Where'd the cheese go?

Off to a good start

2012-02-01T01:47:00.001-05:00

My work schedule is four 10-hour shifts, Tuesday-Friday. I don’t get to do much during the week, but every weekend is a 3 day. I enjoy them, believe me, but didn’t feel like I was really taking advantage of them. As such, I’ve made a resolution to go on a trip every month. It’s a great catch-all resolution, containing within it the hope of increased blog writing to record the trips, sit-ups to prepare for summer beach trips, and so on.

This first trip was taken with my increasingly special friend, Lisa. I picked her up after work Saturday night and prepped with Trader Joe’s snacks, marzipan and the worst “corn cobbettes” that Pollo Loco could provide, we headed south to San Luis Obispo with Lisa DJing the miles away.

It was a mellow night, to start us off, visiting the singularly awesome Mr. Junell (have you registered to become a bone marrow donor yet?)
where we talked late and traded internet memes, including the earworm of the trip, this week’s favorite video of all time, LFMAO’s Sexy And You Know It.

The next day, we had brunch with a bevy of SLO favorites, Jean & Ben, Turtle & Josh, Todd & Carol, Dan Gross, and Greg. Lisa and I were apparently not local favorites, because they neglected to process our order, but we passed the time marveling that Dan found adult film star Ron Jeremy to be insufficiently manly, though Todd’s mom apparently is.

(Turtle and Josh had slipped away by this point to take care of their baby. Ben had slipped away to take care of Todd’s mom.)

Lisa and I then drove off to Santa Barbara, wondering at first who had accidently turned the heater on, then realizing that it was simply that SLO isn’t cold like SF. On the way down, we stopped by my place in Arroyo Grande.

Two hours later, Lisa was poking her feet into the water.

It was declared “not Maine-like” but that was as far as she got.

That evening, we walked out to the misspelled Stearn’s Pier at the end of State Street, and got some standard love bird pictures.

Then we ate 27 pounds of crab.

Bloaty and content, we wandered up State Street, to witness the sophistication and culture that is the Greek system in public.

They must have been who SB’s occupy muralist was talking about.

In an apparent demonstration of my own sophistication and culture, the night apparently ended with a less than fully clothed, more than fully voiced, dance routine to the video mentioned above (wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle, yeah!), but since Lisa didn’t take pictures, I choose not to believe her.

Monday we went to visit my Uncle Gordon, his wife Renee, and the object of their insufficiently tapped parenting instincts, Bittersweet. They live amidst splendor. Not in it, per se, though their place is as impeccably decorated as any place I’ve ever been. They live in an old stable house, behind the mansions that overlook Butterfly beach. But lunch on their patio has an incredible view, even if it isn’t “theirs”.

After lunch we went on a walk around the Beanie Baby mansion.
This picture was taken with the camera above my head. They’ve built up their land to the height of the privacy wall, so that their view of the ocean isn’t obscured by common people such as ourselves.

Gordon inspects the proboscis of a century plant.

Renee and Bittersweet show Lisa around the SB Music Conservatory.

Laughing it up in the Library.

Renee made us up a bouquet of scented plants from her garden to help us balance out the old cups of coffee and dirty laundry that filled the mini.

Tree!

I came back excited and energized (and without food poisoning, unlike poor Lisa who chose the usually reliable vegetarian burrito on the drive home). Work was a little difficult to return to, but the cat was not. Can't wait until the next trip, though I'm not yet sure what it will be. I'll have to look into tickets...

Balsa Man 2011

2011-09-24T21:16:00.000-04:00

Last year was my first time at Balsa Man. I had a blast building the Fandango Bar that was, at that moment, full sized and raging out at Burning Man. This year, I wanted to do something that still paid an homage to something Burn related that I appreciated, but also was its own thing. Sand worms from Dune are exactly the sort of thing that you very much MIGHT see out at Black Rock City, but are too large for all but the most ambitious (and well funded) artists. Of which I am neither.

However, with papier mache, all things are possible.

My original sketches just had sand worms eating dirt ravers, but I decided to have something more institutional as their meal.

The Egg Chair was one of those simple ideas executed with sublime perfection. I was happy every year I encountered it: a comfortable seat with a regal view that reduced your acoustic input to just one source of music (there were speakers behind the shag upholstery). Instant refuge.

I carved the chair out of balsa, making room for some ear buds. I coated it in a slurry of ground up road flare and glue (Billy Warmardam assured me this was safe to do, so long as I did it at a friend’s house.)

The upholstery came from a squid hat that I wore at Mully and Taffy’s wedding beach wedding in Mexico. As did the sand in my vagina.

Meanwhile, the sand worm was growing in scope, though starting to appear dangerously turd-like (or more accurately, appearing like dangerous turd).

Thankfully, Loretta came over and, surrounded by my roommate’s paintings, gave me some artistic direction.

The day of Balsa Man, I found out that the fact that fireworks are legal in Pacifica (the town just south of San Francisco) is, outside of July 3rd, true only in theory. Lesson learned for next year. Another lesson that I learned, is when buying a cheap MP3 player for your egg chair, you should open its impregnable plastic packaging with something safer than a pocket knife that lacks a lock.

Thankfully, while I didn’t have any bandaids, I keep some rope in the car (no officer, they’re MY bloodstains), and Loretta duct taped me up with a nurse’s steady hand and distain for patient discomfort.

Beautiful Baker Beach, site of the original Burning Man, was once again the setting.

Loretta, Mark and I got there early for some last minute tweaks/dental work.

We were down at the end of the beach, where we wouldn’t be a nuisance. Using the bridge as a fog gauge, we put our chances of a visible sunset somewhere between zero and hell no.

Soon folks started to arrive

We had a little wine.

I got fierce with my worm.

Miniature everythings were getting primped in the sand.

With the “Eh Chair” in place (sign by Lisa C), the stage was set for Loretta to fill in the scene.

When she had decided to turn a joking aside into a dancing reality, I was worried that the sense of scale would be lost. But I should have known not to be concerned.

Don’t ask for whom her mind works, it works for thee.

Raver mice!

Scale was not a problem: The worms loomed

…the mice cowered.

Or danced. It’s hard to tell with mice.

Finally, our work was done.

And like out on the “real” playa, once you set your art out there, it takes on its own life, with others piggy-backing on it, making it their own, transforming it in their imagination.

This happened to my roommate, Moorlock, who had made a plastic spoon art installation back in 1996 (as captured in this AP wire photo).

Someone had seen them, and spent the last 15 years with that vision percolating in his mind, finally to be recreated, smaller in scale but with much larger imagined purpose and structure.

There was much great art out there, creative, tiny and talented. More than this page could certainly capture. You should check out the balsa man flickr pool, because we were SUDDENLY DISPERSED BY THE COPS, and there wasn’t time for me to take pictures.

Instead, we had to quickly relocate, setting up shop across town at bucolic “Toxic Tire Beach.”

Yes, as someone commented on the Balsa Man blog, we’d duplicated the historical devolution of the artists’ life in SF: starting off in the beautiful side of town, chased out into the industrial wastelands.

Thankfully, as photographers will tell you…

…wastelands are pretty.

Our sandworms quickly became asphaltworms.

Michael prepped. Colin smiled. The Man reigned. The Man burned.

And all of them did so gloriously.

Shortly thereafter, Loretta set our tableaux ablaze.

Fire…

needs…

no…

caption.

As it dies, the mighty worm’s road flare heart burns, deep within.

And then we danced through the night.

Or we would have, but the cops showed up again.

Call it Balsa Man: Growing Pains or San Francisco: Misspent Tax Dollars. Either way, thanks Colin for making it happen!

Madonna Inn for Christina’s 40th

2010-10-19T01:41:00.002-04:00

Visiting San Luis Obispo as much as I have over the years, I’d often heard of the Madonna Inn, but I’d never actually been there. The concept of a hotel with individually themed rooms simultaneously appealed and horrified. I love the theme camps of burning man, but I was raised by folks who (as my brother put it) “loathe all things ersatz”.

It turns out to be a wonderful place, at least when experienced properly: a couple dozen folks in our party meant we could explore several different rooms. Unlike the typical hotel room, these were designed with hosting in mind, and so throughout the weekend people hosted the heck out things.

Friday night began in the Busy Textures room.

Stefani got a little wild in the Safari room. I came straight from work, NOT from the Clinical Examination room.

The next morning, Miguel hosted a Bloody Mary bar with an assortment of home-pickled items I like to call “breakfast”.
(Go Phillies!)

Some rooms, like the Safari Room, were more overt. Bloody Marys were in the Solvang room. You only knew it was Dutch themed because of the wallpaper and a reluctance to pay full price.

Alan made up door hangers for folks with a schedule of events.

Those Bloody Marys traveled right through Alan.
He really needs to chew his food better.

I’m not a pool person, but this pool was fantastic. It’s gradiated right up to the edge, which warms the first couple steps in perfectly.

Even the baby wanted to swim
(those are fists of frustrated dry-dock rage).

After a midday nap, there were pre-dinner cocktails. I don’t remember this room’s theme, but if I had to guess, it would be The Bad-Assed Couch Room.

I mean, seriously. Emmack’s in a different zip code from me.

The toast recipients: to Christina for turning 40 and to Alan for not stealing the spotlight for once.

With Alan, you can only ask for so much.

The post-dinner Champagne tower awaits in room Vous (part of a trio of rooms named Ren and Dez). I got a serious case of wallpaper envy during this trip.

At dinner Lisa cuts Brendan’s steak, as he’s got a ~~vigilante's~~ boxer’s fracture.

He also has a propensity to transform into a monster. Or my camera speed’s screwy. One or the other. Either way, Lisa disapproves.

Christina and her daughter Jane are almost (but not quite) outshined by the birthday cakes.

This is the expression Jane makes at all of my jokes.

Emmack and Roo cut a rug amidst cut crystal and centegenarians.
(Seriously. Ethel was there celebrating her 100th birthday, prompting Christina to request return celebrations every 20 years.)

Pink cakes go best with emerald dresses.

Cheers!

Vegas weekend

2010-10-18T02:00:00.002-04:00

Vegas isn’t my ideal destination, but it was a rare opportunity to hang out with friends without their children. They (Geoff, Roo, Shabbir, Steve J) got in on Thursday and enjoyed the pool, but as I get no time off of work, I didn’t get in until around midnight on Friday.

Stefani had already warmed up my room by the time I’d arrived.

After a late night at the Hooters Casino ($2 blackjack, 24/7), I spent the day on Saturday happily relaxing in the hotel room, reading Regeneration by Pat Barker, and watching the storm clouds come in off the mountains.

The MGM Grand has a lion cage in the middle of the casino, with professional lion snugglers. Besides that, though, the strip is the strip. I’ve seen it, it’s neat, but…

It wasn’t nearly as impressive as what they’ve done with the “Old Strip” which is where we met up with bay area transplants Corey and Jen.

They’ve covered several blocks of the old strip with this amazing LED lasershow sort of display, that works in concert with music being played every few minutes.

We met for dinner at Firefly, which is part of a casino that’s closing down next month, laying everyone off as tourism is down these days.

Corey snagged us window seats that overlooked the crazy light show.

Corey got a tattoo of God on his arm. “And then 2 weeks later we became Buddhists!”

Friends I hadn’t seen in a long time (including my roommate Shabbir, who had been at the poker tables since my arrival).

Having just celebrated their 7th anniversary, Corey and Jenn are just as damned cute as when they started.

The casino there had a shark tank right in the middle of things.
But no shark snugglers.

Balsa Man

2010-10-06T11:20:00.003-04:00

Burning Man is a big deal in this town. Everyone of a certain age has gone, or has a reason why they have chosen not to. A few years ago, Colin “His Smallness” Fahrion started Balsa Man because he couldn’t make it out to the playa that year. Now it’s become a substantial enough event in its own right that even though he could (and would like to) go back to Burning Man, he’s too good a parent to abandon his baby.

And thankfully so. Balsa Man provides a similarly inspirational opportunity to make art, but in a convenient, bite-sized
(and hubris-~~free~~reduced) form.

Upon descending precipitous stairs down to Baker Beach (“don’t worry, it’s balsa man, you’ll just break your fibula”), we were met by Greeters and a wonderful view. (photo by Leyink)

Just as at burning man, there’s a series of one word signs meant to slow and entertain new arrivals. (photo by Mamsy)

“A great city is not to be confused with a populous one.”
-Aristotle (photo by mrneutron)

That being said, Balsa Man was not notably unpopulous.
(photo by ropersf)

The Man is built at, I believe, 1/16th scale.
(photo by sandwichgirl)

But the people were closer (and smaller) here, so the scale worked out. (photo by Nick Winterhalter)

And just like at the larger version, the man is just one small portion of the art on display.

Much of it referenced art that’s been out on the playa at a significantly different scale. This one was my favorite installation of 2001. (photo by vonguard)

This oil derrick was a scale replica of art that was out at the playa THIS year. (photo by mrneutron)

There was an impressively intricate version of Center Camp.
(photo by mrneutron)

My personal favorites worked with and within the small scale rather than miniaturizing burning man. (photo by Leyink)

At the Teeny Tropolis each of the little boxes contained its own diarama or artistic scene. (photo by sandwichgirl)

That’s not to say, however, that I didn’t love the referential satire as well. Dr. Mini-volt (as opposed to Dr. Megavolt) was particularly delightful, not simply because it was made by my friends Ryn and Corey. (photo by mrneutron)

No longer creating a daily edition of Piss Clear at Burning Man freed up time for Adrian & crew to make Dress Warm for Balsa Man. A generous sort, giving contributing writer credit for one crappy haiku.

There was also miniature gifting. Tiny grilled cheese sandwiches (presumably from Bianca’s Soft Porn Shack) and these s’mores were a hit. (photo by Leyink)

One of the things I particularly liked about Balsa Man was just how easy it was to participate. Burning Man is a pain in the Arse.
(photo by mrneutron)

My creation was a typical scene at the Fandango bar, one perhaps going on right during that moment at Burning Man. (photo by vonguard)

Like the Fandango village itself, it was made through the contribution of many folks. Stefaroo made the keg, Loretta the garbage bags, Luke made the totem pole, Jenny Temple and Rachel Jablo made some stool (heh). (photo by Leyink)

For a particularly meta-moment, the Fandango village at Burning Man central was hosting a regional balsa burn, represented here at the regional Fandango bar at Balsa Man central.

Loretta carved a figurine of our friend Shannon (based off of a famous burning man picture) and molded a version of my old roommate Billy Warmardam’s landmark seahorse.

Fandango’s mayor Steve provides a mini beerbong to Evil Bert from Camp Dickface.

“Your cock is not a costume,” “The grass is green”, “Steve sucks” – Fandango bar is full of truth.

My cupcake art car makes a visit to our camp. I filled with with black powder, so the driver’s head blew off in a satisfying bang.

Above the Fandango village, Loretta made a brilliant trapeze catastrophe in action. (photo by xeeliz)

No surprises, booze (Jack Jr. in particular) is the cause of catastrophe.

The clouds gave us a break at the end of the day for a wonderful sunset. (photo by xeeliz)

Once it got dark, they started to prep the man with pyrotechnics. The one thing lacking for burning man authenticity was the pre-burn fire dancers. (photo by Nick Winterhalter)

Oh, there I am! (I left being chastised for bringing lit cigarettes near the explosives, receiving the warning “Billfrog, we have no fucking idea what we’re doing!” (video by Stefaroo)

Considering how good it looked, however…

I have to say…

that they were lying.
(photos by mrneutron, paranoidroid, Nick Winterhalter)

After the man burned, folks started burning their art. Cruder Awakening had the most pyro consideration in its design with gas jets buried under the sand. (photo by mrneutron)

Alan D’Souza’s winged heart had a layered design that looked aflame even before it was lit. (photo by Nick Winterhalter)

Balsa Man? It was hot.

Thanks so much to Colin and crew to making it happen, to Shabbir for taking close-ups, to folks who allow the creative commons use of their flickr photos (final photo is by Nick Winterhalter), to Santa for the drunk wrangling assist, to Fandango and to everyone else who deserves it.

Informed meat consumption

2010-09-30T02:14:00.003-04:00

A couple weekends ago I went up to Anton and Federica’s farm to participate in my first slaughter not involving my frisbee team. In the morning we dealt with around 30 chickens – Roosters who weren’t doing much besides making life rather unpleasant for the hens and anyone who wanted to sleep in.

Anton and Loretta, just, you know, not looking for any trouble.

Phillies shirts are known for their bloodstain hiding ability.*

Loretta and I were the only ones to snuggle with the Roosters before we offed them.

At first you get a sense of just how good Loretta must be as a hospice nurse. Then that little smile starts to get pretty creepy.

Traffic cones are apparently the perfect thing for such activities

You have to stretch their necks down out of the cone, but they’re exceedingly blase’ about it. *

There’s less blood than you think.

But, as Leti demonstrates, you do need to make sure to get a solid stream at first, otherwise you only get the vein and not the artery. *

The blood of 30 roosters goes in the bucket, and Satanic Pac-Man comes to life

After they drain, they go in the chicken plucker (borrowed from someone else in town)

Watch that gosh darned chickenplucker in action!

Red, white and blue (and black)

Ray does sure love his naked Rooster.

Bucketful of nekkid

Then comes the butchering

It’s the warmth on the inside that’s the most disconcerting

Rooster's nuts are on the inside.

2, 4, 6, 8: Don’t just gut, eviscerate!

Fedi runs a tight ship: Many chickens were worked on at once, and I got booted from the kitchen for being too slow inmy disemboweling.

The stuff we don’t want

The stuff we do (grilled by Scott Hernandez)

After the chickens were done, I went with Anton to pick up the goats (wisely slaughtered and dressed by a professional).

They were hanging in a walk-in fridge at the local firehouse
(all the firemen hunt). The wood paneling made it feel like a den. But smaller. And with a serial killer.

Soak in blood or chlorine, it’s up to you!

That’s not a kitchen island, it’s a kitchen continent!
(That’s a Sawz-All being used in the background)

For some reason, the butcher left in the kidneys. For obvious reasons, we drank all the wine.

*pics by Scott Hernandez

Croquet at Bonnie’s

2010-09-27T11:35:00.001-04:00

The day after Nicole and I recognized the inevitable end to our relationship, I thankfully had a most enjoyable diversion to occupy me: fancy croquet. My friend Bonnie, known for hosting well, held a little summertime do in her back yard. The east bay gets HOT, but she had a new little above ground pool snagged off of craigslist, so we survived.

Bonnie’s back yard sits on John Muir’s orchard.
These pear have seen such things!

Dress whites make everything fabulouser

What evil lurks in the heart of drunken scarecrows?
Only The Shadow knows, which is why he shoots them.

Lounge Liz-ard stays cool.

True southern belles, like Kasey, don’t need to stay cool: they glisten!

In contrast to the dress code, the croquet course was decidedly nontraditional. That’s the back of a refrigerator as one particularly sticky wicket.

Steve, wearing his official Croquet Club shirt, explains the basics. And the pedantic minutia.

CW’s idea of heaven contains many balls

Heckling is the purest form of flattery.

Steve says “Oh my!”
Brandi says “Oh, Steve!”

Croquet wasn’t the only game in town. Partyball brought his new invention...

…Kooba!

It’s a game that inspires a bit of unwholesome competitiveness.
I met Buck and Rebecca here, and happily ran into them elsewhere in the city, transitioning from single encounter into hopefully long term friends. They’re good people.

Summer (and Spring) Lovin’

2010-09-27T11:30:00.001-04:00

As the song goes, it happened so fast and I had me a blast. Timing was not our friend. I met Nicole at my old roommate Becca’s birthday party in February. I was already preparing to leave for San Francisco, and we just simply didn’t have enough time together to derail me or uproot her. But the times we had were great.

Our first date was to go see Martha Graham Cracker, the larger than life drag queen of Philadelphia.

We went with Molly and Looby. Looby stole the show.

She introduced me to the world of bold sunglasses.

It was nice to get a local’s tour/perspective of Philly

and she used her pilates expertise to give me shoulder rehab guidance.

She likes the sun (not the fog).

She taught me to take healthy eating seriously (sorta).

Nicole helped me pack up by triaging my costume bins.

Looby didn’t always agree with her choices.

After I moved, she came out to visit me in the foggy Sunset.

She joined me on my car buying mission. She agreed that the car salesman was a douche.

We went to see redwoods.

She came out again just a month or so later, when her flight to Turkey got canceled due to the volcano in Iceland. We stayed at the Mariott.

The view from our hotel room.

The view of Alcatraz from the hotel bar.

Golden Gate Bridge at sunset.

Then she joined me out at Stonecamp in upstate New York.

She played well with others.

We sang songs together (I wrote the songs, she made the beards).

We made art together.

Our final trip together was to Chicago, part of a birthday weekend spectacular.

First, the Stern men made a long trek through enemy territory (no batteries thrown, just back of the bus status).

Once downtown we had a most glorious day of Stern Men Watching Good Things (Phillies victory, Despicable Me)

The next day Nicole showed up and we played “I spy with my grotesquely large eye”.

Grotesque Chinese art was quickly spotted

As was the fountain from Married with Children.

We took an architectural boat tour.

There were lots of neat shapes.

Most of them boxy.

Lots of angles for the eye to play with.

Trains made me think of Joe.

We kissed under each bridge. I stopped thinking of Joe.

Architectural boat tours go on

and on

and on.

What couldn’t go on and on, however, was a relationship built on time-zone restricted calls and and the occasional cross-continental trip. But we were good to each other and for each other, and to focus on what it wasn’t would be to diminish what it was. “Muah!”

Camping Man

2010-09-22T13:24:00.005-04:00

Mark and Carolyn found some group campsites up in El Dorado National Forest, a few hours north of Sacramento. When much of SF was finishing their packing and heading up to Burning Man, we were having Camping Man.

I drove up late after work with the fabulous Jenny Temple, whose ability to sleep in the car is famous in seven counties. My roommates had gone up during daylight hours, and kindly set up my tent for me.

They thought the large air mattress was mine. It apparently took much manpower to stuff it into my wee tent.

The trees were tall, and we were camped amongst them

There were enough folks to warrant two rings of chairs around the campfire. Carolyn entertains Moishe while Sarah and Rivelea mug for the camera. (Well, Sarah mugs and Rivelea wonders if you have food.)

There was quite the mix of gourmet and kid friendly cooking.

Tree!

I brought arts and crafts. Landshark!

Making a scale model of the Fandango bar for next week’s Balsa Man became a group project.

Ryn made a burn barrel (which sadly got left at the Safdars because it was presumed to be “real art”).

Playing with scale is so much fun!

At the “real” burn, the “real” Fandango bar was holding a regional Balsa Man burn. So the mini Fandango bar also had it’s own even mini-er Balsa Man. That’s Carolyn’s version of AJ in the background.

Mini-beer bong prototype.

One minute from camp was a little stream. Follow that stream down a 10 minute walk, and there’s a wonderful little water hole.

Too cold for me on this gray day, but others were more intrepid (particularly since you could sun yourself on the ledge).

New Years 2010 at the Ponderosa

2010-01-06T23:24:00.001-05:00

I rung in the New Year in upstate NY. Taffy and I (and Reggie testing out his new doggie bed in back) made it up from Brooklyn to The Ponderosa just before midnight.

If we photographed it, it must be true.

Suddenly a dance party of 7 sprung up.

Just as quickly, a hottub party.

It's too much!

Red Dog and Reggie were not amused.

Moppy had to console Red Dog to make up for our tomfoolery.

The next morning we all head up to the pond.

Reggie loves the snow.

Red Dog loves the deercicles she finds in the snow.

Ama serves as our lunch cart.

Moppy has cleared the ice for Reggie.

Driving the Moppzoni is serious work.

Moppzoni construction is complex.

But it gave Henry the opportunity for an action pose.

Ama matches. Note the gloves.

Morgan was ready for hockey. Until Jill got through with him.

I'm a little unsteady, to put it mildly.

In the afternoon, the bag lady of hockey arrived.

Matty and Robyn, the team bruisers

Greg's helmet keeps him safe.

I'm not blurry because I'm moving so fast on the ice.

Reggie's tootsies got cold on the ice - maybe a lap would help?

No, full on snugglage was needed.

Henry had a crush on Ama, who was "driving to San Francisco."

Turkey pot pie, I'm gonna eat you!

After dinner there is NIGHT SKATING (Skators of night!)

Taffy grows muscles by moonlight.

Those too tired for more hockey played cards by the triple tree.

No, I forgot. We had a dance party! (of 4 this time)

The next day we were more sledding inclined.

That hill looks scary!

Matty made it look easy.

Clare and Morgan do too.

(Ama, whose pink gloves you can see, has little motive force on this issue.)

Yes, Greg & Gina seem like fine parenting material, why?

Dogs take offense at sledders.

Back up for more.

Taboggan Train!

Taffy lost her caboose.

The viking would rather be sledding

Gift exchange Lorax would rather be doing something else entirely.

Life may imitate art, but it's not always Art's fault.

2009-11-16T22:40:00.001-05:00

Yesterday was a gloriously warm sunny november day, the type you don't appreciate as much out in California because it's not going to get quite as shitty any moment now. After swinging by the Italian Market for some produce, I went over to Rittenhouse Square, the closest green space to my apartment. Like most green spaces, on nice days it's used pretty extensively by a relatively wide mix of people. It's well maintained and in a fancy neighborhood so it never gets too decrepit, but I did imagine all the homeless guys wondering "What are all these baby-having folks doing on my park bench?"

Sitting next to me was a cute couple that progressed from commenting about the various folks in the park to making out. Perhaps the catalyst was the woman saying that they've clearly passed a relationship threshold because when she's around him she no longer feels the need to compulsively check her digital communication devices.

This morning I went to send an electronic birthday card to a friend, and saw this on the front of someecards.com

I wonder if he'd have been quite so flattered if he knew she wasn't just stealing park benches from the homeless.

Disengagement Rules

2009-09-17T18:53:00.002-04:00

When an old high school friend told me that his recent divorce was something that he was very happy about and that his best wishes towards his ex-wife were completely returned in kind. I figured that there was either some significant positive spin involved or at least some self delusion. But now I find myself in exactly the same place.

We have had a lot of fun together. We've made a good team. Who knows what might have happened if Alison hadn't been dealt such rotten cards in terms of health and healthcare. But that "might have been" does not torture me. I feel good in that I helped her along through some tough times. I think that her tough times are coming towards an end, but that doesn't mean we can or should try to force our original plan down fate's throat. Now we're at a point where she wants to take herself along the rest of the way on her own, finding her own path, matching up to no one's desires but her own, just at a time where I'm looking forward to not have to help anyone but myself.

The struggle to realize this decision was a difficult one. A partial catalyst for this was the separation of my trip to San Francisco, but while that quieted the pull of the relationship enough for us to hear our own individual voices/needs, it meant we were reduced to phone calls and emails which makes communication difficult. Once the decision was made and I returned home, however, the struggle ended and the fun began.

I'm exceedingly happy that Alison hadn't skedaddled while I was in California. Instead of coming back to clean an empty apartment followed by a future of "ex" status, I came back to a relaxed, sweetly enjoyable two week transition from girlfriend to friend. My god, the apartment was a pit, no movie set director would think they could go this messy without passing out of believable territory. But it's a pit for the last time, so now I laugh instead of grumble. Each of our flaws are but passing irritants, easily overlooked. Both being on the same page, we can frame our past not as a false start towards a destination never reached, but a wonderful (if at times painful and difficult) journey we've taken together, something to look back fondly upon as we embark on new independent phases of life.

Alison will be headed to visit her folks back in Chicago at the beginning of October. Next week I start my MRI certificate program and I'll soon be moving to a studio we found yesterday, just a few blocks from our current place. In the meantime, we'll be farting and laughing as we attempt to clean up this pit.
pppppft.

Burningman Pictures

2009-09-10T20:26:00.008-04:00

I didn't have a camera, so I'm depending on those photos taken by others. Thanks to Neil (http://theblight.net/) for his talent and hard work.

A seemingly full scale, intricately detailed version of every child's vision of a spaceship, out in the middle of the playa. There was an amusing rumor that suckered much of the playa, who stood around for hours for the supposed launch of this art installation. I heard that eventually there were some pyrotechnics, but there was never any actual flight, only mockery from those of us who knew better.

Wind blew pretty steadily the first couple of days. That, combined with a somewhat softer than usual playa surface, made for difficult biking and periodic white outs.

These next two photos are of one of my favorite art installations. About the size of an "easy-up" shade structure that you see at farmer's markets, the laser cut walls supported a roof that contained the Inferno. My guess at how they did it is that there was a wick punched down through the roof, and propane (or some other lighter than air gas) forced through it. Once lit, it just provided a roiling, dance of flames that frothed at the ceiling. A thousand times more mesmerizing than just looking at a regular wood fire due to the gaseous liquidy play of the unsupported flames.

Above is the view from the outside. Below is a view of the ceiling and side panel.

The art cars were particularly impressive to me this year. I think a lot of people who once spent their time/money building large theme camps realized that they would be more popular if they built something that would move. Drunken hotties are particularly grateful to anyone who drives them along to the next party. This angler fish struck me as it recalled my childhood book, "Fish Do The Strangest Things". It was really spooky and well presented at night.

When I first saw this off in the distance, I dismissed it as just another example of people thinking that increasing the size made it into art. Sure, a 30 foot rubix cube is neat, but only in passing. But when we got close, I saw just how participatory it was. The cube was so large that you could only see 3 sides at a time. There were three control stations, each about 50-60 feet away from each other, and people at the stations had to shout to other folks to share what they saw on the sides that only they could see. The three groups would work together to communicate (across a large distance over loud music) in order to solve it. I was lucky enough to be there at the final stages of a cube solving. I don't know how long they'd been at it, but the degree of their celebration implied quite a while. After it was solved, it made happy lights and sounds and then scrambled itself for the next gamers to come along.

I camped with the village called Fandango, which is a loose collection of subgroups. One of the bigger subgroups this year was Funkcamp, a primarily NYC based crew who I've gotten to know while living in Philly. They came out and built the Mothership of Funk, which quickly blew down in a windstorm. Not to be deterred, they put it back together in skeleton form and went on with the shows.

When I first went to burning man, the man was just on top of a pile of hay bales. Then they started building ever more intricate platforms and towers beneath him. This year they went to a more open design, which I liked as it felt less of a tourist lookout like Pt. Reyes Lighthouse or somesuch, that you climb because you're there and you quickly leave because the next person wants in. From a distance the 2x4 construction was dense enough to appear solid, only when you approached did you find how chaotic (or chaotic seeming) it was. The open feel of the place allowed it to be a more communal place to hang out, so that the press of people didn't feel excessive. Actually, while I'd been told that the event was almost twice the size as it had been the last time I'd attended back in 2005(?), it didn't feel much more crowded at all.

That 2x4 construction also made for a beautiful burn.

My Graduation Speech

2009-08-18T20:36:00.002-04:00

This was easy for no one. This was a hard two years, with late nights and chewed fingernails, stress and some tears. Nor will it magically become easy, simply because we're done with school. But just as this day feels so good, so damned good, because it was so hard to get here, it's worth noting that while the best things in life (love of family, friendship of schoolmates) are free, the most worthwhile things in life take effort.

We've been marked by this institution. Marked as surely as if a royal blue L or crimson red R had been put anteriorly and laterally beside us.* Not for the radiologist to read, of course, but also only partly for our future employers, whoever they might be. No, we've been marked, indelibly, for a change within ourselves. For now if we are ever confronted by a future task that appears too great, that seemingly holds too long a road to travel to reach, we can compare it to what we have achieved these past few years. In the words of our Joe Kilbride, we can say "no problem, buddy!"

So far, only a couple of us have jobs.But that's a matter of luck.
Bad luck.
Bad timing.
Bad economics.
But not bad techs.

We're not competent.
We passed competent back in 08.

We're not good.
We blew past good before we even rotated through Pennsy. Through Chop. Through Radnor.

We're daaaaamned good.
We're silly good.
We're sexy good.

Now it’s right about at this part of the speech that if he were speaking Noah** would take off his pants...instead, I'd just like to say...

Thank you to all who helped us get to where we are:
Our families.
Our teachers.
Ourselves.

*for non RT people: When taking xrays, you place markers on the anterior and/or lateral side of the film cassette to indicate whether you're taking pictures of the patient's right or left, as there's nothing within the anatomy that would indicate side of interest to the radiologist. Those markers are color coded as described, and in the speech I had the appropriate marker taped to the palm of each hand which I held up as I spoke that line.

**A classmate who is the textbook example of ADHD

Graduating the X-ray program (now onto MRI)

2009-08-17T11:39:00.002-04:00

I'm very happy with how I took this puppy and slammed a home run. It is nice to have the opportunity to shine, though of course neurosis dictate that I disparage the achievement as something that anyone of my friends could do just as well as I did. Actually, that's not neurosis, that's just the awesome caliber of my friends and family.

Unused to sticking so far ahead of the pack, I find myself questioning the validity of my being so feted. That’s probably just my own neurosis preventing me putting myself in a positive spotlight, but I wasn't helped by the candy-ass nature of the graduation ceremony. Having graduation at 4pm on a Thursday doesn't exactly scream "you're valued by this hospital". Prior years might not have gotten the weekend afternoon your typical undergraduate gets, but at least they got a meal and a start time that allowed the techs who trained us to attend. My theory is that the CEO of the hospital who tossed out the perfunctory banal and dismissive introduction wanted to be home in time for dinner. It was good he got cellphone service in the auditorium, because that way he was able to constantly check for Phillies updates.

I was too aware of the disrespect inherent in the production to get very excited about it, and was constantly caught unawares by how seriously the other students took the event (which admittedly happens frequently when I interface with ceremony). Amidst corsages and engraved pins and suits and philly style high heels my gown thankfully covered up the fact that I was the one guy who didn’t think to bring a tie.

Squirmy as I am about being the center of attention in any serious sort of way, I’m very happy with the speech I gave (which I’ll post later). And while I’ll pshaw my way to hell and back about the awards that I won (Academic Excellence, Overall Clinical & Academic Excellence), I would have been sad not to come away with at least the Academic one: while perhaps not providing as much depth as my classes at Haverford, I certainly pushed myself harder at these classes than I ever did as an undergrad.

What's up with the Billfrog

2009-07-29T14:01:00.002-04:00

Wow, three months since I've posted. The spring break road trip was such a success that I kept delaying in order to write a good enough post that captured it, and suddenly too much time had passed.

Anyway, wiping the slate clean...

1) School is ending soon:I'm 2 weeks away from being done with the primary xray portion of the program, and while I'll just start up again with MRI in September, it feels very much like the very end of senior year: simultaniously extremely comfortable and anxious to leave. I won't miss the "student status" feeling, but it is a pleasurable feeling to so intimately know the ins and outs of a situation: when the pretzels are brought in fresh to the gift store, which techs you can slack under and how to find yourself working with them, etc. That pleasure, though, is almost constantly outweighed by a palpable "get me the hell out of the nest" feeling of anticipation.

2) Work is a blessing:When I started down this path, there were innumerable job openings. When last year's class graduated, almost all of them had found work already. With my class, only a brachydactyl handful of us have jobs. I'm now working 3-4 evenings a week so while the end of school senioritis means that there's less stress and pressure, there's also less time and energy.

3) Upcoming break:I'll be heading back to the west coast for a couple of weeks, though only a small part of that will be in San Francisco. I'm going down to Anaheim to see Fifth Form at the IndyFilm fest. I'll be taking my brother to see it, think of it as Weekend at Bernies crossed with Dead Ringers. Then I'm off to Burning Man, where where things might not go smoothly, but no matter what I'm pretty confident I won't be thinking about xrays one bit while I'm there.

Test

2009-07-29T12:41:00.001-04:00

test of xposting

Test

2009-07-29T12:40:00.001-04:00

test of xposting

Cinematic interlude

2009-04-27T18:17:00.002-04:00

Here's a project I just did for school. The powerpoint presentation we were supposed to complete on the subject was just too damned dull.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XF8kOIajhSo

Pauses that refreshes

2009-04-27T09:46:00.003-04:00

Alison and I tend to have the same amount of museum tolerance: about 90 minutes in, regardless of how much we're enjoying an exhibit, we generally reach our limit and need to switch off. So when figuring out yesterday's schedule, 3 hours seemed plenty of time to visit Stax (the museum of Soul music) and swing by Graceland's gift shop to jeer at the pilgrims and buy some postcards before leaving Memphis for the long drive to Nashville. After all, we'd just visited the National Civil Rights Museum (NCRM) the day prior, and even that museum (which had been gushed about by everyone we'd met) only held our attention for a short while.

At about 2.5 hours in at Stax, Alison pointed out that there was STILL a long way to go, and neither of us had any desire to rush through. We'd cried more (both from inspiration and sorrow) there than at the civil rights museum, as well as laughed and danced and sang. The NCRM was a constant firehose of information, all presented in the same way, and after a while you just shut off. Stax mixed it up, kept it funky as it were. The transitions between exhibits gave us the opportunity to think about what we'd just learned, to process it and appreciate it, a digestion process that made room for us to consume more.

The contrast between the museums made it clear how important it is to have breaks to appreciate/reflect/savor. I've been surprised at how few of such opportunities we've had over the first week of this trip. I thought there'd be lots of time for journaling and letter writing and such, just as there was when traveling around South America. But apparently much of that reflection time must have come while waiting at bus stations, because when you can leave when you want, there's never much time to sit down and write.

2009-04-20T18:31:00.001-04:00

We're going back (back!) to the Waffle House...

2009-04-20T14:43:00.001-04:00

Apparently Appalachia doesn't get cell coverage. I suppose this does not count as news to anyone but me.

2009-04-19T16:28:00.000-04:00

Reading options at a western Maryland gas station.

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Ahhhhhhh

2009-04-19T10:19:00.006-04:00

When I went to bed on Friday night, we were certainly well on our way to being packed, but we weren't exactly in the home stretch. Saturday morning was full of that excited happy stress that comes with the last minute preparations for something fun and long anticipated. As always happens, things took a bit longer than expected, and we were out the door about two hours later than we'd hoped.

The drive, after the inaugural traffic jam that ate up the first 45 minutes within 2 miles of our house, was relaxed and fun. Old farm silos are the dominant visual in southcentral PA, but they are such a part of our cultural identity that they somehow never stop being picturesque. Initial plans had us camping at Monongahala Park in West Virginia, but as sunset caught us still in PA, we decided to stay at a motel somewhere. Somewhere has turned out to be Frostburg, MD, after the 7th hour in the car, the point at which it was starting to become more work than fun.

At first I'd been thinking that we should have planned better for our first day so that we would have spent our first night camping in a beautiful park. But this was perfect. Camping, however pretty it can be, is some degree of work, while in the hotel, with a big comfy bed, cable (Nixon on the history channel), shower, pool, internet, breakfast...we were clearly on vacation. It was quite a valuable lesson for me. Perhaps because past roadtrip experiences (mainly frisbee tournaments and Burning Man) had such temporal restraints, I'd unintentionally begun to take on some Griswoldian qualities, getting focused on the destination at the expense of the journey. When I'm in school, it DOES matter that things get done in a certain way, that goals get acheived. On this trip, on spring break, all that REALLY matters, is that we get ourselves to a state that sells beer at reasonable hours. Having already done that, if we go no further but have fun doing it, then it will have been a success.

2009-04-18T16:21:00.001-04:00

Cow, I win!

2009-04-18T15:00:00.001-04:00

Left at 245. 15 minutes later we are TWO blocks from home. First sunny weekend traffic. Good thing we have lots of music!

Rental acquired

2009-04-18T10:37:00.002-04:00

It's a camery, "Dad's car", regardless of whatever make/model he's actually driving these days. So now we got to start filling it up. Our goal is to leave when the mailman gets here so we can leave with whatever goodies have arrived. It's 10:45am or so now, I think we can get out of here by noon, 1pm if we actually want to have everything with us in the car.

Here's a map of our general route idea. Some places, such as Dollywood (Pigeon Forge, TN) are definite. Others, like Greensboro, are simply placeholders.

View Larger Map

Plop!

2009-04-18T00:05:00.002-04:00

The pockets in scrub tops really aren't designed terribly well. Certainly that's the reason why my phone ended up in the toilet. End-of-exam drinks had nothing to do with it.
Right now my phone is in a bowl of rice, in hopes that the moisture will be sucked out of it and it will rise again. If you need to get hold of me, call Alison's phone (first digits are the same as mine, last four are 0447)

First Post!

2009-04-16T13:03:00.000-04:00

I want to be able to post via cell phone during our road trip to Dollywood. Livejournal only allows that if I pay, and as that site seems to be dying I figured it was time to move over to a Google based organization.

I'd make a more interesting entry, but I've got one last final to study for and plenty of trip prep to get to. Besides, what first post is ever worthwhile?