"You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn’t really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your stuff, that idea of home is gone."
-Andrew Largeman
Get's you thinking .
Monday, July 26, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Crrrrraaaacccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!
In case you were wondering, the title of this post relates to the sound I heard just after clocking in for my first show day with Cirque. The sound in question happened to be the thunder resulting from a lightning strike hitting the big top (or Grand Chapiteau, if you will) shortly before the media preview/dress rehearsal. Fortunately, power was lost only briefly because each of the tent's masts are grounded lightning rods and there are multiple generators on site. Cirque is a self-providing city. Upon arrival, they hook into the telecommunications and water lines of a city. Everything else is handled within the compound.
In other news, I discovered last week that the term "soccer", whose usage will out you as an American instantly is actually a British word. Just as "rugger" is slang for someone who plays rugby, "soccer" was slang for someone playing association football. My apologies for the large text. I was hoping to underline, but couldn't find that feature. Association => Assoc => Soccer
There you go. That's your lesson for the day.
We've been trying to steer clear of animal vs animal discussions here, since they no doubt end in laughter and pointless arguments, so here's your four-part question of the day (which was our QOTD yesterday):
When you hear the word "dragon", does your mental image present an Asian dragon or a European dragon? Which would you rather have as a pet? Which would you rather fight? [And the inevitable] If battling each other, which would win?
We can't seem to avoid those questions. Oh well, more laughter must ensue.
In other news, I discovered last week that the term "soccer", whose usage will out you as an American instantly is actually a British word. Just as "rugger" is slang for someone who plays rugby, "soccer" was slang for someone playing association football. My apologies for the large text. I was hoping to underline, but couldn't find that feature. Association => Assoc => Soccer
There you go. That's your lesson for the day.
We've been trying to steer clear of animal vs animal discussions here, since they no doubt end in laughter and pointless arguments, so here's your four-part question of the day (which was our QOTD yesterday):
When you hear the word "dragon", does your mental image present an Asian dragon or a European dragon? Which would you rather have as a pet? Which would you rather fight? [And the inevitable] If battling each other, which would win?
We can't seem to avoid those questions. Oh well, more laughter must ensue.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Here there be giants
I check my notepad: "Write about big ants."
They're everywhere. Ants on the plants, on the railings --- there are busy ants on the trains and downtown, running about, each with duties to perform before going home for the night. These are the same ants we see from wingside in a plane, above the clouds, and from the roofs of skyscrapers, looking at the world below. These are the small ants that we've known since childhood. However, that's not what I'm looking at right now. I'm not looking at small ants or people ants...I'm looking at giant Boston ants.
I haven't been much of an ant the past 5 months. There have been days where I wish I had things to do. Other times (like this evening), I have opted for events I've been ambivalent about, but, due to lack of options, have no reason no to go. I used to keep busy. Work in the day, play at night. Then came the work at night, play in the day period. Lately, it has been ...I'm not really sure...play in the day?
I leave you with an idea planted in my head yesterday:
The beer choices of our parents' generation.
Switch the tap handles and no one would notice the difference.
We are spoiled.
They're everywhere. Ants on the plants, on the railings --- there are busy ants on the trains and downtown, running about, each with duties to perform before going home for the night. These are the same ants we see from wingside in a plane, above the clouds, and from the roofs of skyscrapers, looking at the world below. These are the small ants that we've known since childhood. However, that's not what I'm looking at right now. I'm not looking at small ants or people ants...I'm looking at giant Boston ants.
I haven't been much of an ant the past 5 months. There have been days where I wish I had things to do. Other times (like this evening), I have opted for events I've been ambivalent about, but, due to lack of options, have no reason no to go. I used to keep busy. Work in the day, play at night. Then came the work at night, play in the day period. Lately, it has been ...I'm not really sure...play in the day?
I leave you with an idea planted in my head yesterday:
The beer choices of our parents' generation.
Switch the tap handles and no one would notice the difference.
We are spoiled.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Impressions of Boston, vol. 1
Dorchester: Home of Leonard Nimoy, Mark Wahlberg (nee Marky Mark), Donnie Wahlberg (of the New Kids on the Block), Dropkick Murphys, Martin Luther King Jr., Donna Summer, and me. I don't know if I'll be putting out any Billboard chart toppers, traveling at lightspeed, or starting the revolution, but life can be strange enough without making a name for yourself.
If you want to be specific, I'm currently residing in Savin Hill. Originally the summer home for the Neponset tribe of Native Americans, the Puritans disembarked from the "Mary and John" and eventually kicked out the natives. Joseph Tuttle, an aspiring innkeeper, decided the area (then known as "Old Hill") needed a tourism boost and renamed the neighborhood surrounding his new hotel Savin Hill, after the red Savin juniper trees that I've got in my front yard. I arrived at my triple-decker (a symbol of the neighborhood and reportedly a 1905 vintage) with nothing to do but sit outside until my future roommate arrived. I figured I might as well make myself at home, so I settled into an Adirondack chair in the front yard and waited. It wasn't long before the sound of an unhealthy vehicle caught my ear and I looked in the general direction of the noise. Apparently the driver was tired of people staring at his wreck and he flipped me off immediately. Welcome to the neighborhood, Greg.
It has been too hot for this West Coaster and we stay up late every night out on the second floor balcony having endless pointless conversations, whether debating the family heritage of the deceased Hawaiian superstar Iz or arguing the possible outcomes of animal battles (bear vs shark, cheetah vs bear, etc).
In good ol' me fashion, I venture out into the city without a map. I don't know if it's an unspoken rule I have for myself. If I have a starting point in mind, I might reference it online before I embark. Otherwise, I wander by following the sun's position, following the border between land and water, and, if I feel like finding myself, checking out a directory should I happen upon one. That's how my camera and I discover. Eight and a half miles the other day, when the only idea I had at the start was, "I think it's cool enough to go outside and take some pictures." As it turned out, it wasn't so cool, but I kept walking anyway. Lots of pictures resulted.
At some point mid-afternoon, the heat was wearing on me and I felt like heading back to my hood. However, though I knew which way was home, it was quicker to find the nearest T-station. Being one who doesn't carry maps, I have no problem asking for directions or tips. I happened upon a couple of young entrepreneurs selling bottled water on the sidewalk. Though they were no older than 10 years old, I trusted their local knowledge and paid my juvenile informants good money ($1) for a water and directions to the local station.
And off I went.
If you want to be specific, I'm currently residing in Savin Hill. Originally the summer home for the Neponset tribe of Native Americans, the Puritans disembarked from the "Mary and John" and eventually kicked out the natives. Joseph Tuttle, an aspiring innkeeper, decided the area (then known as "Old Hill") needed a tourism boost and renamed the neighborhood surrounding his new hotel Savin Hill, after the red Savin juniper trees that I've got in my front yard. I arrived at my triple-decker (a symbol of the neighborhood and reportedly a 1905 vintage) with nothing to do but sit outside until my future roommate arrived. I figured I might as well make myself at home, so I settled into an Adirondack chair in the front yard and waited. It wasn't long before the sound of an unhealthy vehicle caught my ear and I looked in the general direction of the noise. Apparently the driver was tired of people staring at his wreck and he flipped me off immediately. Welcome to the neighborhood, Greg.
It has been too hot for this West Coaster and we stay up late every night out on the second floor balcony having endless pointless conversations, whether debating the family heritage of the deceased Hawaiian superstar Iz or arguing the possible outcomes of animal battles (bear vs shark, cheetah vs bear, etc).
In good ol' me fashion, I venture out into the city without a map. I don't know if it's an unspoken rule I have for myself. If I have a starting point in mind, I might reference it online before I embark. Otherwise, I wander by following the sun's position, following the border between land and water, and, if I feel like finding myself, checking out a directory should I happen upon one. That's how my camera and I discover. Eight and a half miles the other day, when the only idea I had at the start was, "I think it's cool enough to go outside and take some pictures." As it turned out, it wasn't so cool, but I kept walking anyway. Lots of pictures resulted.
At some point mid-afternoon, the heat was wearing on me and I felt like heading back to my hood. However, though I knew which way was home, it was quicker to find the nearest T-station. Being one who doesn't carry maps, I have no problem asking for directions or tips. I happened upon a couple of young entrepreneurs selling bottled water on the sidewalk. Though they were no older than 10 years old, I trusted their local knowledge and paid my juvenile informants good money ($1) for a water and directions to the local station.
And off I went.
Friday, July 9, 2010
A journey begins
It was at some point just after the pterodactyl was flying next to me on that moonlit night, I realized that I had no idea what I was jumping into. At first, a sense of awe washed over me, followed by a bit of fear. It was huge! How had no one seen one of these gliding through the canyons of Eastern Utah? To the best of my recollection, I was near the junction of Hwy 84 and Hwy 80, just around the midnight hour. I had been driving pretty much nonstop for 14 hours and surviving off an exclusive diet of chocolate, Mike & Ike's, potato chips, and water. To my right, I was getting glimpses of the left wing, dipping in and out of the moonlight. It took me a couple views to understand that there was a monstrous creature swooping up and down next to me. I couldn't believe my eyes.
I shouldn't have believed my eyes. It took about a minute to realize that I was hallucinating. While what I saw was dipping in and out of the moonlight, it wasn't a leathery wing, it was a wind turbine blade. I decided to take a nap shortly after. That was just the first night.
I'm pretty sure I only suffered from alternate realities twice on my drive east. The other wasn't so much an image of what wasn't there as it was the planning of an event later in the day that had no possibility to occur. Besides that, I think my mind kept its grasp on reality, but then again, only the crazy person doesn't question his sanity. How would I know if I saw things that weren't there? What is real? Was the state employee riding a mower next to the freeway while barefoot and wearing a tanktop and shorts real? Were the Amana (don't call them Amish) colonies, a historical site in Iowa, now featuring a waterpark and "Landmark Restaurant", real or just some perversion of the American free market? What about the fact that I passed through Kingsville, Ontario [not my pic], advertising itself as Canada's southernmost town, yet the map says otherwise and even the town's website says it is "one of the most southern towns"? How is it that Canada's tomato capitol and rhubarb capitol are so close together? Coincidence or just good tourism planning? Can I say that I have seen the states I traveled through on my journey? I entered and exited Michigan under the cloak of night, so all I can attest to are the road signs and the starry sky.
I have seen a wildfire sparked by a thunderstorm or was it a thunderstorm generated by a wildfire? My eyes have fallen upon daytime in the wee hours of the night. I have witnessed incredibly aggressive mosquitoes, blood-sucking flies, and giant Nebraskan bugs at my campsite. I have been nearly blown up by skateboarders, the bored youth of Michigan City, Indiana, who play with homemade explosives while skating and biking under the watchful eye of the neighborhood cooling tower. I have stood on the banks of a Great Lake looking at our Northern neighbor from our home perspective and I have stood on the bank of another Great Lake looking at home from our Northern neighbor's perspective. I have left those whom I care deeply for behind and I have made new acquaintances, forging a new temporary life where I discover a new town, a new state, new homes, and new faces every two months.
I'm on an extended photowalk.
I shouldn't have believed my eyes. It took about a minute to realize that I was hallucinating. While what I saw was dipping in and out of the moonlight, it wasn't a leathery wing, it was a wind turbine blade. I decided to take a nap shortly after. That was just the first night.
I'm pretty sure I only suffered from alternate realities twice on my drive east. The other wasn't so much an image of what wasn't there as it was the planning of an event later in the day that had no possibility to occur. Besides that, I think my mind kept its grasp on reality, but then again, only the crazy person doesn't question his sanity. How would I know if I saw things that weren't there? What is real? Was the state employee riding a mower next to the freeway while barefoot and wearing a tanktop and shorts real? Were the Amana (don't call them Amish) colonies, a historical site in Iowa, now featuring a waterpark and "Landmark Restaurant", real or just some perversion of the American free market? What about the fact that I passed through Kingsville, Ontario [not my pic], advertising itself as Canada's southernmost town, yet the map says otherwise and even the town's website says it is "one of the most southern towns"? How is it that Canada's tomato capitol and rhubarb capitol are so close together? Coincidence or just good tourism planning? Can I say that I have seen the states I traveled through on my journey? I entered and exited Michigan under the cloak of night, so all I can attest to are the road signs and the starry sky.
I have seen a wildfire sparked by a thunderstorm or was it a thunderstorm generated by a wildfire? My eyes have fallen upon daytime in the wee hours of the night. I have witnessed incredibly aggressive mosquitoes, blood-sucking flies, and giant Nebraskan bugs at my campsite. I have been nearly blown up by skateboarders, the bored youth of Michigan City, Indiana, who play with homemade explosives while skating and biking under the watchful eye of the neighborhood cooling tower. I have stood on the banks of a Great Lake looking at our Northern neighbor from our home perspective and I have stood on the bank of another Great Lake looking at home from our Northern neighbor's perspective. I have left those whom I care deeply for behind and I have made new acquaintances, forging a new temporary life where I discover a new town, a new state, new homes, and new faces every two months.
I'm on an extended photowalk.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
