this blog is a lonely hunter

admin — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 18:30:23 +0000

It’s interesting to me how my feelings towards blogging change, transform, evolve and sometimes hide in the attic for extended periods of time. It’s not that I don’t think about it, I do, but like an owed phone call to a distant relative, the more time that goes by, the harder it gets. The spontaneous spurts of daily inspiration don’t seem heavy enough to warrant a comeback, but I rarely sit down to channel the deeper workings of my psyche into something I hope will be interesting and meaningful to others. Rational or not, I realize it’s beside the point – the value rests just as much in my experience writing as it does in any feedback I receive, and it’s only when I commit myself to the former that I find any satisfaction in the latter.

Along the way, I’ve learned a lot about the power of the written word, often reaching people in ways I never expected. This definitely inspires me the most, and is perhaps also why I struggle the most. What started as an innocent attempt to feel I had something important to say, has lead to a deeper questioning of what I actually want to say and why; sometimes the answers are easy, sometimes not, but always seem to lead to more questions. Still, underneath the doubts and rationalizations is a genuine desire to connect with the rest of the world, to share the stories I hope are relatable and inspirational, building my own sense of knowledge and wisdom in the process. Often I don’t even know the moral of a story until I write it. The action itself helps me tap into something other than myself, finding lessons in even the most seemingly benign occasions. Since nothing is meaningful unto itself, it’s our experience, beliefs, filters and values that make it, so I learn a lot in the process. What is meaningful to me and why? Ultimately, these questions are what I hope to inspire in others.

Well it seems I’ve written a perfectly self-referential post, a regular Cervantes, Charlie Kaufman or, let’s face it, Mel Brooks. In any case, I’m happy to be writing again. How is everyone? See any good movies? Read any good books? Have any profound realizations in the bathtub?

Cyphan-tastic!

admin — Sun, 04 Jul 2010 20:39:46 +0000

A week has already come and gone, but I’m still all smiles when I think about my recent trip to Chicago for Cyphan. Such an excited and welcome bunch, and a really well organized convention all round. I’m pretty sure everyone in attendance came away with some fond memories, some new friends and probably some fun new toys. I didn’t get a chance to look around too much, but the dealers room had some really neat things – I even borrowed some steampunk goggles from Julie (she’d bought them for her son, hope he didn’t mind). They also hired a professional crew to come in and recreate the Star Wars Cantina – seemed to help all the storm troopers feel right at home.

One of the highlights was a somewhat random and serendipitous occurrence… With everyone in full costume and full swing the night of the Browncoat Bash, there happened to be a wedding reception down the hall in one of the other banquet rooms; all ties, updos and fancy dresses. As it turned out, however, the bride and groom were huge Star Wars fans, so they boldly requested that the gaggle of Storm Troopers, Sand People, and even Darth Vader escort them down the aisle. Amazing right? All can say is I wish I could have seen the looks on their grandparents’ faces as they entered the room under the glow of light sabers. I can’t even imagine how awesome that must have been, especially for the bride and groom. Definitely not your typical wedding album. Even though I couldn’t see, the roar and applause echoed down the hall and turned my anticipatory giddiness into the embodiment of: “That was f’ing awesome.” So yeah, that was cool. What was also cool was the enthusiasm of all the people dressed in costumes (I know some of them are not comfortable, but they’re a dedicated crew). One guy dressed up as Civil War Royalty held my tea for me while I took pictures, and he held it with such regal authority, I started to feel bad, like he was above such a chore. Luckily there were some lowly deckhands around to ask for future favors Anyway, here are some fun photos from the con. I hope more of you can make it out next year. And if you have any more photos, please post ‘em, either here or on my facebook fan page.

"the wedding party" waiting to make their grand entrance.

me and kitty zombie, so rad

check out kitty zombie’s site: body of a killer. mind of a puppy. sweetest and most playful zombie you’ll ever meet. and the guy inside is just as sweet…

those eyes look frighteningly familiar

i was admiring some photos i’d seen of his character, a really beautiful photo essay of him with a little girl. so he later presented me with my own print… and even signed it. i just love it. thanks again kitty!

not your typical tea for two

hanging out at the Browncoat Bash, i have no idea what that expression means

chillin' with my new buddies... i think i miss my little bro

dancing up a storm, likely to some 80's tunage. no big surprise.

check out Joan Varitek’s website, she’s super talented. i was lucky enough to get my own print of this one too. thanks Frank!

awesome cartoon of the dirty mechanic duo

before I left on Sunday, my dear friend and fellow Sci Fi veteran, Julie Caitlin Brown, ventured into Chicago for a “taste.” Literally, we went to this massive event called “the taste of chicago” where local restaurants set up booths and sell you their token dishes. There wasn’t a huge selection for me, being vegan, but I managed to find some yummy veggie tacos and watermelon ice. We were melting in the heat, but at least got to see a few sites.

oh how i miss 'married with children'... um, not!

these kids killed it! next dance move to learn: hand stand scissor kicks.

julie walks way faster than me. and looks way more like a movie star.

Alright, that’s all folks! Have a happy 4th a July!!!

because it’s just true

admin — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 04:43:11 +0000

i only picked up this book from the library yesterday (getting books you’ve put on hold and forgotten about is like christmas!), so i’m not too deep into yet.. still, i can’t get this sentiment out of my head. so simple, honest, revealing and true.

“If you can think of times in your life that you’ve treated people with extraordinary decency and love, and pure uninterested concern, just because they were valuable as human beings. The ability to do that with ourselves. To treat ourselves the way we would treat a really good, precious friend. Or a tiny child of ours that we absolutely loved more than life itself. And I think it’s probably possible to achieve that. I think part of the job we’re here for is to learn how to do it. I know that sounds a little pious.”

– David Foster Wallace

if

admin — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 19:31:38 +0000

i came across this little gem of a video the other day and thought i’d share it in honor of dennis hopper’s passing and in celebration of kipling’s moving and noble ideals…

Click here to view the embedded video.

street art that moves

admin — Sat, 22 May 2010 19:45:20 +0000

i recently saw a really cool documentary called megunica, which followed street artist ‘blu’ across central america. it was pretty low key, not much story, but the visual narrative was stunning. blu’s art is pretty spectacular. just check out this painted wall animation:

Click here to view the embedded video.

home!

admin — Sat, 08 May 2010 19:20:36 +0000

so many reasons why this video rules. but proceed with caution: you will not be able to get this song out of your head! i promise.

Click here to view the embedded video.

scents of wisdom

admin — Wed, 05 May 2010 03:38:35 +0000

Today I pulled up beside a rumbling semi-truck, my window barely reaching the height of the tires. The sound was loud, but I wasn’t bothered by it, I was entranced. When I was a kid, my dad took us on boat trips. My mom used to say it was the only place he felt at peace, on the ocean’s vast expanse. We would travel to little islands, spending the night moored at creaking docks, swimming in lakes, and losing fishing weights off the back of the boat – I always wondered where they ended up, the lost and found at the bottom of the sea. I would sit in the galley playing solitaire, eating cream cheese on wheat thins, or, like any other solitude seeking teenager, reading Carlos Castaneda in my tiny cave of a bedroom. Or I would be found sitting cross-legged on the bow, navigating our course with my thoughts. I don’t know what it was like for my dad, reliving his previous life as a sea captain perhaps, but I know that for me, as we became a speck barely visible from shore, I felt freer than I’d ever felt. I felt connected to the world and connected to myself. Nothing was impossible and nothing truly mattered, only the wind luring tears down my cheeks and the sun kissing freckles on my nose. I could almost smell the salty air as I sat in traffic today, inhaling the intoxicating smell of the diesel engine. My body began to sigh with a tinge of sadness, but I quickly recovered and embraced the memory, recognizing I can feel this way whenever I want. I took a deep breath. The freedom is within in me. Then the light turned green.

dirty deeds

admin — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 02:14:10 +0000

When I was in 9th grade, we did a science experiment where we took a swab of any area of the school we wanted and grew bacteria cultures. It was an opportunity to let the forensic juices flow and attempt to expose the most unassuming germ factory. We were told not to swab the toilets, an obvious bacteria festival, but my curious mind couldn’t help but ponder the ritual of hand-washing, and its effectiveness. The reason being, we typically turn on the tap (with our germ covered mitts), wash our hands, and turn off the tap (with our clean mitts, touching the dirty faucet). Herein lay the inconsistency. However, this was the 90’s, before automatic sensors were the norm. Today, my experiment would be irrelevant.

Considering I grew up with manual faucets, toilets with handles, and car jack style paper towel dispensers, I’m amazed at how quickly I’ve adapted to our current bathroom luxuries. More than once, I’ve nearly walked out of a stall, registering the silence, and recognized that the toilet wasn’t flushing on its own. “Have I really become so entitled?” I would ask myself as I flush it with my foot. Have I really come to expect nothing less than subservient machines making my toilet going as easy as a no touch car wash? The truth is, yes. But not because I need it, or even care that much, but because I’m a highly adaptable human being. It never particularly bothered me, having to flush the toilet, turn on the tap, nor pump my own soap. It was a routine I did, if not joyously, at least neutrally; usually preoccupied with other past or future events.

I didn’t think much of the germs despite my ninth grade experiment. I hadn’t known anyone to die after using a public restroom, and was pretty sure the stress of avoiding all possible foreign antibodies would be much more detrimental to my health than a little critter hanging out on my hands for a while. So it’s funny, then, that I feel totally programmed to expect automation. It would seem that it has more to do with convenience with health. I have no idea why it’s become the standard. Did people complain about having to flush their own toilet? Is it better for the plumbing? Surely it doesn’t conserve water usage. Can you say premature flushes? Perhaps the fact that the faucets only work half the time, or only work when you find the sweet spot, often left untapped by exasperated potty goers, is what makes up for all the flushing action. My favorite image is watching someone wave frantically in front of the faucet, only to realize it’s not automatic. That’s classic.

But in all seriousness, I bet some children know nothing else. What will happen to these poor ignorant souls when they travel overseas? They shalt leave toilets unflushed and with hands unwashed. It’s a dirty thought, but a serious one. Well, not that serious. I suppose metaphorically it’s interesting to think about what happens to our brain processing when we stop having to do things for ourselves and rarely have to figure out how things work. For now, it’s bathrooms. Next it will be kitchens, then cars. Soon, we won’t even need to think about how to work our bodies because they’ll run themselves. Have a nice ride!

bad romance

admin — Thu, 08 Apr 2010 19:52:15 +0000

i’m so in love with this video… her raw expression juxtaposes lady gaga’s artifice so beautifully.

Click here to view the embedded video.

i miss-issippi

admin — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 20:28:39 +0000

As I walked out of my apartment, suitcase in tow, purse fit for Mary Poppins, I realized I hadn’t yet packed a book for the plane. Since I wasn’t engaged in any particular story, I hastily grabbed a trusty travel companion: “Thunder and Lightning: Cracking Open the Writer’s Craft” by Natalie Goldberg. The short, concise, and heartfelt chapters in her meditation on the writing process are perfect for inspiration on the go. I can stop and start without having to reread and it’s a great catalyst for my own creative endeavors. On this day, I was on my way to Biloxi, Mississippi. I’d never been to the South before so my canvas of pre-conceived notions was completely blank. I was excited. As I settled into the seat of my first flight, I weighed sleep against study and, sleepily, opened my book. It was marked with notepaper from the Buckminster Hotel in Boston – my mom had bought me the book on our visit there. Since then I had read only a few chapters here and there, but hadn’t nearly digested the depth of her words. To my surprise, I opened to a chapter entitled, “Didn’t Elvis and Oprah Also Come From Mississippi?” I couldn’t believe it! How did she know I was going to Mississippi? How cool. Delighted by the uncanny coincidence, I smiled and read on. I ended up being incredibly moved by what I read; the chapter recounted the author’s search for that secret ingredient of the South, that intangible quality captured only by its inhabitants in their literature, poetry, art and country songs. I wanted to share one passage in particular:
“If people are sensitive they recognize a great split between what they were taught in school about the grand South and how the place was actually built. They can feel great human suffering in the fields and in the earth. This urges a person to speak, to utter the raw reality of a place. It’s almost as if by being from the South, if a writer is willing to contact its pain, the land gives the writer a voice, hands it to her. ”Speak,“ it says, ”uncover what’s real, reclaim the real story.“ Even if a southern writer never writes about slavery, it is a backdrop of knowledge, of injustice, a wound one carries. And the South, unlike the rest of the country, knows defeat. It makes people vulnerable, fearful underneath, as though the foundation of what they’ve built rests on moving sand. All this is fertile territory for a writer.”
Despite the mystery still contained in my idea of Mississippi, I started to feel connected in a small way, and I was ready for that “raw reality” to take hold of me. I can’t say whether it was an effect of my exhaustion (after missing two flights and having to rebook and reschedule, I was feeling a little frazzled) or simply the gentle hospitality people in the South are known for, but I felt right at home as soon as I arrived. I felt a familiar and sincere quality from the people I met; not just friendliness, it was more than mere manners. I felt a genuine care and acceptance expressed in the gestures I received; from the vegan baked goods made especially for my dietary needs to the overly warm welcome I received from the manager of the Super 8. My Q & A sessions were small and intimate, creating more of a casual dinner party vibe than the typical formal separation between audience and speaker. It was one of those things I think I could have easily missed. If I wasn’t open and curious, I could have missed the barren beaches and their haunting whispers of what once was. I could have not heard the humble and hopeful words of the residents who lived through a horrible disaster and stuck around to rebuild and remember. It was a beautiful and unexpectedly impressive experience and I’m grateful to everyone who was a part of it. I hope to visit that part of the country again, this time perhaps even venturing past the perimeter of a convention center and a motel – though i find the vastness of an experience comes from the internal more than the external anyway.