travel

I’m back in Estados Unidos once more, surviving 10 days in bustling, socialistic, publicly drunken Yrup. I have more extensive scribblings on the subject of “does humanity stand a chance” based on my experience, but those are for another time.

For now, notable notes:

• Copenhagen = “Hopenhagen” and we did DrupalCon Europe under a 1.8Mw wind turbine. It was a rousing success.
• Signing party for a new company (Pantheon Systems, Inc) in some very Cybersyn-like chairs in our hotel. Many thanks to Vilas for handling all the paperwork.
• My new little Starling netbook did a good job on the plane/etc, but I need to get a bigger battery. Already on order.
• The first rule of Manticore is you don’t blog about Manticore.
• Pedi-cab driver fantasies about. If this whole company thing doesn’t work, I could still burn it all down and make an honest living.
• London was quite lovely, staying with The Rina. Strange what was familiar and what wasn’t from 15 years ago when it was my first big-city experience.
• Henry IV Part II at the Globe = Awesome. Watched from groundlings in a light rain, so sore feed and a damp jacket, but way to be up close and personal. Roger Allam is a superb Falstaff (I’m not the only one reminded of Christopher Hitchens it seems) and the whole experience was just magical.

• Also attended Carnival, which was a festival of public excess, but pretty great too. Innovative public urinals they have there; also, very large cans of beer. One hand just washes the other.

Anyway, back to the regular grind. So far I’m making the jetlag work in my favor with very early mornings and tucking to bed soundly by like 11pm. We’ll see how long that lasts.

I’ve been a bad friend, son, brother, and even lover of late. Too much workahol leading to broken plans, missed connections, absurd periods of radio silence. To all the parties waiting or wanting or hoping to hear from me, I truly am sorry.

So here’s what’s been going on.

I escaped my dayjob-infused routine last weekend to attend an Indian Wedding in New Jersey with the girlfriend. Oh yes, that’s right, I’m using The Title now. Reluctance to do so in the past is — hindsight-wise — kind of embarrassingly immature. Also, while it sounds quite nice rolling off the tongue, “paramour” isn’t actually a very flattering alternative descriptor.

For my part, this feels different than previous relationships. It’s more… intentional. I chose pursuit in spite of improbability and long odds. While she’s certainly into me (so I got that going for me too), this isn’t one of those things that just fell into my lap. I had/have to work for it.

This is foregrounded because it’s been long-distance, which is a pain in the ass, and also not the norm for me. Shamus jokingly scolded me that this was the best I could do given my quote-unquote emotional availability. Very funny, but there’s maybe something to be said for the way in which the distance gave the whole thing a chance to sneak around various subconscious defense mechanisms of mine. A trojan horse for the heart, you might say.

It’s gotten harder now that she is in London, and not New York, and timezones are a real barrier, and we have to plan and coordinate even to talk. But people do this, and even successfully. Seems kind of silly not to try.

Another novelty/challenge: she is more different from me than anyone I’ve ever dated before. She is brainy of course, and at a bedrock level we have much in common, and communicate pretty well. I like to think this puts us in a good position to make the most of our diversity. Still, at times the distance (social now, not geographic) between our respective worlds seems daunting. It’s not just her being the daughter of South Asian immigrants, but more the whole variance in life paths: she’s a relatively straight-up lawyer; she’s more conventionally girly than the girls I grew up with; she’s at her finest dancing to top-40 pop hits. These things are strange and quixotic and foreign to me.

In light of all this it makes me happy that she approvingly posted this little excerpt, because really when is this sort of thing ever very logical? It isn’t, I’d say. My goal is not to think about anything more than is absolutely necessary, and generally try not to eff it up.

But yes, so I flew out to New York to spend the weekend in Jersey. It was pretty fun, actually. Unlike most men, I quite enjoy dancing — of which there was plenty — and I find the generally joyous atmosphere of weddings to be pleasant and life-affirming. Plus there was plenty of quality food and booze.

The night before the wedding itself was a tradition called a Sangeet, which is like a rehearsal dinner except bigger (half the whole wedding was there) and revolves around a talent show. This is actually an exceptional idea; there’s nothing like the sharing of amateur and cheeky performances to help bring two families together. I recommend anyone considering a bricolage approach to their own nuptials consider incorporating this genius little innovation.

I also appreciated this quote from the wedding program: “Love does not consist of gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction.” Which is also translated “To love is not to look at one another: it is to look, together, in the same direction.” Seemed apropos.

Another highlight was the after-party, which was back in the hotel/conference center we all stayed in, which had an honest-to-god nightclub. This is in North New Jersey proper, and sort of outside any real town or city center. And yet this joint had an apparently substantial clientele. The crowed was, shall we say, interesting, sort of the end result of Jersey Shore plus 25 years, or, as someone remarked, “I feel like this place is exclusively full of people here to cheat on their wives.” A great moment for human anthropology in and amongst the Dirty Beats.

We finished the weekend strong back in the City, mostly picnicking in Central Park, greeting friends of hers, camping out behind Summer Stage, gorging ourselves on Chicken and Rice back in the apartment.

I had one more day there, so I got to see my Sister on the night before her birthday. Missed everyone else though (didn’t even tell folks I was coming out) for which, again, I am all apologies. Next scheduled excursion is late October, and will be a Good One, I think.

Now back in California, a week later, it feels like much longer ago. Like another world, a place of real summer, and me another person maybe. Another identity facet to blend? Another structural hole to bridge? Time, as they say, will tell.

I spent the past four days on the Island of Oahu, Hawaii, doing my part as a groomsman for the blessed union of Jesse Austin Dean and Gina Maria Long. Everything went off incredibly well. Weddings are sometimes occasions for people who don't see (or really want to see) one another very often — e.g. divorced parents — to clash. But there was zero drama, many kind words were said — my man The Girth burnishing his credentials as a first-rate orator — and a good time was had by all, not least the bride and groom.

Most of my experience was (rightly) about these other people, but it was pretty good for me too. Not a vacation, but a chance to decompress for 72 hours. Touristas aside, my cliche expectations are much exceeded by the reality of Hawaii. The North Shore felt like a place to spend some more time without a schedule or obligations, and I enjoyed being an out-of-place bum in Waikiki for a day.

Also got a lot of reading done. Finished the Žižek without uncovering significant further revelation, and then slurped up the much less dense Geography of Bliss, which was a good pick for a quick pseudovacation. Eric Weiner, a foreign correspondent from NPR and self-professed "grump" with an overdeveloped sense of irony, travels the globe to very happy (and unhappy) places, in search of what makes them so. Occasionally strenuously clever tone aside, the content is good food for thought. I was particularly struck by this passage at the end of his visit to the recently-ultrawealthy Quatar:

I keep thinking about something Abdulaziz said. When he's feeling down, he said, he talks to his God. Not prays but talks, that's the word he used. I liked how that sounded. Talking comes naturally to me. Praying does not. Of course Abdulaziz's God is Allah. Not exactly my God. I wonder: Who is my God? No obvious answer springs to mind. Over the years I have been spiritually promiscuous, dabbling in Hinduism, Buddhism, Zoroastrianism and even occasionally Judaism. None however could qualify as my full-time faith, my God. Then, suddenly, his name pops into my mind and His is not a name I expected. Ambition. Yes, this is my God.

When Ambition is your God, the office is your temple, the employee handbook your holy book. The sacred drink, coffee, is imbibed five times a day. When you worship Ambition, there is no Sabbath, no day of rest. Every day you rise early and kneel before the God Ambition, facing in the direction of your PC. You pray alone, always alone, even though others may be present. Ambition is a vengeful God. We will smite those who fail to worship faithfully, but that is nothing compared to what he has in store for the faithful. They suffer the worst fate of all. For it is only when they are old and tired, entombed in the corner office, that the realization hits like a Biblical thunderclap. The God of Ambition is a false God and always has been.

It was doubly interesting reading for me as the book was a pass-on from Rina, and had some of her notes in the margins, which she found embarrassing but made me smile continuously, being connected in a world of ideas. It was a particularly nice 21st-century romance moment to bask in the morning-after-wedding feeling of hope and optimism, "talking" with a beautiful woman via gchat, me from my phone on the edge of a volcanic rock in the middle of the Pacific, and she in Amsterdam (world cup fever!) on her eventual way to London.

I'm back on the mainland now, setting in to what might turn out to be again-temporary quarters at the Cornell Club — landlord called the day of the wedding to tell us he's selling the joint — and it's "back to life, back to reality." I'm joyful for my friends, and grateful to have gotten this bit of respite which I must confess was pretty sorely needed.

Now onward into the summer. To greater glory, and possibly some happy return to that island paradise.

It’s been a hell of a run since tax day. I think I spent $300 on parking (including tickets, natch), got a glorious weekend in NYC, found an actual place to lay my head for the next few weeks I’m in SF, and am on my way back home to Humboldt tomorrow.

Lots and lots to say. I really want to get the writing habit back in gear, but the spare energy is hard to come by these days.

My first blush with the festival gave me The Fear. There’s a huge amount of visual noise. Brands, bands, posters, pasties, people in suits, people in costumes, people looking lost, desperate, hungry, hung-over. People in lines. People cutting lines. People talking about how it used to be.

It makes me question a lot of my basic assumptions about the Goodness of what I do for a living. The revolution hasn’t changed human nature, and it’s unpleasant to see how sheepie we beings can still be. As the man says, I am the things I hate about other people.

On the other hand, some dudes made a massive Tesla coil that can play music.

My talk was well received I think, and now I’m just wandering and soaking it up. There’s a lot of good stuff here, now that I’ve gotten over my initial culture shock. Austin is beautiful and warm, and there are lots and lots of happy smart brilliant buzzing people around. I’m going to enjoy my sunday.

Assuming the weather doesn’t totally screw me, I’m headed to Texas for SXSW interactive. You can check my song and dance on yr schedule. I’m gonna do 70 slides in about 35 minutes, so it should be good.

I expect I’ll get all caught up in the digital excitement, so probably plenty of twitters and the like.

And BBQ.

Music Please.

Looking out over the man-made mountains of Manhattan, full moon reflected off concrete, the lingering bite of snow in the air, wrapped up in shadows out on the fringe of exhaustion, pushing finally to the borderline of innocence past all the complications and angles; there’s where you find the essence of your reality, where control and construction fall away, where you are overtaken by events, have no choice but to Be There, suffering your nerves, grinding your jaw, feeling your guts churn, your heart about to leap or sink or smolder or burn.

And even though this can be at times quite unpleasant, the greater way is to ride these waves, breathe deeper into the butterflied tummy, the tensed-up shoulders; to channel all this energy, to let it all flow, to have the essence of original cool, neither loosing or asserting control. Because this is your life, and it’s not really something that should be rationalized. It’s something you aught to live, deeply if at all possible.

A pretty smart and pretty passionate (and it should be said, pretty pretty) woman I know explained to me once how getting out on a long road trip was a good way for her of “hitting the reset button,” getting re-acquainted with what’s important, real, true, etc. I know the feeling, but unfortunately don’t have a personally reliable formula for getting there myself. So it’s blessed when I’m transported thus, smack dab back to the moment.

It’s not really like turning your mind off so to speak — just drink five shots of whiskey if that’s what you’re after; gets boring, don’t it? — but more like getting your brain to take its foot off the brake. Scary, yes, but scary good, or to be more specific scary in the only way that anything will ever matter.

The cliches run faster than I can parry here — fortune favors the bold, risk is our business, etc — but it’s a lucky day in Koenigville. I feel closer to the truth for a change. Worn thin and frankly a little cranky from plane-sleep and whatnot, but charged up in a deeper more soulful place, with an energy I hope will last in the weeks and months to come.

Man, I wish I could write and drive at the same time. Last weekend headed up to my old homeland on some unfamiliar highways, Rolling through the town of White City, Oregon — gun shop, churches, VA recovery center, two kids wearing weird mascot-type costumes dancing on the side of the road to entice drivers-by into struggling strip-mall businesses — and on up the Rogue River valley, eventually into the high national forest above Crater Lake. Got a bit dicy in the pass: snowfall, sunset, fuel level and elevation all hitting at about the same time combined with me not being 100% sure I was on the right road; made for an exciting hour or so while I wondered if I’d end up hitching my way back in conditions that reminded me of nothing more than the Donner Party.

But of course I made it with some skillful no-chains driving — light touch and steady speed is the key — and crossed into the relative civilization of the Central Oregon valley. Had a great time doing not a whole lot with some old friends there. Parlor games, kid wrangling, gumbo, scotch, lots of laughter, etc, all in a big warm house in a pretty (if slightly Stepford) “Golf Community.”

I didn’t even feel out of place hanging out with a bunch of common-law/married/engaged couples. Just grown ass people enjoying their time. It did hit me a little when I left though, after cruising over to the Euge and enjoying a lovely Valentines dinner with my Mom, that itchy urge to email all my old ladyfriends or fall down a bottle, or possibly both. Couldn’t get to sleep in any case.

But hit the road early next day, maté and I-5 all the way to San Francisco where I lurk still, doing my best here in the Office and trying to make it all count. I got some tickets to jet to NYC for a quick visit not this weekend but next — see my sis and mom, visit with another fabulously engaged couple — and still need to figure out how March is going to work with deadlines and getting to Austin for SxSw.

I got a bunch of books, and am loving Chronic City and it’s alternate universe Manhattan. Makes me ponder again the life of the mind. I wish I wrote more. I wish I could relax and have fun with greater ease in my day to day. I miss my bohemian ecstasies and revolutionary flair. I miss my makers hours and ending the day feeling good about what got done rather than worried about what didn’t. It’s all adding up to something, and something good it seems, but here in the middle time the spread feels thin.

So this weekend I’ll be jetting up to Mighty Oregon for a weekend retreat at gorgeous Black Butte ranch. As a sign of my continual resistance to maturity, the guest list:

• Steve and Hannah
• Chris and Meadow (and Logan)
• Zya y Marko
• Gina and Luke (and Elle)
• Hope and Bond
• and Josh

Perhaps I should be exiled to Mt. Bachelor! (to my national audience: that’s a Central Oregon joke).

Anyway, after that I’ll shoot all the way down to SF for a couple weeks. Need to figure out if/how I’m going to jet out to NYC while my moms is on the scene there, and also how I’m wrangling travel to/from SxSw in March. Looks like I’ll be something of a road warrior again!

This is my “good” presentation. I’m looking a little haggard here — this is after two more days of being on a boat in Stockholm, and two more nights out with the king of Denmark, then flying back to spend Friday/Saturday nights in Austin, Texas — but this is the best Video I’ve got of my “inspired by Lessig” deal.

Someday I’m going to get my own projector, a foot-pedal clicker, and a few weeks of time, and make some king-hell presentation-art. Lots of potential.