challenge or to punch the person, but this was seen as a statement of equality. Thus, by turning the other cheek the persecuted was in effect demanding equality.

Righteous personal conduct interpretation

There is a third school of thought in regard to this passage. Jesus was not changing the meaning of "an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth" but restoring it to the original context. Jesus starts his statement with "you have heard it said" which means that he was clarifying a misconception, as opposed to "it is written" which would be a reference to scripture. The common misconception seems to be that people were using Exodus 21:24-25 (the guidelines for a magistrate to punish convicted offenders) as a justification for personal vengeance. In this context, the command to "turn the other cheek" would not be a command to allow someone to beat or rob a person, but a command not to take vengeance.

There are also beautiful and thought provoking statements by Immanuel Kant:

"Act only according to that maxim whereby you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law."^[1]

"Act in such a way that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, always at the same time as an end and never merely as a means to an end."^[2]

"Therefore, every rational being must so act as if he were through his maxim always a legislating member in the universal kingdom of ends." ^[3]

Now for a story to put some of this in perspective:
My first summer working for my program presented me with a very interesting situation. I worked with a rural population whose prejudices were largely hidden. By hidden, I mean that they didn't see how they were being discriminatory. In fact, they assumed that there were egalitarian, accepting, and tolerant. During one of our activities we watched a video about male posturing... how we construct the idea of masculine vs. feminine, as well as how it's reinforced in communities, schools, churches, etc. As you can imagine, it was a tender subject for me. Having faced these very problems much of my life, the issue was not only immediately present in my life, but also of tremendous importance in my life. During our discussion after the video many of the students said that it was a "90's problem," and that "it didn't exist anymore." I was livid. I was hurt. I decided to take the opportunity presented to me. The next day I went and purchased two mini skirts and a dress from a thrift store. I then proceeded to wear a skirt/dress 2-3 times a week for the rest of the summer. I was afraid. I was sure that I was going to be called names. I was sure that there would be some consequences for my choices. I was also sure that this would give me a unique opportunity to change others. I hadn't been wearing a skirt for 45 minutes when the first student shouted to me, "NICE SKIRT MATT!" from across the grass in front of our summer dorm. I then called the student over to talk with me. We started by talking about why the student had chosen to yell at me, then we talked about their own presuppositions of gender and identity, finally we talked about the fact that prejudice sometimes exists in us when we were confident that it did not. This very same cycle was repeated several times that day, and several times every day that I wore a dress/skirt. It started conversations, it changed the way that students thought about themselves, it changed the way the staff thought about themselves. I would say, with hindsight, that it had a tremendous impact on the population of our program that summer, and that it sparked a genuine redirection of many student's understanding about discrimination/posturing/

social constructions. That would not have happened if I had just backed away from the issue. That wouldn't have happened if I had just asked for respect. They gave me plenty of respect when I dressed straight, when I behaved and followed gender rules and social guidelines. It took a courageous act, full of vulnerability, coupled with patience and lengthy dialog to make change work. It required that someone stand up and say, "you're hurting people, and let me show you how."

We need a mirror to see ourselves individually, and culturally. Perhaps that is why I love theatre. It stands as a social mirror to the world in which we live; it takes a seemingly benign situation and it forces us to reconsider what we know. Maybe I take that idea too far. I'm guilty of lofty ideals, and high expectations; but I do not think that it wrong to ask the world to be better than it is. All that I've really intended in what I've said is that I see myself as a conscious agent of change in the world. That as such an agent I understand the peril and consequences. And, that I am willing to stand with patience and fortitude if the waves come crashing down on my head.

Finally, I hope that you see that there is no regret in me when I write/talk of the past. I believe that we are largely products of our histories, that who and what we have become cannot be divided from the path which delivered us to this place. This being so, while I have moments of doubt, I am content with who I have become and have chosen to let the past be the past. I think it often can serve fill the questions of "why" but I see no value in wishing that I could go back and do it differently. I think that we do the best with what we have now, and carry our lessons learned into the future.

I am also very comfortable talking about these topics. I'm happy to share myself, and my perspective anytime. I hope that I'm not coming across as being defensive in any way. I do like to think things through completely before I write about them, and I apologise for my sometimes lengthy gaps in letters.

Anyway

2009-01-22T16:34:00.001-05:00

From a sign on the wall fo Shishu Bhavan, the children's home in Calcutta:

Anyway

People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered,
Love Them Anyway

If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives,
Be Good Anyway

If you are successful, you win false friends and true enemies,
Succeed Anyway

The good you do will be forgotten tomorrow,
Do Good Anyway

Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable,
Be Honest And Frank Anyway

What you spent years building may be destroyed overnight,
Build Anyway

People really need help but may attack you if you help them.
Help People Anyway

Give the world the best you have and you'll get kicked in the teeth,
Give the world the best you have Anyway

Oh the Dads

2009-01-21T14:05:00.004-05:00

What did I start?! In sharing stories about my life with my Dad, specifically about my sexuality, I had no intention of starting a conversation about my fragile sense of self. That, however, is what it looks like I started. I got a very nice response from my Rich today with some points worth sharing:

Matthew, I had figured you had an unconventional life. I figured it was stressful, but wasn't told, I could just perceive it to be so. I came on the scene to observe the decay and the breakdown of your relationship with your father. I could see for myself how that affected him and all he went through. Of course, I had to support someone that was becoming of prominence in my life, but I also tried to imagine through your eyes and how I might have acted myself if those circumstances had been thrust upon me. These events are in the past, and there is nothing more to be said about them. I bring them up only to let you know that I really do try to understand you. I could also relate because of similar circumstances in my own life.

But I am very concerned about your image in the world. Your comment that you find it acceptable that others may spit on you, attack you, call you names ... is WRONG. If that is too strong of a word, then if you allow others to do those things, you are accepting that others can control you...you cannot be Matthew. And that, my son, is wrong.

We all have baggage from our youth. Our parents held us back, smothered us, didn't accept us for whom we are, ignored us, brought us up in religious concubines, ...., blah blah blah. Matthew, there comes a point, a coming of age, a realization that one is in control of who and what they are. At this point, one becomes honest with one's self. And embraces acceptance. It is that point where they stand firm and say "I am here. I am to be respected. I am my own judge. And no one can take that away from me."

You already demonstrate strong leadership qualities. Don't turn your back on them because you feel you must accept what others do to tear you down. They approach life from a realization of their own faults, misgivings, insecurities and failures. It is easier for them to destroy others who appear to succeed, rather than to effect personal growth where they don't fail.

Yikes! I had no intention of calling down a flood of concern. At the same time, however, I think that modeled behavior and quiet leadership are often more compelling than in you face demands for respect. Perhaps that's just my personal experience, but all the same I'm confident that I'm in a good place, and not allowing others to "tear me down."

Below is my response:

Dad,

Thank you for your very thoughtful letter. It's always nice to hear from you. Please don't feel that you're intruding on my personal life by asking questions. I'm certainly not one to hide my thoughts or feelings about a topic. I certainly didn't intend for my letter to make you feel uncomfortable, or as though you were requesting some dark hidden secrets of my life. I do know that I can be a private person, and so I hoped to shed some light on what my experiences have been. I know that you and Dad are eager to know more about me, and so I thought a more lengthy explanation might help to add a frame of reference to some of the more complicated details of who I am.

I know that I'm complicated. Delightfully, beautifully complicated. As we all are. I certainly didn't meant to express that I'm happy to be hate-crimed, only that I'm willing. Not willing in the sense that I'm out looking to be lynched; instead, I understand that others have the right to hate what they don't understand, and that from time to time that will be me. I don't believe that it's right, or ethical, or acceptable in any way. I do, however, deeply appreciate the fact that my freedom to be me comes at a great cost, specifically that others have the freedom to hate me. I think the emotion of hatred is largely an expression of a fear response. An evolutionary biologist could well argue that hatred is a manifestation of fear - the limbic system evolving to handle primary "fight or flight" type reactions and create categories sufficient to handle the labeling of more complex emotional states. It's easy to hate something we don't understand, as the object (or concept) in question may potentially have dangerous qualities. Fear response is a powerful motivator. Convince someone that they are in danger, or that their loved ones are in danger, and you're sure to get a response.

I find that I am striving to live a life that cannot be controlled by fear. That's difficult business, but certainly not impossible. That's not to say that I'm looking to jump off buildings, or pick fights with strangers. Instead, I'm confident that by refusing to be afraid I stand as an example to others who are. So many of my students are fearful of their peers and others (as I was); but, when they see someone unabashedly stand up for themselves, or express themselves, or simply see someone who says, "this is who I am, and you may hate me or love me, but you may not change me," it touches them. Boys, especially, need role models who are willing to break social norms while still remaining accepting, compassionate, out outgoing. Boys, especially, need role models who insist on using words before fists.

I think there are some great truths in what modern science offers. Astronomy teaches us that we are so small as to be absolutely insignificant in terms of the universe; but, it also teaches us that everything inside of us once came from the inside of a star. Modern neurobiology has shed some light on the potential ways that the brain works, and yet, the fact that it works is still shrouded in mystery. A phenomenal psychologist at the university of Toronto, Jordan Peterson, makes a compelling argument that every time we act selfishly we take the world one step closer to absolute oblivion, and that simultaneously with every selfless act we bring the world one step closer to harmony... and that responsibility belongs to each of us, every moment of everyday.

One of my favorite Emily Dickinson poems comes to mind as I reread the above:

If I can stop one Heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching
Or cool one Pain

Or help one fainting Robin
Unto his Nest again
I shall not live in Vain.
~ Emily Dickinson

I'm always touched in hearing that I'm in your thoughts. Please know that you're in mine as well.

Nerd Core Moment

2009-01-21T14:04:00.000-05:00

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.

- Frank Herbert

Gay or Straight... it's the Typical Matthew Question

2009-01-20T16:34:00.002-05:00

This Christmas I was up in Washington to see my dads. One night over a bit of whiskey I got talking with Rich (my Dad's husband, who I also call dad). He wanted to know if I was gay, straight, bi, or whatever. I gave him an answer which he felt was a bit veiled, and told him long story which distracted him from his original inquiry. As I've been thinking about it, I realize that it's a question I deal with regularly so I thought I'd organize some thoughts for him. Below is the letter that I sent.

-----

Dad,

So I’ve been thinking a lot about one of the conversations that we had back in Washington, and I feel like maybe it’s time to try and answer some questions. I’m complicated, strange, and often difficult to classify. While I could apply this to a broad spectrum of traits, it most often comes up in terms of my sexuality. Who is this boy with long hair, piercings, and an androgynous look? In answering the question, “am I gay or straight?” one of my friends put it best by saying, “I know what you are, you’re just Matthew.”

My first memory of being called “gay” was fourth grade. I wore a turtle neck to school, I think it was a mustard color (please don’t judge me for my fourth grade fashion foibles). I didn’t know what it meant, and only assumed that it carried some out-group connotation as I was hardly one of the “cool kids.” Lompoc is a relatively small town by California standards, and it doesn’t surprise me that my elementary school label would follow me into high school. In fourth grade I wore glasses, didn’t listen to the radio (except for an oldies station that played music from the 50s and 60s), and was in many ways a uniquely different kid. Fifth grade was much of the same, and it was at this point that I really began to notice a long standing trend in my life: my relationship with women. The psychology is arguable, as is the sociology behind it all, but I think it’s enough to describe the behavior. I was friends, platonically, with far more girls than boys. I assumed equality, and was often treated as “one of the girls,” in many respects. I think I was in second or third grade when I was invited to an all girls sleep-over. I stayed until 7 or 8, and then came home – it was obvious to me that I was being treated differently (after all, I was the only boy invited), but I didn’t understand why it would promote ill will from others. It was in fifth grade that I started playing the flute, another sure sign to my peers that I was not the typical boy. Elementary school faded into middle school where, still playing the flute and hardly possessing male friends, I was frequently whispered about or openly labeled as gay. I understood what they meant, but couldn't identify the reasons which motivated the commentary. Instead of wood shop I took home economics. I saw little utility in knowing how to make a clock or a box, but saw tremendous benefit in knowing how to sew and cook - as I assumed, even in middle school, that there would be a time in my life when I would need those skills for an autonomous life. Typically masculine activities seemed silly and pompous, motivated by a drive to show-off or gain attention. Nearly every sport just seemed like a different version of "keep away," only with points and uniforms. The arts always had more appeal to me, as did reading and technology.

It's worth noting at this point that we didn't talk about sex at home. Questions like: "what does it mean if someone calls you gay?" or "what is this sex thing anyway?" were unquestionably forbidden from my perspective. Such inquiries were off limits. Being raised in a fairly faith-based house, when I got older I simply assumed that I would be a virgin who married a virgin. I signed a "save sex" contract at Sunday school, and largely believed that anything sex was simply wrong. Hands down, no debate, wrong. This isn't to say that how I was raised was "good" or "bad," just a description of how I interpreted the world.

Back to middle school. There were a couple important features in middle school worth elaborating on. I rode the bus. Our neighborhood was not exactly a safe haven of enlightened individuals. Consequently, I got called a lot of things, picked on, and harassed on a regular basis. This was "normal." It was this shared bus ride that deepened a friendship that I had with a boy named Carl. I talked about him a bit when I was up in Washington. His mom and her partner were very sweet women, and always very accepting. I think they were the first lesbian couple that I ever saw. I also think they are why I still have a soft spot for lesbians. In Sixth grade I had my first "girlfriend," a relationship that lasted a whopping ten days. She decided that she wasn't interested in me anymore, and broke things off. We never kissed, in fact I don't know that we even held hands. It was also in middle school that my relationship with women became more deeply entrenched. I ate lunch with a group of girls every day, the only boy who did, and was often the one who was relied upon to answer questions or elaborate on topics that confused the girls. I distinctly remember having to explain to a younger friend what a diaphragm was, and why it would be used. This was also when the girls started their big transition. I was, therefore, included in conversations about periods, boys, shoes, bras, boobs, male failings, and on and on. More than ever, I was one of the girls. I assumed, at the time, that boys disliked me because of my proximity to women. I had lots of friends who were girls, so I figured that other boys envied my friendship with women. I now see that much of their contempt was probably motivated by misperceptions in terms of the nature of my relationship with these girls, as well as the rejection of masculine activities. With hindsight, I can see that the other boys probably saw all of this as pretentious, "better-than-you" types of behavior. Finally, it was in eighth grade that I cross-dressed for the first time. It was Halloween, I had lots of female friends who could help, and it seemed funny. I remember lots of conversations with the girls about how this experience would help me to understand what they "had to go through" in a typical day, and the "pain" of being a girl. I couldn't see any harm in it, and so I cross dressed, got called a variety of names, and largely let it all go.

High school was a whole different adventure. A totally different system of social stratification, along with a whole new importance tied to who you fucked, or didn't. I still played the flute, joined the drama club, joined the choir, still avoided sports, and was as gay as Alan Cumming to most people. I still didn't understand why. I knew a lot more about sex, though none of it was first hand experience, and certainly understood the drive to have it. Straight culture, however, still seemed confusing and distant to me. I had a rigorous college preparatory curriculum, and therefore had little time for relationships. I did date a few girls, though nothing ever went below the belt-line. Meanwhile, I was busy being a good and chaste Christian boy who continued to have a plethora of female friends. I gave back-rubs, and was always an ear ready to listen. I joked with Kyra(who you met) that I was a perfect surrogate boyfriend... all of the things girls wanted, with none of the pressures for sex. I was safe, honest, kind, non-threatening, respectful, and above all interested. Presented with a boy who was genuinely interested, girls quickly opened up to share their thoughts, dreams, hopes, fears, and curiosities. I was then, and continue to be, extremely valuable to women because I am safe, egalitarian, emotionally available, and interested. Women also assumed that because I was male that I could offer an unfettered and plain decryption of male behavior and psychology. I was the prefect pet. All of this, of course, only continued to deepen the animosity which boys had for me. Gay became fag, butt-pirate became ass-munch, and all of the other delightfully insipid hate speech teenagers can manage. It was my Sophomore year that a kid in PE picked me up by the waist and threw me on my face, breaking my nose. I knew that I was hated, I knew that I was labeled, I knew that hate crimes were made for me. There I was, a straight teen-age boy, thrust into the middle of an all-out homophobic grudge match. I, however, was not persuaded by violence. When I got my letter-man jacket (for drama, choir, and academics... I should have painted a target on my back) I had a quote from Emily Dickinson put on it, "I dwell in possibility...." This only prompted more violence, and more hate. At this point I was still pretty religious. I had started attending an Episcopalian Church, and embraced a strict regimen of turning the other cheek combined with chaste behavior. There were make-outs and dry humping with the girls I dated, but sex was strictly forbidden. I think it was my Senior year when I was propositioned by a friend. She explicitly told me that she wanted to have sex with me, and I turned her down based upon my moral beliefs. The theatre was my safe-space. I think this was largely because of our director and her partner. Jane and Laura were the next set of lesbians in my life who not only helped me stand on my own feet, but also believed in me. A beautiful couple with a tremendous 15 year age difference (actually it might be more) who I developed a great respect and love for. The high school years continued and all the while I regularly found myself in the middle of hate crimes, wondering what on earth I had done.

College was next, and was more of the same. When I was going to Alan Hancock I was largely insignificant to my peers. I was dating Melody at the time, and our relationship was predicated on the idea that I didn't speak to, or interact with other women. This was a large departure from my normal social networks, and was especially difficult in many ways. I was forbidden from speaking to, or communicating with, my friends. They were lonely years, but ones that taught me a lot. Mel and I started dating when I was still 18, and it was after 6 or so months of dating that we had sex. I had turned 19, and realized that I was a part of a scant 5% of people who wait until their late teens to loose their virginity. Nothing miraculous happened. The world didn't change, the inner secrets of straight culture weren't reviled to me. In some ways it was disappointing, but mostly I felt incredibly guilty. It was as though guilt saturated everything that I did, every thought that I had. I was sure that God was ashamed of me, that I was going to hell, that I was worthless, and that worst of all I had condemned a person that I loved to the same eternal fate. There was guilt, and guilt, and guilt. I thought about suicide a lot. I hated myself a lot. It was some of the most miserable psychological torture I could imagine, and I did it to myself, constantly. During all of this my sexuality was still being questioned on a regular basis, and I felt lost. The Church didn't have answers, sex didn't have answers, school had some answers but lacked others. I left Mel, and though it felt better I hated myself for it. I left the Church, and though I started a journal of what I really believed I hated myself for running away. After our relationship ended I started a two year stint of celibacy.

I became obsessed with my education. I buried myself in books, reconnected with old friends, and gave up on God as a deity. Every time I came upon a belief I had previously accepted, I questioned it and came to my own conclusions. I attempted to date, but failed time and time again. I did go out with one girl, who invited her friend, then talked about the three-somes, and what they had been involved in. It was all out of my league, it was all scary, it was all much more than I could imagine. I eventually left Hancock and started attending Fresno State. A theatre boy, who was taking dance classes - gay. This time, however, I encountered more questions than accusations. I was older than many of the other students in the department, so I often heard genuinely curious inquiries. I wasn't straight to them, but I wasn't gay exactly - though there was a boy who lusted after me for years. I was suddenly back to where I had been before: safe, egalitarian, emotionally available, and interested. Not exactly a pet anymore, more like an older brother who is always willing to talk. I talked about sex, about sociology, about astronomy, about physics, about discrimination, about whatever was interesting. I talked, and I listened, and I shared myself with honesty. I had given up Christianity, but still held fast to tenants about love and compassion for others.

As time has gone on, I still get many of the same questions... though during sex is the last time you want to hear, "are you sure you're not gay?" I can laugh about it after the fact, but it's a mood killer for sure. I break a lot of social norms, and deeply believe that all gender is drag. With plenty of sociology and psychology under my belt now, I find myself more analytical about the way in which I'm perceived. I know how to act like a man's man, and how to act like a boy that's a bit fem, or how to act like a queen. In reality, however, I think that a gender binary is a lie. There is no such thing as masculine and feminine as absolutes. Those concepts are socially constructed and reliant upon common agreement between active agents for a definition. I sleep with girls, but largely identify with gay culture. I have a lesbian friend who has difficulty imagining a gay-straight boy (or straight-gay boy) who understands both gay and straight culture, despite the fact that the two are frequently at odds with one another. In the past I have gone to great lengths to fit into one category or the other, though I largely see that as a waste of time these days. Without individuals who are willing to disrupt the perceived gender binary, without individuals who are willing to say, "fuck the rules," without individuals who are willing to be hated needlessly, we continue to find ourselves in a socially stagnant environment. Gandhi said, "be the change you want to see in the world...." So I am. I will not hide, and I will not be forced into some socially constructed identity. I'm willing to be spit on, to be attacked, to be called names, to be hated. All things that have happened before, all things that will happen again.

I know this is a long response to a question about my sexuality... but I also don't fit into a specific category, so perhaps a little extra explanation is fitting. :)

I'm sending you both much love,

Bitter Barn

2008-12-20T23:13:00.004-05:00

It is perhaps too easy to live in the bitter barn. We all have moments of disappointment, moments when our greatest efforts have no pay off, moments when we suddenly see ourselves in a way which we previously ignored. We all struggle to find our path, to find our sense of calm, to find peace with ourselves. Life is full of these moments, these trying times, so why not celebrate them? The more your learn about yourself the more you learn about others... the more you learn about others the more you learn about yourself. I'm just going to keep embracing the world with my platonic arms, always looking for deeper understanding.

Short one

2008-12-17T16:30:00.000-05:00

Does she love you?

Questions to Remember

2008-12-16T23:23:00.001-05:00

After a beautiful conversation with a very dear friend I'm left with two questions to ask myself regularly:

What would love do now?

Is this who I am? (Is this who I choose to be?)

Happiness

2008-12-16T12:29:00.004-05:00

10 Things Science Says Will Make You Happy
reposted from Yesmagazine.org

Questioning is good, right? Searching for meaning is good, yes? Striving to understand the world and one's place inside of it must have some benefit, right? One can certainly hope.

I struggle in understanding a lot of the world, and in understanding myself. Am I happy? Part of me wants to respond with a resounding, "No." But I can't help but consider the deep implications of that question. Am I happy? With my life? With my job? With me? With the world? Do I find joy in the world? Though it's tempting to say, "no," I think that has more to do with individual circumstances that are only a small part of the life that I live.

Am I happy? Yes. Though some of my friends and family may think otherwise, I think I am. I'm frustrated... I feel stagnant... I feel trapped... I sometimes feel small... but I am happy. I have close networks of friends, and I know that I can ask for support as well as support others. Though I have a lot of questions about the world and about humanity, I'm happy that I've ended up the way that I have. I'm happy in being the questioning, curious, androgynous, playful, spirited, zany boy that I've turned into. I'm happy knowing that I'm making a difference in the world, little bits at a time. I'm happy knowing that I'm loved... much more so than I would admit. Desperate to feel independent, to prove that I can make it, to prove that I'm worthy, to prove that I'm strong, to somehow demonstrate that someone was wrong; desperate in so many ways I think that I often sound and act as though I'm not loved, as though I think that I don't matter. I often walk as though I have the answers, talk as though I've climbed the mountains already, always afraid that I'll fall... afraid that I'll fail. Paralyzed by fear is no way to live, so why not decry fear... why not say the things you hope to believe, hoping all the while that you'll someday believe them?

I am happy... though I'm not always honest. Not always open. There are plenty of things which I simply do not discuss, do not share, and wonder if I ever will. I sometimes think that I've created a persona, a character, an idol which I can no longer worship... a figment of my imagination of which I no longer approve. After all, how could I honestly believe that I'm a "good" person when I know the truth about this complicated character? When I know the secret transgressions of this far-from-innocent person.

I was speaking with a friend the other day about the larger questions in the world... and about the impact that I believe religion had on me as a child. I said, "I think Christianity worked too well on me." By that I mean that I bought it, hook line and sinker. I believed. I hoped. I was convinced that to be Christ-like was the solution, that it would save me, that it would protect me, that it would mean that I was "good." I was busy practicing a desperate perfectionism that would only destroy me. I watched a system that was only practiced on Sundays, one that broke apart families because of human indiscretions, a system imperfect because it was practiced by imperfect beings. I watched it all crumble as the questions and problems became too complex for a circular belief system to handle.

Now, despite the fact that I've left that silly God business behind, I still find myself somehow deeply rooted in those ideas. I think moral systems are important, relevant, and necessary. What I can't stand, however, is a moral system built on feelings of guilt and fear... the tried and true ways of destroying a human being's hope and will. The ruinous nature of this archaic dogma seems so destructive to the human spirit that I blanch when thinking about it: "If you break these rules, if you fall out of God's favor, you will be punished... FOREVER... tortured... FOREVER...cast away...FOREVER!" Such suggestions seem unreasonable to a rational person, but to a child they leave a terrifying shadow to haunt you at every choice.

So here I am, struggling as human beings do, trying to understand my place and myself. Struggling to celebrate the beautiful nature of being alive, of being observant, of being... trying to see the garden for its splendor and beauty... trying to accept that I am human, and that being imperfect is okay.

Christmas Cheer

2008-12-16T11:49:00.000-05:00

God is Love?

2008-12-15T14:52:00.001-05:00

What's my problem? Maybe lots of things, though I realize that my crazy is deeply linked to my own issues which I refuse to completely deal with. That's lovely and abstract. I'm harder on myself than on others. I should be this, or I should be that... I shouldn't have done this, or I should have done that... all mental wanderings that we're all guilty of committing from time to time. While I would argue that such musings are often counter-productive, I can also see how they can have a positive impact on our lives. The ability to look back, and look forward, allows us the luxury of imagining a better solution to a problem posed. One might very well end up saying, "I never imagined that I could ____, but I did." Possessed of both positive and negative potentialities, these moments leave me wondering what kind of person I really am. Why I need so badly to categorize myself as "good" or "bad" escapes me... though I often suspect that it's deeply rooted in my childhood exposure to lots of good old fashioned christian systems. Sunday school, bible camp, summer music bible camp, worship group, choir, youth group, devotionals, prayer, church service, communion, et cetera. God loves you when you're good, shuns you when you're bad... old testament. God loves you when you're good, and loves you when you're bad, and is waiting to accept you when you've tired of your sinful life... new testament. (Author's note: it's easy to see a reductive fallacy in this simplified reasoning, I ask your forgiveness and that you bear in mind that we're discussing the feelings/hopes/wishes/dreams of an imaginary force, personified and translated from ancient texts) It hasn't been that long that I've been calling myself an atheist, and admitting this identity has brought with it all sorts of worry about how to classify the years of my youth. What do you take away from years and years of indoctrination? What beautiful concepts can you rescue? If much of your life is experienced through the prism of faith, how do you reconcile your life? Yourself? God is love... that's what I remember... that's one of the things that comes back to me all the time... God is love... so perhaps my understanding of God is shaped by my understanding of love... or perhaps my understanding of love is shaped by my understanding of God... God is love, but does it therefore make it true that Love is God? Is that only a unidirectional train of thought? If the statement is bidirectional does it follow that if I don't believe in God, that I don't believe in Love? Are my esoteric and existential questions about God comparable to my struggle to understand love? Where is forgiveness in all of this? Where is forgiveness for the self? Why does it feel easier to let go of the transgressions of others, while I continue to punish myself for my own? Is there any peace in all of this?

Perhaps the right place to start is to understand that love, just like God, is only a concept... and that we make it "real" through our interactions with the world. Because someone claims that these two concepts are comparable does not necessarily make them equal. Colloquially speaking: Time is money and money is time... though that doesn't mean that you can use a watch to pay your electric bills, nor that you can buy time with money... the concepts are linked by our consumerist culture, but they are fundamentally independent ideas. This is what I really need to focus on... while many concepts correlate with one another based up on our cultural systems, the independent merit of an idea can still remain valid despite connectivity to an broken dogmatic system. I've got to leave this thought before I'm done with it... but as I've been trying to figure out this problem for years, I don't think that a little more distance will hurt.

Pansexuality

2008-12-11T15:30:00.002-05:00

According to Wikipedia this is defined as follows:

Pansexuality, or omnisexuality^[1] is a sexual orientation characterized by the potential for aesthetic attraction, romantic love, or sexual desire for people, regardless of their gender identity or biological sex. Thus, pansexuality includes potential attraction to people who do not fit into the gender binary of male/female. Some pansexuals suggest that they are gender-blind; that gender and sex are insignificant or irrelevant in determining whether they will be sexually attracted to others.^[2]

The word pansexual is derived from the Greek prefix pan-, meaning "all". In its simplest form, pansexuality denotes the potential of sexual attraction to all genders. It is intended to negate the idea of two genders (as expressed by bi-).

The adjective pansexual may also be applied to organizations or events. In this context, the term usually indicates an openness to the involvement of people of all genders and sexual orientations in said organization/event, and not to the pansexual sexual identity.

Wikipedia and the difference between Pansexuality and Bisexuality

Bisexuality is a sexual orientation characterized by attraction to both men and women. Unlike pansexuality, it does not specifically include people who fall outside the gender binary. Pansexuality has been described as a "means to skip the binaries and essentialism of 'bi'."^[3]

However, many people who identify as bisexual are actually attracted to people who fall outside the gender binary. These people, who could be described as pansexual, have a variety of reasons for identifying as bisexual, including widespread unfamiliarity with the term "pansexual" as well as its negative connotations for some people.

Why the interest? Well, partially because of the email that I received today from ModernTonic promoting a website called BastardLife.com: A website that’s directed specifically towards pansexual men… i.e. those who identify love as love and without a particular gender attached. The website caters largely the demographic historically consider as bisexual men, but seeks to replace the idea of bisexuality with pansexuality. I would also say that this term draws some interest form me as I try to classify my own sexuality. I sleep with women, but that’s only part of my story. I find myself drawn to a more androgynous life-style, characterized by no specific gender norms. This lifestyle, while unassuming, does generate some blowback. What precisely do I mean by that? I mean to indicate that while I identify, sexually, as “straight,” I would characterize many other parts of my life as “gay.” The term Metrosexual made a lot of sense just a few years ago, but somehow it seems that I’ve heard less and less about the metro boys. Of course, all of this really strives to eliminate the gender binary we so happily embrace nearly unilaterally. Women who exhibit masculine traits are “butch” and men who exhibit feminine traits are “gay.”

Why the frustration with this?

Lots of reasons. First and foremost the language we use to denote some behavior that’s perceived as socially negative, in some sense, refers to a specific sexuality. There is nothing wrong with being gay, bi, questioning, etc. However, when we hear someone say, “God, he’s so fucking gay,” in reference to someone perceived as straight we identify this as having a negative connotation. In this sense, the descriptor “gay” has a loaded meaning. If you insert the opposite language into the same sentence, we encounter something which would be considered ridiculous, “God, he’s so fucking straight.” Who says that? No one. Why? Because “straight” has a socially positive connotation, as well as a largely assumed one. Despite the work of the gay-rights movement, despite the work of activists, and safe-space organizers we still encounter a phenomenally oppressive and straight-centric view of sexuality especially in regards to men. I’m sure that a counter argument can be made; however, as a male I’m especially aware of the limitations of my sexual expression. Currently in our culture it is completely acceptable for females to “experiment” or label themselves as bi; the same, however, cannot be said for men. Two men holding hands (or heaven forbid kissing, even if only on the cheek) typically illicit responses more traditionally associated with disaster than love or affection.

Would then a gradient of sexuality be better than our familiar binary? I have my doubts. A gradient seems just as likely to produce hierarchical steps, and I’m assuming that straight would be on top (that is still all the rage with the straight-as-an-arrow-missionary-style kids, isn’t it?). I suppose my great hope would be a wiliness to dismiss the emphasis that is so wrongly placed on who you fuck. Maybe I’m getting something wrong here, but it seems to me that the only reason someone’s sexuality should carry weight is if you want to fuck them. Deciding if you can go after the hot blond or the cowboy requires knowing who they’re potentially going to bed with in the first place, but this seems like the only circumstance where who they bang really matters. Maybe I’m made of crazy, but I can certainly hope that we see a change in how we construct our ideas about sexuality and human relationship.

Christmas Time Struggles

2008-12-08T15:15:00.003-05:00

Recently I got an email from one of my dads, requesting some thoughts about Christmas gifts. I’m not good at Christmas. Especially not lately. I’ve been wondering why, what is it about the season that gets me down? Christmas carols can be annoying, yes; mass consumerism is nauseating, yes; I don’t believe in the whole Jesus story anymore, true; interacting in a genial way with family who have terrible tract records is daunting, true; but what are the thoughts and feelings underpinning my grumbles?

Below is what I wrote as a response to the aforementioned email.

So, Christmas gifts are a hard question with me. Somewhere down the line I got it into my head that I just didn't want to equate love with material objects. I think a lot of this happened when I was involved with a young woman named M. Money was love to M, and love meant money. Her verbal reports were always that "things" didn't matter, but when it really came down to it, she measured how much I cared about her by how much I spent on her. It left a bad taste in my mouth, and while I love to give gifts to others, it's often difficult for me to accept them without a tremendous amount of guilt. I know, cognitively, that gifts are a way for others to express their care and concern... but, I often feel undeserving and ashamed when someone spends money on me. I suppose that I feel like I should be able to take care of myself, and that accepting help somehow proves that I'm incapable of that very task. I also spend a lot of time thinking about want vs. need in my life. There are a lot of things that I want, but few things that I actually need. I don't want to live a life based on consumer trends, motivated by objects and possessions. Instead, I've tried to create a life that's minimal and shaped by my connection to others. Money carries a lot of power, and I'm always wary about the influence that it has on my value and desire systems. I suppose that one might argue that all of those thoughts come from having very little, and several years characterized by a small income. A valid argument to be sure, but I've seen money/things change close friends and I don't want that for myself. None of this is to say that I'm unwilling to accept gifts, nor do I want it to sound like I'm being a kill joy, or grouchy... instead, I just wanted to give you an idea about why I'm so hesitant to ask for anything.

But, I think there’s more to it…

I won’t say that I grew up in poverty, that’s an exaggeration… but I did grow up knowing that money had value, and feeling that I had a dollar amount attached to me. I remember eating Top Ramen everyday when I got home from school. I remember not being allowed to buy new clothes unless they were off the sale rack… and hand-me-downs always came first. I remember being taught never to ask for money, or gifts, and to make as much as possible with the little we had. In contrast to those memories are the strikingly odd Christmas gifts… big gifts. I realize now, looking back, that Christmas afforded my parents the opportunity to give gifts they otherwise couldn’t. It allowed them the opportunity to show great love and care with things I would never otherwise think I might deserve. And that’s just it… I never felt deserving. I remember accidentally finding a Christmas gift one year. I was playing in the guest bedroom (which was really my mom’s sewing room), while I was rolling around on the bed I rolled into a gift that was hidden between the bed and the wall, covered by a quilt. I confessed. I cried. I had been told that if I went searching for gifts in the house, that whatever I found would be returned to the store. No Exceptions. I was worried that the gift would be returned, but was more worried that my parents would think that I was out to purposefully discover the secrets of Christmas. My apology was accepted, I got the gift, life went on.

As I got older, the oddity of Christmas began to haunt me more and more. Rifts in my parents’ marriage, concern over this and that, floundering oddities of other family members: it all began to change the taste of Christmas. It stopped being a safe holiday, or one filled with much joy. Instead it started to feel forced, pressured, and miserable.

Then my parents separated. Then they got divorced.

All tangled up with a girl, and lots of complicated circumstances I eventually found myself proposing to someone close to Christmas. She said yes, then things got worse. The magical spirit of the season didn’t save us, didn’t make our failing relationship any better, didn’t help me feel any better. That relationship ended, and life kept going.

I didn’t date for awhile, then I did… then I didn’t. Finally I ended up seeing a very pretty girl, who was wonderful. Her grandmother was very ill one Christmas. We went to wish her well, to lift her spirits, to share the love of the season. Her grandmother died, on Christmas day, in front of us. Her grandmother was a stubborn woman, and didn’t pass away until her family said goodbye… one by one, each giving her permission to let go. Merry Christmas.

I’m single. I don’t have any children in my life. I have very little family presence in my life. I don’t believe in the Christian saints, or Jesus, or God for that matter. What then, is left? The holiday feels empty and consumed by the compulsive need to give gifts which often don’t have any deep meaning. I would much rather have the time of others. I would rather have the gift of company and cheer: A beer and some cards, dinner and a movie, coffee and a walk in the cold crisp air.

World, please forgive me if I’m in the bitter barn. Please forgive my hesitance to embrace this candy coated consumer free-for-all. Please forgive me for wishing that for one moment the world could just embrace a little love instead of a MasterCard.

Scared… Terrified… Nauseated

2008-12-01T14:54:00.000-05:00

There are currently no words to describe what I’m feeling inside. I just registered for the GRE, and I don’t know what to do with myself… at all. I’m so fucking scared of this next step… scared of what it means, what happens if I fail, what happens if I succeed, frightened of the details, where will I live, will I get a fellowship, how will I pay for it, when will I move… a million details that have no answers. How do I navigate this?

I know that my fear of applying for grad school is really about my fear of failure, and a greater fear of being alone. I’ve made a lot of choices in my life without having to take another person into consideration, and this step proves, yet again, that I’m single-minded in my determination to assert my independence. I’m not looking for a wife, or a life partner, or even a dog… I’m not looking for a car, or a new wardrobe, or a house… I’m looking for the peace that comes from understanding, from deep exploratory thinking and research. I keep turning away from the things that seem so important to my peers, and instead I turn to ideas and concepts, proof that we’re more similar than different, proof that the voice in my head is undeniably analogous to the voice in yours… evidence that suggests the positive potential of humanity. Further, this choice suggests that I’m aware of what direction I want to head in as a grown up, that I want to create a stable life (or at least have the choice of having one), that I know something, that I have something to share, that it’s time to close this bizarre chapter of my life and start something new. Miserable as we sometimes are, the familiar is always so much sweeter than the unknown. Instead, I’m looking at moving back to my home state, to Pennsylvania, or possibly Texas. I’m a west coast kid, who loves the ocean and misses it dearly, heavily considering the next 4-6 years (depends on the institution and the program) in the middle of the country. I’ll be 27 when I start… which means I’d be somewhere between 31-33 when I’m finished. 31 with a PhD. That’s simultaneously the most awesome and the scariest thing EVER. I can honestly say that in these short 26 years, I look back on a life devoted to educating myself and others… a life whose core values have been to question, learn, and share. I often feel that I don’t know who I am, don’t know where I’m going, don’t know what I’m worth. I know that going to grad school won’t answer any of those questions… but, I’m sure that’s what I need to do… confident that this step is going to change my life in ways that I can’t see or understand… confident that things will be so different that I can’t begin to understand how.

So, I registered for the GRE… can I just puke and move on now? Please?

Allan Sherman

2008-11-25T12:00:00.000-05:00

Love is Love

2008-11-12T13:54:00.002-05:00

Death of a Role Model

2008-11-10T23:53:00.002-05:00

I just found out today that one of my role models from childhood passed away. He was a beautiful man full of compassion and joy. I don't think I ever saw him angry, and I always wanted to impress him. He was a father and a grandfather, a role model that defined the just and compassionate man. He loved to laugh, and he loved to learn. He loved to build things with his hands, and loved things that grew out of the earth. He was the kind of man that I hoped I could one day be. There is great joy in knowing that he has left a world that is bound by suffering, but it is still hard to see him go. I owe so much of who I have become to that man... I only wish I could have said thank you.

Rainy Thoughts

2008-11-06T13:18:00.001-05:00

The Buddha believed that we were not as different as we like to imagine, and that the world holds some truths that we can count on:

We’re recycled… all the water we have is all the water we have, just filtered and recycled over time. We’re constantly creating new cells to replace the ones which have died or outlived their usefulness. Our bodies are made from earth and water, the same which made many other bodies before us… we are all just recycled earth and water. Further, the Buddha would teach us to see our emotions as recycled energies. Moods are contagious, and joy and despair are transferred forms of though and energy. In this way, we are not so unique as we think we are… instead, we are just reflections of each other… made of the same things, sharing the same things, all going the same place. The Beatles said, “I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.” Which is precisely what Buddha meant.

If you watch your breath, you will find that it has an arising and a subsiding… if you watch the waves on the beach, you will find that they have an arising and a subsiding… if you watch the sun in the sky, you will find that it has an arising and a subsiding. That is to say: if it has a begging, it must also have an ending. This is the nature of the material world, which tells us that the material world is impermanent. Everything that begins, will also end… the miserable math test that seems like it will never end, will… the pain and suffering of loss which seems never ending, will in fact fade away… the beautiful green of summer will fade, and the bitter cold of winter will warm… love affairs will come, and they will go… friendships will come, and they will go… but just like the spring, they’ll return in due time. Do not fear loneliness, do not fear failure… they’re only illusions, only fleeting circumstances.

Hardly Prolific

2008-10-29T16:48:00.000-04:00

I have hardly been prolific when it comes to writing for this blog. Lately I’ve been a wreck, and so out of a fear of seeming unraveled I’ve avoided writing. No one likes to hear someone complain about how terrible things are going, or how miserable they feel, or this or that. I think what’s been happening in me is different than all of that, it’s just been difficult to find language for. I love language. I love finding the right word, or the right combination of words that can accurately express what’s going on in my mind.

Language, however, has its failings.

I think back to several psychology articles that I’ve read. The ability to process an event with language means is somewhat reliant upon your ability to conceptualize and model the circumstances cognitively. Lately it seems that I’ve been so locked in an affective whirlwind that I’ve had a difficult time relaying what’s happening. Just this last weekend I was unable to describe some of the things that are frustrating me to a close friend. Here’s someone that I’m very close to, yet I couldn’t seem to find the right words for how I was feeling or what I was thinking.

Change…

We all change. We are always changing. Right this moment the systems in your body are changing you, remaking you, building and deconstructing all that you are. Somewhere in your body new cells are being made, while others are being recycled, others are being destroyed. Change is still difficult… despite the fact that it’s all we do, that we’re anything by constant, that we’re compelled to be different… it’s still hard. I’m ready for some big changes, but getting there is hard work.

Patience…

This is difficult business. Lately it seems that my capacity for patience has been diminishing. I think I’ve figured out a part of that, but I can’t seem to get a hold on why I’m feeling so prone to boil over. I need to work on how I see myself… I need to remember that we’re all just reflections of one another, not so different as separated by circumstance and experience. I think our capacity for compassion largely comes from our willingness to see ourselves in others. I want to be grumpy pumpy pants about dishes left in the sink, but at one point in my life I committed those same sins. I think about theatre… the notes that I’ve been given most often are the notes I give most often. In Ballet I could count on being given the note, “contain your ribs.” Consequently, I’m quick to recognize when dancers do not contain their ribs… my own guilty commission is quick to catch in others, because I’ve been caught doing the same thing so many previous times. More than other times in my life, I find myself needing to be patient with me. Perhaps that’s part of what’s so maddening. It’s one thing to be patient and compassionate with others, and certainly more difficult to offer yourself the same.

2008-10-17T14:56:00.001-04:00

Letter Stuffs

2008-10-14T23:44:00.003-04:00

So, awhile back one of the dancers in a class that I frequent was asking questions about dance and psychology. As it turns out, this particular dancer was inquiring for a friend about links between the two. I offered an article that I had recently read to be passed along, as well as offering my email address incase the friend of this dancer was interested in what I thought/had researched... weeks passed, and then I got an email... so I responded:

I received your e-mail from [name removed], along with an article. I understand she mentioned my interest in a psychological study on some aspect of dance (most of my interest lies in contemporary choreography and movement, as well as other creative concepts in dance). I'm having trouble finding a specific area to construct a study to be carried through- that is psychology related. If you have any ideas, it would be greatly appreciated! And if no, any other information you could provide would be great!
I'm not too familiar with psychological concepts in dance so I'm finding it difficult to get started.

Thanks for your time!

My response

Please excuse me if I seem a bit punchy as I write this... I just had a 13.5 hour day with students, and I'm still reeling a bit from the go-go-go pace it's been.

Dealing specifically with contemporary dance I think you can ask a lot of questions... but some of what you can ask, or study, is related to the time and resources that you have available, as well as your specific area of interest.

Unfortunately it's difficult to find much research on the link between psychology and dance. Dance and theatre are traditionally lumped into a category that excludes contemporary evaluative models, at least in relation to quantitative research. This makes it extremely tricky to approach these topics from a psychological standpoint as "art" is often considered purely subjective... though there are documented tenants of "beauty": symmetry, shape, color, etc.

Where then to start if the very topic of your interest is largely considered "out of bounds." I think part of the solution lies in the necessary questions that arise as you look closely at dance across cultures. I would consider the work of Paul Ekman and his search for universals in facial displays as concurrent with emotional states as a potential launching point. What universals about dance can be found across cultures? Human culture contains consistent display rules, can we consider Dance a part of these larger display rituals? How does the influence of dance change or translate from one culture to the next? This may potentially lead you to larger questions, like: what is dance? How do we measure skill? Do we consider the playful mimicry of a 5 year olds in their first recital to be on par with with professionals who have trained all of their lives? (The easy answer to this last question is "no," though that begs the question: why would a group of people watching children stumble through a dance can create heartfelt sentiment, while the same audience observing a group of professional modern-contemporary performers yield a response of "I just don't get it.")

So perhaps it is more useful to think of dance as a solution to an expressive problem. Jordan Peterson would argue that dance speaks to us about something that is larger than language. Words, in fact, are too small to precisely describe what it is that we're observing. Though language is one of our favorite technologies, it's sometimes useless. How do you describe what it was to see Baryshnikov? YouTube can't be the same, can it? How do you describe color to someone who is blind? Or sound to someone who is deaf? We live dimensional lives in bodies that move though space. It seems to me that we strongly relate to dance precisely because of our universal human experience of movement. We all move in some way, and so the experience of dance (a specialized type of movement) is accessible to all of us.

It's here that things start to become a bit tricky. I think you could look in one of two directions when considering dance: affective or cognitive.

Affective:
In some ways we relate to movement on a purely emotional level. All of us have tripped, or fallen, or flown through the air (jumping or being tossed), and those experiences have strongly correlated affective responses. Those things mean something larger than the words we might use to describe them. So large, in fact, that they resonate in observers without the presence of words. Choreographers may teach a combination in terms of spatial and rhythmic language, but the performance element is frequently (if not always) described through affective language. "I really need you to burst on the four," "Really reach away from yourself for the 4, 5, 6," "I want you to really scoop up with your arms, as though you were reaching into the earth," and on and on. Unless you happen to be at ACDFA, you hardly ever hear reports from audience members of "oh, he really nailed the down accent on the jumps in the seventh set of eights," or "god, her alignment is so precise that it really allows her to maintain that turn for a full six counts." Instead, you hear largely affective reports from audience members... thoughts about how they were changed emotionally, or what they experienced emotionally because of what they witnessed. At the same time, the dancers we seem to admire the most, count the least. Instead of placing an emphasis on the mechanics of the performance, it is that "other" element that makes them so compelling to watch... the fact that somehow they seem to "own" the choreography... they internalize and conceptualize a series of spatial patterns in such a manner as to transform the movement into "something else." This isn't to say that they forget the mechanics, but rather that the mechanics are so refined and internalized, that they seem to reach beyond the technical.
K... so, what do you do with this? Survey dancers (most classes give you the opportunity to be both participant and observer of combinations) about what they admire in one another and why. Look for patterns in language that indicate the affective nature of the experience.
Ask dancers why they dance... ask audience members why they watch... take a piece and create a survey for audience members... is there consistency in what they report from the experience? Where does that come from? Are there shapes, tempos, patterns that illicit specific emotional responses from either audience members or dancers? Give yourself permission to really ask crazy questions and see where it gets you.

Cognitive:
As much as dance is affective, I think it's also largely cognitive. It's a learning method that allows you to transcribe the movement of another person and transpose that onto your own body. That can't happen without first approximating the motor coordination, executing various attempts of the same movement, and finally refining motor control. Writing with a pen on a piece of paper is as much fine motor control as being balanced in a demi-pointe arabesque. The extent of the ability of a performer to be expressive is related to the precision control of the instrument... think pen... think scalpel... think french horn. The cognitive process of defining and refining muscular control and how that shapes perception is undeniable. I remember one of the first times I really felt my toes spread out inside of my ballet shoes to grip the floor... I remember after a seemingly endless rehearsal that when I put my street shoes back on I thought, "God, these feel like rectangles." How does the dancer continue to re-conceptualize the world based upon more and more scrutinized observation of the world? Ballet dancers trip on uneven surfaces because they're trained to never look down, that all surfaces are flat, level and with any luck wood-sprung. Dancers also learn that any new skill comes at the price of risk and potential injury. How many times do you land the leap the wrong way before you're extremely careful about placement? What does it mean to be partnered? What does it mean to trust another dancer to catch you? lift you? drag you? support you? What lessons are transfered from the studio to the "real" world? How does that cognitive transference work? Large corporate offices send their employees to weekend workshops where they do trust falls with the hope that those experiences will transcend a weekend retreat and find application in office life. What do we learn in the studio that we then take into the world? What do we learn in the world that we bring into the studio? Can we solve larger conceptual problems with dance?

Finally some more open ended questions worth considering:
Where do "I" go when I'm dancing? - Is being lost in a combination that you know inside and out similar to being in a meditative state?

Why do we stifle dance as a creative outlet in children? - Nearly all children dance given the opportunity, but few adults seem to follow suit

Who changes who? Does the performer change the audience or does the audience change the performer? Is the performance for the audience or is it for the performer? Is it both?

I would guess that all of this is probably daunting... I've been thinking about these things for awhile now, and it's these things that I want to devote my graduate studies to understanding. Don't try to find all of the answers at once. Start small and see if you can build from there, or start huge, and see if you can distill some observations. Take a look at the links below when you get a chance as well, both videos are about 20 minutes a piece.

Take a look here for a bit of inspiration:
http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/ken_robinson_says_schools_kill_creativity.html

http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/michael_moschen_juggles_rhythm_and_motion.html

I truly hope that this helps, and I'd love to chat/exchange more correspondence if you'd find that helpful. Please feel free to find me on IM, give me a call, or drop me another email. Sending you warm wishes as you ask complex questions.

All my best,

Universal Human Rights

2008-10-13T15:07:00.001-04:00

What's in my Head

2008-10-13T12:44:00.003-04:00

I wrote to a good friend today and decided to share a chunk of the letter I composed:

On being single... I'm going to use this wonderful opportunity in writing you to write down some of the thoughts that have been running around in my head, please forgive me if I seem to ramble. At the ripe old age of 26, looking fearfully ahead to 27, single suddenly feels daunting in a way that it hasn't before (by the way, I hope you had a good laugh at "ripe old age of 26"). I think it's partially linked to this place. Keene is a beautiful little town, but it's really for college students and young families. There isn't really a singles community, and so I think my real problem is with the feeling of general isolation rather than being specifically about a romantic endeavor. More and more I recognize the needs in my life. It's easy to live without sex, but I feel a bit starved when it comes to daily affection. In a good week I get maybe 10 hugs. I'm the kind of person who really needs more like 5 or 10 hugs a day. I think it is this affection vacuum that truly taxes me more than anything. Stress, responsibility, deadlines, and on and on can be plenty miserable, bit it's this absence of genuine human contact that truly brings me down. I think I could happily live without a long standing romantic affair if I felt like my affection needs were being met. As it stands now it seems that a small fear is slowly gaining ground inside of me. I worry that my ability to love is slowly atrophying. Perhaps the fear of not being able to deeply love is sign enough to encourage me... my deepest fear is that I will allow an embittered and jaded spirit the occasion to color my vision of the world. I feel deeply committed to seeing each person as the beautiful manifestation of the universe that they are, I would be discouraged if I found that I allowed the seeds of indifference safe harbor in my heart. Back in 2007 I had the opportunity to meet Andre DeShields. He's truly a wonderful man and I had the opporunity it see him perform for a small group of people. His performance was a phenomenal amalgam of theatre, dance, and stunning physicality. For the end of his performance he talked about "Artificial Intelligence," but not in the space age computers-running-the-world sense. Instead, he aproached attacked the things that we say in order to keep from being hurt. He took the opportunity to hold the hands of each audience member, and give them a specific moment all their own. Two specifically stick out in my mind, Andre's moment with the person next to me, and my own. Next to me, I heard, "Artificial Intelligence: To build what is in your dreams it will cost you everything, take longer than you can imagine, and leave you with moments when you doubt that you've made the right decision... build it anyway." Next, Andre took my hands in his and looking in my eyes he said, "Artificial Intelligence: People are mean, selfish, needy, and complicated. They will take everything from you, only to leave you hurt and empty... love them anyway." To be filled with love is a difficult thing... but for as difficult as it may be, I can not help but think that it's the only way to really live. I suppose that I feel caught between what it means to love, unconditionally, and yet feel powerfully shut out. I find myself encouraging people I don't know, hugging those I've only know briefly, offering what I have whenever I can, and looking to help others see the world as a beautiful manifestation of cosmic forces beyond our limited methods of perception. Emulating great masters of peace and love is a fine practice, but what do I do when it seems that everyone I know is getting married? Or having children? Why is the path less traveled so much more difficult? Will it always be this difficult? Will I always feel this lonely? I know that I'm a part of everything and everyone, and that everything and everyone are manifest in me in some way... so why can't I help but long for a kiss goodnight? Or arms to wake up to? Why must I be so damned imperfect? I suppose it wouldn't hurt to love myself a bit more, as well as to be a bit more patient.

Happy Birthday John

2008-10-09T15:15:00.001-04:00

He would have been 67 today...

Shame on you America

2008-10-09T14:00:00.002-04:00

I'm not afraid to say that you make me fucking sick... Sick to my stomach. Let's burn down the empire. While we're at it let's round up anyone other than white straight people and burn em at the stake. Piercings... tattoos... lets put you in prison.

America don't let me down. Please can we just try something different?

Toot the Horn

2008-10-09T11:47:00.003-04:00

I haven't written a good long blog here for some time. It seems that lately I've been focused on my mobile blog (maybe because it's just fun to use the iPhone) and the mountain of work that I'm facing. In the midst of all of the other things happening, I'm also looking at grad schools and grad programs. I hate blowing my own horn, but it seems that part of the aplication process is making yourself look as phinominal as possible. Below is the letter that I keep editing and sending to grad program coordinators in an effort to find the program that's going to be right for me.

-----

To Whom it May Concern,

I'm a 2006 alum from CSU, Fresno where I received my B.A. in Theatre. I began my post secondary adventure in 2000 when I enrolled at Alan Hancock College in Santa Maria, California. I was young with great aspirations and goals for the coming years of my life. Many things changed as obstacles big and small came into my life, but I was determined to become an educated member of a world community. Originally I planned on completing a terminal degree in English Literature, as I had been convinced by my high school guidance counselor that one couldn't have a "real life" with a degree in theatre. It wasn't long, however, before I found myself drawing countless parallels between my humanities courses and the stage. After completing an Associates Degree in Liberal Arts I transferred to CSU, Fresno to pursue a degree in acting. I originally intended to only complete the courses necessary for a Bachelor of Arts, but soon found that I had too many questions that needed to be explored before I left. I stayed on for an additional year, and when I graduated I had performed in thirteen productions, served on the student elected board for the student operated production company, served as the student liaison to the faculty for the same student production company, participated in countless workshops, mentored incoming freshmen, competed and shared work at both KCACTF and ACDFA, and was the first Dance/Theatre student to receive the Dean's Medal from the College of Arts and Humanities.

I have been thinking long and hard about grad school for two years now, only to become confident that I need to learn more. I've been trying to answer a question since I was first doing my undergrad work: What is so compelling about theatre/dance? When I first started at Fresno State I was an Acting Emphasis student. Soon, however, I discovered that just straight theatre wasn't enough. I was soon in the dance studio at least once a day, and by the time I graduated I had all but one class necessary for a Dance Emphasis (unfortunately Fresno State did not allow a theatre student to have a double emphasis at the time). I also took opportunities to work with several Dance Theatre companies, ever searching for answers to questions like: What is theatre, really? What is dance? What makes these so compelling to watch in person? Where do "I" go when I'm on stage? Is theatre slowly dying? How can we get more people to see live theatre? How could I convince someone that theatre/dance are essential ingredients in primary and secondary education? et al. To top it all of, I soon became enthralled with circus equipment. The idea that one could defy the traditional ideas about spacial dimensions on stage and get someone in the air was thrilling.

After I graduated I took a job in New Hampshire at Keene State College, where I am currently still employed. I work for a federally funded educational outreach program that's geared towards providing counseling/educational outreach services for low-income first-generation potential college students. Of the eight high schools that my program serves, I travel to four of them. During the academic year I provide services that are similar to a high school guidance counselor: course selection, college recommendations, letters of recommendation, personal advocacy, etc. Additionally, I provide more traditional counseling services, tutoring, organization and execution of college visits, communication with college staff (helping students make contact with admissions and financial aid) etc. The summers are a little more complicated. I work on a team that runs a residential component for the same program. For eight weeks I live in a dorm, supervise the staff and students, and administer much of the program. The best part, however, of my summer is that I also have the opportunity to teach. In the past I've taught theatre, dance, comparative religion, graphic design, a smattering of humanities related electives, web technologies, and so on. More than anything else, I'm compelled by the fascinating ways that students interact and the parallels that I see to the theatre and dance world.

I also moved to New Hampshire because of a circus school that is a quick thirty minutes away from Keene. For the past two years and change I've been training on fabric, static trapeze, and doing partner/hand balancing. This was one of the primary opportunities that motivated my choice to move to the North East. I wanted to embrace a kind of Theatre that pushed the boundaries of what seemed possible, really take on spectacle with some ferocity and see if there was a way to incorporate it into more traditional dance/theatre productions. I had visions of productions of Dracula with an actor suspended from a trapeze above the stage, or a Mid Summer with faeries descending on fabric, a Frankenstein on stilts, and on and on. After two years of training I've realized that as wonderful as those things would be, they wouldn't really answer the questions that I started out with. In addition to circus work I've also continued to perform with Keene State, as well as taking as many dance classes as possible. I've attended some phenomenal workshops, and had opportunities to work with companies like Pilobolus and Five Hundred Clowns. I've also been compelled to continue learning. Thanks to iTunesU I've been able to download and listen to lectures of about psychology, human emotion, neuroscience, physics, anthropology, religion, cognition, and so on. It has been these lectures that have driven me to search for answers, and along the way develop more questions (or perhaps just more succinct questions).

Where has all of this research, training, and performance gotten me? Consciousness. I'm enthralled with cognition, affect, and consciousness. How do these change the audience, how do they change the performer? Where does it come from, what does it mean, how does it operate (psychological models, as well as physiological models), and what have we done with these systems (both purposefully and accidentally)? If we take the studio as a laboratory, what can we take from there and apply to larger systems? I truly think that cognitive and affective research have keys to some of these questions, but perhaps more interesting are the questions we'll ask next. As well as helping me get to the bottom of questions like "what is so compelling about theatre/dance anyway?"

I would love to find a program that would allow me to really delve deep into these questions, so I turn to you for some direction. I've done a fair bit of searching, and realize that I'm really looking more towards a Ph.D. program that would allow me a fair amount of latitude in terms of creating an interdisciplinary curriculum. I would also love the opportunity to work with undergrads, teach, and do some research. From an educational philosophy stand point, I'm really more interested in sharing and collaborating than being in the lime light; furthermore, I would like to find a program that would allow me the opportunities to give back as much as possible. I connected with the theatre/dance department here at Keene State when I arrived, and have taken every opportunity to do any amount of mentoring with undergrads possible. I think it is absolutely essential that students have professors and grad assistants that can really push them to ask difficult questions and dive deep into their practice/study.

So, there you have a bit about me and what I'm looking for. Any of your time and advice would be greatly appreciated. Many thanks.

Kind Regards

Directed by Mervi Vesala

2008-09-18T09:09:00.003-04:00

I love you
I want to love you tender
I just want to be your love defender (might be "loving fender")
I would like to take you
Where no one can be seen you

I love you
I too can be so tender
I can be your only sweet surrender
And if you give your heart
I never ever leave you

Dare I Say Awesome?

2008-09-17T13:11:00.002-04:00

I love Geek Love

Raptor and Me

2008-09-16T11:54:00.000-04:00

1 minute, 25 seconds

Created by Bunk Beds Pedia

Oh boy... here we go

2008-09-15T15:15:00.001-04:00

Disney wants to tell you all about that time of the month...

My Hope

2008-09-14T00:06:00.000-04:00

Awesome song by a pretty cute artist... nice

Ben Folds... You don't know me...

2008-09-12T15:31:00.000-04:00

Now for some contrast with a little Ben Folds goodness

For the White Folk

2008-09-12T15:28:00.001-04:00

Are you struggling to understand hip-hop culture? Here's a little translation:

Why I’m Single

2008-09-12T14:31:00.001-04:00

Another beautiful snippit from conversations I have with others... maybe I'm close minded on this one... or maybe I've just been too close to the fire

me: I don't think sex is a negotiable part of a relationship for me anymore... and I say that because currently I'm absolutely opposed to the idea of marriage and children

me: those are two non-negotiable terms... I'm not going to marry anyone, and I'm not going to be having offspring... now, I could certainly change my opinion about those things... but no one has yet given me reason to believe that those would be good ideas

Friend: LOL wow
i think the idea of someone thinking you're so amazing that they want to guarantee to wake up with you every morning no matter what life throws at you to be a wonderful thing

me: maybe I'm just jaded by my experiences... but I see marriage as an archaic system which reinforces ownership of individuals as property, a system that is unfairly regulated by governments and religious institutions, whose execution has only about a 50% success rate. If I'm so wonderful that someone want to wake up next to me for the rest of their life, I'd like to see them do it for 6 months first

Friend: I cannot wait to love someone enough to want to give myself as a gift and be recognized as belonging to him
i do not find that sort of ownership dissuading

me: that absolutely makes my skin crawl to read…
that kind of ownership is totally unappealing to me... to be owned or to have someone give themselves to me... both make me shudder

Friend: I'm sorry you feel that way...I find a sort of beauty in submitting to someone I respect that much
not in the demeaning sense, but in the ability to lavish my attentions on solely
THAT is what I desire from a marriage
to be able to love someone like no one else can

me: why does it take a ring and a promise to love someone?

Friend: it doesn't...but its safer that way

me: safe from what?

Friend: from abandonment when things get tough

me: I want to be involved in a relationship that's based on compassion, communication, and involvement... behaviors and ideas that make an absolute promise unnecessary... I don't want a piece of gold to be what keeps someone in my life
that seems unreasonable and unfair

Friend: not if that's the tangible reminder of the desire you have devoted to that person
the gold shouldn't be the thing keeping you from walking out the door
but rather the reminder of what you've intangibly promised, through thick and thin

me: I'm not ever going to ask someone to promise me that... it's unreasonable... "Promise me that you'll stay around, no matter what... no matter what."

Friend: I would love the love of my life to ask that

me: That's demeaning, and devaluing... a person should always have the choice about staying or leaving

Friend: I would hope they never WANT that choice
if it's a life-long commitment

me: maybe they'll never want it... but they should feel like it's a decision they could make… a person should feel that they still possess the individual freedoms that allow them to choose a different life

The Renewed Mind is the Key

2008-09-12T09:36:00.002-04:00

I just can't seem to get enough of these videos these days

...step, touch... step, touch... step, touch... step, point... grapevine...
dance you sassy white boy... I said DANCE Fucker!

Jesus is a Friend of Mine...

2008-09-05T10:09:00.002-04:00

OMG! WTF?

"He is like a Mountie... he always gets his man
And he'll zap you any way he can... zap!"

Conversations

2008-09-03T15:29:00.002-04:00

These are the kinds of conversations I have over IM

me: k... just sounds like you're not letting go, so much as you're postponing your emotional affect

friend: ...feel free to explain that to me further.

i need to go to lunch

but leave an explanation for me to read when I get back :)

me: got it

me: K, so you say that you want to "let go" and to "move on."Both wonderful statements of purpose and direction. However, that intention seems counter to your emotional reaction "i still want it to work out later on, after we've both grown." Letting go means not planning for the future... nor hoping for the manifestation of a particular set of circumstances.

Sent at 3:10 PM on Wednesday

me: So while you're miserable now, "i still want it to work out later on, after we've both grown," there still exists the potential for a reunited love "after we've grown."

Simply, it sounds like your setting yourself up for disaster... heartbreak... let down

Sent at 3:11 PM on Wednesday

me: Kirkegaard eloquently describes this problem as a conflict to be address one of two ways: by choosing the path of a Knight of Faith, or a Knight of Resignation.

Sent at 3:13 PM on Wednesday

me: The Knight of Resignation assumes that love can never purely be actualized in life... instead it is the notion of love that has power and influence. Thus, it is better to celebrate and practice a love that has resigned itself to never be actualized because it is deep and pure in its execution. Love without the physical elements, without passion.

Sent at 3:14 PM on Wednesday

me: The Knight of Faith trusts that even if everything is lost... even if your beloved leaves you, that it is the act of love that has true value. The Knight of Faith stares into the face of chaos, assumes the worst, but has faith for the best. Passionate and messy, the Knight of Faith leaps into the void, trusting that somehow there will be rescue.

Sent at 3:17 PM on Wednesday

me: This isn't to imply that one is better than the other, but rather to describe a particular set of emotional solutions to a complex problem.

Sent at 3:19 PM on Wednesday

me: However, it sounds like you're playing the role of Resignation, when you really want Faith. That's my worry for you. I have an incomplete picture of your boy... but from what I've heard, it sounds more like he's a Knight of Resignation... which will only make things harder

Sent at 3:20 PM on Wednesday

me: I just don't want to see you hurt any more than you need to over this boy... that's all

I'm totally blindsided by tonight...

2008-06-24T01:27:00.000-04:00

Next to the building that I'm living in this Summer (with 64 high school students, and 13 live-in staff) is a Fraternity House. Known for its less than shining reputation, I had anticipated this being a bit of a bummer. What a treat was in store for me. These lovely gents find a way to party, scream, drink, blast their music, and generally make an ass of themselves until somewhere between 1 and 3 AM. I'm a night owl, I work late, and during the summer I hardly sleep. However, my staff does sleep and so do my students. Being in a position to be just across the street from someone puking their guts out at 1:00 AM somehow doesn't seem conducive to a learning environment.

This evening, I called the police. I've already talked to these gents myself... as have other members of the staff. Their response was to scream, "38 Years, we're not leaving... Move to Carl." This was about 30 minutes after the police left. Somehow I'm just not impressed. For some reason male posturing as demonstrated by how many girls you can sleep with, or how hard you can retch over your balcony just doesn't matter to me. For some strange reason, I just find their attitude, behavior, and demeanor generally disgusting. While it would be lovely if I could find it in my heart to just ignore them, their behavior has a direct impact on the lives I'm trying to influence. It's just fucking disgusting to me. On that note, I still have hours of work ahead of me, off to the mines.

Not so Unique After All

2008-05-31T10:53:00.001-04:00

Interesting findings here...

Statistical huh?

2008-05-28T14:21:00.001-04:00

I’ve been thinking... as usual, in particular about something I heard in a lecture once. Deepak Chopra was giving a talk in Toronto about consciousness. As it turns out, we are all statistical improbabilities. The very fact that we exist is highly unlikely. In what way? Every one of us has two parents, that is a sperm and an egg were involved in our manifestation. We are the product of two people in a given mood, on a given day, in a given year, in their lives. Each of our parents has two parents of their own. Each grandparent has two parents of their own as well, and on and on. Less than a dozen generations is literally billions of people. Billions that had to love, and live, and be in a certain mood for you and me to be here today.

miracle - noun, a highly improbable or extraordinary event, development, or accomplishment that brings very welcome consequences (New Oxford English Dictionary)

We are a highly improbable event... does that make us miracles? Each of us?

----------

I’ve been having a lovely conversation with a co-worker about human existence. This particular debate has been about the nature of being... is the world only the things that make it up, or is the world more? Are we limited to the corporeal, or is there something ephemeral in the universe? Are your brain and your mind the same thing?
I’ve been having this conversation with several individuals, and it’s interesting to me that people keep hearing me say that I believe that we are only the biology... that we’re finite. What I actually believe is very different. I do, however, think it important to ask the question and really consider the ramifications of the answer.

Daniel Stine of Dell Arte International was giving a workshop at a KCACTF years ago out west. As he was talking about the nature of art and human experience he said something very profound... something I wrote down in a journal and have since memorized and carried in my head:
The metaphysical transcends to the physical and
The physical transcends to the metaphysical.

What, who, how, huh?
The things in the “real” world translate to and correspond with the created perceptual world in our mind... and vice versa. I can imagine one of my friends right now, “yes, well of course. Did you really need someone to tell you that Matthew?” No, but it’s an interesting way of framing a very important idea. We don’t live in the “real” world. Our bodies live in this world, but our perceptual system is what feeds our consciousness, which is in turn responsible for generating the user experience that is “life.”
Lets think about the senses for just a moment. Imagine that your consciousness is like a computer model of the world. Your body gathers information in order to make this model as accurate as possible. All day, every day, your brain is busy comparing the data generated by the model to the actual data gathered from the perceptual world. This complex patterning allows you to anticipate all sorts of things, as well as operate in general. Let’s talk peepers for a moment. In order for you to see in “real-time” your brain actually has to cheat... information from your retina actually arrives too late, only by a few milliseconds but still late. This means that your brain anticipates what it is expecting to occur using the model rather than the actual data. You see what your brain is anticipating, rather than what is happening. I can hear someone saying, “Lies!!!!” out there. Unbelievable as it may seem, it’s actually true. In fact, this is why magic tricks work. The illusionist has fooled your brain into perceiving something by hijacking your visual-perceptual model.
So I’m tricked? What’s the big deal? Well, lots of things really. What about the euphemism: “living in your own little world.” That statement could be far more true than we give it credit for. Why does art make a person cry? A painting, a dance, a play, a poem, a picture, a film, and on and on... they’re representations, abstractions, of something felt or seen. What of we think of a painting as the physical manifestation of an abstract idea? In this case, the artist has taken something metaphysical (an idea, a memory, a feeling) and translated it into something physical. The metaphysical transcends to the physical. But the story doesn’t end there... someone can see that painting and have a genuine emotional reaction as a result. The physical transcends to the metaphysical. It’s really not the painting that’s important, it’s the idea that it represents. Artists are charged with the task of helping us see the world differently... helping us to see the world in a way that transcends all the patterned realities we constantly deal with. Why should any of that matter? Well, it implies that there’s a deep connection between the physical world, and the conscious world. One might even argue that it suggests that they are the same.
This is where I get stuck. I like the idea that there is more to the world than just the physical... more than just what I can see and touch and taste and feel. I like the idea that we are infinite rather than fixed and measured. However, I also like the idea that this world is what we’ve got, and that’s it. If this is all we have, than we should be doing a hell of lot more living. It also suggests that there are deep interconnectivities that we don’t yet understand. It may even suggest that we are far more wonderful than we’ve been able to imagine. In only three weeks you’ve shared atoms of your body with every living thing on the planet... in three weeks time, atoms have passed through my body that have passed through everything else here... a desert mouse, a peasant in China, a rock star on tour, a political candidate, a prisoner, someone dying of cancer, someone in love, the young, the old, a tree in the jungle... I am manifest everywhere, and everywhere is manifest in me. That’s a bloody fucking brilliant thought.
Is it imperative that one only select a particular view... that is, is it necessary to choose between the two? No, it’s not necessary, but each one gives rise to a different set of values. If I am arguing that this is what we’ve got... and this is it, than it becomes far more important to live this life to the fullest extent possible. If I’m arguing that there’s more after this, than this life of temporality has a different value... this isn’t as important as what comes next. You can see that out of this vision of the world one could easily argue that suffering is worth it here, because of the pay-off later.
But what did Daniel say again? The metaphysical transcends to the physical, and the physical transcends to the metaphysical. What if we’re all deeply interconnected, intertwined, interdependent and that has a direct impact on the metaphysical? What if it’s both? You have to live this life to the absolute fullest, and you must do so knowing that all of it transcends to what’s next. You’re life here isn’t just your life here... it’s all of you, a summation of you, and it goes with you. Whoa. That’s a lot more responsibility, that’s a lot more interconnectivity...

I think our western religious system is broken. It’s malfunctioning as a result of being unable to interface with the changing world. Religious systems are wonderful, amazing, powerful agents. They have the capacity to do tremendous good, and sadly power for total annihilation. We forget that religion is just a tool... just like science is just a tool... technology is just a tool... language is just a tool... these are just systems that we’ve invented and allowed to evolve so that we could better understand the world in which we live. They’re ours... we’re allowed to change them when we want to.

Russian Dance-Off

2008-05-18T14:34:00.001-04:00

Mess McGee

2008-05-13T09:02:00.000-04:00

I just want to throw-up today. The whole world seems a mess right now, and it feels as if there’s no way to make it through. The world has only become increasingly complicated over the past weeks, and it’s looking difficult to organize. I suppose I’m largely feeling some dread over the separation from one of my best friends here in the North East. My room-mate of two years, and certainly one of the people I have grown to count on is now starting a new chapter in life. My joy for her is only coloured by the impending darkness her absence will bring.

Just last night I had a great little cry as I cleaned up and organized one of our living rooms. I realized that it’s far easier to be the person leaving for a new adventure than to be one the one who stays behind. Frequently in my life I have been the one to jump on the train and head out for something new. I’m comfortable with that role, and in fact, much better at being the changing agent. Staying behind will be an adventure itself, just more difficult than I had anticipated. For a person with few close ties, a change in the constellation of my interpersonal relationships comes at a high emotional and cognitive price.

While the realities of this circumstance, and many others that are changing my life, are ever-present in the forefront of my mind I can’t help but remember that life is ultimately about change. Flux happens, is everywhere, and is unstoppable. If change wasn’t enough, entropy is ever making his presence known. Chaos is the ultimate order of the universe; and meanwhile we try to make ends meet, find ways to understand the complexities, carefully order and organize our incomplete models, and do all other manner of things to feel better about our precarious place in this world. There is some comfort in knowing that true order, let’s call it Order with a capital O, is impossible. By the same token, relying on complex systems to produce consistent results is really just another kind of faith.

Faith that the system, based on a set of rules that we only vaguely understand, will continue to operate in consistence with the imaginary models we use in our everyday lives. Our impending energy crisis is a clear example. How many of us actively work to understand how much energy we consume, how much we could potentially generate without the grid, ways to minimize our consumption, let alone what we would do if constant consumption became impossible (how many things in our homes consume energy all of the time?). We have faith in our Techno-Religion, and are not yet willing to concede that someday our method of consumption must be moderated, or end.

I can’t help but feel like the tone of this blog is overwhelmingly pessimistic. I remember reading an article once (forgive me for not remembering by who) whose results showed that pessimists more accurately modeled the world... and that optimists were fairly unrealistic. The flip side of that coin was that optimists (while more frequently let down) reported greater levels of happiness, despite using an inaccurate model when perceiving the world. I suppose I’m trying to say that while this particular blog carries a pessimistic view of the world, that’s not necessarily an accurate representation of my frame of mind, only a representation of what I’m dealing with now.

Inarticulated Worries

2008-05-05T15:04:00.000-04:00

Emotion is a powerful subsystem of our cognitive operations. We recently interviewed a candidate for a summer position who just gave me a funny feeling. I can’t exactly articulate the why and wherefore, just an overwhelmingly negative emotional response. This particular candidate looks great on paper, and in fact made a very positive impression on two of the other selection committee members. However, for some reason I was completely put off by some emotional reaction, for which I have no logical explanation. After the candidate leaves, we typically debrief. This gives us an opportunity to discuss our general feelings, and insights, as well as allowing for a conversation about programatic needs. During this conversation I had the opportunity to voice my concerns. I did so by prefacing them with the appropriate indicators which would signal that my inability to articulate my concerns was linked not to this candidates qualifications, but with some unspecified incongruity that resulted in my emotional reaction. In other words, I admitted that I had no concrete basis for my reaction, but that I still harbored some concerns.

Emotional systems are not something that you can just ignore. For those who believe that emotional interactions are void of meaning, and that the world would be a better place if we were purely rational beings I suggest that you consider the following: from an evolutionary standpoint, everything that survives (and flourishes for that matter) does so because it solves a problem that previously existed. From a Darwinian perspective, the traits the provide the best solution for a problem are the traits that survive. While it would be convenient for us to assume that emotions have no real significance in our lives, it would also be foolish to make such an assertion. We’ve evolved complex emotional systems that solve specific human problems... it is therefore insufficient to simply argue that emotions don’t “do” anything for us. There’s more to the puzzle than just the surface.

It might, for example, be interesting to consider the impact of communication. When someone tells you a story you’re more than just going along for the ride. As you become engaged in the process of listening, you’re neuronal networks fire in the same order as those of the story teller. That is to say, that you’re “experiencing” the same cognitive and emotional process as the person telling you a story. Why? Well, you’re brain is working hard to figure out what to do in this world, and listening to the stories of others gives you clues about how they’ve handled complex situations and potentially solved them. When you communicate with others, you’re hard at work trying to see if they have any information about the world that you can use to better model, predict, and act appropriately. It would seem, as we currently understand language and the brain, that our ability to communicate comes out of our desire to tell stories (share models of the world, allowing for better predictive outcomes).

Where then is emotion in all of this? Well, you’re emotional system isn’t just a compartmentalized section of your existence. It plays a constant and complex role in how you experience the world, as well as how you choose to act. For example, our entire cognitive goal system is linked to emotional inputs and outputs. Let’s find a concrete example: you want an iPod. Everything that brings you closer to achieving this goal precipitates a flood of positive emotion (along with it’s accompanying neural transmitters... all of the drugs our body release so we feel “good”), anything that takes us away from our goal stimulates a flood of negative emotion (as well as the correlating neural transmitters associated with feeling “bad”). What can we take away from this? Our goal system is really more about our emotional relation to any particular given object or destination. None of this gives us evidence that an emotional reaction is better than a rational one; it does, however, allow for a deeper understanding of what precisely is happening as we evaluate our needs and wants.

What then, does all of this have to do with me currently? Something in my emotional system has given me reason to further question what I’m observing in the world. That is to say, that perhaps what I’m experiencing is only an indication of some personal failing which needs further exploration... or perhaps my emotional reaction is indicative of some potential problem that I cannot verbally articulate.

What to do

2008-04-15T00:10:00.001-04:00

If your employer asked you to do something that you believed to be morally wrong, what would you do? Better yet, what should you do?

Disappointed

2008-04-11T11:18:00.001-04:00

I hate the feeling of disappointment. It’s like a rock in your stomach. I’ve recently found out that I’ll be teaching an SAT prep class this summer, against my will. I guess my general frustration about this particular problem is less about a single concern, and more about a cluster of concerns and irritations.

I don’t even really want to talk about it… which is funny, given my propensity for being verbose. In short, it looks like I’ll be miserable this summer. No one likes to do things against their will. I guess I could always just quit.

Who said what now?

2008-04-10T16:22:00.002-04:00

So, I just saw a post by a student of mine in the bulletin section of MySpace. I've included the original message below, as well as my reply.

----------

I am going to drop out of school.
Okay, probably not, but I'm seriously thinking about it.

School is meant to educate you. It is supposed to supply with knowledge that you can apply to the rest of your life. Knowledge is supposed to free your mind.

Today, schools no longer encourage true "thinking." We are taught methods thought up by men long dead and buried. We are no longer encouraged to "philosophize," but instead, remain content with what has been told us. We take the information that has been taught to our parents and our parent's parents and apply it...

In the WORKFORCE. That's what it comes down to- they teach you what it takes to be successful in today's capitalist society. They help you to get a leg up on the competition before you even start working. They ensure that society will remain stratified, instead of awarding people's unique talents.

We are simply vessels- filled with useless information in school, which we "apply" working for someone else for the rest of our lives. Unique thought is no longer encouraged. Instead, we are indoctrinated into a society that has been built for the benefit of a very few rich people.

We are the worker bees, and most people refuse to acknowledge it.

I do believe it is time to throw a monkey wrench into this system.

----------

Student Dearest,

I don't necessarily think that the world is as bleak as the picture you paint. School (high school especially) is designed to "educate" the masses on the surface, but largely it's in place because it is a socializing agent. The systematic instruction and socialization of generations provides for a stability in the social system, ultimately leading us away from chaos. It's a flawed system in many ways, but it also has a lot of social benefits.

Primary education and secondary education is really about teaching people how to interact with one another. The system of authority mimics the larger social trend, and works to instill fear and obedience in a group of people. But that's not what really matters... in a social environment you learn how to solve problems, communicate with others, negotiate deadlines/responsibilities/exchange, how to function in romantic relationships, the role of friendship and companionship, how to work in teams, how to share in group success and group failure (plays, sports, dances, etc.), ad infinitum... in other words, you learn all of the necessary skills to survive and thrive in terms of interpersonal communication. Education also serves to stabilize a population though shared moral values, and larger conceptualizations of the world.

But you are right... education is largely jumping through hoops... do x, y, and z and you get an A. In college it's the same thing. I have a close friend who has a very different view of education than my own, and we frequently exchange ideas about the purpose and function of education. He largely believes that it's just a system of control that is in place to make money and suppress individual expression. I see that as a byproduct of the system; furthermore, I think that education is largely what you make of it. Just because you have to do x, y, and z doesn't preclude you from doing a, b, and c... or xy, zx, and w... in some respects you have to play by the rules of the game so that you can bend, or break them. However, just like any system, you have to understand the rules. If you don't understand how HTML works, you're going to be in a poor position to make a web-site from scratch... likewise, it's going to be difficult to invent a new, better, and faster computer processor without understanding the physics behind the electron. Just because the system exists doesn't mean that you have to buy into it... however, by choosing to be a recluse you remove yourself from the construct and cease to be able to implement change.

Consumers and workers drive the machine... if just one quits, it doesn't make a change to the whole. In order to implement change you have to remain a part of the whole and work to change the minds of those around you. One voice has little power, but the voices of many have great power. Does that mean that I'm encouraging you to get people to drop out of high school en masse? No. Identify the changes that you want to see and find ways to get others to support you... it's easy for a school system to say "no" to one student, but far more difficult to say "no" to 200 students (plus parents, which means it's in the news paper, which means the whole community is involved).

Finally, I don't think that you're filled with useless information. Many things seem useless on the surface, but that's because we don't see the complexity behind the material presented. You may, for example, question why a teacher has you draft an outline for a paper eight times... not only is the assignment redundant, but it implies that you're not competent enough to express your ideas clearly the first time. Repetition, however, is everywhere in the world... learning to deal with, understand, tolerate, and maybe even enjoy a little repetition will help you in the future. How? Humans largely dislike repetitive tasks that have no particular end... what do we do when faced with that challenge? We become more efficient, find ways to creatively solve the problem, perhaps even find a way mitigate the process in question, rendering it enjoyable.

Remember:
change is everywhere... if you want it...
you must be the change that you want to see in the world...

Hang in there yo,

Matthew

p.s.
also remember that I'm there on Tuesdays after 9:00, until about 12:00 or however late I need to stay if a someone comes to talk with me. I have all sorts of papers, books, or thought experiments you can try on for size. Don't drop out just yet.

atheos

2008-04-02T16:59:00.000-04:00

I am an atheist. The origin of the word is from the Greek atheos: a- “without,” “theos” god. This revelation, however, is not new to my life, just affirmed after a long conversation with a passionate and suffering evangelical-like christian. I spent a solid 19 years immersed in the culture of dogmatic belief, while it was largely Protestant there was a bit of Episcopal and a splash Baptist patronage in the mix. It wasn’t until I was out of high school and beginning to see the world differently that I would start to want more than was supplied by my current belief system. I practiced Buddhism for a short time, following that with a more general practice of mindful meditation. My entire religious conception of the world slowly began to fall, like a startled souffle once I was 21. By the time I was 23, the whole thing had just collapsed. The ensuing void, however, needed to be filled; but with what? My time in central California was very trying in some respects. Ironically, one of the most liberal states has a very conservative population base scattered across its geography. The central valley happened to be a lovely place with a high concentration of churches... and fast food. We had both, lucky us. Many of my fellow students at university were devout followers and believers, consequently I was frequently asked about my particular religious affiliation. Being in my early 20s I didn’t really have the tools for concise, clear, and pointed argument. Instead, I had a loose amalgam of hopes, thoughts, beliefs, questions, dreams, and ideologies. I was axiomatically disorganized in my terms of my belief structure. Despite my abstract construction, I was relatively happy. I was largely unable to articulate my feelings to others, but I did feel content in having constructed what I believed to be an intact, sustainable, and pragmatic system.

The constructed system was largely based out of existential beliefs and the core teachings of the Christ. Incorporating several Gnostic ideologies into the mix further enriched my deepening tapestry of belief, allowing for several thought experiments to follow. In short: I believed that the soul had an origin outside of the body which it returned to after death, and that it could be reborn (reincarnated) in various forms (a blade of grass, a tree in the woods, a bird, another human being) - this follows from the Emersonian Over-Soul, and from the Gnostics take on reincarnation; I believed that the most important emotion was love (that nearly all other emotions were reflections, refractions, or distortions of love) and that the “right” thing was to always act out of love, no matter how difficult - this follows from the teachings of the Christ, though you would hardly know it given the Christian propensity for violence and greed. From these two assertions it wasn’t difficult to discover a few parallels which could further be incorporated in my understanding: the over-soul is a model of God, (since God in the Christian belief system is the origin and the place to which the soul returns), we all carry a piece of God/Over-Soul with us and conceptualize this as the soul (the Christian dogmatic language would refer to this as the Holy Spirit, a part of the Holy Trinity - The Father, The Son, The Holy Spirit - while Christians would argue that there is a difference between the soul and the Holy Spirit I think this is a misunderstanding), and that love is the ultimate answer (God is love... it would follow that we are born from Love we carry it with us through life and we return to Love when we die - an appropriate behavioral model for the world given these suppositions is to find ways to spread love, to do everything possible to make love more manifest, which would in turn would make God more manifest in peoples lives, in general making the world a better place - while I now see this as perhaps more descriptive than prescriptive, I was working with rough models and trying to find a deeper truth to the world and love seemed like a good answer, or at least the right place for an altruistic young person to start). It was a good start for a 20-something actor/dancer/gymnist/artist who wanted to make the world a better place. It was missing some conceptual pieces, but it worked for me.

As I would continue to grow in my experience with the world, the perceptual models that I had built and relied upon would eventually need to be reevaluated and modified. The question is, “with what?” Revising postulates isn’t easy work. It changes everything. Our cognitive models for understanding the world we live in are an essential part of our lives; imagine if someone suddenly told you that our foundational understanding of chemistry was wrong. It would drastically change the world. What if you woke up and the leading story on every news station was that cell phones cause a cancer that will kill you in 10 years. Imagine mass panic as people rioted over the impending death of millions. Chaos. Now realize that when you make choices, new discoveries, deal with tragedy, or do anything that has a large impact on your cognitive models that your brain erupts in chaos. Cortisol is flooded into your blood stream, along with other stress induced chemicals. The realization that the world is not as you originally perceived it to be has an enormous impact on everything you do, say, or experience. If someone tells you that what you call the color “red” the rest of the world actually calls “blue” the impact is nearly infinite. At the same time, however, modeling is a necessary part of existence. We categorically create simplistic models of the outside world so that we can continue to exist. You don’t have to understand how sugars are metabolized and synthesized into ATP in order to know that you have to eat in order to survive. You don’t need to understand the physics of electrons in order to understand that for your iPod to work, you have to plug it in. The world is infinitely more complex than anyone can ever understand... better yet, you will never understand it all.

It is because of this that I have since become fascinated with Phenomenology, and the problem of perception. Religion is ubiquitous in human cultures. It’s bloody everywhere. A phenomenon that exists universally isn’t something to simply ignore, or dismiss for that matter. If you believe that Jesus of Nazareth is your lord and savior, you should look long and hard at the story of Horus or Buddha. If you think that the cross is the symbol of Christianity, you better do some research. Roman prisoners were crucified on wooden structures that look more like the letter T than the cross we now know. Look carefully at the symbols of the occult, and you’ll soon find many of the “Christian” symbols we still celebrate. None of this is to say that I’m a big fat christian hater. On the contrary, I believe that the teachings of Christ are some of the most influential and globally powerful ideologies ever, but there just that: teachings. Not facts, not realities, not moralities (though you can gain some moral guidance from his works), they are nothing but ideologies - axiomatic constructions. So here we are, I don’t believe in God. God, Christ, Allah, Vishnu, Horus, and on and on are just constructions... tools that help one understand the bigger picture, and the role one might play.

Imagine a world without God... what about a world without Love. Human belief in something more, something bigger, something universal has led to our modern ideologies about human rights, morality, society, social contracts, art, technology, ad infinitum. Our ability to perceive the world, to be conscious, means a rooted connection in belief. God isn’t going away any faster than gravity. I think that the next large scale step in human evolution is directly linked to how we deal with religion. Language is a technology, and old technology, but still a human construction that allows for the exchange of information (cell phones are a human invention that allow for the exchange of information... as is the internet... or telephones... or written words, just because we can’t hold it in our hands, doesn’t mean that it isn’t a human constructed technology). When we start to see our lives, our existence, in a broader perspective and use our language to deconstruct religious ideology in order to understand our humanistic roots - our longing to be a part of something bigger (eternal), our belief that all of us are created equally in the image of the infinite, our drive to create and learn and share - then we will be ready to really be different. Buddha gave-up nirvana so that others might learn the path to enlightenment. Enlightenment for one person is insufficient. The Christ died to take on the sins of the world... salvation for only one person would have been insufficient. In order for everything to change, everyone must change... but as we’ve already seen, everything can change with only one piece of understanding.

Change is possible, if you want it...
Be the change you want to see in the world...
All you need is love...

There is hope for the world, there is hope for us... you just have to look for it.

What am I worth!

2008-04-02T11:58:00.003-04:00

Sometimes French Fries Have Answers

2008-03-10T22:48:00.001-04:00

I was just reheating some french fires... not a healthy choice, but it's a comfort food, so give me a break. It occurred to me that risk involves potential gains, as much as it involves potential losses. Do I want to get to the end of this crazy adventure of a life and suddenly find that I didn't risk it all? No. Maybe seeing the inherent danger in an action makes gives its commission meaning.

What if I'm Wrong?

2008-03-10T21:55:00.002-04:00

What if I'm wrong to choose this particular life? It occurred to me as I drove home that the danger of choosing a particular path with your life is the inherent possibility of failure. I should back up. There at circus I see boys and girls who are infinitely more gifted in terms of flexibility, strength, and technique. I found myself caught in the throws of frustration, jealousy, and anxiety. Why? It's the question you have to ask, because not asking it leaves nothing but the emotion and no explanation. I've been reading too many articles on psychology these days, ergo my first rational response to my frustration is to question why I'm experiencing this particular set of emotions. Why anxiety? Why a general error report? Because seeing these performers means recognition of my own limitations. Further, it registers as failure. My frame of reference tells me that I've done everything appropriate and necessary to meet the ends I'm striving for. The reality I'm forced to reconcile is that I've failed to achieve the ends I thought I was close to. Failure to reach a goal = error report. What's the solution: I could fight my own perception, assert that I am indeed correct, and live in my self asserted illusion; I could accept the fundamental failure to achieve the desired goal, reconsider the world and its component parts, and finally strive to make some sense of the information presented to me; I could accept this minimal perceptual frustration as part-and-parcel of my chosen field of study/art/passion accept that someone will always be more flexible, stronger, faster, better, et cetera. The last option, seeming the most appropriate, is perhaps the most frustrating. Why all of the fuss? Failure at this magnitude and resolution would be life changing. For more than 20 years I've identified myself through theatre... failure means fundamentally reconstructing the way that I perceive the world. Means that everything that I've ever thought/valued/loved/cherished/discovered/hoped could be wrong. My whole conceptual framework could be flawed. And yet, what am I asking myself to do? To accept that I could be wrong, but to carry on anyway. To understand that failure may be immenent. To know fully and deeply that everything I think I know about the world could be flawed. Why worry? Because I don't want to be the author that's never published, the actor that's never cast, the dancer who only takes class, the painter who never lets anyone into the studio, I don't want to live an illusion. So what's next? Faith? Trust? Hope?

Maybe just T.S. Elliot:

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope,
for hope would be hope for the wrong thing.
And wait without love.
For love would be love, of the wrong thing.
Yet there is faith.
But the faith and the hope and the love, are all in the waiting.
And the darkness shall be the light and the stillness the dancing.

Day 17

2008-02-28T14:43:00.002-05:00

I woke up in the morning knowing that I would be on a plane that day. What a strange feeling. I had dread that morning just as I have dreaded writing this last entry. Somehow writing about our last day together carries some sentiment of finality. I’ve put off writing about my last days in New Zealand as though it would allow me to keep the memory alive longer. I remind myself that this is not the end of the story, just the last chapter in this particular adventure. As such, Jillian and I did our best to enjoy the last of the limited time that we had together. After a quick rinse in the shower we headed out for a coffee and a slice. We enjoyed a wonderful cup of something warm along with a lemon poppyseed cake that was fabulous.

After our late morning snack we decided that it would be a good idea to have at least one more adventure before I left. Consequently, JD decided that we should head to Huia Point, as she felt that the view would be spectacular. She was very right. The drive was a bit longer that we had expected, but the view was well worth it. The sea spread out in a wide bay and shone like a glistening blue bowl. The green and gold of the hills set against the sky and the sea was breath-taking. It was here that Jillian gave me a gift. When we had been in Rotarua Miss. Davey had picked up something for me, but I had been told that I would have to wait until I left to receive my gift. Now, as the hour of my departure was drawing close she pulled a small black box out of her purse and presented it to me. Inside was a fish hook carved out of green stone. The Hei-Matau (fish hook) represents prosperity, strength, determination, good health, and provides safe travel over water. I put it on that day, and have worn it ever since.

As we drove back towards JD’s flat I began to think about the impending prep. Once we arrived it became a matter of packing, folding, re-packikng, double checking, and all other manner of travel necessities. Once I finally felt like everything was in order it was time to go. We put things in the trunk, and climbed into Gerty for the drive to the airport. Navigating the streets, round-abouts, and all such rot finally got us to the airport. I checked in, paid my departure tax, and we headed towards the security check-point. Past this place Jillian couldn’t come with me. We had a lengthy good-bye and exchanged many sweet words that would loose their meaning if I described them here. The cliché about parting being sweet and sorrowful at once holds true even in my experience. All to soon I walked through the small archway, and Jillian turned to head back to her flat.

My departure was not without plans to return, but was difficult all the same. As I crossed into the terminal my day long adventure had just begun. It would be more than 27 hours before I would find myself back in snowy New Hampshire. Along the way I would be in California, middle America, meet unique characters, and marvel at how my life had changed.

Day 16

2008-02-28T14:43:00.001-05:00

Our last full day together was upon us, and we enjoyed staying in bed up until about 10:15. We had made simple plans for our last day: a trip into the city proper, a quest for a hat, a filling meal, and plenty of wine for the end of the day. Our breakfast was simple but filling. We had muslie, fresh fruit, yogurt, tea, and bread with butter. Not bad for a simple way to start the day. I don’t know that I can accurately describe the feelings of hesitation and dismay that we were both experiencing. The next day would put me back on a plane, and both of us were struggling to find a way to understand that our vacation was quickly coming to an end.

Navigating to downtown Auckland was an adventure in itself. We were headed that way for a book and a hat. I wanted something new to read on the plane, and I had fallen for a hat that I had seen when we were in Napier. We finally located a parking garage in the middle of down-town close to a casino. Parking would be reasonable, provided that we validated our parking. I assured JD that it would be an easy task, and so we left the car and headed out to explore. The city felt different, again, than any other part of the island we had yet encountered. It was something between downtown LA and parts of downtown San Francisco. Different from the feeling of Wellington, it had something that was a little more industrial and a little less interpersonal in the overall feeling of the place. No matter, as we quickly located a place to have a cup of coffee and a slice of something sweet and tasty. We split a mango gateau as we watched people on their lunch breaks, or couples talking in a little artsy square. The city drifted around us as we searched for a hat. We finally had some success and I was the proud owner of a new accessory. We kept walking for a bit as we slipped here and there trying to get a bead on the culture of the city. Finally we headed to a large book store where I had no luck in finding a book for the trip home. After we had exhausted our time in the city we headed out.

After leaving the city we settled on getting a cup of coffee and enjoying a little walk. Soon we found ourselves enjoying the sun in a place that wasn’t nearly as densely crowded with busy pedestrians. It wasn’t long before it was time to head back to Jillian’s flat. Once there we set to the task of reading a bit more of Peter Pan. We had been slowly working our way through Peter for some time during the trip, and so we settled down to see if we could finish the book. Close to the end JD slipped into a drowsy little sleep. I set down Mr. Pan and snuggled up for a bit of a nap myself.

After a lazy afternoon nap it was time for dinner and the tasty wine we had waiting. Willa came home while we were enjoying ourselves and we invited her to join us. Willa’s guest arrived soon after, and so the four of us sat outside and drank to the health of good company. By the end of the night we were feeling a bit tipsy and fell into the sweet arms of sleep.

Day 15

2008-02-18T00:57:00.000-05:00

Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy wealthy and ankle deep in water... or at least that’s how I think that bit of wisdom goes. Maybe not. When morning came I was eager to get off of the floor that felt like wet rocks under nylon. In my haste I neglected to inspect the area outside of the tent flap. After a quick zip the flap was open, cast aside, and with a might first step I soon found that I was ankle deep in a puddle just outside Jillian’s tent. Lovely. I threw on a windbreaker as the rain was still drizzling down and made for the trunk. Gerty was in similar straights as she was surrounded by an ever increasing puddle. After wading to the car I finally made it over to the indoor toilets. Feeling like I had been ridden hard and put away wet I approached the shower with determination. Showers are a wonderful thing, in fact there have been many days when the joy of a hot shower has changed my state of mind. Shower time is a great time for thinking, planning, pondering, and cleaning. The shower I was about to endure would hardly be any of those things.

Showing up wet from the rain just to take off your clothes in order to climb into a wall of water is somehow ironic. This particular little shower was going to be an adventure. Why? That’s a great question, allow me to elaborate about the conditions of this lovely facility. The showers were two narrow stalls about three and a half feet wide and about eight feet long. Once I closed the little door I had a tiny little narrow corridor of a shower waiting for me. The actual shower was only about three and half feet square and up off the ground about foot. After climbing out of my wet clothes I soon discovered that there were no hooks or shelves inside of my little bathing hallway. No matter, I’ll just sling things over the wall. Clothes slung over the wall, and only wearing a pair of jandals I approached the shower. As I took a step on the metal basin I felt a little give as the aluminum floor sagged under my weight. After a few tentative steps I was finally confident that the floor wasn’t going to collapse. With the floor firmly in place it was time to turn on the water. Upon inspection I discovered that the shower spick-et would hit me directly in the chest, perfect for lower torso bathing. Between the deep squats, wall sits, and plies I finally emerged from the shower clean, but a little grumpy.

After my wrestle-fest with the shower I was ready to clear out of camp and hit the road, and it was my sincere hope that JD would be feeling the same. Jillian was ready to clean up a bit and hit the road as well, so while she made a quick trip to the lou I began packing the car. Soon JD was back and we were faced with a unique challenge: disassembling the tent. Now, putting away a tent in the rain when you’re standing ankle deep in a puddle is an experience everyone should have. Slick nylon was everywhere, tent poles flung mud and water, meanwhile JD and I giggled as we fought to get the last bits of tent packed. Finally we were finished, and nearly soaked. We both peeled off our top layers and climbed into the car to get the hell out of dodge.

Our original plan had included stopping off at the local grocery store to pick up some yogurt and fresh tasty bits to have for breakfast. However, after our morning challenge both of us were ready for something strong and warm. We decided that coffee in Paihia would be a safe bet, and headed out to the same place we had visited the day before. Coffee looked tasty, but fried eggs on fresh bread looked damn good as well. We splurged on breakfast a little, but loved every minute of our feast. Both of us found good reason to laugh as we talked about the miserable sleep we had the previous night. As we talked and enjoyed breakfast a little bird kept sneaking into the café to catch crumbs from underneath a chair across from us. The diligent little worker picked the floor clean and then proceeded to show off a little with complex flight patterns in and out of the door. With breakfast stowed safely in our bellies we decided that it was time to hit the road.

Caffeine in our veins and protein in our bellies we were ready for the day; Gerty however, was in desperate need of a little petrol. After refueling we set out to cross over to the west coast and descend towards Auckland. The first steps in any trip are finding the correct road, and in fashion true to our previous adventures we were destined to make a small detour. Our detour took us to the Waitangi treaty House. An important little piece of New Zealand culture and history raced past our windows, twice, as we tried to figure out where the hell we were. After more careful inspection of the map our way was finally clear, and so we headed out to Opononi for a view.

The views as we crossed the island were gorgeous. This time as we passed over hills we encountered thicker forestation on more crag-like hillsides. The morning fog spilled down the hill-sides in thick soupy waves that spilled out onto valley floors. Bright blue skies broke here and there while countryside gave way to beaches and lagoons. Finally we found a beautiful little bay and stopped for a look-out. Jillian and I were hungry for a good walk and a smell of the sea breeze. We parked and wandered here and there while the sun came out little by little. The ocean was bright blue against the wheat colour of the shore, the rolling green hills stretching away inland. Jillian found a bit of mud and quickly had her jandals off. Next thing I knew she was mashing about in the mud and trying to pull me in to join. I resisted by insisting that my role was document this event, and that I would pass on playing in the mud, this time. We passed the time by exploring and taking pictures, both of us enjoying the views and smell of salt on the air.

After a nice little stretch we set off for an ancient forst. Waipoua Forest is home to some of the oldest growth in New Zealand. As we climbed up the winding hills we soon found ourselves in the middle of a tropical forest. Trees created a canopy that filled the sky and the air suddenly become thicker as everything became suddenly more tropical. After a little drive we stopped to take a walk and see an old tree. The forest was thick around us and as we walked along a little path we soon found the tree we were looking for. At 2000 years old this tree was perhaps the oldest living thing I’ve ever seen. Spell-bound by age and scope of what I just seen I stared googly-eyed out of the windows as our drive took us weaving through the hill-side.

After a little drive it was soon time for a bit of coffee. As fate would have it there was a little town smack dab in the middle of our path: Dargaville. Now as we passed the sign I didn’t see Dargaville... I saw “Drag-a-ville.” My mind raced as I imagined a little town of like-minded individuals all decked out in drag with buildings covered in flash. As it turned out, Dargaville was not at all what I had imagined. Rolling into this enchanted little village left something to be desired. Looking slightly bedraggled, Dargaville was charming in a used-car salesman kind of way. Our coffee was just slightly better than terrible, though considering the night of sleep we had endured, we were happy for something warm. With a bit of coffee in hand we wandered the streets looky-looing around. We located one upstanding establishment that was filled to the brim with clothes looking like they were designed specifically for over-weight, elderly, cat-ladies. Finally when we had made our way down the entire walk we enjoyed a little piece of dark chocolate and got back on the road.

Much of the remaining part of the drive was filled with me reading “Lamb,” by Christopher Moore. A fun, almost sacrilegious book about the life and times of Jesus as told by his best friend, Biff. Imparted to Biff is the responsibility of setting the record straight about Christ, specifically his younger years which are missing from biblical text. It was great fun to read in the car, and kept the time passing by quickly. After Dargaville we stopped off for a much needed snack. Somehow we managed to put together something of a lunch/snack/meal. Some sprouts, a cream cheese spread, salami, and bread. Toss in an L&P, and a touch of chocolate to top off the whole meal, and you have our impromptu road-side snack. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was damn tasty after the long day of traveling that we had endured. We shamelessly crammed our mouths, chewed with our mouths open, and found countless things to laugh about. Simple things are sometimes the most rewarding.

Along the drive back to the homestead we stopped off for some fresh veggies from a farmers market. It was a brilliant little place, and there was plenty to choose from. Jillian and I wandered a bit as we thought about meals and snacks (I still cling to a childhood penchant for fresh apples). We finally got ourselves organized and left with an arm-full of groceries as we headed back towards Auckland. Lucky for us, exiting and finding our way back to JD’s flat was much easier than entering the motor-way.

We arrived back to the flat before dark, dragging our feet as we laid out the tent to dry. Exhausted we made some dinner and quickly settled in for the night. Two weary kids, we laid down already talking about how quickly the time had passed, and how sad we were to know that our holiday was quickly coming to an end. How had it all come and gone so quickly? How were we supposed to go back to living on opposite sides of the globe?

Day 14

2008-02-03T11:17:00.001-05:00

The day was fresh, the sun was shinning, and it was time for another trip. Our destination was the Bay of Islands. We hadn’t yet decided if we were traveling for one day or two, so we thought we would play it by ear a little. It was looking a little overcast, but nothing that was unbearable. We had a bit of breakfast and packed the car, making sure to bring the tent. All in all it was a delightful morning, though a little more muggy than the previous days.

Our first obstacle was escaping Auckland. As a series of smaller towns closely knit together Auckland can sometimes be difficult to navigate. This time was no exception. As passenger I took on the role of navigator, leading us through the insanity of turnabouts, lights, shopping centers, and finally to the motorway. Almost. Somehow I missed one of our turns, so at the last minute I redirected us along a different route in order to make sure that we were on the right path. This minor detour allowed us to stop and get some much needed coffee. Jillian’s kindness and good hearted nature are ever present, I could still see her smile and the mischievous twinkle in her eye though her glib comments. The two of us were working hard to find moments to be cheeky and smarmy, always with with the deepest affection behind our comments. Playful and caffeinated we were ready to hit the road... once I found us an on-ramp that is.

Paihia seemed like a good place for a rest, and so we drove upwards and onwards for a good chunk of time. I read a bit, we listened to so music, and we talked about all manner of things. The one disheartening occurrence was the on-again off-again rain that seemed to follow us. Nonetheless, we enjoyed the beautiful scenery around us as it constantly changed. As we were leaving Auckland we crossed over a large bridge and saw the bay of sails, ships as far as you could see, transition into something more pastoral, finally into rolling hills, and eventually back into sea-side landscapes. New Zealand is a place all of its own, though in many ways it feels like parts of many places. A touch of Hawaii, a handful of California, here and there a bit of Vermont, and always the feeling that you are somewhere uniquely wonderful. Our drive gave us time to talk about plans for the night and the next days. We settled on staying in Paihia for a night, crossing over and coming down the west side of the island the next day. We thought of going up a little further, but decided that it would be nice to have a final day to rest and relax before I had to climb back into a plane. The weather had cleared a little, and so we decided to take a gamble and camp outside for the night. The fresh air would be nice, and with any luck we’d find a spot close to the ocean. After we found little Paihia it was a matter of locating a camp-ground. We were flying by the seat of our pants, so to speak, so finding an information center was a high priority. With two pairs of sharp eyes we soon located a lovely little info center located close to the beach. Once inside we began the grueling task of locating a booklet that might give us some answers. This proved to be more difficult than expected. Two stubborn 25 year olds looking for a camp-ground makes for lots of wandering. Eventually we located a book with the information that we needed, and headed out for a walk through some of the local shops.

Distinctly touristy, but not overwhelmingly so, the little stretch of shops was delightful to wade through, especially after a long drive. While there was nothing spectacular we managed to find several little places that we would come back to visit later. In our meanderings we found some small things to send people back in the states. I found something marvelous for some good friends in Los Angles, and the ever-thoughtful JD found a book-mark to send to my mum. One great discovery was a marvelous little café. We finished up our time in town by enjoying a cup of something warm while we watched people come and go. I believe that a true test of your trust in a person lies in your ability to sit quietly with them. It is especially difficult for us worrying humans to just sit quietly with another human being; we become infinitely more vulnerable when we allow someone to see us without pretension or affectation. Some of my favorite moments shared with JD were just like this: two people quietly sharing a little taste of life, both allowed to just be who they are. Locating a camp-site, however, was on our todo list and so we set out to find a place to lay our heads. Upon consulting the book, and a map we thought we had a rough idea of where to go. We were wrong. It took us a good 40 minutes to finally located the camp ground that was completely concealed from the road-way. Once we did finally locate our little lagoon we decided to have a look around before we set up camp. It was a delightful little place. There was a small lagoon, a waterfall, indoor toilets, hot (free) showers, all the things we could hope for... not to mention a steal at only $15 a person. Still a little damp out, we were confident that it would clear up by night-fall. After a short discussion about the quality of this bit of grass we headed up to the hotel at the top of the hill (the camp ground was owned by the same person, and camping business was settled at the hotel office). We chatted a kind gentleman up a bit, discovered that we would settle things in the morning, and so headed back down to set-up the tent.

Jillian has a lovely tent. It’s only slightly larger than the size of a twin bed, but cozy quarters can be a good thing. Every tent I have encountered in my life has been different. This tent was no exception. While it seems that they all work on the same conceptual premise, assembling this one took both of us, and some head scratching. The drizzle would come in bouts while we fussed around a tent didn’t yet have supports, meanwhile another couple arrived in a small caravan and looked at us liked confused birds. Finally with the tent assembled it was time for some food. The weather had compelled us to get some hot fish and chips. With our tent site claimed we headed back into town for some dinner.

What better to enjoy with fish and chips than a bit of wine? We found a little place to order our take-away and scampered off to a little store to get a bottle of wine. Returning victorious we picked up our dinner (fish, chips, and a sausage each). Back at the tent it was still drizzly, and though eating in the tent was an option, it was not our first choice. Instead we folded down Gerty’s back seat, moved a few bits around, popped the trunk, and sprawled about in the small reclining area we had created. We had a bottle of wine, but no glasses... I looked sheepishly at Jillian and inquired as to how we would remedy this predicament, “you have a problem just sharing the bottle?” was the question which was her reply. Indeed I did not. We tore into our food like starving prisoners all the while passing our bottle of white wine back and forth. It was delicious, buttery, salty, crunchy, and wonderfully filling. After finishing our only regret was that we only got a single bottle of wine. Gerty’s bum had been a lovely location for our afternoon dinner, especially as it gave us an excellent vantage point to observe the waterfall and the rowdy children that were camping close by. After a bit of dark chocolate we put everything back in order and set to the task of assembling something to sleep on. I piled some blankets and towels to get us off of the ground while Jillian had a quick rinse. It wasn’t a perfect set-up, but it was enough for a night. With the sun still up, and the rain keeping us from gallivanting about we decided to enjoy a movie.

I had gotten an iPod Classic recently, but hadn’t yet watched too many movies on the contraption. What a wonderful invention. Sharing headphones we watched “The Ground Truth.” The documentary itself is wonderful, through tragic. It explores the feelings, observations, and perspectives of several veterans of the war in Iraq. Young men and women who are trying to come to terms with the violence they’ve witnessed and participated in tells a great deal about the capacity of the human heart. While the screen wasn’t huge we were both happy sharing, even with the ground hard as rocks underneath us. The movie over, and without much left to do we tried to settle in for the night.

Both of us suffered a rather restless night in the little tent. Partially this was due to the ever falling rain. It would drizzle, then suddenly rain, then nearly disappear. This same pattern repeated itself for the duration of the night. While we couldn’t see it happening, there was a puddle growing around us in the darkness. Condensation and wet corners meant that a foot sometimes found a wet spot, or an arm. The ground, soft like rocks, kept both of us flipping back and forth as we struggled to find a comfortable sleeping position. The night passed in this fashion and the morning found us anything but rested.

Day 13

2008-02-03T11:16:00.000-05:00

Our time in Auckland had been left largely unplanned, and for good reason. We didn’t know what the north was going to have to offer us in terms of adventures, so our approach had been to deliberately allow for time to explore and adventure as we saw fit. JD had a fixing for some sun-shine and suggested that we find a beach for some sun worship. Breakfast was short and sweet, then we jumped in the car and headed for the sound of surf. No beach adventure can begin without a little caffeine in the system, so we stopped by the Hardware to pick up something for the drive. Then we were off.

Our destination was Piha and Lion Rock. As we rounded a corner at the top of a hill we could see all the way down to the beach. The view was glorious. The Beach spread away from us, while Lion rock loomed above it all. We rounded a small corner and began our descent towards the beach, passing through an almost tropical array of foliage. We soon found the bottom, and set off to explore a new beach. Over a bridge, around a small dune, voila... Ocean! The view was phenomenal, made all the more impressive by the color of the sand. The beach was covered in black volcanic sand that had been pulverized into a fine smooth powdery texture. The black sand looked more like an iridescent violet in the afternoon sun. The sun reflected purple, black, and gold off of the sand that burned our feet as we hopped towards the water. From our vantage point closer to the water we could see several opportunities for exploration. I pointed to the left, suggesting that we adventure our way towards a little cover that would disappear when the tide came in. Over some rocks, past some tide-pools, exploring and applying sunscreen as we walked, talked, and laughed we soon found ourselves in the little cove. Where next? Well, as luck would have it, from this position it looked easy to scale the side of a small little rock-face. How can you say no to a great view and a little climb? With hardly a second thought we started scrambling up a little rocky out-cropping towards the big views. In the process we passed some stinking tide pools, and a little crab that hid as soon as I called for Jillian to come look. The first chunk of our little hike was simple, it was the second bit that was frustrating. The rocky bit soon gave way to a section of dense grasses and brush. No matter, we found a little path and hoisted our way through the leg-scraping bushes towards what we knew would be worth the hike. After trying two paths and an occasional slip we found the top. Beautiful. The view was amazing, and we stopped to enjoy our accomplishment by celebrating with a snack. We looked out over the sea, looked back to the beach, looked every direction that we could... inspired by the view it was time for a monologue. Turing towards the ocean I shouted, spit, railed, and carried on as I tried to shake the rocks with my voice. While the rocks were unmoved, I felt a strange combination of drained and elated after having delivered a marvelous performance to the birds and surf. Something in a person just wants to throw a rock from a high place, and being in the southern hemisphere doesn’t change that. JD and I were soon hurling little rocks off the cliff face towards the ocean, all the while listening eagerly for the splashing sound of something hitting the surface of the sea. Eventually we wore ourselves out with this task, but for a good chunk of time we were greatly inspired. The descent down a tangle of brush and rocks proved to be slightly more difficult than the climb up, but we soon enough we had found the sand. Our next adventure took us back towards the main part of the beach, around Lion rock, and finally to a little place that was slightly secluded. A bit more sun screen, some towels, and an apple later found us sprawled out and soaking up the sun. After a tasty bit of sun-bathing we had a little climb up Lion rock for a good look-out and began to shake our heads over the fact that 13 days had already passed by so quickly.

After a good view of the ocean and some sentimental moments it was time to head back towards Gerty. Once there we stopped a few places looking for something cold to drink but didn’t really find anything we wanted. All the same we headed back towards the ponderosa, all the while enjoying the views and the wonderful company of one another. As we traveled we talked about what might be next in our last few days. We didn’t get too far into this discussion before we found ourselves back at the flat, and ready to collapse. After a change of clothes and a rinse in the shower we made a little dinner, enjoying the rest of the day from the front yard. It was quickly slipping away, so we decided to settle in for another movie or two that night.

Before slipping into a blissful slumber we discussed our plans for the next few days. We decided to head up north for a jaunt. In the morning we would head out and decide on the road if we wanted to stop at a hostel or just find a camp-ground. The weather was looking good, our spirits were high, what could go wrong?

Day 12

2008-01-31T11:37:00.000-05:00

Our first Auckland morning started with a bit of lounging around, as many of these mornings started. Our first order of business was to get some breakfast, stretch, clean up, and then make some plans for the day. Breakfast was simple as usual, and a tad small (grocery shopping was on the todo list for the day). After a quick rinse and a cup of tea we headed off to the market to find some food. Market discovering adventures are always interesting as it means navigating new streets, finding a decent place to shop, and then making it back home. Our trip was short and sweet as a suitable market was just down the road. Shopping in NZ is a little different as prices vary, and options vary. Cheese is a good example. Unless you go to the speciality food isle (in this case a separate refrigerated section) your cheese options are limited to only a few varieties. All in all it’s fine business, and nearly identical to shopping in the sates, except for the different foods, confections (candy), and other items that you find. I had promised to cook dinner for the house that night (Jillian, Willa, and Willa’s dad - who was visiting for a few nights). I was busy thinking through what ingredients I needed, or finding suitable substitutes. On our way out we asked for directions to a liquor store, and then hit the road. We were hoping to find a bit of Irish Cream to use as dessert for the evening. After getting a little lost, turning around, heading back the other direction, and scanning every shop on the curb-side we finally found our establishment. After some short deliberation we picked up our Irish Cream and a bottle of wine, and headed out.

The agenda for the rest of the day was left purposefully empty. After several days of traveling, adventuring, and exploring we were due for a bit of R and R. We lazed about, read a bit, and eventually got up to the energy for a walk to a local cafe. We headed out to Titirangi Village to hit up The Hardware, as we had heard that it had the best coffee. Driving to Titirangi takes 5 minutes, but our walk took nearly 20. It was a wonderful walk, however, and it allowed us an opportunity to enjoy the scenery, and the company of one another on a beautiful day. Auckland feels a bit like sprawling suburbia as far as the eye can see, though it has a certain charm in a strange kind of way. I took several pictures as we meandered a long the way, and we talked of many things, of shoes and ships and sealing wax of cabbages and kings and why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings. (Bonus points for those of you who can identify that last passage) After arriving at the village we were delighted with the wonderful cup of iced coffee that we found at The Hardware. Delightful! Especially so after the rather drab, and nightmarish coffees we had encountered on our trip up the east coast of the island.

Coffee in hand we started to stroll around a bit, and stumbled upon a local gallery that looked worth investigating. We drained our cups, and headed inside for a better look at what we had spied through the windows. Low and behold what did we discover? The first exhibit was all geometric art. The second exhibit was post-modern-deconstructionism. In short, both were a bit crap. I understand geometric art, I’m just not a big fan of the stuff. I see the beauty in simple shapes, and understand the tricks the artist is playing on the brain by arranging shapes in unique ways, I just wouldn’t buy it for my house. Similarly the small exhibit that’s what I refer to as post-modern-deconstructionism... Jillian would call it garbage strung together pretending to be art. Again, I can see what the artist is trying to accomplish, I just wouldn't put it up in my house. I wandered through the exhibits one last time while JD slipped into the attached shop to see if there was anything else interesting. After our last look around we headed out and started plodding back towards the ponderosa... after a stop for a ginger beer and a piece of chocolate.

Dinner was my job this evening, and so when we got back to JD’s flat we consulted the clock, made a plan, and then got to the task of watching a movie. We finished up our film, and then I headed into the kitchen to be a busy little bee. Jillian was kind enough to follow and help in whatever way I asked her to do. I had thought about making a calzone for dinner, but without being able to find any dough, I had changed plans and settled on pasta in my own sauce, with some made from scratch garlic bread. Dinner was served nearly right on time, garnished with a bit of grated cheese, and accompanied with a nice glass of wine. Willa’s Dad joined us for dinner. He’s a very interesting chap. A teacher, social worker, and always inquisitive gentleman who was great company for dinner. His knowledge was a bit overwhelming, though very enjoyable. The whole night ended with a spot of dark chocolate and some irish cream.

Willa did most of the dishes, so we said our good-nights and slipped away to watch another movie, soon finding the pleasant full-bellied sleep that we both deserved.

Day 11

2008-01-16T15:55:00.000-05:00

Another exciting day was headed our way, and consequently we had to be up by 8:30 in the AM. We pushed the two twins together for the night, but I had mostly slept in the crack which had widened like a fault line all night long. Somewhere around 4AM I had some kind of terrible nightmare, and just hadn’t been able to sleep right after that. I had spent the reminder of the early morning hours tossing and turning trying to find something that was comfortable. As I wasn’t having much luck, I was the first up and hustled into the shower. Oh what a treat I was in for. This odd shower was difficult to get into, unless you knew the trick. It looked like tub-shower combination that had once used a curtain to separate it from the rest of the room. Over time the curtain bit had been replaced by a glass door... but not a sliding door as we are oh-so-accomstomed-to here in the states. Instead this was a swinging glass door that looked stationary. I barely wriggled into the shower over by the drain end by half climbing over the sink and counter. After I was good and sudsy I noticed that there was a hinge... and ta-da, the whole bloody door moved. I let out a disapproving sigh at my own foolishness, and then was rewarded with the ever so subtle smell of sulfur... as it turns out, the water supply carried a few extra minerals. Hmmm, nothing like showering in rotten egg smell. Doesn’t that feel clean?!

I can’t say that I was sad to see the Funky Parrot go. Happily we checked-out got our key deposit back, and headed for the next adventure. Rotorua is known for being attached to a small Maori village (more on that soon), and consequently is full of jade (also called greenstone) dealers all over the town. The problem with these less-than-authentic dealers is that there is no way to tell where their stones actually come from. These pieces are usually imported, or of low quality, or may not actually be jade at all. To see some real jade craftsmanship we headed to a carving house. All the pieces here are done by actual artists who have trained for years at their craft. Some use purely traditional designs, while others add a modern flair. All of the pieces were beautiful. The greens were hundreds of different shades, some glassy, some matte, some dark, some light, some with flecks of darker green inside, some just a singular color. It was easy to loose yourself in wandering from piece to piece, artist to artist, carving to carving, all more wonderful than the last. The tradition of greenstone is that it is only given. That is to say that I could not purchase a piece of myself. The stone is then carried or held by the person or persons giving it, to ensure that a part of their spirit is captured within the stone. This gift to the wearer carries with it the essence of the giver. A beautiful tradition paired with a beautiful stone. Jillian was choosing one for me, and so I deliberately stayed on the other side of the store, to try and ensure that I couldn’t guess what she was selecting. Upon finally making her decision she informed me that I was not going to be receiving my gift until the end of my trip... well bollocks. At any rate we were finished up, and it was time to catch a bit of culture while the day was still young.

The Whakarewareawa Village was next on our to-do list, and we were off like a flash to try and find it. As it turned out we mostly just followed the steam rising out of the earth. The day pass for the park was about NZ $25. You got admission to the park, a walking tour, a Maori cultural performance, and could come and go as much as you liked for the rest of the day. It’s less money than you might spend if you went to an indian casino in the states (and certainly more cultural). We started off by wondering through several shops, avoiding clouds of stink, and feeling distinctly like tourists. Finally after about 45 minutes we headed over to the performance tent and got some seats. The mishmash of people was astounding. Comparatively, JD and I looked rather tame. There was the guy with the fanny pack (as a note, in NZ fanny is slang for vagina... it brings a whole new meaning to “fanny pack”), the woman wearing the same floral pattern I’ve seen on several couches, the guy with too much camera gear (with his hat cocked halfway back on his head, looking a fool), the grabby couple, the grouchy couple, the kids crying, the girl with the mean look... I could go on, but I think you get the idea. The performance was lovely, and very intriguing. The performers didn’t have great presence (there were two that were great), and the venue was small, but it made up for its small failings with rich authenticity. There were several songs, a haka, and a few other things. All in all it was very entertaining. Next up was a tour of the village, and some of the surrounding pools. Our tour guide was very nice, funny, and engaging. We walked all the way through the village learning about how the hot vents are used to steam food, how the hot water pools are drained into baths, and countless other interesting things about the rich history of the area. It all ended with a geyser (though it was looking mighty impotent while we were there). Though we were nearly dying of starvation (lucky for me Jillian thought ahead and had packed a snack in her bag... brilliant girl) we decided to walk around the thermal pools a little more. We found green lakes, boiling mud, and all manner of fascinating geo-thermal occurrences. We left the park after feeling content in what we had learned and seen. Zorbing was next on the list of things to do, but before we could do that we HAD to have some lunch.

Too long without a bit of food and Matthew will start to get grouchy. First it will manifest as indifference, then as silence, finally with quippy and pointed remarks (usually by this time I’ll have a rip-roaring headache as well). We hadn’t started on the downward spiral of grouchy-hungryness yet, but we were well on the way. On our way out of town we stopped at a little cafe, and ordered some much needed lunch. While we were waiting JD and I suddenly became a picture of an old couple out to eat. I was sketching on a piece of news-print, while she was reading an article. We’d take turns refilling out water glasses for one another, both blissfully content in having company but not needing to fill every moment with conversation. Sometimes I think the act of just being near someone can be as powerful as a touching conversation. The word companion has its roots in the prefix com, which means with or together; and the word panne, meaning bread. A companion is literally one with whom you break bread together. Lunch was delightful. I believe that JD got a pumpkin panini... veggies in a pumpkin paste toasted in a sandwich. I had an absurd steak sandwich that was delicious. We left with full bellies, laughing that we would stuff ourselves before heading out for a zorb.

What is Zorbing? Well, that’s a good question. Imagine a nine foot inflatable ball, with a smaller ball suspended inside of it... kind of an inflatable hamster ball, only human size. Now throw in five or ten gallons of warm water, now wriggle through a little opening, get sealed inside, and finally rolled down a giant hill. that’s Zorbing. It was a little pricey, but I had known months before I left that I wanted to do this. Jillian was game, and so we both jumped in the same ball. Getting into the silly contraption is kind of like doing a dive-roll. You have to run, jump, and slip into this crazy contraption. Once inside they seal you in, open a safety gate, and you start to tumble down a hill. You loose your feet surprisingly quickly. I imagine that you might be able to stay on your feet longer going solo, but with another person you roll over each other as soon as you gain any speed. The world whisks by, water splashes in your face, you scream, holler, cheer, laugh, breathe in water, choke, laugh, spit, blink, and then it’s all over. The next thing you know you’re laying breathless wishing that you could do it all again. Getting out isn’t as tricky as it is funny. They unseal the zorb (it’s just a zipper that’s covered with some vinyl) and then you slip out of the opening as water pours around you. Imagine getting birthed out of a nine foot inflatable ball, that’s what it’s like. Afterwards we, toweled off, changed into dry clothes, picked up our complementary pictures (your photo CD is built into the price you pay, clever really when you think about it), and hit the road. Despite the cost for such a short ride, I’d do it again in a heartbeat... it was that fun. JD and I are now on a quest to find other places in which to zorb.

With not even a wish and a prayer we were off to Auckland. There was only about three-ish hours to cover but it was already looking like it would be close to 8:00 PM before we got in for the night. Again I spent a good chunk of time reading in the car, but before we knew it snack time was upon us. We stopped off at a little petrol station to pick up a snack and some caffeine. A scrumptious meat pie was soon to be in our bellies, along with a touch of red-bull. Hmmm, talk about a nutritious dinner. We didn’t care. The meat pie was fabulous, despite being from a petrol station, and red-bull always hits the spot if you ask me. We weren’t too far from Auckland now and so it was time for some tunes. I had burned a MP3 CDs for the drive and soon we were both car dancing to Justin, shamelessly enjoying ourselves.

Auckland is a sea of suburbs and complicated interchanges. Luckily we were well equipped with a map, and as navigator I was busy with the work of making sure we were headed towards our destination. After exiting the motorway (highway/freeway) it was another 30 minutes or so before we found Jillian’s flat. We twisted through a sea of roundabouts, lights, interchanges, complex cross-overs, and the like. She doesn’t live that far from the motorway, there is just no quick way to get there... LA can be like that at times.

JD has a lovely flat-mate named Willa. Upon our arrival we found her on the deck with a friend who was just passing through, Stephan. We said our road-weary hellos to both, and then set to the task of brining in our things and settling in for the night. Jillian had moved a few things to this place prior to my arrival, but she’d also had a large number of obligations that had kept her from spending any time in her flat. Instead she’d spent time with family, working, and making final arrangements before my arrival (I’m a lucky kid, I just got on a plane... she figured out where we were staying, booked rooms, and the like. She’s a ninja, then again ninjas are everywhere). Consequently there were a few things to do before we could really relax. We unpacked some bedding and then made sure that the bed and pillows were all in order. After that we broke down some boxes, laid out our wet clothes, and settled in a bit.

I jumped in the shower for a quick rinse, cleaned up, and made sure that I was finally presentable... after all we had been steamed in sulfur fumes, rolled down a hill in a water filled hamster ball, and then driven four hours on end in a car. To say the least, I was in dire need of the shower that I took. After making sure that I looked a little more put-together Willa told us that she had a friend stopping by to drop off some furniture. This friend was moving to Pairs, and needed to store a few pieces before they could get sold in New Zealand. I hate moving, and therefore understand that other people hate it as well. Jillian and I volunteered to help move around heavy furniture, and get the garage in order. Soon the truck arrived, and we set to the business of grunting, lifting, and sweating. It only took us 45 minutes or so, and then we were all set. How the driver managed to get the truck down the little driveway, then turn around is all beyond me. Kudos to that Kiwi bloke.

After a day that was FULL to the brim with activity it was time for us to finally call it a night. We planned to kick back in Auckland for a few days, so the morning would bring a much needed lazy recovery from the full day we had just experienced. That night we fell asleep to a cool breeze through the windows, and the feeling of another new place.

Day 10

2008-01-14T11:37:00.001-05:00

An early rise was in order this day, as we had to be packed, fed, and on the road in time to reach the hostel by 2:00PM. Now, our destination was only 3.5 hours away, but we needed coffee, had to stop for a snack, and surly would discover something on the way worth investigating... road-trips, after-all, are infinitely better if you’re willing to make spontaneous investigatory detours. We were packed and on the road by 10:30. We said good-bye to Jillian’s marvelous parents, and soon hit the road. Despite her initial insistence that we not visit her parents, and regardless of her staunch position that visiting was only for a free place to stay and free food, I know that that tricky Kiwi was happy to have seen her parents with her beau... through I’m sure she would deny it.

With a flash we were off to Rotorua, and just as quickly as the scenery had changed before, it began to change again. From lovely hills to farm-land, then to dense forests, to flat plaines (that evidently get a snow or two during their winter) we saw it all in only three hours. It changed all around us, and seeing the mist and fog hug the curves, it was hard not to just stare in awe. It was altogether beautiful, and just when you thought you had a handle on what a place looked like, it would change. I was forever staring awe-struck out the window at some new beautiful change in scenery, always with a point and a gasp, “Did you see that?!” or “On your right, you’re gonna love this.” Of course, our hours in the car were also filled with my reading from books as well. We had finished “Rant” and had begun “Lamb.” Being read to in the car is lovely, and so I was happy to tear into a good book when I wasn’t playing navigator, or looking all googely-eyed out the windscreen. Taupo was on the way, and the lake was a beautiful sight to see. All at once, there in the middle of the drive was a beautiful lake. Prior to this we had stopped for the worst cup of coffee short of what you get on an air-line in the states. We couldn’t help but laugh as we continued to sip our drug of choice despite the fact that tasted terrible. Coffee snobs unite!

Huka Falls was on the way, and the sharp eyed driver spotted the turn-off like a hawk. The falls were amazing. The water was a crystal blue color combined with the rough white froth that formed as it rushed and tumbled over black jagged rock. It was wonderfully impressive, and we walked about a bit enjoying different views and taking several pictures. Just up the road we’d pull off to call the hostel to tell that that we would be half an hour delayed... adventures happen, and we weren’t about to balk at them.

Roten-Roua is the nick-name that Jillian’s dad had used to describe our destination. What a perfectly precise nick-name. The town sits on top of some of the world’s most impressive geo-thermal activity. Boiling mud, geysers, 100 degree Celsius pools (212 Fahrenheit), and the like. Concurrent with all of this geo-thermal activity is a nearly constant cloud of chemicals being belched out of the earth. It’s like wading through a fog of funk... farts and rotten eggs, BO, and all of the terrible smells that can nearly make you gag all rolled up into one... all of it wafting through the air nearly everywhere in the town. Lovely. Verily, you can smell the city before you see it, all the time wondering if you shouldn’t have had that broccoli the night before.

We stayed at a funky (Literally, as it was called the Funky Green Parrot) little hostel that took us a moment to find, and was unique in its own way. I think the smell of rotten ass added a special charm to the place. It was divided up into several little house compounds, and we stayed at one that was across the street from where we checked in. The woman who checked us in had a little sprat on her arm who was doing his best to escape at every chance. Jillian bravely entertained the little drooler just long enough so we could get settled, certainly more than I was going to do. We got into our room, two twins which we had to push together.

Exploring the city was on our to-do list, and I noticed that there was some kind of artsy festival in town for this weekend. We set out to get some pup food and regroup before the evening was upon us. We decided to investigate the little festival, through you had to pay to get into the shows. There was a circus performance, and a Maori cultural performance that both looked promising. After a short little afternoon nap we hit the town. The little convention was a flat fee for all of the shows... something like $30 a head, and at this point we would only get to see one show. We decided against it, but still wandered around to see what this festival was about. It was a little artsy, a little hippy, and a little funky. Altogether a good time, through a little time. It was at Athis point that we found the circus show. They had put up a fence, and a tarp to keep people from watching for free. I’m a tall bloke, and I’ve partnered a fair amount, so I hitched Jillian up onto my shoulders, and before we got in trouble, we enjoyed a bit of free circus. Not a breath taking show, but some good tricks none-the-less. After being scolded for watching a show, and then being issued a moral lesson from some pregnat woman with sprat on her arm, we headed off. For those of you who may someday poo-poo me for trying to sneak a peak at a show, please do me the following favor. Yell, curse, call down vexes upon me... but please do not try to sell me some moral lesson with a smile on your face. I’ve had a great number of people sneak into shows I’ve done, performed for free when I should have been paid, and have altogether focused on sharing my art over making people feel ashamed for being curious. Outdoor circus will draw a crowd, will draw children, will draw the curious... and that’s what I want you to be. Curious. Interested. Drawn like a moth to a flame. Being in the business always make you feel indigent when it comes to matters like these.

Having quite enough of this craziness we headed out for a nice dinner. Dining out is a bit different. Rarely do you tip. This is largely due to the fact that servers are typically paid a working wage, instead of pittance. The result is that your meal, face value wise, costs more... though really, if you realize that they have already added in the gratuity it’s not too exorbitant. We went to a delightful little pizza place, and had a great meal.

By the time we got back to the hostel it was time to call it a night after a very full day of traveling, exploring, and good times. I don’t know that I slept all that well, as most of my night was spent in the crack between the two mattresses. I remember having a terrible nightmare, though I can no longer recall what it was that happened. The next day, however, was going to be a good one.

Day 9

2008-01-14T11:36:00.002-05:00

Despite the fact that we were both on holiday, we still got up at reasonable hours in the morinng. On this day we were up about 8:30. Part of our early rising was surly due to early sun-rise. I don’t know how early, but I seem to remember the sun coming up somewhere between 4:45 and 5:30 on the first days when I was still a little jet-lagged. Our early start got us going so we could head into Napier, have time to visit Nana, and pick up some food for dinner. Jillian and I thought it prudent to cook dinner for her parents at least one night that we were there. Visits are a joy, but when one will cook and then do the dishes it remind parents why they adore their child (and makes a soft spot for a guest, in my case).

After a small breakfast (usually musli - toasted oats, some nuts, and some dried fruit - mixed with some fresh fruit and a splash of yogurt) we set out to have some small adventures in Hawks Bay. Lucky for both Jillian and myself, we are both great fans of coffee and food. Our light breakfast was really just to stall our apatite so that we could make it to Napier. This lovely little city boasts of receiving the most sunlight hours of any city on the north island. It’s down-town district is almost uniformly modeled off of an Art Deco style. It gives the whole place a unique panache, and delightfully quaint in its own way. We found a lovely little café for lunch and soon set to people watching, silly romantic musings, and talk about plans for the rest of the trip. I was in need of a new bathing suit, and JD was looking for some sunnies (NZ slang for Sun-glasses). We both failed miserably at first. All I could find were board shorts... which just don't look right on my legs, and nearly every place we looked at sunnies left something to be desired. Exhausted after only a short stint of shopping we got ice-cream instead. We slipped into one last little shop as we were headed to the beach, and finally found some red sunglasses for that beautiful girl, but only just barely. As it turns out, both of us hate shopping that is inefficient... and this was nearly such a fiasco.

We had a little bit of time left and so we headed down to the beach for a quick look a the water before we left for Nana. The pebbly beach was beautiful... to look at, miserable to navigate. The little black pebbles that covered the beach would slip underneath your feet and burn like little coals. It was worse if you took of your jandals, as I did (as a note the word jandals is a catch all term for anything like flip-flops... synonymous for flip-flop, thongs, crocs, water-shoes, et cetera). While the sand was scalding underfoot, once you made it to the water it was well worth it. The sound of the surf in the sand was like rain. Instead of the soft sound of surf it was like waves of a torrential down-pour. We stood, ankle deep in the water, loving the sound and trying to guess how far out we could see on this particular day.

Soon, however, it was time for us to head to out and pay a visit to Nana. Jillian had talked with her grandmum earlier that day, to apologize for not attending the evening previous, and to make arrangements to swing by for a “hullo” and to introduce the strange boy from half a world away. We had a delightful afternoon, enjoyed a glass of wine, a bit of tennis, and chatted about the holiday. I felt like I was being mostly awkward and quite, however, I was later assured that I had done just fine. I suppose time will tell in this case.

After our brief visit, we headed out to the grocery store to pick up some salmon. Jillian is a marvelous cook, and decided to conjure up something with salmon, pasta, a creamy red-wine sauce, and some steamed green beens. Despite my best efforts I did little in the kitchen besides prep work, and occasionally whisking a sauce. All well and good I suppose. Dinner was altogether lovely, and we enjoyed it on the patio looking out over the bay, all the way to the sea. While I hadn’t done much of the cooking, I did jump in to do the dishes. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that a good cook always appreciates someone who is willing to help clean-up.

It had been another lovely night, beautiful in so many ways, but the next day would mean heading out for grander adventures. That afternoon we had looked at a few hostels, and JD had selected one that she thought would be nice in Rotorua. We couldn’t have guessed that our time was going to slip so quickly through our finger tips, but already it was melting away. Day nine was past the hump, so to say, and there would only be fewer days together after this. Looking back it’s hard to realize that the time went so quickly. We lived each day to its fullest, even if it was only lazing about... never once quarreled, shared the most brilliant conversations, told stories, laughed, and basked in the joy of having the other near. I couldn’t have known that it would only get better, and therefore all the harder to leave.

Day 8

2008-01-14T11:36:00.001-05:00

Domestic Duties are an essential part of life, and certainly one must attend to the simple necessities. JD and I had a day of them. After a mid-morning breakfast we set to the task of laundry and car washing. Laundry was simple and in a strange way fun. After the clothes were out of the washer we hung them up to try in the Hastings afternoon air. A distinctly “kiwi” thing to do, as Jillian would say. The whole business of having clean clothes is always nice, especially when you discover that you are running dangerously low on undergarments. In-between putting things on the line we gave Gerty a bath. Gerty is the name of Jillian’s little car. We had spent a fair amount of time driving about and enjoying some rough roads and plenty of grime, and so she was due for a good cleaning. I would love to report that we didn’t play in the water at all, but there was definitely the occasional extra splash here and there directed at the other. All good fun, and a marvelous thing to do on a summer afternoon.

After the exercise of domesticity we sat down to lounge in front of the TV for a bit. I don’t remember the last time that I actually watched MTV, neither could Jillian, and soon we were in a near coma state as we alpha-waved our way through a few shows. We snacked on some fresh fruit, had a spot of tea, and marveled at the what’s on television these days. Then we sighed a little as we talked about modern audiences. Before long it was time to play in the grass. We set out to do some partner’s balancing stuff, and I soon had the nimble Jillian standing on my shoulders or balanced on my feet. A bit of tumbling in the grass is always good for one’s spirit, especially on a nice day. Afterwards we goaded each other into stretching and abdominal exercises in the way that only two competitive dancer-circus-monkies can. It was a lovely afternoon.

It had turned into a lazy day filled only with a few responsibilities, and was glorious just as it was. A holiday should always have a healthy dose of lazy days. So lazy, in fact, that it was nearly 9 by the time we heated up some left-overs for dinner. Jillian had gotten a call from her mum that her family was having a get together. We were invited, but JD decided that she would save my introduction to the whole family for another time. Parents were enough of a leap for one trip. For dinner we scoured the fridge for left-overs. It’s the kind of think you can only really do when you go home. Scouring your own left-overs is a chore, but sifting through your parents’ (or in this case for me, someone else’s parents’) is like hunting for gold. A bit of thinly sliced ham, potatoes that could be mashed, steamed veggies, and all the trappings of a delightful meal. End it all with a pilfered chocolate from the cupboard and a cup of tea. Bliss.

We finished off the night with a bit of “Punch Drunk Love.” An odd movie that I find wonderfully artsy, intriguing, and quirky all at once. I did nothing but show my poor darling Kiwi all manner of odd movies while I was in her country. The movie was wonderful, but we were soon drowsy from our Vitamin D intake earlier, and so paused the movie to save it for another night.

Day 7

2008-01-14T11:35:00.001-05:00

After a short night it was time to head out of Plimmerton, and leave behind the hostel we had called home for several days. The Moana Lodge had been a lovely place to stay, and saying good bye to the coast Would prove to be a bit sad. I can see why JD loves Welly so much, and I know that leaving it behind was difficult for her as well. She’ll be based out of Auckland for the next two years, and so this was as much of a holiday for her as it was for me. As it was we had to be off by 10:00 AM, and so we put our things in order, got up early and got right to the work of setting off. We had a small breakfast of what we had left in the fridge: cheese fruit, toast with butter, some nuts, and a cup of tea. After packing our leftovers from a previous dinner into a plastic container to take with us we dropped off our key, packed the car, and headed out for Hastings to meet her parents. Despite my encouragement to drop a line and let them know that we’d be popping in, she insisted on surprising them. She’s in charge, and so we headed out. We stopped off for a coffee on the way out, and then it was up the coast for us. I read Rant aloud to pass the time, and occasionally found myself staring out into the distances totally taken by the beautiful landscape passing us by.

Rant was to keep us company for the trip to Hastings. I read to Jillian as she drove. We stopped off in a little turn-around about midway to eat our leftover couscous and chicken from a previous night. Combined with some nuts and fresh fruit we had a lovely little picnic there on the side of the road, finishing it all of with a little dark chocolate. Hmm hmm good. The rest of the drive was beautiful, but uneventful, and both of us were getting deeply engrossed in Rant.

Before we knew it we had arrived in Hastings. A lovely little place. We strolled up to Jillian’s parents house, knocked, and entered. A shocked mother answered the door. We had a short round of introductions, a glass of wine, and then JD and I headed outside for some laying in the sun, and to finish up Rant. Her mum just looked on shocked to see that her daughter had actually brought the boy home... something she had sworn that she wasn’t going to do. The afternoon was beautiful, and dinner with her parents was delightful. Afterwards Jillian and I went down the hill for a walk in the evening cool. The houses and hills were all beautiful, and we enjoyed a nice little trot after a filling meal. The evening wound down after that with a bit of reclining and dozing before we finally hunkered down for a beautiful New Zealand night.

Day 6

2008-01-03T02:20:00.000-05:00

Lazy Mornings are a wonderful invention, and I’ve been no stranger to them here in this beautiful place. Jillian and I enjoyed a morning of half waking, half sleeping with the smell of the sea drifting between our giggles and the sounds of a hostel around us. We talked about plans for the day, and how to celebrate our new year ripening by the moment. We settled on making a trip into Welly. There was a chance that one of her friends could score us a place on a guest list at a private event, and if that didn’t turn out there would be plenty of other things to do in the city.

Before any good adventure can get started a person must be properly caffeinated. We set out for the little café that we had frequented over the past few days, and both got a flat white. I’ve mentioned before that coffee is a bit different here, let me explain: A flat white is espresso and milk in a small cup (8-10 oz.) with just a centimeter of foam on top; A flat black is espresso and hot water (in a cup the same size as above, kind of like an Americano, but stronger); Espresso is just that, espresso in a demitasse cup; a latte is similar to in the states, but in a similar sized cup as a flat white (maybe an ounce or two more) but with plenty of foam, 5-6 centimeters; A cappuccino is just espresso and foam with just a touch of milk, what people in the states would call a “dry” cappuccino. We both enjoyed our flat whites and a slice of the most rich nut and chocolate cake, talked of the world and soon set off to return to the hostel.

After picking up some snacks and things for the road we headed out to Welly. The drive was beautiful, and I spent a good chunk of it reading to Jillian. Sharing a good read during a drive is something that I remember from my childhood. I remember my mom reading books, or finding books on tape for us to listen to as we took the drive up to my grandparents house. A wonderful way to let the time slip by as you enjoy the trip. Once in Wellington we skipped off to a bank so I could convert a bit of cash, then headed over to Te Papa (http://www.tepapa.govt.nz/Tepapa/English/). Te Papa is a beautiful museum in Welly that has a number of beautiful exhibits. We wandered through the place looking at their natural history display and then up to the cultural center to look at the Marae (http://www.tepapa.govt.nz/TePapa/English/WhatsOn/LongTermExhibitions/TheMarae.htm). A central part of the Maori culture, the Marae is a meeting house that is used indispensably in all manners of cultural ritual. There really are no words to describe how beautiful the carvings are, or the detail that goes into this beautiful piece of cultural artifice. We spent a fair amount of time in the museum, but not nearly enough when it really came down to it. After seeing Bill Hammond, and then another display at a museum I was in hog heaven. Nothing gets the nerd in me more than a trip to see some culture, or something science... Wonderful. Simply wonderful.

After our wandering around Te Papa we headed over to see if we could catch the trolly up the hill a bit for a better view. As it turned out we were in luck, we paid for our tickets, climbed aboard and then headed up the hill for a fantastic view. Simply breath-taking. The views in this country are unbelievable. We enjoyed staring off into the line of the horizon, and then had a short walk through the botanical gardens for a short stint before Catching the trolly back down the hill. By the time we got back into the heart of Welly it was time for dinner, despite the fact that the sun was still up.

A bit of good Sushi is something that both Jillian and I love. JD happened to know a place that was hardly visible from the street. A slender little corridor leads up to a nice open room with plenty of seating. We feasted on some delicious things, tried a bit of Saki (warm and tasting a bit like rice vodka... supposedly “crisp and refreshing” according to the menu), and giggled over the near year that was headed our way.

After dinner we headed out for a few drinks a beautiful bar called the Matterhorn. I tried a Parisian Drop which tasted like a licorice lemon drop, JD had a Plum Treacle (much meaner than my drink). We talked about things to come, the new year, where we were headed next, and what kind of mischief we might get ourselves into over the coming weeks. I treated us to dinner, and JD insisted on treating us to drinks. She headed off to get us another round, and wouldn’t you know it, but an Aussie swung by to ask if her set was taken. He was looking for a place to enjoy a quick smoke, and so he had a seat with me to chat and smoke his cigarette. When Jillian came back the three of us enjoyed a bit of conversation before he headed back to the bar to meet up with his mate (friend, not partner). We sipped down the rest of our cocktails and then made for the waterfront to enjoy a show.

Olmecha Supreme was doing a show close to the harbor, and so we hunkered down for a free show and some fireworks. The pre-show looked like it was going to make for some exciting and wonderful showcase, but once the band appeared we discovered that they had been smoking a bit to much of the good stuff to give much a performance. A highlight of the show was when blokes dressed in black emerged and the band began to chant “ninjas are everywhere, ninjas are everywhere....” They very nearly missed the count-down to the New Year, and then there was a small display of Fireworks. Nothing amazing, but a little fire in the sky for good measure. Afterwards we headed back towards the car, then back to the hostel, confident that 2008 was already turing out to be wonderful, and looking forward to what would be next.

Day 5

2008-01-01T02:39:00.001-05:00

Any good day starts with a bit of lazy bed reading. We’re slowly making our way through Rant. I made Jillian listen to a bit of it, and then she was hooked. After a few chapters and some giggles we decided that we better get up for breakfast and think about getting some groceries. Food is a little more expensive, but isn’t too terrible. We’ve treated ourselves to bits and pieces here and there, but have also done a fair amount of cooking for ourselves here at the hostel. The combination of the two has made for a wonderful time. Good food, and good company.After cleaning up we sat down with a map and started to plan out where we should go for a drive. The weather was looking beautiful, and we decided that we had better see a bit on such a glorious day. After consulting the map we gathered some snacks, jumped in the car and headed out for a drive. The first place we hit was Featherston. A very cute little town. Not much too it, but the drive there was unbelievably gorgeous. We crossed over a few hills that looked more like mountains, and from the top could see all the way to the sea. We got a bit turned around, but soon got our bearings and headed for Wairarapa. A little lake that we decided to drive around. We stopped for some pictures and a stretch before continuing on towards the bay. Talk about beautiful. What we saw in front of us was truly unbelievable. More ocean than land, and everywhere you looked. The beach was black rocks up by the road, and as you got closer to the water it became like so many tiny black pebbles. Almost exactly like Moonstone beach in California. As the water would rush out the waves would become black for just a moment as they kicked up the sand, then as the white foam rushed in over the beach it would be teal blue again. We walked and talked on the beach and marveled at how beautiful the world looked. Originally we had planned on making our way to a little seal colony, but just couldn’t seen to find the right roads. It’s hard to explain, but the road makers are not always easy to find and read here in New Zealand. Instead we decided to head towards Martinbourogh and to treat ourselves with wine and cheese. Known for being wine country, Martinbourogh is a beautiful little town that’s very quaint. Something smaller than Santa Yenez, CA, but with the same feeling. Over cheese and wine we relaxed and soaked in the summer air. It’s warmer inland away from the coast a bit, and so the warmer day was a bit of a change from the breezy weather we’d been enjoying on the coast. We decided to take a walk to let the wine wear off a bit, and soon found some play-ground equipment to do circus tricks on. Two wild bohemian theatre kids playing circus, hardly something that would surprise those who know me. We soon started the drive back towards Plimmerton. I read to JD (Jillian’s nickname from college... her initials) and we both giggled and enjoyed ourselves and the rest of the trip. Once back to the hostel we started on dinner: a simple salad, couscous, lemon chicken, and a beer. Oh so tasty after a long day of exploring and galavanting. We decided to settle down for the night and enjoy a movie (The Prestige), but just over half way through we were both hardly awake anymore and crashed for the night with the sounds and smell of the sea drifting through the window.

Day 4

2008-01-01T02:38:00.003-05:00

Amazing girl... Jillian is an amazing girl. This beautiful hostel is where we are staying until the first of January. We switched to a smaller and less expensive room for our last days here in Plimmerton. The room is just a little smaller, but you can still smell the ocean and hear the surf... two things I know that I’ll miss when I go back to the states. We slept later than usual and had a spot of late breakfast out on the patio. Over a little more food we looked at some of the pictures I brought with me. All fun. We set ourselves up for a lazy day with plans to enjoy the beach for a bit, but to otherwise just relax. After moving things into our new room we cleaned up a bit, and got ready for another day. We were still a little hungry from our light breakfast, so we decided that we would have a snack and then find some fish and chips. We made a little snack of crackers, cheese, fruit, and some biscuits (cookies) that her mom had made. After we finished our snack we set to the task of writing a letter/post card to send back to the states.Next up we set out for a walk to get some beer and some fish and chips... with a twinkle in her eye Jillian says, “ah, thinking like a kiwi!” We set out to pick up some Tui and the rest of lunch. While we were at it we dropped off our letter in the mail, and then headed back to the wharf. Once there we enjoyed the beautiful view and sounds and proceeded to dig into our meal. DELICIOUS. Jillian tells me that it was probably delivered that morning, fresh from the ocean. The mildest flavor and crispy. Top it all off with a nice light beer and you have our lunch/dinner. We sat in the sun and talked of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.Back at the hostel we settled in to read a bit of a good book, and soon I passed out completely. Getting up just enough to settle in for the night the rest of the day drifted away with sounds of neighbors and sea drifting in and out of my head. The next thing I would remember would be the morning light peeking through the window.

Day 3

2008-01-01T02:38:00.001-05:00

Some wild weather was headed our direction before we knew it. Enjoying the view from our upstairs room we saw the waves slowly get stronger bit by bit until they were finally crashing against the shore. By morning we had seen a bit of rain, plenty of wind, and some rough surf. All well and good. Breakfast was a cup of tea, some cereal, a few pecans, and some New Zealand yogurt. Yogurt here is a bit more tangy than in the states. We used it instead of milk for our cereal as a fine thick and tasty way to enjoy some breakfast.We went back to Welly to visit with James (Jillian’s good friend here in the city). Instead of driving (parking is very expensive, $9 for just an hour) we took the train... ($4.50 per person into the city, and $6 per person out of the city). It was a beautiful ride, and we enjoyed a cup of coffee as we followed the coast. Once in the city we enjoyed another wonderful cup of coffee (I had a flat white (two shots of espresso with steamed milk, no foam) and the charming company of James. We went for some lunch and talked about my impressions of New Zealand, Americans, the world, as well as enjoying some good laughs. Lunch was at a little place in a food court, and was very tasty. After lunch we headed over to one of the museum’s in the city to see Bill Hammond (one of Jillian’s favorite NZ artists). The gallery was full of his work ranging all the way back to some of his early pieces from the 1980s. Fabulous and beautiful in every way. His art seems to focus on the incongruity of man and nature, and how the two exist in the same place. James and I enjoyed several wonderfully insightful conversations as we wandered here and there, commenting on each piece that resonated with us. James had to stop off at the office for a bit that day, so we left him for a bit and ran around the city some more. We slipped into all sorts of interesting shops and markets. A wealth of interesting little places crowds the city from head to toe, and there is always something new to see and explore. Soon, however, we got a text from James saying that he was home, and so we swung by a grocery store to pick up some food for dinner. Though Jillian took very little help from us boys we did our best to ensure that she didn’t do all of the work herself. Jillian made pasta with a sauce that had bell peppers, zucchini, garlic, onions, spinach, some veal, and a large mushroom. This wonderful dish was topped off with a touch of parmesan cheese, and voila! Dinner. Over dinner we chatted about politics, work, common interests, and New Zealand’s history. An altogether wonderful time. As it was getting on towards 9:30 we sipped out for a few drinks before heading back. Cocktails are a little more expensive here, but not that much more pricy than any other city... especially since we found a wonderful little bar with lots of style (Buena-vista Social Club which was on Cuba street). After a few drinks we headed out for the train, and before we knew it we were running for the train. The last one left Wellington at 11:00PM and at 10:59 Jillian looked at me to say, “honey, we’ve gotta run.” After a short sprint to the station we barely made it to our platform and slipped onto the train before it took off. Both of us had a sigh of relief knowing that we had made it out fo the city just in the nick of time. Off the train and walking back to the hostel I looked up at bits of sky I had never seen before. The ocean singing to the left, a beautiful girl on my right, everything better than I could have ever hopped.

Day 2

2008-01-01T02:37:00.001-05:00

As it turns out we are much closer to the sun here. The day was BEAUTIFUL. After lazily watching the sunrise from bed it was time to start the day. Out the window in our room the sun rose and the sky changed from blue-black to gray to pale blue to steel pink to bright glorious blue. The sound of the waves hitting the shore drifted through the open windows along with the smell of the sea. For breakfast we headed out to a very cute little café down the road from us. Coffee is almost exclusively espresso with milk or hot water. As of yet I have not seen a place were you could have brewed coffee (there was a coffee service on the plane, but that was it. I had fried eggs over toast with bacon (large strips of thick bacon at that) while Jillian enjoyed an omelet. Afterwards we skipped down to the grocery store to pick up a bottle of wine, and a few things for the next day. Food was a tad more expensive than in the states, but not totally unreasonable. We mostly picked up fruit, cheese, yogurt, nuts, and the things you can make half meals out of. The hostel has a beautiful kitchen facility that we can use, but it’s difficult to plan meals when you know you’re only staying a place for a few more days. After we got back from our morning errands it was time for a walk to enjoy the beautiful scenery... a stop for ice-cream (delicious) and to find the train station. The next day would take us to Welly, and we needed to check the schedule. Once we got back from our beach side walk we made a glorious afternoon meal of fruit and cheese. A mango, tangerine, edam cheese, and wheat water crackers. Wonderful stuff. We watched the clouds drift by, talked of all manner of things and then headed upstairs for a bit of fun watching “Hedwig and the Angry Inch.” By the end of the movie we were both starving and headed back to the kitchen to reheat our left-overs form the previous day and enjoy a bit of wine. The hostel is filled with accents and languages from all over the world. Back upstairs the weather had changed and we watched the tide roll out and the waves become more choppy. A storm was headed over and we could see it in the waves before we saw it in the sky. As the day turned to night (the sun doesn’t set until about 9:00 PM) we listened to the waves lap at the shore and felt the breeze rush through our windows. Simply beautiful... everything about this place is just beautiful.

Day 1

2008-01-01T02:36:00.000-05:00

The last leg was agonizing. Waiting in the lobby of the Auckland Domestic Airport was agonizing. AGONIZING. Being in another country, but not with the person you’ve come to meet is torture. Sitting and listening to other travelers was very interesting. The Kiwi accent is a beautiful one, and very fun to listen to, especially between lovers. After 100 or so pages of my current reading selection it was time to board an aircraft and head for Welly. This country is beautiful. The clouds case enormous shadows over the ocean, and all around the country side looked like the mountains of California right next to the sea. Beautiful. I tried to read for the last flight, but it was just too difficult. About the time we reached our cruising altitude it was time to descend. Land. Disembark. Walking out of the gate I wondered when I would see her. There darting through the crowd was the most beautiful person I haven’t seen in five long months. Our embrace and reuniting kiss was couldn’t capture the ture essence of the missed feelings we both shared. Next we were off into Welly.By far this is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. Something like San Francisco but not as crowded. We drove along the bay and everywhere we looked was more ocean. All colors of the ocean. A bit of light green here, a shady blue green there, a light blue over there, and deep dark blue a bit further out. We stopped off to grab some gas, then off to get some of the most delicious cheep noodles. We walked through a few pavilions, and enjoyed the view of sea and people. In the airport parking lot the sky was bright blue, just a bit later and we had clouds and rain, by night fall it was again starting to clear. Back to the car and a drive later we arrived at the Mono Lodge. The first chunk of our stay is overlooking the ocean. From out of the window of our room in this little travel lodge (hostel) we see ocean, ocean, and more ocean. The rest of the day we spent catching up, lounging about, and enjoying the beautiful weather out of our window.

Touch Down

2008-01-01T02:35:00.000-05:00

Travel time wasn’t as long as I thought it was going to be... but still was absurd. An 1.5 hours to DC, 1.5 hour layover, 6 hours to San Fran, 2 hour lay over, 12.5 hours to Auckland 6 hour layover, 1 hour to Wellington... for a grand total of 32.5 hours of traveling. Currently I’m stopped in Auckland waiting to check-in for my next leg. I’m still too early, and so I’m enjoying the view, and finally some unobstructed leg room. I have been packed as tight as possible on all of my traveling legs so far. Since Sunday night I think I’ve slept maybe 6 hours. I finished Rant, started Lamb, watched two movies, played some video games, and have all around marveled at the time I have spent on this journey. I keep reminding myself that life is a journey, and that we should strive to appreciate every moment we have. So far, I feel like if I had just another 6 inches of leg room I’d be appreciating the journey more. Ah well. All in all the travel was rather mundane, no heart attacks on planes, no screaming passengers, only a few screaming babies, and really not much human interaction. I met a young woman headed to visit her brother on an island close to NZ... we shared the flight from DC to San Fran, and from San Fran to Auckland. In the international terminal we chatted for a few moments about the oddity of seeing the same person on two flights. Also when I was in San Fran I decided to stretch a bit, and a family of four (husband, wife, two daughters) chatted me up about being flexible. They wanted to know if I was a dancer. So I shared a little with them about dance, theatre, and circus. They then asked me to do yoga for them on the plane. It was cute of them. The couple sitting next to me on the leg from San Fran to NZ was very cute. They looked to be traveling together for the holidays. They may both be musicians... though the boy was particularly protective of his guitar case. On the plane they shared pomegranates twice and read a children’s story to one another (The Gift of the Magi). They were very adorable, a little crunchy, and did their best to ignore me. So far the only other interesting character I’ve encountered was a little boy sharing my row from DC to San Fran. Absolutely the cutest thing I’d ever seen. He was squirmy as all hell, but he made up for it by talking to me about remote controlled air planes, adventures, and other nonsense while his mother used the rest room. She came back and scolded him for bothering me. It didn’t matter that I told her that I wasn’t being bothered. The weather is warm and delicious here. It feels in the mid 60s already, and it’s only 6:18AM. It rained a little about 5:30, and the smell of a fresh place is washed all over me. While I know that I’m in a different place, it has the feel of humanity all over it. The world outside of the airport is going to be a wild one, but right now the world in the airport is just as interesting. I think I have to pay a departure fee... though I’m going to ask when I get to check-in. Similar to the feels that are added to tickets in the states, only unique to each airport. It’s for up-keep and the like. I can’t get on the internet without paying 10$NZD for an hour here in the air-port... but I could get to a simple little page that answered a few basic questions about airport procedure. I’ll know more soon. In the meantime, the line is looking short and so I’m going to try and make my way to the counter and ask some questions about when I can check-on and if I need to pay this departure fee. More later as the adventures continue.As it turns out I am a damn fool... it’s 8:00AM now, and after investigation at the check-in counter I discovered that I was in fact still in the International Terminal. I had to take a walk over to the Domestic terminal, and tada, I was able to check in. I haven’t been able to check my bag yet, as they don’t accept bags until 90 minutes prior to departure. Not too long now and I’ll be able to drop off this stupid big bag of clothes. I need better luggage. It’s a cold hard fact, and I need to embrace it. Lugging this nearly 40 pound bag all around several airports has been less than charming. It has wheels, but it doesn’t roll straight, in fact it mostly tips over. Not ideal. I decided that some additional deodorant, some product for my hair, and a spritz of cologne would be a good idea... which it was, what was not a good idea was not putting my moisturizer in a plastic bag of its own. Something in me decided to take a risk... well, a few risks I suppose. A boy using moisturizer always looks slightly suspicious (risk #1), and putting it in your bag of toiletries without it’s own travel condom, i.e. plastic baggie, (risk #2) was a poor choice. The damage wasn’t wide-spread, just an inconvenience mostly. Live and learn. Ironically my shampoo, conditioner, body-wash and EVERY OTHER THING I did put in its own little toiletry travel condom didn’t leek. Figures.As a side-note I love the way people talk here. I’m loving just listening to them speak here in the airport. This place is awash with interesting bits of culture. I also love that everyone is lost in an airport. Notorious for their confusing design I enjoy watching people wander back and forth trying to find where they are supposed to go... is it because I’m some terrible sadistic person? No, it’s because I too have done the exact some maneuver countless times this trip. Navigating through international terminals has so far been the worst. My god what a mess of insanity. Off the plane and check your travel card and pass-port (this is also when you are asked a bazillion questions. Pick up your bag, another check point... more questions... my favorite being “do you have any sporting shoes with you?” To which I cocked my head sideways and said, “I’m sorry?” “Hiking boots, sir.” “Oh! No, no sporting shoes.” After that it’s the bio-safety check-point, x-rays for your bag, check your passport, take your travel card and you’re off. Out one terminal, into another and more security check-points. I suppose it’s a silly question to ask, but are they really catching people? Or is the obstacle of security a deterrent? Like the death penalty, or a parking ticket... just another social deterrent to encourage proper behavior. I, however, am glad that you can’t take any more then an ounce of liquid on a plane with you. Heaven forbid people could bring anything more than travel toothpaste, or travel deodorant, let alone any cologne. I like my fellow travelers stinky and gamey, it really allows you to perpetuate social stereotypes more efficiently. Despite the fact that I have had little to no sleep I’m pretty awake, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I pass-out about 7:00. Nothing says, “I’m so excited to see you, like being comatose before 9:00. On my to-do list is a shower, pictures of this beautiful place (and it is stunning, already... even though I’m just at the airport), and a nice stiff cocktail. Those things accomplished and I will be feeling right as rain. One more little tid-bit to boggle you readers. I’m writing this from tomorrow... or rather you’re reading this yesterday. People want to know if time travel is possible, and it is, though not in the way that Christopher Loyyd and Michael J. Fox do things. Truth aside, I’ll take this trip as proof that I’m getting closer to enlightenment by transcending space and time. Watch out world, for my next trick I’ll tesserackt. For you literary goof-balls out there, that last one was just for you.Sending my love back across an ocean.

How? Why? Huh?

2007-12-22T15:04:00.000-05:00

I recently received a letter asking me why one of the 500 Clown exercises worked... so, I composed a long letter explaining the ins and outs of the work that was being done in the space that day. After a little reflection it occurred to me that I should include that letter in this blog as an accent to a former post... enjoy

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A bit about what was happening:

Have you read Sanford Meisner on Acting? It's a very interesting book and breaks down his technique fairly completely. The crux of his acting technique centers around the idea that we cannot simply emote when acting. Sanford would say, "acting is not emoting. Acting is living truthfully under imaginary circumstances." The idea being that you transport yourself into a specific set of imagined circumstances, and then act and react accordingly. Being yourself on stage is ALWAYS harder than character acting. This honesty, however, is the most compelling. When Loring was just being himself, vulnerable, embarrassed, honest, open, he was the most interesting. This was also compounded by the fact that he was actively involved in a relationship on stage. I think that the clowns purposefully didn't give much instruction so that the audience could identify with Loring. We were all confused, intrigued, listening, and playing along... we identified with him, and all learned something because of him.

I think that Pat and Jordan failed because they weren't listening to each other... and they were being polite. Polite is fine and dandy in the real world, but when it comes to the stage, "polite acting is the heart of dull acting." One, or both of them, should have listened more closely to their partner... should have been carefully attentive to what was happening in the other, should have looked for their motivated choices to come from the other, not from themselves. They both said, several times, "I'm really nervous." That didn't give their partner anything, it just drew attention to themselves.

A quick moment with Buddha:
This particular belief system tells us that we are all made of the same stuff, all come from the same place, and are in fact really not separate at all. We are reflections of each other, and others are reflections of us. Why does this matter...

How and Why the exercise works:
Theatre is about human experience and catharsis. In the case of this exercise the participants are relating to one another and to the audience. By turning and interacting with us they are making us part of their experience, part of their world. It keeps us more engaged, and certainly helps us to follow along with what's happening. It also purposefully disrupts the flow of potential conversation. What you say has to be important because you don't get to have snappy come-backs. It also doesn't allow you to be totally immersed in yourself (your anger, love, frustration, et cetera) as you are forced to remember that the audience is watching, listening, drowsing, laughing... you are connected not only to your partner, but also to your audience. When someone makes a discovery, or has a genuine experience in front of us we can identify with what's happening because we see parts of ourselves in that person... we get that wonderful shot of catharsis that allows us to feel something with other people. The experience of sharing an emotion is a powerful one, especially when it's happening with a room full of people. This only works, however, if we can feel like we're identifying with the person in front of us... they have to be honest, they have to be themselves because we are identifying with the person, not with the character. That brings us to applying this exercise. If you approach every character you play with unabashed honesty and humanity then people want to watch you... because they aren't watching you, they're watching themselves.

The key to making an exercise like this one work is to focus on being honest, being grounded, being centered, and being open. They did this exercise last because it made sure that we were all interacting, engaged, and ready. Doing this in a large group you would need to run several warm up games/exercises: a few things to build connection, vocal warm-ups, some mind-body centering, etc. I think it would also be good to take a step back and do some general Meisner work first to help people get into that frame of mind, to help them be totally engaged in everything that's happening. Biologically, we utilize as few cognitive resources as possible in our daily tasks. This allow our brain to maximize our efficiency: In most human interactions it isn't important to know the color of a scarf, or the name of a candy bar, or how many buttons are clasped on a person's jacket... but in a play those could be important indicators for the characters: is that color the character's favorite, was the scarf a gift, is that candy bar from someone else, are those buttons undone because someone is having an affair? We have to practice our observation skills, and our listening skills to help us live fully in every moment.

One of my theatre professors would tell us that on stage you "live from moment to moment, as if each were your last." It's a skill that you have to practice.

500 Clown Break-Down

2007-12-10T13:45:00.000-05:00

Clowns, are an entirely different matter, or are they? I just recently had the good fortune of being able to work with a small company called 500 Clowns. They are based out of Chicago, and their work comes out of a strongly physical and improvisational based technique. Their workshop combined several different exercises, all of which were focused on creating a stronger bond between ensemble members and scene partners. We played the following games:
Creative Carry
Step-Forward / Own Your Mistakes
Draw
Fall
He said, I’m going to Say (Meisner work a different way)

Here’s a short description of the above games:

Creative Carry:
A group is separated into two even groups. These two teams then stood on opposite sides of the stage facing one another. The objective was to carry another member of your group to the other side of the room in a creative way. You stood still, shared weight, and found a working balance point that you could move from, and then proceeded to carry your partner to the other side of the room in that specific position. You were discouraged from “bailing” on the choice that you made. Even if the carry was difficult, it was something that you had promised to the audience, and the expectation was that you would deliver the goods by completing the carry. Group caries were also strongly encouraged as the were often more interesting. This proceeded for 20-30 minutes, all while the facilitators barked directions and expectations to those participating. All of the above was carried out silently. Partners were told to make eye-contact upon completing a carry in order to share in the mutual accomplishment. “Don’t make it easy,” was a frequent note that was barked and growled out to the students during their work.

Overall a marvelous exercise, but one that requires that students have some background familiarity with their bodies and movement in general. My concern for this group was more for their individual safety rather than over their accomplishments. Molly and Pauly (two of the 500 Clowns) would later talk about their overall technique and working aesthetic by saying that they believe that audience members should fear for the actors, for the characters, and in general be a bit terrified during any performance. Certainly there were moments of that in this exercise.

Step-Forward / Own Your Mistakes:
The same group was again organized into two rows facing one another. These two lines were then given the following instructions. The facilitator would offer up a description (those wearing blue shirts), if you fit the profile you were to make eye contact with three people in the opposing line, and then cross to the other line. The identifiers were never as simple as a color of shirt, they included the following:
“Those of you who are breathing heavier now than when you walked in.”
“Those of you who are sweating.”
“If you’ve been cheating when it comes to eye contact.”
“If you think we’re talking about you.”

The exercise encourages participants to think critically about themselves. Actions, presentations, posturing, et cetera are all possible topics. This not only encourages the participant to be aware of themselves, but also to take ownership for behaviors that one would normally lie about.

Draw
A variant of a game like beep. The person in the middle of the circle points to a person and says, “Draw.” This person ducks down, and the people on either side draw their imaginary side-arms and fire at one another saying, “BANG!” The goal is to be the first to shoot. If you miss your cue: don’t duck, don’t draw, don’t fire fast enough, the person in the center then calls you in to replace them. This game works to focus in on quick reflexes and being engaged at all times in what’s happening in the space. If you loose your concentration than you are in the center, for all to see.

One of my favorite games from the workshop. It didn’t focus on unreasonable physical engagement, didn’t make the actors engage in potentially dangerous choices, but still retained the essence of a game that is centered around the act of being engaged in the process. Definitely one that I’ll use in the future.

Fall
A variant of the same game that I played with Diavolo. The game is organized in the following manner. A small group of people (this varies on the available space, should be 5-15 people) circulate in the space, when ready a member of the group raises their hand, says “falling” (or “me”) and proceeds to fall in any direction. It is important for the faller to keep a solid body posture, i.e. all core muscles engaged. This makes the body “stiff” making the catch infinitely easier. A person who does not keep their core engaged will be like trying to catch a wet noodle, and will collapse in the catchers arms. Fallers should also be instructed in the art of the fall: A deep breath, rigid body, and then a lean that turns into a committed fall. The exercise encourages participants to trust the others in the group, to support others, and to be supported by others. Single catches are discouraged as this is a group effort. Should two people fall at the same time the group should plan accordingly and take care of both people.

This particular exercise was executed poorly in this workshop. Without enough instruction, and without adequate time the fallers were encouraged to take “big risks.” The result was something that was mixed in its execution. I caught two people whose daring choices put me and them in great peril. One catch sent me sliding on my knees and into a sharp step, the other was a quick grab as a participant fell from a two foot step collapsing on the way down. The safety of a performer is always my first priority, especially students without significant physical training. I too had to start somewhere, but this was reckless.

He said, I’m going to Say (Meisner work a different way)
This exercise was one of the most intriguing, but also just a different manifestation of Sanford Meisner’s repetition. Two partners stand facing one another roughly 8-10 feet apart. Participants are instructed to have a conversation using the following formula: Turn to the audience by changing your footing to face forward, and tell the audience what you are planning to say, “I’m going to say, ‘how was your day?’” The participant will then turn to their partner and say what they reported to the audience that they would say. The partner then turns to the audience and says, “He(she) said, ‘how was your day?’ I’m going to say, ‘fine, thank you for asking.’” This continues as both parties are responsible for telling the audience what is happening in the conversation, as well as participating in the exchange. As a variation of repetition this is a wonderful exercise.

The presentation for this work was wonderful. The example exercise went well, and produced results that were telling and interesting to watch. The second round however was much rougher. While I’m not a fan of heavy handed facilitators, this was one case where there needed to be some additional information. For two participants who didn’t have much exposure to Meisner’s work, this was a very difficult exercise. Having done significant work with Meisner’s technique, I can see how this would work to bring out more complex nuances in conversation, while forcing the participant to recognize not only the audience but also their partner. This duality of focus reminds the actor that they are not in an imaginary room, but instead trapped in a theatre space sharing the stage and performing for an audience. Everything, in this case, is a performance. A very powerful tool in terms of an exercise, but also one that needs specific feed-back and careful instruction.

Bad Luck

2007-12-10T13:44:00.000-05:00

One of the stranger parts of my job relates to what I invariably overhear while I’m waiting for my students to arrive to their appointments. I’m usually stationed in a guidance office somewhere, in a library, or some other out of the way location so I can be ignored by the majority of the high school staff. This is all fine with me, as most of the time I want nothing to do with the lame grown-ups I find at high schools. High school students are loud talkers, for some strange reason they don’t think about the fact that others could be potentially overhearing their ramblings. Ere go, I hear conversations that should normally be considered private. Do I feel guilty about this? No. Why should I? I’m not using the information to manipulate anyone, nor am I using it to spread gossip. Instead I use these moments for my own introspective examination of the world. This past Wednesday I heard the following:

“My Mother has such bad luck with marriages when I'm around”

Holy shit.

The conversation was between a female student and her guidance counselor, she was talking about the fact that she was moving to California to attend a Fashion Institute and had cautioned her mother to wait to get married until after she left for the west. He reasoning was then described by the above comment. What a tremendous burden for a teen-ager. Not only contending with her own feelings of inadequacy, but going so far as to feel responsible for her mother’s own shortcomings. So frequently I meet kids who feel unreasonably responsible for their parent’s failures. Their perception of worth is steadfastly related to their perceived value in their parents lives. I wonder if we ever grow out of this, or let it go. I know that a part of me worries over my parents ability to pride the child they raised, my accomplishments as a reflection of their parenting skills, and the values which they encouraged me to embrace. Am I a child they could be proud of? My own rhetorical questions, however, have none of the innate sadness of the assurance this poor girl had. Implied in her assertion is that she is the source of the “bad luck” and that her mother would obviously be better off without her around. I chased myself away from my mother after she got remarried, I slowly started to shut her out, sure that she would be better off without me around.

Snow, Soft and Silent

2007-12-03T16:56:00.001-05:00

The snowfall is soft and silent today. It’s slowed down finally, but for a good chunk of the day has been characterized by falling flakes and the whistle of the heat in the building. All of the high schools were closed today, but Keene State College just kept trucking. I’ve watched students march to class and the dinning commons all day long. A show day for part of the world, but not for my part. The start of the day is what I’m slowly coming to dread more and more. Today produced another unfortunate phone call to report that another student had lost a parent over the weekend. Sad, just sad.

The winter brings with it all sorts of sights and smells, feelings and memories, a cornucopia of drudged up personal mythology. Somehow the world is not ever like I remembered it being when I was a child. I happened into some clips from the musical Oliver. I remember Fagin being one of my favorite bad-guys as a child. Something Grandfatherly in his demeanor, mischievous and at the same time playful. In my young mind there was no doubt that he was a villain, through and through, but I didn't hate him for it. Rummaging through clips on youtube I found a clip of my favorite devious-leader of run-away children. What I couldn’t help noticing was the vulgar nature of his presented character. A caricature of the Shylock character, an unmistakable demonization of Jews. Horrified. I sat in stunned silence staring at my computer screen. I watched it again to make sure that I hadn’t just made it all up in my mind. Nope.

Today as I was thinking about the snow and the ankle deep trudge from my flat I suddenly thought of Barrington Bunny. What a dark little story for children. Looking back I realize that it is almost painfully allegorical, but somehow some of the underlying morals have stuck with me. The idea that we are all connected, all a part of the same family, even if we can’t always see the connections. A drive to change the world for the best, foolish self-sacrifice in the face of danger... several principals that I’ve brought with me into adulthood. I wonder if I’m any better for it... any better for the moral and ethical principals I’ve come to feel connected to.

The sun is all gone, and I’m going to start my trek home soon. I wonder how my life is going to change, if it will change, and if I’m brave enough for the coming challenges and risks.

Storm is a Commin

2007-11-27T15:29:00.000-05:00

Lame... that's the only word that I have to describe today. Totally lame. I suppose that tragic would also be appropriate, or melancholy, or any host of other words to describe unfortunate things. One of our students lost her step-father in a terrible car accident. The older you get, the more people die. Here in the middle of college-application season, between turkey and twinkle lights a lame fucking accident. My heart goes out to her. It is my sincere hope that she asks for help from family and friends... looks for support, and lets others help her through this.

We loose people all the time... I just wish it wasn't so terrible, so hard for those left behind. I can't help but think of a Christmas not too long ago now that was full of unfortunate things. December 1st of 2005 I was hit by a car... spun across three lanes of traffic, life split apart at the seams. I walked away, but it would only be 24 days later that I would be in an adjoining room when someone died. I was dating a charming girl who lost her grandmother on Christmas day... in the middle of Christmas day we went to visit her failing grandmother, stayed to keep her company, then had to call hospice, then everyone in the family had to say good-bye, and then she died. The funeral was New Years Eve. Everything fell apart after that. After loosing her grandmother that charming girl cried in my arms more and more. Slowly lost control, and ultimately pushed me far away.

A close friend of mine... one of my best friends actually, lost his mother to a long battle with MS when we were in our Junior year of High School. What a funeral. A twenty one gun salute, a folded flag, and later an urn of ash. I wish I could have done more for him when he was in the middle of that nightmare.

I have gotten nothing done today. Nothing. You can't help but consider your own mortality, and the fragility of those close to you when something like this happens. I know that my mother will die someday, my father... I worry that my father will be first. He has a less than outstanding track record, and I worry that I'll get a phone call telling me that he has HIV. I worry that he already does, but is afraid to tell me. He's never been very good at talking about things like that. I worry that I won't cry when one of them dies. Worry that I'm becoming the heartless, reserved, cold, detached person that lives like a ghost in my life. I know him, he's just around the corner some days... sleeping in the other room. He slips in with the cold and the snow, makes me feel hard and heartless. I can think of few fates as miserable as one of utter detachment. Maybe that's why this job scares me. You can't be in education, or counseling without an element of resignation to you. Part of you has to be willing to say, "well, that's that," or "there's nothing I can do." What a beautiful talent, what a super-power that must be. Something so dangerous I dare not wish for it myself.

Wedded Bliss

2007-11-25T23:42:00.001-05:00

I keep attending weddings with the expectation of a happy ending. So far, no luck. I don't mind being taken as a piece of arm candy to a wedding. It's an obligation as a good friend, and you get a meal and a few drinks out of the deal... it's not like I'm being forced against my will. Instead, I head to these events with a secret hope that in one of them I'll see something genuine. While I have seen a few that have been deeply touching, the majority continue to fill me with a sense of dread. This last adventure was a doozie.

The ceremony was held in a beautiful church, and had a decent turn out of friends and family. The groom and groom's men were all sporting kilts as their official accouterments for the event. The daggers in the knee high socks were my favorite touch. The bride had a beautiful dress with perhaps too much beading, and her party was dressed in crimson, with the exception of the bridesmaid who wore a slightly lilac gray. Underscored by a pipe organ, the guests and family were escorted to place. Among them were several interesting characters: the girls with bed head, the man with the short tie, the bleached blond who was asking to fall out of her dress, the young fiancee who was always watching the hands of her beau, the awkward young bridesmaid, the boy who was trying too hard, the man with wandering eyes, the gent with big gestures... the list goes on. The distinctly christian ceremony was touching, and even a bit funny. The stumbling groom had a difficult time repeating the entirety of his vows and needed a little coaching from the priest. Similarly, the bride eager to show her knowledge of the vows ran over the prompts of the man in charge, and had to take a moment to compose herself before they continued. According to my comrade I had a slight gasp during the vows, though I don't recall such a behavior.

The reception was next and what an adventure. The groom's naivete about location was apparent when he learned that his high school prom had been hosted by the same venue. Brilliant. The bar at these events always lets me down, but nonetheless I sat with my cocktail ready to observe what the night had to offer. Our table was a scant 4 people, which made the family style dinner all the more enjoyable. There was music, dancing, boys trying to get girls drunk, girls trying to be subtle as they threw themselves at boys, and a general sense of merriment.

I was continually perplexed by the juxtaposition of the whole event. A somber ceremony followed by a raging party. One couldn't help but witness the wandering eyes and occasionally wandering hands of the attendees, creating a strange energy which pervaded the room. It was all of the pomp, and yet an absence of love. Somehow the whole event felt slightly empty, or maybe just dismally pedestrian. I left wondering how to come to terms with the night's events, and how to process the impending deeper questions that would come. During the drive home I believe I said, "I'm sure they'll soon settle into a loveless marriage driven by children." A terrible vision of the future, and yet one that seems more than likely.

Just the day before I heard about the crew of friends and high school chums that are all engaged or married. I am happy for them... for the most part. At this rate I will be one of the few to arrive at my 10 year reunion without a ring, which is fine by me. I am terribly afraid of living out someone else's dream of what life should be. I want a life that is mine, genuinely and truly a creation of my own. I don't want to follow in the cookie-cutter foot steps of others, or chase a dream that isn't real. Maybe I'm just chasing a dream right now.

Whatever it is that I'm chasing, I wish that more people could understand. Instead I'm just another crazy dreamer who is applauded for following his own path... outsiders wondering how such feat is possible. It's done one foot at a time... right foot, left foot... breathe, repeat.

Acting Questions

2007-11-23T12:46:00.000-05:00

So, I received a link to the following list of questions and observations in my email today... I thought I would give a response, but as it turned out it was too long for facebook. Instead I'm posting my response up here.

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Prompt:
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Given that:
I am what I am
I am because I am
I am who I am.

What is the difference between who I am and what I am? How do they interconnect?
Am I who I am because of what I am?
Am I what I am because of who I am?
Is it possible to be who I am without being what I am?
Is it possible to be what I am without being who I am?

I am an actor, so it is my chosen profession to be someone else; to substitute me for someone else. In theory, I am not the character in my body on stage. In that case, I am not who I am. But I am still what I am, and that allows for me to return to who I am when the part has been played.

Where do I go when another person takes over my body? If I have done my job right, I have built this character either from the outside in or the inside out. The character is on stage. I am on stage and I am not on stage at the same time. I am somewhere else and I am in my body.

The question isn't: who am I when I am on stage? The question is: who am I not when I am on stage?

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Response:
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You ask an important question, and one worth spending some time thinking about. However, let's start with some other questions first:

Are we only the sum of our parts?
Are we the product or the process?
What is acting?
How can I know who I really am?

The Reductive Materialist would argue that we are only the the sum of our parts. That is to say that I'm made up of mostly organic compounds, and that's all there is to me. To a lesser degree you could use this ideology to imagine that a play is the sum of its component parts, which you are one of. A play is not a space, nor a group of actors, nor a set lights, nor a script... it is combination of all of those things in the right place at the right time. In this case, you are a part of a whole, and who you are, individually, is of little importance.

This, however, leaves many unanswered questions and doesn't feel just right. So, where to next? Let's think about water for a moment: we can witness this particular compound in several different states, as a liquid, as a solid, and as a gas. Which is it then? Must it be only one? A glass of ice water sitting in front of you is all three simultaneously... a certain amount of the solid is melting, a certain amount of the liquid is evaporating.

Great, more questions than answers... what' next then? Where does process end and product begin? When does a show change from being a rehearsal to being a production? Where's the magic line in the sand that I can cross over and know for sure that I've finally arrived? Am I forever in the process of changing into something else, or do I ever finish my metamorphosis? Maybe it's a little of both. We are mutable creatures, all of us, and so our lives are filled with complex situations and even more complex questions. Certainly, I am different now than I was 10 years ago.... but how did that happen? Given our relationship to time and space we can only experience the present... we can remember the past, or make projections about the future... but now is all we really have. Right now I am the product of my history, and the process for my future, and at the same time I'm still me. The way that I can experience time is prescribed, and so I have to live moment to moment.

Fine, but what does it have to do with acting? What is acting, really? According to my handy-dandy dictionary it is defined as follows:
---
act |akt|
verb [ intrans. ]
perform a fictional role in a play, movie, or television production : she acted in her first professional role at the age of six.
• [ trans. ] perform (a part or role) : he acted the role of the dragon | he got the chance to act out other people's jobs.
• [with complement ] behave so as to appear to be; pretend to be : I acted dumb at first.
• [ trans. ] ( act something out) perform a narrative as if it were a play : encouraging students to act out the stories.
• [ trans. ] ( act something out) Psychoanalysis express repressed or unconscious feelings in overt behavior : the impulses of hatred and killing which some human beings act out.
---
All useful information... but the most interesting to me is "perform a narrative as if it were a play." Plays, after all, are just stories. The roots of theatre come from acting out religious ceremonies, telling stories. All we have, ultimately, are our stories. We can't hold onto our money, or our youth, or vigor, or strength, but we can hold onto our stories. It's how we connect with people; we share ourselves through the exchange of stories. What then is acting? It's telling stories so that the audience can feel connected (perhaps interconnected) to a world that feels estranged. The word theatre comes from the greek "theatron," meaning, "the place of seeing," or "where the gods descend." An actor, in the greek sense, is the voice of a god. In more contemporary language, we are story tellers. Now, there are many different "methods" that are taught to actors to help them be better story tellers, but they are still story tellers looking to share something with others.

Who then, am I? It is a deeper question than it appears on the surface. I am not my job, or my clothes, or my apartment, or my degree, or my bank account, nor any combination or permutation of any of the countless artifacts you might find in my life. I am both more, and less than those things. Being an actor is just one part of the cloud that is me... but as an actor I think of myself as a social scientist; willing to accept that if my history had been different, I would be different. I am not who I portray on stage, but if things in my life had been different, I might have been. You can never be anything but yourself, however you can put on the clothes of someone else and imagine that your life could have been different.

Ultimately, you have to answer your questions yourself... come to your own conclusions, and make your own choices. In the meantime, however, the above can be some food for thought.

This California Boy

2007-11-21T14:04:00.000-05:00

Something in a Californian doesn't like a New England winter. That isn't to say that there aren't many beautiful features in the collage of sights and smells here during the winter: the snow fall, the smell of heating oil being burned, the smell of fireplaces, seeing people bundled up against the cold, the sound of a world muted, the overwhelming feeling of people being huddled in their homes for warmth. It's something else. The world feels bleak, hard, estranged. I remember winters on the west coast as being crisp and brown... the winter here is just different. Harder. Maybe it's because my family is all on the other side of the country. Maybe it's because the only arms I want to fall into are 9000 miles away. At any rate, it leaves a person feeling thin skinned, longing for a good hug and some company.

One of the strangest transitions out of college has been the loss of so many friends. When you are united by education, by a show, by classes, by parties, and all other manner of social activities there is always someone to spend time with... always a friend that will come over for a drink and a movie, always someone to shoot the shit with, always someone who's up for a walk or a talk or a cup of coffee. It's not to say that I've lost my friends, but instead a loneliness that's distance induced. I just don't have the same social network here.

I suppose that it doesn't help that I don't really buy into the whole holiday extravaganza of it all. I'm not going to see any of my family for any of the holidays this year... or even for my birthday. I know that they love me, and they know that I love them. Holidays have just never been the same since my parents divorce. I hate the idea of living in the past, but those fractured memories are what I remember as being the beautiful part of family. Hindsight's piercing light has frequently illuminated the tragic truth of those memories, and yet they still resonate with me. I suppose that I should just leave it behind and start new, but I'm just not interested. Christmas trees are beautiful, but I can't imagine having one up in my apartment... big Thanksgiving dinner's seem more like something from television... and under it all is a soundtrack of spending.

Maybe there's something else to it as well... since I lost my passion for Christian Dogma, and gave up on faith in general I feel like an impostor celebrating a religious holiday. The roots of this holiday season are fundamentally connected to a series of religious rites and ceremonies. It would feel wrong to celebrate Hanukah without sharing the same belief system, and so joining in to celebrate Christmas just to save face seems inappropriate.

In the meantime I'm bundled up close to blankets and sheets watching the world around me share in some kind of strange shopping-family hating/loving-seasonal cheer sharing-empty frenzy. I miss the sight of the ocean crashing against the rocks, and the sound of the water rushing over sand. Standing on the beach at sun-set you can feel yourself rushing out over the water towards the horizon, filled and emptied all at once. The mountains are beautiful, the woods are lovely dark and deep, but the ocean holds my heart.

Meathooks, What a Fitting Name

2007-11-16T11:45:00.001-05:00

Last night I had a wonderful experience in circus. I was doing one of
my favorite tricks... it's called a Meathook. This appropriately named
trick involves folding your body in half and hanging by one arm from
the trapeze looking more like a piece of folded luggage than a human
being. The left side went smashingly, but the right side had a few
snags. Once I was upside down I decided that I wanted to see if I
could hold onto this position for a little bit longer. It's always
good to work on your endurance, and doing a strength trick for only a
few seconds is hardly impressive. So, there I was hanging by by right
arm all folded up and looking pretty.

What came next was a terrible sound. Like someone twisting a fist full
of bubble wrap, I heard my abs slip up over my ribs... probably some
fascia trauma. Worse than the sound of something popping and tearing
inside of me, was the feeling of slipping/tearing muscle. Oh my. I
backed down the intensity for the rest of class, especially as it
would periodically feel as though I was being stabbed in the ribs on
my right side.

Once home I took an opportunity to closely inspect my upper body,
hoping for nothing but sure I would find some strange swollen spot.
Nothing. So I applied a little arnica ointment, and socialized with my
roommate. Before I went to bed I applied a little Tiber Balm, and fell
asleep to hot hot heat radiating all over my right side.

A few hours later I got up. Things aren't right, but they aren't
terrible either. It's dull and localized over the corner of my lower
ribs on my right side. this leads me to believe that it was indeed
just a little fascia and or muscle trauma and that I'll be feeling
right as rain in a week or so. Lucky for me there's no class next
week, so I'll have plenty of recovery time. Whew.

Right after the event I thought for sure I had popped out a rib, or
fractured something internally... I was running through a laundry list
of potential interior damages I could have done to myself. Now with a
night of rest and some perspective everything seems okay, but still a
bit sore. It feels today like a big bruise on my ribs. I only wish I
had a huge purple/green welt to show for it. Circus injuries are
really only a good time if you have something to show off for all the
agony you are suffering.

YouTube Madness

2007-11-15T16:27:00.000-05:00

Time to post a few things that are on the net...

Anniversary

A piece of choreography from when I was at Fresno State. Kelly and I worked for several months before this performance, and then took this piece to Sacramento, and performed it a few other places as well...

Fabric

What I work on the most right now. Fabric is a difficult apparatus, and I still haven't decided what it is that I want to do with all of my training. Picking between an MFA program that centers around acting, or one that centers around dance is a difficult choice. I think I need a little more time to mull it all over in my head.

Realizing the College Dream?

2007-11-05T19:08:00.000-05:00

10:30 AM

What a colossal waste of my time on a Monday morning. I got up at 4:30AM for this? Really? What a joke. Today's workshop feels like a colossal waste of my time. Not to imply that there is no value in this workshop, but instead it has (at least so far) been a workshop that's been full of material that I've already been exposed to, already learned on the job, already seen. I don't know what to do with these grown-ups.

Helping students find a college or university that's right for them, and for their aspirations is a difficult process, but not impossible. This is a workshop that is selling a product, their manual. We all received a manual today when we walked in, and now we're being told what's in the manual and walked through how to utilize its contents. To what end? Is this a do-it-yourself kind of workshop so I can just take home a book and figure the rest out on my own? More and more I'm feeling failed by this group of presenters.

Now we're playing a game called, "Who Wants to be a College Graduate." A wonderful opportunity to role-play in the company of other adults, hmmm what a WONDERFUL idea. I'm so glad that I came today.

12:34 PM

We've now had a short break for lunch and my impressions thus far are still far from stellar. In talking with Laura I've come to the following conclusions. I don't need another workshop that's going to talk about information that I already know. What more can I learn? Lots of things I think, but what do I think would be the most beneficial for the target group of educators that I work with? I think that a seminar about technology and it's applications would be marvelous for this group of people. How to use MySpace, Facebook, Protopage, Blogger, AIM, iChat, MSN Messenger, Gmail, Google Apps, delicious, twitter, podcasts, video blogs, ad infinitum would all be good things for these people to learn how to use. Understanding how students communicate, and interact in this digital age would be important to talk about and understand. Looking at these educators I'm overwhelmed by the idea that all of these people are separated from their students by how they communicate.

12:46 PM
One presenter has just run through the building wearing graduation robes covered in photocopied 20 dollar bills. Kill me.

2:07 PM
White people dancing... oh god why.
College Family Feud... bedlam, complete bedlam

7:14 PM
Finally home and grouchy as all hell. We took wagers in the car about how much of the information being presented we would already know. I guessed 95%, a co-worker 98%... I think she was right. I hate days that waste my time, especially when it's so limited. Enough griping for now, I have nothing left to say about the disaster that was today, I only hope tomorrow bring something better.

Favorite Quotes of the Day

"The more you learn the more you earn."
That is, of course, unless you pursue a degree in the Fine Arts, or Humanities, or Social Sciences... great, sign me up

2007-10-30T13:31:00.000-04:00

Small Moments

2007-10-23T16:18:00.000-04:00

I can’t help but wonder if we’re missing out on the small moments of kindness that we could be offering one another. I suppose they’re easy enough to miss, but I certainly can call my day better or worse for small offerings from other human beings. I sometimes think that the most beautiful moments come from seemingly insignificant breaths of kindness. Washing a few extra dishes, sharing a meal, offering to share your candy bar, getting someone a cup of coffee, doing something for someone because of the smile it will generate. I understand that there is never enough time, I understand being broke, I understand many of the reasonings behind why such moments are difficult… but I do not understand surrendering them. Our humanity is so quickly dismissed in talk of numbers or earning potentials, or in finding results. Are we any better for it though? Perhaps it is my constant optimism talking, but I just can’t surrender my life to indifference. I write letters, create original art work, perform, and have dedicated my life to all manner of small things that seem of little importance when it comes to the values of many others. Yet, in spite of that fact I wouldn’t want that other life. Give me poverty, give me dark days, give me the same clothes for years at a time, give me a simple life… and kindly allow me to keep my drive for all things art, allow me to keep my ballet shoes, allow me to keep my pens and paper for writing letters, allow me to be filled by my passions.

Working with teenagers has taught me many things and given me ridiculous stories… but it hasn’t given me much hope. I fear that I’m slowly becoming that old man who doesn’t see anything in the world of youth around him. It’s not that I don’t see any hope, just very little. The other day I read a statistic claiming that only 8% of people in the US will see a live dance performance in their life. Are the fine arts becoming extinct in this country? Are we fading away? I don’t imagine that we’re fading into oblivion, but at the same time the presentation of abstract ideas in variant forms of theatre are increasingly difficult for young audiences to grasp. I wonder if artists in every era wonder about the world that they live in… maybe that’s just what we’re supposed to do.

The Story of the Bear

2007-10-16T16:59:00.000-04:00

The Story of the Bear

During my first summer in 2005 I took the opportunity to climb Mt. Monadnockon on the fourth of July. It was a beautiful day for a long hike and from the top of the Mtn we could see the fire works displays in about 4 or 5 counties. Beautiful, hands down. Once at the top of the climb we took the opportunity to enjoy a bottle of wine in the company of hard working UB staffies. It was lovely. I won’t tell you the names of the people on this trip, but it’s enough to say that there were trouble makers in the bunch.

As the sun set and it grew cold and dark we started down. The climb was a bit treacherous in the dark, and scary as all hell, but still exciting… until we got under the cover of the trees. The dark was everywhere and the only way to make it out without screaming was to tell stories and start laughing. We decided that we should come up with a “worse case scenario” plan in case we were attacked by a bear. After much hemming and hawing we finally settled on the following plan.

We would launch a surprise attack on the bear and gouge out one big bear eye… we would then take turns having sex with the empty eye socket, just to teach that damn bear a lesson it would never forget. The bear would demonstrate it’s displeasure with this whole affair by letting out the sound “Brrraaauuuggghhhrrr!” At which point the unseen cub of the bear would cry out from the bushes, “Why mommy, why?!”

This story became funny for several reasons… we couldn’t tell any of the students, and because we could call to one another by making the sound. This always produced giggles and laughs, especially as the telling of this tale made several of the female staffies cringe and shake their heads. One day during a staff meeting someone drew the bear with its missing eye. I then took the opportunity to scan the picture, and trace it with illustrator so we could make tee-shirts. The joke was complete when the shirts arrived and we all giggled each time we wore them.

Cynics are People Too

2007-10-15T17:37:00.000-04:00

Reading back through some old blogs of mine got me thinking about how I see myself now, and how my vision of the world has changed over time. It seems odd to me in some ways to think that I’ve become the person that I am, and at the same time it’s not surprising at all. We are, each of us, created out of the fires of our lives. Pushed, pulled, bumped and prodded we change to meet the individual needs our lives present. January is fast approaching, and that means 26 is running headlong towards me like a frat-boy after a pair of fake boobs. What to do with all of that… who knows. What I do have is a record of the cynical feelings a year of being an adult and being on the other side of the country have left me with. I think it’s a combination of several things. Living this artist life is hard business… I wonder if it’s worth it, and somehow know that it’s the only way I’d ever really want to live. I just wish it wasn’t all so hard. Ah well. Now for a Blog style Flash back

Time in New England has taught me many things about myself:

You can't be what you aren't - So true. I'm a native Californian Boy, bringing with me all the terrible things people say about those from the West Coast. Gabby, Flirty, Androgynous, Vain, Self-Centered. I will never be at home in New England, and a few of those native to this place have made it perfectly clear how out of place I am.

Growing up means getting older - You don't fit in at the bar scene. You can't really hang out with college students. 25 year olds are hard to come by. Extra years change your ability to relate to others, and how you see the world. Sometimes it means that being alone is better than being at the party.

You can't be everyone's friend - People pick sides, form clicks, and celebrate their separatism. There is no way to make everyone happy. There will always be someone you're letting down, there will always be someone that you hurt. This is the risk of involvement. Having friends means loosing friends.

The prettier the face, the uglier the gossip - If you're pretty, people will talk. If you're talented, people will talk.

The sweeter the tongue, the more malicious the lies - The most eloquent, are the best deceivers.

Talking is the root of all misunderstandings - Being loquacious is equivalent to being self-centered. Wanting to talk about the world, and our place in it, has no place in the lives of most young people. Don't expect to be able to talk about philosophy, or theory over coffee or at the bar. . . if the words are coming out of your mouth, you are talking about yourself. Better to be seen and not heard. It's always better when you don't talk.

Accusations produce more accusations - Accuse another, be accused yourself.

Few people will ever know you - Count yourself lucky when you find someone who will put a note on your door when they know you're having a hard spell. Even those who say they know you, probably don't. Move across a country to find out who your real friends are.

Everyone is the Hero of their own Story - The narrative we create in our daily lives has a hero / heroine who is portrayed by ourself. No one is the villain of their own story, no one wants to be the villain. No matter the choice, it is what they believe is the best for themselves at the time they do it. . . Ethical Egoists unite. Even moral sacrifices become a means by which the hero / heroine makes themselves into something more. . . something better. "For the greater good," is a catch line for those who want to be immortalized. We are self serving gods, each of us.

High School

2007-10-08T12:47:00.000-04:00

What happened to put me in this place? Here I am serving High school students wondering most days if they'll even show up. What a strange job this is. I drive to four different high schools, and provide additional counseling services. That's a broad enough range to encompass nearly anything imaginable. Tutoring, you got it! College selection, Yep! College Visits, all the time baby! Private counseling needs, just day the word. Drug or alcohol abuse, can do. Social frustration, why not. You name it, I'm to provide it for these students. How? They can find me in their school, on the internet, or in my office. I am a public servant for these wonderful individuals. The frustrating part is being under utilized. These students are terrible at keeping their appointments. I wonder about when we socialize young people to be responsible, and how... but so far have no answers.

So far, in the year and change that I've been doing this, I have noticed that we don't teach young people how to socialize with adults. The perceived gap between "minor" and "adult" is so concretely defined in the minds of young people that they seem confident that once they turn 18, the world will be open to them. Perhaps it will. The older I get, the more the world seems to look like high school no matter what age you are. Maybe surviving High School is the hard part, what they really need help to do, and after that they are indeed ready for the rest the world has to throw around. Somehow I doubt this. There is some kind of stigma that surrounds you as an "Adult" in a high school world. If you are accessible than you are being immature, and taken with a grain of salt. If you are like most adults and non-accessible, a seeming entity of responsibility and aloof behaviors you gain some measure of fear from students and they don't know how to approach you. There is, in fact, little to be done other than to engage in conversation... which brings us full circle. I can only be as available as my students will let me. Sitting in a lunch room painfully alone as an adult seems to be as miserable as the same process as a teenager. Kill me.

There must be a solution, but somewhere along the line our high schools and families are failing us. Maybe it's a greater matter of societal failings. We seem to rear generations that are purposefully separated by generational divisions that we are in no hurry to abolish. Children are children... but when does that status go away? I fear that I will be eating at the children's table my whole life. Though I wonder if that's so bad. At least when you're sitting at the children's table you are allowed to mash your peas, make faces, giggle, laugh, and have fun, behaviors mysteriously missing from the adult realm.

I've put in my time now, and will head out after not seeing anyone... how do I fix this? Who knows, but at least I know what I'll be thinking about as I drive back to my office.

The Public-Ivy Conundrum

2007-10-07T19:20:00.001-04:00

As an educational counselor one of the parts of my job is to attend events hosted by various institutions. That is to say that last week I attended a breakfast hosted by the University of Vermont. These events are typically for the institution to advertise how selective they are, or affordable, or this, or that. This particular event struck me because of the words of one of the admissions counselors. She referred to UVM as a Public Ivy. This term was coined in 1985 as a handful of high achieving institutions had an Ivy League education available for the Public University cost.

The cost of education continues to inflate, but I was wondering how much it was inflating. I decided to do some research to examine the so-called public ivy and the cost associated for students. The data works out like this:

Tuition
In-State 18,966 (Today) 5,695 (1985)
Out-of-State 33,950 (Today) 9,905 (1985)

Over 4 Years
In-State 75,864 (Today) 22,780 (1985)
Out-of State 135,800 (Today) 39,620 (1985)

The first question I asked was about the difference between In-State and Out-of-State students. How much more do you pay as an out of state student? Well, in 1985 you'd pay about 74% more for your education. Today, however, you'd pay 79% more. It is important to note that the population of UVM is held close to 25% In-State, and 75% Out-of-State students.

The next question I wondered about was about the cost to a family:What is the median family income? Knowing the median family income would allow me to see the cost of education related to family income. I would be able to compare 1985 dollars and 2007 dollars, and see increase in relation to families rather than raw numbers.

Med. Income
VT 58,136 (Today) 30,019 (1985)
USA 59,448 (Today) 32,777 (1985)

% of Income
VT 33% (Today) 19% (1985)
USA 58% (Today) 33% (1985)

Examining the data shows that there has been a 14% increase in cost for in-state students as related to their family income. A family of four, in 1985, could plan on a UVM education costing them 19% of there family income, but today the should plan for 33%. Matters are worse for UVM's out of state students who, in 1985, could count on paying 33% of their annual income, while today should plan on spending 58% of that same income.

Sitting with the numbers in front of me, I wonder if they're really a public ivy after all is said and done. The only answer I can come to is that they are not. Certainly they are a competitive school, but given the cost of attendance as compared to median family income there is no way for them to be an affordable choice for today's family. But can any institution of higher education really say that they are affordable? I don't know. Working with students form low-income families gives a person a sense of perspective when it comes to the cost of education in the current cultural atmosphere. The students I serve come primarily from families whose income is below the national guideline for poverty, making schools like UVM that much harder to get into. Higher Education is becoming a money making industry, and these institutions certainly work hard to capitalize on that fact.

So, You want to be in the Circus?

2007-10-04T22:17:00.001-04:00

The circus huh? Well, here's the deal. You get to do things that look amazing, defy gravity, and all in all be made of awesome. Here's the catch, all things come at a price, beat up hands, beat-up body, and all other sorts of misery that go along with those joys. Did I mention that everyone will compete with you? How about the fact that some people will hate you based on the fact that you're slightly more flexible than they are? How about when people can't decide if you're an actor or a dancer or a circus freak, because you can only be ONE of those things...There re great perks. You're always interesting at parties. You can always use the retort, "Fuck you, I'm in the circus." Not to mention the fact that you're in the business of making things look good, easy, and fun. In the end though, it's a hard choice and you have to ask yourself, "do I really want to be in the circus?"