Every year the process seems to get a little easier to bear, maybe it's just a consequence of everyone getting older, but this year, with only a slight exception, things were downright somnabulant.
I elected to drive down to my mom's this year, instead of taking the train, since the trade-off between cost (driving actually costs more) versus the possibility of having to wait for a train that comes late, if at all (as was the case last year), was heavily weighted in favor of convenience. It's not a long drive; I can generally do it in under 2 1/2 hours non-stop, but I frequently like to take side trips, get off the beaten path so-to-speak, although usually I save the meandering for the return trip.
I only get down once or twice a year, at most, and I'm never really there long enough to completely adjust to the change of pace, which is considerable. This part of my family just moves so much sloooooowwwwwwweeeeerrr than my norm. After the second day of sitting for literally hours on my mother's living room sofa, with little to do aside from count the passing seconds, which thanks to the ticking made a small clock proceed at a measurable pace. It sort of becomes a Zen thing, just sitting, trying to operate on a minimal amount of stimulus, and willing yourself to move at a speed that would make glaciation seem jaunty by comparison.
Sure, I could have read a book, or taken a walk, but the whole point of coming down is to BE with the family, and tuning them out to even that extent just seems anti-social. So, you sit, and wait for the occasional smatterings of conversation to engage you, while everyone grows older by the second.
That's the toughest part of the experience for me: I can deal fairly well with my own impending mortality, but the point really gets hammered home watching my mother, her new husband (yep), my older aunts and uncles and my two grandmothers. Everybody is winding down; you can see it in the rice-paper brittleness of their skin, in the lapses of memory and struggles to recall names and events; in the frequent need to sleep, like cats, even for just a few minutes, in order to get through the next few hours. Everybody is going bald - even the women. Limbs tremble, joints make audible noises when in-use, balance teeters between wobbly unsteadiness and the inevitable giving way to the stronger force of gravity, when even falling down has life-threatening consequences. Disease of one kind or another is rampant; the body is in an almost constant state of breaking down, like an old car with too many miles on it, yet not quite completely to the point where a new part here, or some aggressive maintenance there can't keep it on the road for just one more trip down the coast. An aunt has hypertension; one grandmother isn't allowed to drive anymore; the other is recovering from a broken hip; my new stepfather is battling Leukemia, while everyone else is just plain getting old, including myself.
I don't mean to sound like I'm complaining, this is just the reality, one so different from my own day-to-day existence, it's like visiting a distant planet. On this world, everyone drives a pickup truck; everyone hunts and fishes; vegetables are a rare and questionable food source; flannel shirts, blue jeans and heavy boots are the uniform of choice for the men, who spend their leisure time sitting around and staring slackly at football on television, while the women, adorned in holiday themed sweaters bustle about in the kitchen, preparing trays of cold-cuts-and-cheese, salmon balls, smoked oysters and shrimp platters, waiting for the frozen lasagna to cook. Even the younger ones in our midst seem unduly affected by the lethargy: 20 year-olds just out of high school suddenly take on the aspect of their elders, lacking only thinning hairlines and thickening ankles to make their transformation from vibrant youth to solemn age complete. There's a kind of peacefulness to the proceedings, as we sit around my mother's mother's tiny, tidy home, but it's the peacefulness of people who seem otherwise profoundly tired.
My mother and I made a brief trek to Portland on Saturday to visit my other grandmother, 91 and still going strong, although she too is struggling with the infirmities incumbent on her age. She broke a hip a couple of months ago falling off a chair, but seems well on-the-mend, enough that she was released from the care facility where she was staying, and was allowed to go back to her retirment complex. But, she's unsteady on her feet, and is adjusting to the idea of needing a walker. Also, she has cataracts and macular degeneration, so her sight is not so great either. But, she's a sharp contrast to the other side of my family: she's always been active, social, and energetic, and even at her advanced age the difference is startling; always up on the latest family news, a funny story at-the-ready, able to start up a conversation with just about anyone she encounters, she's the total obverse side of the coin from my other relatives, and she gives me hope, not just that I've got a good genetic makeup to double my current life-span, but perhaps more importantly, that even age and infirmity can be overcome if one truly desires a measureable quality of life. It was good to see her again.
Going off-the-interwebby shortly, and probably won't be able to check messages until Monday. Have a great Christmas, happy last day of Hannukah, merry Kwanza, (missed you Solstice reverlers!), etc., etc. Drive safe, don't drink too much egg nog, and remember to recycle your wrapping paper.
And for those of you travelling by air - life sucks. Bring a good, LONG book, and energy bars. Lots of energy bars.
If you were unfortunate enough to live in Seattle, AND you missed the "Half Brothers Holiday Show" last night at Theatre Off Jackson (and there were many of you who did), you should commence with the self butt-kicking right about -- now, and pray - on your knees - that they elect to turn this into an annual holiday tradition, because if this was really a "once in a lifetime event", you are going to need to be doing the kicking for quite a while to atone for your transgression.
I'm not sure exactly how the "brothers" - local theatre musical (as opposed to musical theatre - very different sort of beast) guitar stalwart Rick Miller, along with "Awesome" band-mates John Ackermann (mandolin) and Dr. David Nixon, PhD. (banjo) - characterize themselves, but for my money "punk bluegrass in a humorous vein" seems only marginally adequate. With a style rooted in traditional bluegrass arrangements, yet fractured by a quirky sensibility (I mean, Bill Monroe or Ricky Skaggs, or heck, even Allison Kraus are just not about to do covers of Hall & Oates or Pink Floyd tunes, are they?) these guys have the technical chops no question, so you just know that anybody who can straight-facedly use the word, "bioluminescence" in a song lyric (while at the same time their audience is howling with laughter) is going to have a pretty unique take on the classic American musical genre.
And last night's show was made even more memorable by the addition of several "special guests", not the least of which being fellow "Awesome" member John Osebold, who contributed a solo set consisting of a typically ideosynchratic retrospective of his musical oeuvre. Also featured were Harvey Danger frontman, and ex-Long Winters vocalist (not to mention seemingly ubiquitous music/theatre - again NOT the same as "musical theatre" - bon vivant) Sean Nelson, "Miss Mamie Lavona" herself, Amber Wolf, a tap-dancing Val Moseley, along with cameos by Kirk Anderson, Rob Witmer, Sarah Roberts, and someone in a bear suit.
I spent most of the evening with a decidedly stupid, shit-eating grin on my face, while the thought periodically entered my brain that, "Dang, I hang out with some amazingly talented folks! I am so LUCKY!" Of course, the beer probably contributed slightly to the feeling of euphoria, but regardless, it was one of those moments when you just know, way down in the deepest chambers of your coronary muscle, that the world is truly a Good And Wonderful Place, inhabited by Angels In Human Form.
On a brighter note, I FINALLY received a call from the insurance adjustor regarding the disposition of poor Little Nellie. You remember Nellie, don't you? The nifty little scooter I owned for about four months before being rear-ended by an uninsured hit-and-run driver all of two full months ago? Yeah, her. Well, after a series of mix-ups, miscommunications, fumbles and FUBAR's the insurance company has finally agreed to cough up the cost for repairs - minus my large deductible, of course - and the check should be on the way to the credit union as of this afternoon (crossing my fingers, NOT holding my breath).
As soon as the shop gets the check, however that's supposed to happen - I'm not quite sure about that part of the process yet - they'll order the parts. Which means, with luck, Little Nellie could be back in fighting shape sometime after the first of the year.
I suppose, looking at all of this from a "glass half full" perspective, I really couldn't have picked a better time of year to have Nellie sitting broken and battered, but in a nice warm dry place for the duration. And hopefully, by the time she's fully recovered the weather will have settled down to something that won't make riding her feel like I'm taking my life into my hands - again.
Things Are Breaking Up Out There High Water Everywhere
Just a quick note to let those of you not in the immediate Upper Left Hand know I'm okay. It was a nasty night, with winds clocking in at near hurricane-level gusts (69 mph top speed at Sea-Tac Airport - a new record), but I've come through unscraped. Lost a couple of large tree limbs from the tall pine in the front yard, but no damage. The boat came through fine; luckily, because of the SW wind direction, I stayed perfectly in the marina building's wind shadow and only lost a small seat cushion. Power went out at the apartment sometime early this morning, but I was prepared with my watch alarm and a flashlight on the bedstand, so aside from missing my morning shower, things were pretty normal.
There's still a lot of flooding in the lower levels of the city. The 520 bridge, one of the main east-west arterials across Lake Washington, connnecting Seattle with the Eastside suburbs was closed for the morning commute. There's tremendous wind damage: as of this morning, more than one million businesses and households in the region were without power, and we've been told not to expect service to residential areas to be restored anytime soon. Traffic lights are out all over the place, making driving conditions unmanageable in some places, and there are downed trees and utility poles, and damaged buildings being reported throughout the region. Cars were abandoned in droves at locations where the rapidly rising water made passage impossible, and I've seen photos taken in the early evening last night showing some vehicles nearly underwater in low-lying underpasses. Unfortunately, my office was unaffected, so here I am at work.
Oh yeah, and the Seahawks totally failed to secure their Western Conference playoff berth by rolling over to the second place 49'ers last night.
Also unfortunately, a lot of other folks weren't quite as lucky. Our SAG Exec lost a tree in her front yard of the house she purchased just three weeks ago, that fortunately fell toward the street. Our receptionist's son had a tree come down on his house and through his kitchen, but luckily there were no injuries.
So far there have been four deaths attributed to the storm, including one woman, Kate Fleming, a member of the local theatre community and voice-over artist, who drowned when a room in her basement flooded and she was trapped inside, unable to open the door against the water pressure before the FD could cut a hole through the floor above. My condolences go out to her family, friends, and colleagues.
- Confirmed the participation of the first, best "Rod Serling" to be in the shows - CHECK!
Still a lot left to do, but the above represents a sizeable amount of progress in just one week.
Now, if I can kill the stupid mycoplasms or bacteroids or whatever it is that's taken up residence in my left bronchial passage, I'll really be a happy camper.
So, my friend Teri calls me up at around 4:30 yesterday afternoon. She's just taken on a new volunteer gig as Managing Director for a local fringe theatre.
T: "Hey, remember a couple years back, when you wrote that review of The Twilight Zones?" (This theatre has permission from the Late Mr. Serling's estate to produce live theatrical versions of the original series scripts).
Me: "Um, yeah..."
T: "Remember how you said you hated the direction the shows were going, and wanted to see them go back to how they'd been done originally?"
Me: "Yeah."
T: "Well, how'd you like to put your money where your mouth is?"
Which was her pointed way of asking me if I'd like to direct the next round of episodes. Who could pass up that kind of challenge?
But, of course, I did have a few questions:
Me: "Um, when do these open?"
T: "January 26th."
Me: "Okaaaay, and rehearsals would need to start - ?"
T: "Right after the New Year."
Me: "Yeah, so that means I need to schedule auditions for - "
T: "Um, next Sunday would be good."
Me: "Right. So, all I need to do between now and then is figure out which ones to do, develop a cast breakdown, send out an audition announcement, and maybe set up a rehearsal schedule and find a design and tech staff."
T: "Oh, we can help with some of that."
Me: "Thanks, I was hoping that's what you'd say."
Actually, it's not quite as crazy as it sounds: picking the scripts, and casting will be the toughest, most hectic decision-points, but the rehearsal scheduling should be fairly smooth, since I know I'll get at least three days/evenings a week in the theatre, and I have access to a space at my office that would suffice for other days.
Still, it would have been NICE to have gotten the call a couple of weeks ago.
Okay, okay, so it snowed a little bit last night - about 1 1/2 inches where I live, increasing by degrees further out from Seattle proper - and the temps today are inching up to around 30. I know, the newspapers and news sites make it sound like some apocalyptic blizzard or some such, that brought traffic in the region to a literal standstill (right, like hosting a Monday Night Football home game WON'T do that!), but really not that bad, and not exactly atypical for this time of year.
Still, it's a bit annoying to hear/read the invevitable kvetching from the midwestern immigrants, who seem to think Seattleites are complete wimps for refusing to drive to work on a day like today. Of course, they tend to overlook the quite obvious fact that we only get this kind of extreme weather a couple of times a year at most, so a lot of people here simply aren't used to driving in these conditions, and it's just plain common-sense to try to dissuade as many drivers as possible from leaving the house today, in order to reduce the number of inevitable accidents, and resulting injuries.
Also, please stop your caterwauling of, "In (insert name of midwestern city here), we would have plenty of snow plows and sand trucks to deal with these situations". That's great, and makes perfect sense - IF you happen to live somewhere that gets this sort of weather on a regular basis, for weeks at a time. But please, enough with the condescention already; we're not urban bumpkins just because we don't see the point of spending tens of millions of dollars on road clearing equipment that would normally sit idle 360+ days a year.
And to all of you complaining that, "I slogged 15 blocks down the hill to my office - and I'm the ONLY ONE HERE!" - get over yourselves. At least this way you get to do your normal daily goofing off, but without the added stress of having to occasionally pretend to be working.
Finally, to the idiots who INSIST on attempting to drive down ice-covered residential streets at normal speeds - if you live in Seattle, please avoid 22nd Avenue between E Union & E Marion: really, you won't save any time trying to use my street as a shortcut, and I would appreciate it greatly if you resisted the temptation to play "automobile pinball" with your SUV, because seriously, I don't need to send my car to the shop for more body repair, just so you can show everyone that you're able to muscle your way to work today - and you, yeah you in the black Ford Explorer, you know who I'm talking about, so don't pretend I didn't see you this morning.
That's it. I'm done. If you were lucky enough to get a snow day today, enjoy yourselves, stay warm, try not to fall down - and watch out for crazy drivers in black Ford Explorers.
Yeah I can help myself To any month on any day now
Added a Google Calendar Feature to the margins (below the links lists to your left), so's now you-all can keep up with my busy, busy schedule. I think there's even a way for you to save items of interest, although it may entail subscribing to Google Calendars yourself (although I believe you can also import them to iCal, you lucky, lucky Mac users), so let me know how that works out.
Still in partial recovery-mode; this bug just seems to linger and linger. Not enough to make me feel legitimately ill, but still having definite respiratory issues, even though it doesn't seem to want to slide over into full-blown bronchitis, either. So, little blessings.
Did venture out last evening to see one of my perenial fave bands on their final U.S. tour stop. The ladies are taking some much-deserved down time, and so it will be at least a year before they grace our shores again. However, the good news is one member of the band, Mel Watson has become enamored of Our Fair City, and has foresaken her native Auzzieland for the soggy Upper Left-hand, so at least we'll be able to catch the occasional solo show.
We're being kicked out of the office early today, and our DSL at home seems to be on-the-fritz (my upstairs neighbors are now talking about ditching our current service for something more reliable, since they do much of their "day work" from home), so I may be off the Interwebby again until Monday, depending.
If so, wishing all of you a Happy Thanksgiving - stay dry, drive/fly safely, and forget about the calorie-counting for a couple of days!
Made it through work until about 1:30, when the receptionist, ranting something about, "most foul and noisesome breath", or some such (it was hard to hear her exact words over all the coughing), finally insisted I go home.
One dose of generic Robatussin CF later, and I'm feeling much better, but clearly I'm going to need another day or two to really shake this little nasty completely out of my system.
Just as well I left work when I did; one of our now weekly storm fronts is passing through, throwing fistfuls of rain against my bedroom window at near pane-shattering velocity, and so it looks like yet another good night to curl up with a book or DVD and hit the hay early - assuming the flickering of the desk lamp doesn't portend instead an evening spent waiting for the power and heat to come back on.
I'm heading south on Friday for the annual theatre retreat, and I'm just hoping both my constitution and the weather are going to cut me a little break for the weekend.
Well, THAT was an exciting evening! And today has turned out to be an absolutely beautiful day!
And then there's the weather.
Yes, it has been a tad - damp - up here in the Upper Left-Hand for the past several weeks, thanks to a particularly strong "Pineapple Express" hauling in copius amounts of warm, moisture-laden air from the central Pacific, which inevitably drops its load like a California fire fighting plane as soon as it runs up against our mountainous northern coastline.
Today in fact has been the first semi-sunny day in about 12 days, but even that was short-lived. I'm sitting in the dressing room of "The Theatre", and even as I write this, the rainfall has resumed with a savage vengeance, drowning out the auditions on one side, the shakuhachi recital on the other, and the rehearsal going on in the space behind me. (No doubt some might surmise that GOD is indeed a Republican, and weeping at yesterdays election results - I would say, if that's the case, she's a Democrat, and they're tears of joy).
Fortunately, my basement apartment is fairly upslope on the back side of CapHill, and aside from a mess of leaves littering the lawn, I'm not suffering much from the inclement weather. I would be howling a very different tune, however, were I still on the boat.
Ole' Tennessee Ernie might have just been singing a song, but in my case the above is more than a probability, seeing as my birthplace, Tillamook, OR (I swear, Wikipedia has a listing for just everything!), a small farming community on the Northern Oregon coast is the kind of place where "drizzle and rain" would be pretty much the norm for this time of year.
Tillamook is of course most famous for its dairy products (ironically, I would end up working for six and a-half years for their main competitor in the PNW), and in fact at the time I was born, my maternal grandfather owned a dairy farm there. So, like the residents of of Wisconsin (where, strangely I also have distant relatives on my father's side of the family - see a thread emerging here?), I can legitimately claim to be a "cheesehead" (although, really, why would I WANT to?).
Be that as it may, I'm proud to be a Native Mossback, and like anyone born to a specific geographic locale, after 46 years in The Upper Left Hand, it's hard to imagine my wanting to live anywhere else on earth.
Other (famous) People With Birthdays Today:
Benvenuto Cellini, sculptor - 1500 Benjamin Lee, Baronet Guinness, brewer - 1798 Stephen Crane, author - 1871 Gordon R. Dickson, author - 1923 Gary Player, golfer - 1935 Pat Buchanan, bloviator - 1938 Shere Hite, author - 1942 Larry Flynt, pornographer - 1942 Lyle Lovett, singer - 1956 Fernando Valenzuela, left-handed, heat-throwing lava lizard - 1960 Jenny McCarthy, bimbo - 1972
World Events Occuring Today:
1512 - Michelangelo's paintings in the Sistene Chapel first exhibited 1604 - First performance of Shakespeare's "Othello" 1611 - First performance of Shakespeare's "The Tempest" 1755 - The "Great Lisbon Earthquake" kills 50,000 1783 - Continental army dissolved; Gen. Washington gives "farewell address" 1800 - John Adams becomes first president to live in the White House 1889 - North & South Dakota enter union as 39th & 40th states 1920 - Eugene O'Neill's "The Emperor Jones" premieres in New York 1921 - American Birth Control League formed; later to become Planned Parenthood 1922 - Ottoman Empire abolished 1924 - Boston Bruins, 1st NHL franchise, founded 1935 - T.S. Eliot's "Murder In The Cathedral" premieres in London 1947 - First and only flight of Howard Hughes' "Spruce Goose" 1952 - First Hydrogen bomb exploded in S. Pacific 1979 - "Joseph And The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" premieres in London 1984 - Larry Schue's "The Foreigner" premieres in New York
(Many notable theatrical premieres on this date; producers take note.)
(Seattle) – With deep regret, The Empty Space Board of Directors announced today that The Empty Space Theatre will cease operations effective immediately.
The Empty Space has enjoyed a rich and extraordinary history, producing work that has had a lasting impact on American Theatre. Thank you to all the artists, donors, volunteers, and, of course, audience members who have supported The Empty Space with such tenacity and generosity.
Unfortunately, The Empty Space does not have the financing needed to manage cash flow over the coming months. In January 2006 we completed a successful move to the new Jeanne Marie and Rhoady Lee Center for the Performing Arts at Seattle University. We produced two shows in our new home; both Bust and Louis Slotin Sonata were critical and popular successes. However, while we anticipated reaching breakeven in 2007, efforts by the board to secure donations or other forms of financing to bridge the interim period have not been successful, and the board is deeply saddened to take this necessary step.
“We’re very disappointed to be taking this step,” said Erik Blachford, Chair of the Board. “We appreciate the support we have had from the community and we regret that the board is unable to raise the funds necessary to continue.”
For 36 years The Empty Space has made a commitment to Seattle artists and new work. “We’re incredibly proud to have introduced new playwrights to Seattle, to have nurtured local artists and to have produced shows of lasting impact,” said Allison Narver, Artistic Director. “Founded in 1971, The Empty Space has become a home for bold, provocative, and celebratory new work. While I am deeply saddened by the Board’s decision we are profoundly grateful to the many subscribers, artists, volunteers, staff members, interns, and audience members who have supported us with such loyalty and passion for so many years.”
When I Met You In The Restaurant You Could Tell I Was No Debutante
The past couple of nights I've experienced some extremely vivid dreams, the kind that, not only can you recall them in detail long after waking, but that stick in your head for days at a time. I'm sure some Freudian analyst would have a field day, but here goes:
Wednesday, two food-related dreams:
The first involved an outdoor BBQ cook off competition. I was standing in a tent piled with stacks of savory beef and pork ribs up to my eyeballs, huge, lumpen briskets, tri-tips, whole chickens, sausages; an enormous embarrassment of slow-cooked meat products. As I sampled several of the selections I could taste the sharp, vinegary tang of the sauce as it dripped from mouth to chin; I could feel in my mouth the fat-encrusted chewyness of the meat as I gnawed on the bones. Suddenly, a crew began to disassemble the tent and the display, but there was still piles of meat left over - what would they do with it all?
Fade to black...
The second dream took take place in a library or museum: the design was distinctly European, Louis XVI or similar; lots of baroque accents on the walls and with high ceilings and windows. The main room, roughly 50 or so feet long was filled with dozens of small tables arranged so that there is just enough room to walk between them. Atop each table was a silver platter containing some sort of seafood dish: acres of oysters resting on beds of crushed ice; planks of fillets, some sliced parchment-thin; legions of kippers and anchovies arranged in complex geometric patterns; mussels, crab, lobster, squid; all of it elegantly presented. Beside each platter was a small bowl containing implements such as tiny forks or toothpicks; clearly the food was there to be sampled, but only a handful of people seem to be partaking. I tried several offerings; one in particular, something made with lobster claw-meat in some sort of lemony reduction sauce, and wrapped in lettuce or some similar leafy green tasted absolutely, stunningly divine, like it was the best thing I've ever eaten, and I couldn't stop praising its virtues to some unseen person standing near me.
Another recurring set of dreams that I had both on Wednesday and last night, and one I've had frequently over the years, involves flying, or more accurately, struggling to fly. It seems I frequently have dreams where I possess the ability to defy gravity, but only with tremendous effort, like the air has a tangeable quality, more akin to water, that resists my efforts to rise. I literally have to push both through and against it, like a swimmer in a current, in order to gain even a modest altitude. Usually, I'm only barely able to achieve a height of perhaps 15 or 20 feet; this was pretty much the experience in my dream on Wednesday night. However, last night I actually found taking off to be relatively easy, although I encountered another obstical in that I become entangled in overhead power lines. Also, there was a decided difference in my "flying attitude", as normally I'm in a laid-out, horizontal position, ala Superman, but this time I was floating upright. And even though the air resistence was greatly diminished, I still could not gain much in the way of altitude, being able to only hover at about the height of a three story building. One very different variation in the dream pattern was that I distinctly recall seeing someone else floating off in the distance, which is the first time I can ever recall sharing "airspace" with another person. However, we never made contact, although I'm fairly certain we saw each other.
Like I said, some psychiatrist would probably have all sorts of interesting things to say about these subconscious ramblings, but to me the only real important aspect of them is how specific the sensory experiences were, and how vividly I can still recall details from them, even after a period of more than 30 hours. Most of us are probably used to recalling sights and sounds from dreams, maybe occasionally tactile sensations, but tastes? How often does that happen?
Maybe I just need to go to a really nice restaurant this weekend.
I Would Have Walked Head On Into The Deep End Of The River
Took a couple extra days off from work last week, trying to burn off some vacation time before it gets too close to the end of the year, now that I'm in a "use it or lose it" situation.
Spent Thursday afternoon with my friend Colleen, one of the few people I've managed to stay in contact with from my grad school days at WWU. Even though we don't see each other all that often, we've kept in phone contact at least, although even by our standards it had been quite awhile since last we got together - more than a year.
Our lives have traveled both divergent and parallel courses in the 23-odd years we've known each other: both of us started out doing theatre when we first moved to Seattle, but Colleen quickly dropped out, and spent the next several years focusing on her alcohol issues (she's been clean-and-sober for 20 years now, and in fact Thursday was her anniversary), then having a son, Dorian, who she's been raising as a single mom for the past 14 years. For the last five or six years she's been working in local choral groups, and was just accepted as a member of the Seattle Symphony Chorale, which gives me a really good excuse to attend events there now.
Somehow or other, she's developed the notion that I "saved her life" some two decades back, when her drinking problem came to a head, and she got herself into AA (she actually said as much to someone on the phone while we were driving to try to catch a matinee after lunch, so this isn't just hyperbole on my part). I don't recall a lot of details from the period, but I do know I spent a lot of time talking to her about options, and basically just being supportive as a friend. So, while "life saving" might be a bit of a stretch from my perspective, in this case it's really hers that counts, and that's the way she sees it. Sometimes I guess, just "being there" is exactly what the situation requires.
(We didn't get to see the movie, as strangely the advertised matinee didn't seem to actually be happening, so instead we ended up going to The Frye Art Museum to view the very weird and creepy Henry Darger exhibit, and play the very amusing and percussive Trimpin sound sculpture.)
In any case, things have been going pretty well for her the past few years, or so I thought, so it was a bit surprising to hear about some other things going on of which I was previously unawares. Still, she's come through the other side, once again, and it was just good to spend a bit of time catching up and reconnecting.
Friday night was another box office for The Show, after which I was roped into participating in an impromptu recording session to read the "lost Cherub episode" (look for it on the soon-to-be-released Cherub Season I & II Extra-Super Deluxe Double DVD, coming soon no doubt to all fine purveyors of online merchandizing - or at least this one). On Saturday I attended the annual Genius Awards Ceremony, followed by strike for The Show (wherein all the physical aspects of the production are disassembled) and the traditional "Annex Check Ceremony", wherein we show our love and gratitude to the cast and crew for all their hard work and dedication.
In addition, spent a few hours on Friday and Saturday roaming a couple neighborhoods in the pursuit of a little art project I'm working on for an upcoming "Annex Company Art Show" that we'll be running in our gallery space during the run of our next production. Unfortunately, while I was out-and-about the chill autumn air decided to deposit some wee beasties in my sinus cavities, and I ended up spending most of Sunday fighting off a nascent case of the nasties. Feeling better today, so think I nipped them in the bud.
Still no word on "Little Nellie", although I presume the dealer will contact me when she's back from her near-death experience. Not surprisingly, no word from SPD either; given recent local news articles on City Council proposals to significantly increase manpower levels in the Department, one might conclude that non-injury hit-and-run cases - even those where the perpetrator should be relatively easy to identify - aren't exactly landing at the top of my local precinct's list of priorities.
Your Voice Across The Line Gives Me A Strange Sensation
Two somewhat interesting telephone experiences in the past week, courtesy of The Show.
Last Thursday night I was recruited to be part of a recon team for the performance themed around "the shopping mall experience". I'm not big into malls myself, being more of a "know what you want, know where to find it, go in, get it, get out" kind of shopper, but thought it would be fun to describe aspects of mall-shopping behavior to the studio audience, and so gladly accepted the assignment.
For better or worse, you can blame us Upper Left-Handers for the very existence of the regional shopping "mall" (the term was first used to describe Northgate Mall, located just north of downtown Seattle) . Although more than 50 years old, Northgate has undergone numerous renovations over the years, and for all intents-and-purposes is probably completely indistinguishable from any other similarly designed shopping center from the post-war era.
Our crack team of five (three "Line One" cast members, plus two irregulars, including myself) piled into a tiny sedan about 7:00 p.m., checked our cellphones, and made our way north, arriving with plenty of extra time before the show was scheduled to start at 7:30 p.m. Once underway, we were each given a series of tasks, culled from several "mission packets" assembled by the show runner for our benefit. I ended up with tasks such as: "introduce yourself to a janitor as a member of a religious organization, and offer to help them with their job", "follow a group of teenagers or 'mall rats' and describe their activities", "find one shop you think will have gone out of business in five years, and describe why you think so", etc.. We also had several group assignments such as: "purchase three items from the food court" and "List, in sixty seconds as many items on the menus of as many food counters as you can", along with providing running commentary on our overall experiences.
It probably all sounds rather strange, and certainly out of the context of the performance, it might seem a little weird to have a group of people roaming up-and-down a mall talking about the experience of mall shopping (although, given the number of cell phone stuck to ears that evening, walking-and-talking ones way through the mall is not an intrinsically foreign concept to many people), especially when doing so for an audience several miles away, who are all vicariously experiencing your adventure by listening to another actor "channel" verbatim your descriptions; but that's part of the charm of the "Line One" concept.
The mall show was a little different from the standard "Line One" process, because most of the show was being "broadcast" as it were by a group within close proximity of each other, all in the same environment, whereas normally the people calling in are scattered all over the city, if not the country - even internationally - and they have no real-time connection to each other, except through the medium of their calls being collected and spoken out in the theatre itself.
The experience of hearing your own words echoed back to you by the "channeller" is a bit disconcerting at first, like those long-distance phone conversations where you hear that faint echo of your call being bounced around the airwaves, but once you develop a rhythm where you speak a few words, then pause briefly to let the person at the other end repeat what you've just said, it can actually go pretty smoothly, so long as you don't talk to fast, and make sure to keep your enunciation fairly crisp. Occasionally, you'll hear the other person drop their volume, an indication that someone else's conversation has taken center stage, and you'll try to imagine your channeller sitting off to the side, their voice perhaps audible to only a few people in the audience, as they continue to verbalize your observations. Really, it's more interesting when you see it for yourself, even with the occasional "dead spots" where no one is talking at all for brief periods.
The second call-in was last night, when I gave a report of the Theatre Puget Sound fundraiser I attended at Teatro Zinzanni; much like the earlier experience, except I had to leave the tent area, so as not to disturb the performance.
So, the show is winding down into its final week, and I think my call-in duties are pretty much over at this point. I'm hoping I'll get a chance to see the video-tapings that was made of the performances, just to get a sense of how it all came together. Having seen several of the performances previously, I have a good feel for the overall structure and outcomes, but it should be fund to see how the cast worked through the calls when I was on the sending, as opposed to the receiving end of things.
We Have To Shout Above The Din Of Our Rice Crispies
"Syn-chro-nic-i-tyn. synchronism of events that appear to be connected but have no demonstrable causal relationship."
So you've read about my little near-death experience last week (see entry below), and perhaps been wondering where things stand. I left work early on Thursday to go downtown and pick up a copy of the Incident Report filed by SPD, so that I could fax a copy of it to the insurance company, and also to get a check-up, since I was experiencing some moderate back and neck pain (prognosis: no whiplash, just a bit of post-accident stress trauma).
When I was handed the photo copy of the report, I noticed the license plate number of the offending vehicle had been entered incorrectly, and was instructed to contact the officer who filed it in order to get it corrected. Left a message for him at the East Precinct, then went home before my doctor's appointment later that afternoon.
I still hadn't heard back from the officer by yesterday, so figured I'd place another call this morning. On my way home from a meeting up on Queen Ann last night, I ended up taking a #3 bus, having just missed my #2 by about five minutes. The #3 follows a very different route from the #2, but ends up dropping me off about three blocks south of my apartment, instead of a block and a-half north.
As the driver made the turn from E. James St. onto 21st Ave, about two blocks before my stop, I happened to glance out the righthand window (I was sitting across from the driver next to the door), when - lo and behold! - what should I-Spy-With-My-Little-Eye sitting at the curb next to the bus stop, but a mid-1980's white four-door sedan! The bus headlights clearly illuminated the back end, giving me an unimpeded view of the license plate - 341-KZM!
"Holy cow!" (or something more colorful) I shouted, "that's HIM! Wait, let me out! LET ME OUT!" Before the driver thought I'd completely lost it, I very quickly explained my situation.
"Be careful," he admonished, as he opened the doors.
I hopped off the bus, and took a quick glance around to make certain nobody was hanging about. Didn't seem prudent to go over and start peering into somebody's car in front of complete strangers at 10:30 in the evening. Fortunately, nobody was in view, and the driver even held up for a few moments, just enough to allow me a quick visual inspection of the car before he drove off into the night.
Even if the license hadn't clinch matters, it was definitely the same car I had nearly had up my backside a few days earlier: same front grill, same dual square-lensed headlights, same color & style.
Definitely my perp.
I pulled out my cellphone, and considered calling 911 right then-and-there, but figured, since they wouldn't have the correct license on-record, they probably wouldn't do anything about it until the next day anyway. I tried to take a cam photo of the car, but despite the nearby streetlight it was too dark to get a decent image. Instead I jotted down the location and time on the back of a business card, and noted the address of the house in front of which the car was parked. No guarantee of course this was the actual residence, but at the very least, I knew if he didn't live there or at least on that block, he knew someone who did.
Needless to say, I walked the remaining blocks home in a state of - I guess aggitated elation. I now knew the plates were legit, as both front and back matched (I had initially briefly considered the possibility the car might be stolen, or that the perp might think to switch plates, but clearly that would have been giving him far too much credit) and given the time of evening I figured there was a very good chance I had his location pegged to within less than a city block.
But of course, this would never have happened if: A.) I hadn't rescheduled my meeting for a different time-and-location; B.) I hadn't missed my bus and decided to take the next closest route, rather than waiting for the next #2; C.) I hadn't been sitting where I had been; and D.) I hadn't been looking in exactly the right spot at the right moment. Considering that, if there had been even a slight change in any one of these conditions I never would have seen the car, it's enough to make one wonder - albeit only for a moment - if there wasn't some sort of Cosmic Causuality in effect here. Justice Will Be Served, and all that.
Or, more likely, I was just really, really lucky, and that's all there is to it.
This morning, I did finally manage to get through to Officer Williams, noted the incorrect license number on the Incident Report, informed him that I had seen the car, and gave him the location. He said he'd re-run the plates through DMV (naturally, they didn't match the vehicile description previously) and that he'd get back to me.
Now I guess, it's all about the waiting - for the police to inform me they've taken the suspect into custody, to do an I.D. presumably, and for the dealer to inform me as to the state-of-repair of "Little Nellie". Hopefully, all the pieces will click together in the next couple of days.
His Pappy Said, 'Son, You're Gonna Drive Me T' Drinkin' ... If You Don't Quit Drivin' That - Hot ... Rod ... Lincoln!'
Well, five months of ownership, and "Little Nellie" suffers her first major mishap - not her fault - at the hands of an idiot driver who thought passing me at 35 mph, on a one-lane residential street with cars parked on both sides was a really SMART maneuver.
I'm fine - banged the inside of my left knee against the front cowling & I'm going to have a bruise shaped like Manhattan Island in a day or two - POSSIBLY some minor whiplash; hard to say at the moment, since everything is pretty well clenched up, but otherwise okay.
Little Nellie, unfortunately didn't come away quite so unscathed:
She's got a busted rear fender, busted tail light (lamp still works), busted rear body cover, bent muffler pipe & mounting - and that's just what I can ascertain from a visual inspection. Otherwise, she appears minimally driveable, but there's no telling whether the frame or rear wheel suffered damage until I can get her in for an insurance estimate later this week.
Yeah, at least one of us was insured.
So, quick, detailed account:
I had just dropped off the evening's office mail at the post office about a block from where I live, and was literally 100 yards from parking when a white early/mid-1980's Cadillac or Lincoln comes up from behind and proceeds to try to pass on my left, on - as previously stated - essentially a one-lane street with cars parked on both sides. Needless to say, he clipped my back end, driving his front bumper into Nellie's nether regions. Fortunately, he slowed down enough to allow me to get untangled from his front end, and stop. As soon as I hop off the bike, I've got my Zire out of my haversack and the camera at-ready.
"You okay?" he says, he and his two buddies getting out of their car.
"Yeah, I'm okay, but my scooter - "
"Aw, can't we just forget it?"
????
The kid has just rear-ended me, practically run me over, made a mess of my brand-spanking new bike - AND HE WANTS ME TO FORGET ABOUT IT?????
"Dude! You just hit me! Less than a block from where I live! In front of my neighbors!" (a couple of whom, having heard the noise, are coming out of their houses - Good. Witnesses.)
"Okay, okay..."
"So, I guess we better exchange insurance, huh?"
"Um. Don't got any."
Okay, right there you know this isn't going to end well, no matter what.
"Right." I take a photo of the front of his car:
- making sure to get a clear view of his license plate. By this time other cars are backing up behind us, and the horns are starting to honk (keep in mind, most of these drivers are now getting upset, because the "shortcut" they thought they were taking to avoid the traffic light half a block away has now become something less than time-saving).
"Um, why don't we pull over and do this?" he says.
Yep, I smell the rat. But, I've already got him pegged with a description, and a photo of the plate, so even if he decides to run, he's screwed.
I hop back on Nellie, and move her over to the curb. By this time, Dude and his buddies have gotten back into their car and -
"I'll be right back!" he shouts, driving off down the street, and turning at the end of the block.
Okay, now MAYBE he's just going to go around the block. MAYBE he'll come back. MAYBE I was born with an extra appendage. Unfortunately, none of those are true.
"Did he just drive off?" one of the neighbors who's been watching all this asks, incredulous.
"Sure looks that way," I reply, pulling out my cellphone and dialing 911.
When the police officer arrived about fifteen minutes later, and heard the story, all he could do was to shake his head in wonder, "Why does this always happen right before I'm supposed to go home?"
We got the show up-and-running last weekend, although not without a bit of extraneous drama to go with the drama onstage.
Turns out one of the performers, my friend P-Ratt, her husband SGNP and newborn Betty George (no website - yet!) were flooded out of their house Thursday evening by a burst pipe that left the entire downstairs under about six inches of water. They managed to get a plumber in, who pumped out most of the standing water, but getting whatever had seeped into the walls and floors was going to necessitate employing heavy-duty industrial drying fans running full-bore for about four or five straight days, meaning they needed to find other accomodations in the meantime.
They're both good friends, and the idea of them spending ridiculous sums of money to stay in a motel didn't set well, so we coordinated amongst several of our fellow theatre-folk and managed to work out a temporary lodging roundel: I hosted them on Friday evening, spending the night on the boat, because the idea of three people PLUS a nursing infant crammed into a 300 sq. foot basement apartment just seemed ludicrous on the face of it, and besides, why NOT stay on the boat?
So, I gave the place a good, thorough cleaning when I got home from work, then went to our Gala Opening, which was quite nice, followed by a faaaaabulous aprez-show party, afterwards scooted off to the boat.
Although I've been maintaining & checking up on it on a regular basis since moving off two years ago, I hadn't done an overnight for quite some time - probably going back to summer of 2005. Not too much of a change; seems a little roomier with some of the day-to-day items removed, and not sharing the small space with two grumpy cats. But otherwise, same-old-same-old. I did, however, have a great deal of difficulty falling and staying asleep. It was quite calm, so there wasn't much motion, but the "firmness" of the 30 year-old berth cushions, even with an extra layer of foam padding on top, was something with which to contend, and I spent most of the night tossing-and-turning, and falling in-and-out of a rather shallow sleep.
On the plus side, my houseguests absolutely enjoyed their brief stay, and had nothing but glowing praise for my tiny living space. Didn't hurt that an original SGNP drawing holds a place of prominence in my "Kitchen Gallery of Space Age Pop Art", or that they're the kind of people who would actually be delightfully surprised by a Tiki-inspired bathroom.
Saturday, they moved to another friend's house, conveniently located just a few blocks away from me, and by now should be relatively comfortably ensconsed in another friend's "Condo Guest Suite", where they'll spend the next several days until their house is dry-and-cool enough to allow them to return.
Thank goodness for Home Owner's Insurance, is all I can say.
First Time I Picked Up The Telephone I Fell In Love With Your Ringing Tone
Light blogging these last few weeks, which simply means things have been going smoothly, with no little bumps nor dips in the road, so-to-speak.
Looks like we're going to get a bit of an Indian Summer after all this year: here we are, post Equinox, and the daytime temps are staying in the mid-to-upper 70's for a few more days before dipping down into the mid-60's for the weekend. No complaints, even though the few brief days of cool/grey/wetness were a welcome respite. They'll be back again soon enough, no doubt about it.
One of the reasons I've been lax in posting is that I've been working to get a new show up-and-running:
Opens Friday, all the details can be found here. If you're in this neck of the woods, you definitely want to see this - more than once, since it's a completely different show every night.
Finally, Happy Birthday Shout Out to C.H! Sorry I missed the partay!
And in case you were wondering, it is in fact quite possible to circumnavigate Lake Washington on a motor scooter without going onto an actual freeway, although using only the roads that follow closest to the lake shore is probably not the most efficient means for doing so.
Still, if you have about two and a-half hours to burn on a sunny September Sunday afternoon, it's not a bad way to go.
Well, the 40th Anniversary Star Trek Gala Celebration has come and gone. Last evening's Main Event was a sit-down banquet featuring roughly 250 celebrities, sci-fi fans, Hollywood industry types, with a smattering of actual rocket scientists, and at least one bona fide Internet Gazillionaire in attendance. I was seated with a very charming elderly couple from Canada, the wife whom we learned is the cousin of one Martin Cooper, who you can either credit or blame, as you will, for inventing the portable cellular telephone. Also at my table was a couple who brought their teenaged daughter, whom they had named after a character from a "Star Trek" episode (although I forget which one); as well as a very nice young woman, a fundraiser for the local ACLU chapter, and her neice, an attorney. It should be noted that none present at my table came in costume, but more-or-less (with me definitely on the "more" end of the spectrum) observing the formal dress code "suggested" by the event organizers.
Although I didn't go in for the full-immersion experience this weekend, having an actual life, not to mention other social obligations, I think I got enough of a "taste" of how these things go to make a few notable observations. Firstly, although they kept emphasizing this was NOT a "convention", I for one, not having any basis for comparision, would be hard-pressed to delineate what about this event would differentiate it from such, except perhaps in terms of sheer size. It's my understanding that a typical Sci-Fi convention can draw on the order of several thousand attendees, while this event was strictly limited to, at most, a few hundred. But, otherwise, it seemed to have all the requisite trappings: lots of the faithful showing up in costume; an endless procession of both major and minor celebrities with whom one could (for a "nominal" fee, naturally) have ones picture taken or who would autograph various and sundry marketing paraphenalia; a set schedule of speakers sessions focussing on such arcana as, "The Soul of 'Star Trek'", "The Age of Space Tourism", and "Four Decades of Fandom"; screenings of several fan-produced films; and of course, "the dealers room", where those fortunate enough to still have disposable income after paying as much as $1,000 for the three-day conclave & special events could purchase the obligatory props, jewelry, photographs, models, etc., etc. (Please note: my total expenditure for the Friday session, the Gala and the Banquet came in at $255).
Frankly, the organizers might have been shy about calling it a duck, but from my perspective, it sure walked and quacked like one would imagine such a waterfowl would do.
The most interesting thing about the whole shebang, so far as I was concerned at least, was the very curious and strange relationship between the fans and the performers themselves, and how it plays out under these kinds of circumstances.
The typical fan tends to fall into one of two distinct categories, the first and foremost being the True Believers: the ones who dress up in the costumes and treat the actors with the sort of adulation generally reserved for political or religious leaders; and secondly, the Inspired, those who, while no less respectful of the performers talents and accomplishments, tend to view them, not as being inherently worthy of adoration for their own sake, but because of the example they have set that these fans have applied to their own lifes and ambitions. The former admires the performer simply for being the character, while the latter admires them for having brought some personal quality or trait to their depiction of the character.
One easy way to spot the difference between the two groups (aside from dress): the uberfan willingly stands in long lines, and pays exhorbitant amounts of money for an autograph or to have their picture taken with one of the celebrities, while the other group simply catches said celebrity in a candid moment, makes some brief expression of how they inspired them in their own life, and then asks to have their picture taken, or to have their program signed.
The performers themselves seem to take both types equally in-stride. They seem to have an innate recognition (although probably formulated over several decades of repetition) that the most fanatical fans have made their success possible in large measure, while by the same token, the less exhuberent fans tend to communicate how the performer has served as a role model or inspiration, thus lending credibility and relevence to their position. So, on the one hand, they give validation to one type of fan, and receive validation from the other. Yet in both cases, there is some basis for a transactional relationship: in one it's simply exhanging currency for access, while in the other the medium of exhange is on the order of a personal testimony to the performer's ability to inspire others to achieve personal goals.
Like I said, its an interesting phenomenon to observe, and makes me a bit curious as to whether anyone has actually made any sort of formal analysis of these types of transactional relationships, because, although I think some of the individuals involved probably have some awareness as to exactly how all this plays out, there seems to be a lot more going on than most appear - on the surface at least - to acknowledge.
And for the record, apparently I don't fit into either of these categories, seeing as I neither paid for, nor asked for any pictures or autographs - although, as someone "in the industry", I'd like to rationalize that as professional courtesy, nothing more.
Oh, and in case all this heady commentary has you wondering - yes, I enjoyed myself immensely.
I always thought opera was the Klingon musical genre of choice, but apparently, some are into HardCore as well, as the evening's entertainment at the "Star Trek" 40th Anniversary Gala atop the Space Needle will attest. One notable similarity to earth-based Heavy Metal music: the lyrics are equally unintelligible, even granting that they're being "sung" (shouted more like) in a foreign language.
Another Observation: When put in a room together with food and booze, the industry types will immediately head for the bar, while the Sci-Fi geeks will descend on the dessert buffet like a horde of locust-like aliens. Also, the "one person, one dessert" rule doesn't seem to apply in these situations, which would explain why the average S-F geek tends toward the portly side.
(Well, technically they were blue urban skies, but you get the drift.)
With the passing of Labor Day Weekend, and our annual Artsy-Fartsy Community Fest now behind us, summer in the Upper Left Hand really is drawing to a close; although according to the weather forecast, we've still got a few good days left in store before the weather pattern transitions to our nine months of soggy grayness.
Not much on the news front: Mr. laptop was down-and-out for a couple of days due to a crashed harddrive, but is now back to work with a 40 Gb drive (up from its factory installed 10Gb), plus an additional 512 Mb RAM, thus quadrupling storage & tripling memory access - almost like having a brand new machine! I was always under the impression that laptops, unlike PC boxes, were inherently non-upgradeable, but fortunately that seems to be a fallacy perpetuated no doubt by laptop manufacturers who don't want you to know that for a measely $250 you can get several spiffy upgrades to your current portable, instead of plunking down $1,000 + for a new machine. Boo on them - yay to Seattle Laptop!
And yes, I did attend one day of Bumbershoot, yesterday, where I spent a full 12 hours immersed in the sights, sounds & smells of 80,000 or more locals wandering aimlessly through the Seattle Center grounds, taking in a musical act here-and-there (Steve Miller, English Beat, Rocky Votolato, Izabelle), several live stage performances (John Moe, Matt Smith, the incomparable Reggie Watts), as well as our dearly beloved Annex Theatre's "A Very Special Bumbershoot Edition" of "Spin The Bottle". Finally left at around 11:00 p.m., after a long day of wandering, listening, sitting, standing in a couple of long lines for things I never even got into (and according to a couple of reports was lucky to not have done so), my feet sore and my stomach full-to-nearly-bursting from eating way too much county fair fare.
A lot of long-time 'shooters continue their now annual ritual of complaining about the ever increasing commerciality of the enterprise, along with the escalating ticket prices (many of these same people, in typical geezer fashion, lament "the good old days" when it was a free event, which is hasn't been for something like 25 years), the dearth of local artists (which, admittedly has occured to a certain extent on the music front, but has been compensated for by increased booking of local spoken-word and theatre, which incidentally wasn't even part of "Seattle's Annual Arts Festival" until a couple of years ago), and the fact that they now have to wait for hours in line with the hoi-polloi from the 'burbs instead of being able to sashay their way into the limited seating venues on five minutes notice, like they used to be able to do (although when exactly that may have been remains a mystery, since, in my 20 some-odd years of on-and-off attendance, the lines have ALWAYS existed).
But for me at least, one of the attractions of Bumbershoot has always been the opportunity to expose oneself to acts one might not normally go out of ones way to see otherwise. Sure, it's great to see the old fuddy-duddy headliners playing once again to huge, stadium sized crowds bordering on five figures (and for what it was worth, Steve Miller can still play and sing as well as ever), and yes, perhaps it's even worth it to stand in long lines for the likes of a David Cross or Upright Citizens Brigade or even Mike Daisey, but these are the exceptions rather than the rule for an event where you can just wander around at your leisure, take in a bit of something on one outdoor stage, stay if you like it, or wend your way through the crowds to another in search of something more to your taste, or, more importantly, something completely new and different.
So, complain away you old urban foggies: I'll be back again next year to mix it up with the eastside families who only come to Seattle once a year, the herds of teens doing their last bit of summer break social grazing, and the geriatric hippies who use Bumbershoot as an excuse to haul out the moth-eaten tie-die and love beads one more time.
It's raining, really coming down, hard and steady. First we've had in quite some time.
It may get back up into the mid 80's for the end of the week (just in time for our final end-of-summer Labor DayArts Blowout (curiously, named after a British term for an umbrella), and we may even have a few more weeks of reasonably good weather in the offing, but this is as sure a sign as any that summer is just about over.
Sounds good, clean like a tap turned on. The ground is going to soak it up like a sponge. Unfortunately, if it continues through the evening and into tomorrow, it also means the roads are going to be slick as ice from the accumulated oil, grease, and othe hydrocarbon based lubricants that have built up on the pavement the last few months. It's going to be a nasty commute tomorrow, and probably not a good day to be riding on two-wheels.
Still, I have no one to blame but myself. Really, it's all my fault. Yesterday I bought rain gear for riding "Little Nellie" in just such conditions. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Yeah, tomorrow might be a very good day to take the bus to work.
In the meantime, I'm just going to sit hear and listen to the sounds and smell the scent of the world being washed clean.
Alright, I admit it. I'm a Star Trek geek. Have been pretty much since the first episode aired back in September of 1966.
It's not something I brag about, or wear on my sleeve, like some of those crazy folks out there who have shelves filled to overflowing with every single book that's ever been published with the words Star Trek on the cover, or who make pilgrimages to local conventions adorned in full costume regalia; you know, the sort of geeks that "normal" people make fun of. No, none of that for me.
But, I most certainly DO have the disease, generally known as "Fanboy Syndrome", albeit in a decidedly milder form than the examples cited above. Perhaps the more onerous symptoms diminish over time. I haven't actually attended a Star Trek conference since 1978, and the only time I can recall wearing a costume was for Halloween about 10 years ago. Still, I've got my share of Star Trek memorabilia: a couple of boxes of books and magazines (some of which date back to the early 1970's), a small collection of replica props (as seen in my recent TV featurette), videos or DVD's of most of the films, etc., etc. I'm not all OCD about it, but at the same time, I can't deny the fact of my latent geekism either.
Part of the reason for this acknowledgement is that lately I've found myself relapsing. For anyone who cares, the show's 40th Anniversary is coming up on September 8th, and in conjunction, there will be a major celebration here in Seattle that weekend. I was even prompted to pen a little paean to the show for the event's official blog site, which you can read here
To answer the hanging question: yes, I'm going.
And no, I am certainly NOT wearing a costume!
Actually, I'm limiting myself to attending the two major functions of the weekend: a gala celebration on Friday the 8th to be held at the Space Needle, coinciding with the anniversary of the series' television premiere, and a formal banquet the following evening at some rich guy's Science Fiction Museum. I figure, as a long-time fan of the show, I'm entitled, and furthermore as a local representative of the film/TV/theatre industry, I've got creds above-and-beyond just being a fawning Fanboy (at least it's a plausible rationalization, right?). I don't plan on drooling over the actors - simple professional courtesy precludes such base obsequies - but, that doesn't mean I can't bask in their collective celebrity.
Astronauts, particularly moon-walkers, however, are a different story entirely: I probably won't be able to help myself in their presence.
Hm, better stuff an extra hankie into my tux jacket, just in case...
My, that was a quick year. Hard to believe I've been at the job for a solid twelve months now. Things are going swell - a little slow in the office at the moment, but I was told to expect that in August, so it's not altogether untoward. Still, gives me time to catch up on a couple of back-burner projects, and take a couple of extra days off here-and-there.
Walked into the office this morning to confront one of my worst nightmares - the SAG Exec had taken the coffee maker last night for an off-site meeting - AND FAILED TO RETURN IT!!!
I have been reduced to consuming a can of Coca Cola to alleviate symptoms of imminent caffeine withdrawal.
Otherwise, things up here are same-old-same-old. We're well into what passes around these parts for the "dog days" of summer; now in our third consecutive week of temps in the upper 70's/lower 80's. I realize that's nothing compared to the heat-wave drying out other parts of the country, but it's the sheer monotony that has people wandering around, grumbling about the lack of rainfall. We're nowhere close to drought conditions, but being the environmentally cognizant bunch we are, lawns across the city lie sere and parched, grass withers to the color of hay from lack of watering, while fruit trees and berry bushes meanwhile suck the few precious drops of moisture from the ground to sustain their almost obscene productivity.
The plum tree outside my apartment door for example, is literally dropping fruit with an alarming abundance; even the local critters seem to have had their fill, and are now avoiding the fallen cornucopea of juicy droplets with outright disdain. My friends politely pluck one or two offerings from the overflowing plastic bags I foist upon them at every opportunity, but I can tell they're quickly approaching the point where they may begin to view them, not as edibles, but rather ammunition with which to pelt me. My refigerator is sagging under the weight of cobblers, freezer jams, sauces, and whatever other recipes I can come up with to reduce the seemingly infinite bounty. I have bowls, bags, boxes, even egg crates filled to overflowing with the plump purple ovoids. Every morning I leave for work kicking aside the previous night's fallen soldiers; each evening I return, only to find a new battalian of the struck down littering my path.
And this doesn't even take into account the Japanese pear tree, which is just now starting to release its progeny. At least it'll be a change of variety.
Still, despite the overwhelming evidence of fecundity all around, we've reached that point in the year when we can tell summer has peaked out, and begun its slow, downslope march toward the southern tropics, and before winter arrives for an extended stay, bringing with it seven months of gloom and drizzle (Fall, traditionally of only about two weeks duration around here, rarely counts as a full-fledged season). Usually, we start marking the days in early August with the region's annual Seafair celebrations, culmination of our Summer season. If we're lucky (and depending on the vagaries of Global Warming), we might be able to look forward to an extended "Indian Summer" lasting well into October, so we're not counting summer down-for-the-count quite yet. But, this morning is one that brings just the faintest hint of what's to come: a light, gray overcast, just enough to drop the morning temps a few degrees, and diffuse the sunlight enough to act as a reminder, like Winter has just sent us a postcard from Belize saying, "Having a wonderful time, wish you were here! See you soon!"
Yes, Summer has begun a slow, meandering jaunt south, but it's not in any hurry. Walking stick in hand, haversack slung over its back, it's hitting the trail with a spring in its step, and whistling a made-up tune. It'll take time to stop and smell the flowers, admire the views, and perhaps even pick a berry or two; somewhere about the end of September, Fall will rush past on its ten-speed, head down to break the wind, as it speeds North to deliver its messenger bag full of brown leaves and pumpkin seeds.
Then, round about early November, Summer will spot a wheelbarrow-laden Winter approaching in the distance, slogging along through the muck and mud, tattered, wind-sprung umbrella draped over one arm, shaking the wet from its beard like a dog just after swimming. Summer will tip its wide-brimmed Panama hat in greeting, while Winter will simply nod in response, burdened down with effort of pushing its cart-load of gray wool felt clouds, and the sloshing buckets of precipitation in which it intends to soak them. They don't need to speak much; they've crossed paths more times than they can count, and by now the conversation has been distilled to a few looks, nods and the barest grunt of a greeting, like two shift-men passing through the factory gate.
"Morning Ralph."
"Mornin' Sam."
Yep, just about time for Summer to punch-out and Winter to punch-in.
But, before they do, there's time for one more cup of coffee - which thankfully, has just arrived.
And Now, The End Is Near So I Must Face The Final Curtain
Spent part of last evening inside what's left of Consolidated Works, the multi-disciplinary arts center founded by my friend Matt Richter. It was the first time I'd been inside the space since the ConWorks board summarily fired Matt back in February 2005. Like a lot of other local artists, I fully recognize that Matt has his own unique strengths and weaknesses, and that administration is not particularly his strong suit. That being said however, Matt truly was the heart of ConWorks: as both its founder and biggest supporter, his lack of managerial skills were more than compensated by his drive, determination, audacity, deep roots in the local arts community, and his ability to raise considerable amounts of capital; all factors that his board completely ignored (to their own peril, as it turns out) or worse, were inexplicably unaware of in the course of his dismissal.
As a result, many of us who know Matt personally, who supported ConWorks' mission, and who had either witnessed or experienced a spate of similar board coup-d'-etats locally in the past few years were incensed, nay outraged, at his treatment. And that in turn resulted in a decided coolness both to the organization, and to its new Artistic Director, Corey Pearlstein, who although likeable enough in person, nevertheless took on the impossible task of trying to regain the support of a community that had completely lost faith in the institution he was running.
And so now, ConWorks is closing up shop after more than a year of lack-luster programming (despite a handful of nationally-recognized artists coming through the doors), having been reduced to little more than a rental venue for raves, civic events and a seemingly endless pageant of futile fundraising parties. It's rather sad, because a lot of people put a lot of sweat-equity into creating the space (myself included), and now all that effort is just sort of going down the drain.
And from what I saw last night, it's going out not with a bang, but with a decided whimper. Although they still have a full month to vacate the premises, the place already seems to be regressing back to the the abandoned warehouse it was before the renovation: piles of detritus litter corners and causeways; most of the fixtures, lighting, etc., have been stripped from the interior; other items that might have some usefulness lie strewn about like so much derelict cargo washed ashore, a fine coating of dust testifying to their state of abandonment.
Aside from a skeleton staff, there doesn't seem to be anyone around looking after what remains: I was able to walk in through a side door, past a band rehearsal, and through the space with impunity, without the slightest challenge to my presence. Doors have been left ajar, leaving sound & lighting equipment, barware - including entire shelves of alcohol - abandoned and ripe for "salvage" by some enterprising individuals.
Describing the place as "sad" would be a gross understatement; "depressing" would be more accurate.
The reason I was even there was because a group of Annexers went in last night to further the dismantlement of the space. In typical "we have no idea what we're doing" fashion, the ConWorks board had planned to sell-off a rather expensive set of theatrical drapes and accompanying hardware, until some particularly astute individual pointed out to them that their purchase had been part of a grant from a local funding organization, and that they didn't actually "own" these items. In fact, the terms of the grant stipulated that if they were not going to be using them, they were obligated to either loan or re-grant them to another non-profit. Luckily one of our amazingly terrific, smart, and on-the-ball staff members just happened to be around at about that same time, and casually mentioned that we could really use a set of black drapes in our new little theatre. So, it was decided they would "loan" the curtains and all accompanying hardware to us, until such time as they might secure a new space and require their use again.
The only slightly minor downside to this arrangement was that we would have to come in and dismantle the curtain rigging ourselves, and arrange to transport it up to our space on CapHill. But, with the combined assistance of eight staff & company members, and a very friendly house Technical Director (on his last day of employment, no less), we were able to pull all the running gear down, load it up into the back of a borrowed pickup, and motorcade our way up to our space just in time to get most of it into the theatre during a rehearsal break for another show using the CHAC mainstage.
Now we have a very nice set of heavy black drapes, along with about 300 linear feet of tracks and swivel arms, which, once rigged, will enable us be to completely black out our 30' wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, as well as provide some additional sound-dampening in the space, with plenty left over to create "wings" in the playing area where actors can hide and set pieces can be stored out of sight of the audience.
So, yeah - yay us! But, I do feel somewhat melancholy about the fact that our good fortune has come at the expense of another group's demise; even though it was a result of their own hubris, and sheer incompetence.
Still, hurray for gift horses and not looking in the mouth.
But Enough About Me; What Did YOU Think Of My Performance?
So, finally got my hands on a VHS copy of the "Small Spaces, Big Style" ep, and had a chance to watch it last night. Frankly, it's about what I was told to expect, what with nearly four hours of shot footage edited and compressed down into a four and a half-minute segment.
All-in-all, I think it was a pretty accurate depiction of my "retro-futuristic bachelor pad", although they did miss a couple of key elements. For example, I don't in fact, own the space, I just rent. During the section depicting the bathroom, the interior designer mentions that you can also add things like river rocks to floor space where you don't walk to add a "spa feel"; if the shot had panned down to the floor, you would have seen that I've done exactly that, using tropical accoutrements such as coconut & conch shells. Also, on the website, it notes that the spice containers on the stove hood are attached using Velcro; in fact, they have magnetic pads. Finally, I was hoping they'd provide some explanation for my wild use of color in the kitchen area, but it would have been very similar to comments made in the preceding segment, so perhaps they were trying to avoid presenting the audience with what might have been perceived as redundant information. In any event, these are relatively minor quibbles.
I thought it was interesting, almost ironic, that all the other homes in the segment were owned by people in the interior design industry. I would have liked it if they had mentioned my own artistic background, as I think it would have provided a bit more context as to the origins of this crazy-collectibles environment. Still, it's a teensy bit flattering that they felt my space was even worthy of comparison (although perhaps contrast was more the intent) to domiciles created by people who do this for a living.
So, I guess technically, according to "Warhol's Axiom", I still have exactly ten and a-half minutes of fame left "in the bank".
Well, I know at least a few of you took time out of your busy weekend schedules to watch the Sunday afternoon episode of HGTV's "Small Spaces, Big Style" featuring my "cool kitschy" apartment, and special thanks to those of you who commented and/or made video tapes! I've still yet to see the ep, so I can't personally speak to the finished product - look for the "bonus commentary track" soon.
Turns out there are a couple of snaps up on the show's website of the kitchen (not the best viewing angle, but they do mention some of the unique design features), and the bathroom.
So, if you've a mind to hang out in a now nationally recognized "cool place" (and given the heat-wave this week, that's doubly accurate!), give me a ring.
And If The Wind Is Right You Can Sail Away And Find Tranquility
Okay, let's take a wee respite from the usual daily deluge of war, famine, pestilence, economic chaos, political corruption, ecological disaster, and have a little moment of serenity:
Take a deep breath...
Hold it...
Now, let it out - slowly.
Feel better? I sure do.
Now that we have that out of the way, I have to say, those eggheads in the "reality-based community" really may be onto something with this whole "Global Warming" thing; three straight days (with a fourth day in the works) of plus-90 degree heat in mid-July is NOT normal for this part of the country. Yes, I understand others have it even worse, what with blackouts in NYC, insufferable humidity in the South and Northeast, forest fires in the Southwest, etc., etc., but for us, this is the equivalent. It's just not something with which we have adequate coping skills; hardly anyone has home air-conditioning, for example; and there's a good reason why Seattle leads the nation in sales of sunglasses - namely, because we're always losing them through general lack of need, which severely diminishes their status as a permanent fashion accessory.
Fortunately, the one thing we are blessed with up here is proximity to large, cool, reasonably clean bodies of water. And based on my observations this past weekend, it appears a significant portion of the population was taking advantage of these geographic amenities. Lake Union for instance was crowded as all get-out yesterday. During the afternoon, at least two boat races were in progress, which certainly must have presented challenges to the crews, what with the over abundance of other water-denizens: scores of kayakers, canoeists, day sailers, powerboaters, inner-tubers, swimmers, splashers, and one former resident of Malibu paddling around on a surfboard. The float plane pilots must similarly have had their take-off and landing skills tested to the max. And then there was the wedding that took place in the middle of the lake aboard the venerable Virginia V. Seriously, if it had been any more crowded, people could have just walked from one side of the lake to the other by hopping from boat-to-boat, like an aprezDuck Dodge raft-up.
At this rate, assuming the eggheads are correct, and that this massive climatic adjustment isn't just some sort of environmental bugbear, as some people would have us believe, then I figure in about 30 or 40 years the Pacific Northwest may very well lay claim to the title of "The Cote d' Azure of North America". We've certainly already got plenty of luxury yachts, plus our own international film festival, so all we'd really need would be a few swanky casinos (sorry Emerald Queen), and perhaps a neighboring principality, just to give us that frisson of aristocratic respectability that the Jet-Setters admire so.
Hm, maybe we should start working on that petitition drive to get Medina to secede from the Union. I'll bet I know a couple of people who might sign that.
Sorry, didn't mention this sooner, but looks like my slot on "Small Space, Big Style" was bumped to next week. Should be on Sunday the 23rd, 4:00 p.m. in all time zones, on HGTV. My slot is the "Seattle Cool Kitsch" segment.
You-all will probably see it before I do. Hope it turned out okay.
The Annual Cascade Kombis Vintage VW Meet & Swap takes place tomorrow at Shoreline Community College, followed by the NW VW Club's 33rd Annual "Bug In" on Sunday at Magnuson Park.
Then, as I said next weekend it's my turn on the grills at 14/48, followed by a staged reading for Annex Theatre on Tuesday, then The Capitol Hill Block Party on the 28th & 29th, and ending the month with the Annex Garage Sale on the 30th.
That ought to be enough to keep me busy and out of trouble for a while.
