heathervescent

On Change and Adaptation

The landscape in which we live, to which we are adapted, will also change; and that any one adaptation leaves the truths of the others outside its domain. - Rob Tow on Neo-enlightenment

 

The Unknown: Fireflies and the Rain

(another one, from another time)

I was driving the N. Virginia back roads. I'm stalking the battlefield I recently visited. A technique I've found myself doing is going back to places twice, but never from the same route or necessarily the exact same place.

It's misty. Been raining. There is the misty fog on the road. The pavement is black. Slick. Sleek. Inviting. The lights from my car do not penetrate very far into the darkness beyond the mist. I have the windows down. The mist and rain is flying into the car and my hair is flying around. I can feel the power in the air. The wind. The moisture. I drink it in.

I'm backtracking and I don't know it yet. I follow roads and turn onto new ones at the slightest flicker of direction. I find myself pulling into a parking area. It's very dark. The sky is that cloudy grey. The trees are black against the grey. I get out of the car. I hear the rain falling from the trees, yet it is not falling from the sky. The field is open and I hear creaking noises (almost like branches rubbing together but deeper) coming from it. I peer into it. I see flickers of light. I realize they are fireflies. 
The strange creaking, the mist, the black outline of the trees, the flickers of lights. I walk out into the field to be surrounded by it.

 

On Death

"Death is very likely the best invention of life," he said in the speech. "All pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure, these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important." - Steve Jobs, RIP

Caressing with Eyes

I open the shades just in time for the rockies. I'm above the earth again. My flight trajectory is taking me across my favorite landscapes: the Colorado Rockies, Southern Utah and the California Deserts. I've had the good fortune of watching this landscape from the air a lot recently. 

I'm glued to the window, a glass of sparkling water at my elbow, the soundtrack Bjork's possibly maybe/hyperballad covering up the droning engines. I feast my eyes, recognizing Pike's Peak to the southeast, Aspen's shaved ski slopes on the mountain just below me. I remember a fast drive on Interstate 70 below me - and a favorite roadtrip moment.

We pass over Moab - I see scratched red rocks. I remember two conversations in this natural land. Who calls into a business conference call from Arches National Park? (One guess.) As I view this landscape from above, I remember the view from below. I first discovered it during my Great American Roadtrip. My mindblowing drive along the Colorado River, hitting my high speed at 7am on a desolate Utah road, winding up and around Capitol Reef, Dixie National and Escalante/Grand Staircase. 

I see the same land from a different perspective and it is just as beautiful - mindblowing. In rock I see the roil of boiling water. I imagine a movable landscape, fluid rock, spewing Volcanoes. I imagine the crust under a shallow sea. 

These landscapes, formed in geological time remind me of the long term. Remind me of the long line of the past, the trajectory of the future, and the tiny moment of the present. It doesn't make me feel small though. It vitalizes me. It makes me love this time on earth - and feasting upon the gorgeousness of the land. 

Your's Truely on the Grandstand in Death Valley's Racetrack.

My Possible Relationship

Sometimes it's the possibilities that do not become reality. 

A dream. A possibility. The pathway to make it a reality, clear - not so difficult to walk down, yet unwalked. I see possibilities. I see the pathways to make them reality. Sometimes, I want them to pass from the veil into this reality. To become. Possibilities that could change my life. A set of dreams come true. Real-ized.

In the space of a moment, the possibility passes through the veil. No longer possible. It's here. In this reality, with the certainty that comes with a choice made, an action, selection. Possibilities evaporate. I pass my hand through the veil. I grasp at the possibility. I pull it close. I feel it's hot breath on my body, pulsing, writhing, taking form. Possibilities growing stronger, weaker. A momentary embrace, puissant, before I open my hand and release. The moment has passed, the possibilities remain. 

Anything could still happen.

Farcaster Flyfishing

I'm standing in shoulder high thistles, mosquitoes buzzing around. Two wet dogs are tromping between the muddy bank, the river and the drift boat. I'm holding some poles and my backpack, trying to figure out how to manage to get into the boat. Once I mentally gave up staying dry, I joined the dogs, splashing through the water and onto the boat. 

The boat launch was packed with guys in fly fishing equipment. A line of at least 8 pickups with boats on trailers were waiting to be put in the water. Dogs were running around. Fishing gear was everywhere.  I didn't notice there weren't any women around, until a fisherman mentioned under his breath that it was nice to see a woman fly fishing. I paused a moment, to wonder what I had gotten myself into!

It was Dad's idea. He got into fly fishing several years ago and after lots of research, decided to get a driftboat. The guys who built his boat (the totally awesome team from Boulder Boat Works) were having their first annual get together on the Big Horn in Montana. Last month Dad asked me if I wanted to come along on the fishing trip. Now, I haven't been fishing for at least 20 years. Maybe 30 years. I had lots of reasons to stay at home and work, workaholic I am. Then I realized, opportunities like this don't come along. You never know how long your old man is going to be around. And there's always that Harry Chapin song (Cats in the Cradle) that I vowed never to be a reflection of my life. So I said yes, booked a ticket and packed my bags.  

Back to the Big Horn. I'm in a boat with two guys I've just met and their two dogs. The dogs make me really happy and Chris and Jeremy turn out to be totally cool guys. I chill in the back of the boat as they take turns rowing and fishing. I'm watching them cast and catch, learning to watch the water, read the fish, how the boat moves on the river. There are so many things I'm missing, I realize with an offhand remark about cicadas.

But I'm channeling my zen mind, beginner mind. I've achieved all my goals just being here. Of course I try my hand at fly fishing and slowly get the hang of it. It's physics! I look into the river, muddy clear, and see the river grass (reminding me of the opening Solaris shot) and rocks. I watch the banks, the cottonwoods. I think of Chicken John, Huckleberry Finn and Farcasters. I think about the River Tethys and how that journey may have been inspired by my immediate experience. I have found other inspirations for Simmon's novels - mostly in my beloved Mojave or The Stars My Destination.

Later that night, back on dry land; a group assembles and we drink beers as the full moon rises. So much for the scheduled Perseid showers! But in the light of the full moon, I listen to hunter stories. I am fascinated. I'm the odd man out - first being a chick, and secondly being from Hollywood. But I can hold my own. How far I have come. I drink in their stories. I listen to them talk about hunting elk on the mountain. In my mind I see them spending cold nights, stalking the elk as he backtracks leading them on a circular trail. I see how much they respect the animal. Nature. The Mountain. I'm in awe.

Under a full Montana Moon a door opens and I am transported to another reality. A world so different, so fascinating, so new, so inspiring, so beautiful. The stories reverberate in my mind still. Thank you!

"I went. I went and took. What did I leave in return? My change." - the quotable h

Non-Visual Designer

Today was the Association of Professional Futurists (APF) montly #futrchat. I'm currently a student member (but soon to go full Pro) and I love being a part of this community of professional futurists. Earlier this year, Cindy F (@urbanverse) and Jennifer Jarratt (@jenjarratt) started hosting the #futrchats, an hour on twitter where anyone who wants, can join in on the conversation. There is topic for discussion, like the Future of Money, or Disasters or today's: The Future of Design. 

I don't focus too much on (visual) design, because there are already so many people doing it and although I'm a visual person, I don't create visual things. So I never really considered myself a designer - but this #futrchat changed all that.

I very quickly became aware of a very big assumption: that by design, I was meaning visual design. I don't do that. I don't do graphic design or make pretty pictures. But I do design experiences. I design my life. I shape and re-shape. So the moment I released my pre-conceived definitions of design a whole new definition of design just flowed out: the non-visual designer. Maree Conway asked me to define this further, so I did: (from my tweetstream)

"As a non-visual designer, I design experiences to shift mental mindsets, the way people see the world.

Sometimes the non-visual design is expressed in a user-interface that includes visual design, sometimes it is theatre. "

When I think back to the events I've co-created (barcamp, geek dinners, cacophony events, mash-up performances, zombies without borders) they have all been to shift the mental mindset of not only the participants/performers, but especially the "audience." For a while I even described what I did as "unforgettable ephemeral experiences." I know, a bit flowery, eh?

So much of what I do, who I am, the life I live has been consciously designed, created with specific experiences in mind.

How did I do this? 

I took my professional experience as an Internet/Software product manager and applied the methods/processes I used to define, build, manage, launch and market internet products to myself as a product. Heathervescent, the product of me. My life, the product of me. Heathervescent, the brand of me. I wasn't content to let my life happen to me. Life's too short and I want to do too much. It's not about expressing/developing ONE potential - but to explore, express the many possibilities of potential. The Expression of Possibilities.

Uthur Doul's possibility sword deeply changed the way I thought about the world - and myself. After seeing him master the possibilities (in my mind's eye) I was no longer content living a limited linear life. I became aware of my possible lives - some predestined, some experienced, parallel lives, echoes from the past, foreshadowing future lives. Here, in this one, this reality, I try as much as I can, to leave the possibilities behind and with utmost intention, create, express, a life that never existed before, that can not be copied. A life that diverges from the expressed possibilities, because this one weaves pieces from those worlds (talvez donos de barcos no Caribe, meu amigos do passado no Fortaleza), creating, sometimes patiently, sometimes explosively a life impossible. A life that could only be created with conscious (self) design.

End of an Era

The jagged hills hold back the horizon. Jet fighters outlined in the sky. All is dust. Temperatures well over 100. I descend from the sky into a town a have come to love. Stepping in the space between the airplane and jetway I am assaulted with the heat. I breath deep. My pores open. We navigate to the hotel. I recommended my local favorite - which happens to be almost 100 years old with a lot of history. We check in, collect our brass keys and meet Tiger, the bartender in the Tap Room. 

Later in my room, I'm finishing up the collage. I have looked through these pictures for hours the past two weeks. Meeting a different side of my aunt - who was like another grandparent to me. 

Chapel Service. White marble mausoleum. The sound of birds chirping in the heat. The priest arrives, dons his white robes. His sunglasses left laying on the altar. Candles are lit. I sweep my eyes across the lawn of green dotted by brown stone and colorful vases. I pause upon the names. I quietly consider some for my screenplay characters, names from a different era. 

A bird flys in, swooping low and then up. It's then I notice the tiny bird screeching. There's a nest of baby birds in the (open air yet shaded) chapel. I see their triangle beaks opening and closing as momma bird returns to feed them. 

It's a solemn moment. The music stops, the service begins. So many metaphysical thoughts. Conflicting philosophies. Beliefs. Yet all exist simultaneously. I look at the faces of those around me. I surprisingly recognize many from the pictures I have studied. I'm happy to know so many of them have pictures in the collage.

The ceremony closes. We say our last goodbyes. Beliefs thick in the hot air. We have our final celebrations. Return to our air conditioned cars, then the airport. The runway blurs under acceleration. The lift. Off the wing, a full moon rises in the desert dusk. Pale ivory in the pastel sky. (Nothing can compare to a full desert moon rising in the dusk.) Jagged desert mountain ranges silhouetted in the falling light.

The desert has recieved her and shines bright on a full life.

San Francisco Reflections

I knew it would be true. San Francisco_is_ a great city to come back to. But her streets, although burned in my neural pathways, are faint, forgotten except for muscle memory. My car, as extension of this muscle memory, surfs the pavement, my body leans in the curves, even as I strain to read the street signs. My objective, the ocean. Revisiting a place. A lookout. A memory. The divergence of life from ordinary to extraordinary.

I sit on these high stones. It's a gorgeous day. A cool breeze comes off the ocean. I watch the waves in their green and grey. White effervescence paints uneven horizontal lines on the sand and in the sea. I remember this same place, dark one night. I was cold after riding Lady Knight through the fog, chasing something ephemeral through the streets. A glimpse of something unknown. I caught it here. (Or perhaps, it lead me here to be caught.) In this space, I stood facing it. Facing my fear. Opening the crack, stepping through, and into a different world. A world of my own making.

Sometimes I reminisce of that world. The one I left behind. All around me, untouchable, unlivable. It was the choice I made. A choice to choose. Never undone, as much as I might forget or deny. I had forgotten. But the memory is fresh now, in my mind.

The Future of Collaboration

Collaborating can be one of the best things to experience and recently I have had some new mindmelding group borg collaborative experiences - mostly due to technology.

Google Docs: The collective editing experience

My colleague and I were editing/creating the same google doc. We were exploring/creating/clarifying a project/article we decided to work on. We're on different sides of the country, three time zones apart and yet when were working on the document at the same time, I felt closer, able to collaborate more effectively than had we been in person.  We were interacting fully online - with a text chat/discussion and the document editing and creating. Our places in the document were identified by different colored cursors, but there was not change tracking mechanism. We also did not stick to certain sections of the document. We skipped all around, I working on one section for a bit, then him jumping in (reading) commenting, editing/wordsmithing. The end product was one of the most collaborative documents I have co-created.  And I might mention, this is with a colleague I have never met face to face.

 

Barcamp: Ad-hoc Do-ocracy

Myself and a team of ~8 co-organizers have been bringing back this favorite technology un-conference to Los Angeles since late 2010.  What has been interesting to watch is the changing group of active participants.  Although I feel there is one person driving the team (with a light hand) the experience I have had is one of "picking up the balls." Meaning, whatever needs to get done, ends up getting done by whomever can do it. Everyone has contributed their skills and expertise when it was needed. This has been a great experience in ad-hoc do-ocracy.

 

FutrChat: The fastest hour on Twitter

I had not participated in many Twitter Chats before participating in #futrchat. Futrchat is was started by Cindy FrewenWuellner and Jennifer Jarratt for the Association of Professional Futurists (APF), of which I am a (student) member. Each month a new topic around the Future of ____ is chosen. Some framing information is shared before the chat to set the stage. Then the firehose is turned on at a specific pre-scheduled time. In 3-5 minutes, my twitter stream goes from it's usual ticking of random information to lighting up across the globe. Futrchat participants tune in from Australia, UK and all across the US.

Then the hosts begin to pose the questions. (Each chat has 3-6 questions we explore in the hour.) And then the 50 or so conversation participants begin to answer them. In the answering, people respond to each other, chasing down an idea or querying for additional information. And all this is done within 140 characters.  If this was a verbal conversation, it would be cacophony, everyone would be "speaking" at once. And online, in text, everyone is speaking at once. But because text has the ability to be linear and allow multiple responses in the same timespace, no one "interrupts," no one has to be silent to allow others their turn. Your turn is always, if you choose to take it.

Of course, one is not always "talking." There is the time needed to read (listen) to other's answers. To see who is responding to you. To think about what your response is to what you are reading (hearing). (And yes, I hear these people's voices in my head as I read their tweets.)

Although, it is generally just me, in my home office with my favorite furry companion during these #futrchats, I feel more stimulated than going to a conference. I'm in the comfort of my home, with high speed connection, able to quickly type, with my dual monitors to have various screens open to slice and dice and display the chatting data in various ways so I can follow and track the "radiowaves." This is ebonding. The intense human interaction that causes you to learn, understand and share more of yourself and others. For that hour, I am in an auditorium, that is can be filled with the voices of many people talking about things I find interesting. 

And then the hour passes, and the energy and space dissolves, the twitter stream returns back to it's usual bubbling. The channel has closed, for the moment, but it always accessible.

A quick note about participating in these chats. There is no specific location we go to to have these conversations. It's not like we go to a specific chat room, or IRC or private label login. Yes, we are all on twitter, but besides that, the only thing you need to do to participate is to use the hashtag: #futrchat. It is like tuning into a radio station, but instead of only receiving, you can also send.  Additionally, the technology of twitter, allows for both the sending and receiving of the information being sent on the wave (the hashtag #futrchat). 

 

In Closing

Technology is facilitating a way for the individual, completely and fully as an individual - I, to participate in a collective activity - a community - WE - if only for moments. These collaborations facilitated by technology are profound shifts in how individuals and communities form each other and participate with/in them.

Self-Responsibility / Responsibility for Self

My Twitter Friend TechnoShaman, pointed me to this brief post this morning, which I later had a fun conversation with CoCreatr: 

[W]illing to be wholeheartedly accountable for ourselves—for who we are and how we are. Heroically, we must be ready to accept unconditional responsibility for the seen and unseen consequences of everything that has ever happened to us.

What a wonderful sentiment, such easier said/typed than practiced. It's easy to take responsibility for all the great things you help happen, contribute to, motivate. But what about your shitty self? Even most aware people are not aware when they are acting like a jerk. (And yes, everyone acts like a jerk.) I had a wonderful learning opportunity in area recently. 

Most people have trouble taking responsibility for their crappy moves, behaviors, words.  I have trouble myself. I don't want to acknowledge that I wasn't acting at my highest, most enlightened level.  Part of this is because it's much easier for people to remember the bad experiences. One negative thought outweighs twice as many great ones. Taking responsibility for our crappy selves acknowledges that we are not always the picture perfect person we think we are. And while that is a great thing for us as individuals taking responsibility. However there is the response. 

What is your reaction, your response, when someone, who has acted less than enlightened for a moment, takes responsible for them-self and their actions? 

Drinking from the Same Font

I wrote about influence earlier. Drinking from the same font sometimes looks like influence, but is decidedly not.

Several years ago, when I first began blogging, I was constantly compared to a certain well-known blogger. It was uncanny how similar our topic focuses were. It irked me to no end that I was so often compared to her, because part of my core identity is authentic uniqueness. I am not happy being one in a million. I want to be one for all time. I want there to be no one remotely like me now, in the past, or the future. A pattern unrepeatable. So, you can see that, even though those people were just trying understand me, they pissed me off.

The comparison caused me to go more underground. If I had joined forces, I could have become one in my own right (and I did some secret collaboration).

In retrospect, I realize we were drinking from the same font. There was no cross-pollination. No cross-influencing. We each arrived at the same font from different paths.

Influence

Have you ever been in the presence of someone who changed you? When you were around them, you had awesome ideas, things just clicked, you had an epiphany, something made sense, you felt extra creative, motivated, felt like you could do anything? Just understood things? Everything fell into place? Or maybe you were motivated to follow some idea? Or maybe an idea just popped into your head and your life changed! You now have a reason to live. You're suddenly fascinated in something that you never gave a second thought.

You're under the influence.

Those things in your head. They are not you. They did not come from you.

Yes, you were receptive. (Or maybe the ideas were just flying off someone else). But they are not your ideas.

Ideas can not be owned. They can only be executed. Ideas flow into this world, asking to be made real. Anyone who is a true conduit of ideas, knows they do not come from them-self. They come from somewhere else. Nebulous. Undefined. Possible. Conduits to the ideas that flow, like water.

Flow.

Until they are captured. Pooled up. Executed. Realized.

Before realization though, there is definition. There is crystallization. There is plucking the possibility and pulling it into the probable and then finally all the challenges of execution and real-ization. Manifest-ation.

Usually the person who (successfully) executes an idea gets the credit for the idea. This makes me sick. And, while yes, execution is a difficult task, often not-successful. The messy, nebulous, focusing, defining, initial steps are CRITICAL, pre-requisites before one can even step to the starting line in the race to execution. To realize the idea.

That's what some people do. They influence.  

The mere fact of them being present changes you. Causes you to think differently. Causes you to see things. To find meaning. To be motivated. You snap up the idea. You run with it. You execute on it. You think it's your idea. You _make_ it your idea. You don't see the influence.

What does the World Want?

Do you know what the world wants?

How about the earth?

How about the United States? What are our goals as a nation?

I've been thinking about these things since I started my first grad class, World Futures. People have so many assumptions about what they think is right or correct or the way to do things. Today I read an article about biofuels that posited that increased focus on biofuels would increase poverty and hunger.

The only reason global warming is a problem is because it might be a problem for humans. It might make the earth not optimal for the human race (and possibly a bunch of other animals). But in the scheme of the universe, does this really matter?  I mean, what does the earth want?

Let's assume that the earth wants life on and around it. If that's that case, then it really doesn't matter in the long run whether or not an animal (human, plants, etc) is extinct now or later. Everything dies. The human race will cease to exist at some point in the future. Life will continue. But what kind of life does the earth want? What kind of intelligent life (if any)?

I often think about pollution and destruction of the environment in the same frame of mind as ingesting drugs or other "poisonous" items. To much drugs of any kind can often kill you, or do irreversible damage. That sucks for the person who damaged themself, but if they survive, they will still live, still have experiences, life. Life wins. If they kill themselves by drug usage, well then, their life transforms and lives on another way - sometimes that energy lives on in their stories.

Recently I have become obsessed with economics and have started reading copious quantities of financial reports and documentation. I started wondering, what is the goal of our nation - the United States. And I sadly could not identify any goal. It made me think that perhaps our past goals (set by our founding fathers) have been achieved, and we are in the state of confusion, waffling, figuring out where to go and what to do next. We've gotten our priorities confused, gotten bit by the hierarchy bug, forgotten our values, taken drugs.

This makes me very sad. And I wonder, is it possible (yes, of course the possibility it there, but how high the probability is it) for a country, a nation, to have goals?

And if a nation can, what about a world?

A Heavy Week

I'm juggling Jury Duty this week along with the job/what to do next search, the 3 year anniversary of the Geek Dinner and my Mom's upcoming visit to OC to scatter my grandfather's (her Dad's) ashes.

Last night I went to a sweat lodge. It was my first time. I had always wanted to experience a sweat lodge and I arrived last night with a bunch of heavy stuff. I went to pray for my grandfather, for my mother and for myself. Although I wasn't close to my grandfather, I just really feel the need to send him off good on his next journey. Although I won't get anything from his estate (nor do I want anything) I have asked him for something much more important to me - his metaphorical slide rule.

Before the lodge began, I spoke to Wolf, the leader, and told him about my mothers cancer. I wasn't going asking for a miracle - just her hope, faith and comfort. After he heard my story - he gave me permission and encouraged me to ask for the miracle. He explained that this world - and each and every one of us - was created by the creator - the great grandfather - with a prayer. This was exactly what we were going to do tonight. Anything was possible with prayer.

In the hot darkness, the rocks glowed. I heard the steam sizzling, I smelled cedar. I heard the prayers. So many with cancer. So much pain. So much gratitude. Was it my sweat or were those my tears? The cool air swirled around my body like an old friend. I felt the spirits circle around me and the pressure of their hands on my back - looking deep deep inside me. I surrendered to the heat. The drums, the songs took my energy, my prayers deep out of this world.

I remain here.

Screwdriver vs Ax

I reached for the screw driver, but it turned into an ax. I put the transformed tool back on the shelf, to pick up another tool, but in each place, there was the same ax. I dare not pick it up, lest I use it. The ax is a delicate tool with shattering results. I must not wield it lightly. The blow is not one that can be recovered from. Severed. Divisive. End. of. the. line.

In the back of my mind, the mantras of compassion, mercy, we are all one, undivided, working for the best possible world, in the direction of highest enlightenment, for the good of all. Kohlberg's levels - and the axes vibrate in their tool nooks. I visit the faces of the past. Each experience educates. I ask my future self for advice - the person who already lived though this and more. I do not want to follow-past blueprints. Relive past mistakes. Free-will is about jumping the groove. I'm ready to jump. I'm ready to do something different. 

I don't know what to do and then the answer appears. The ax flies to my hand and the deed is done. The present severed into the past.

It could have been the screwdriver. And somewhere, it is. 

Bruce Returns

Several years ago I went though several months of reading most of  Bruce Chatwin's work. He is one of my favorite authors along with Italio Calvino and Jonathan Carroll. At that time I collected and read most of his books - but not all. A collection of short stories stared it's title at me most mornings. (I have a bookshelf facing my bed in the bedroom) called "What am I doing here?"

I pulled it out the other night and started reading. Immediately I was taken back to the delight of reading his prose. I came across Chatwin's writing just when I decided to make my writing both more non-fiction as well as fiction. The line between truth and reality is often fuzzy perception. I prefer to fuzz the line in the direction of fiction as far as possible while keeping the story activities in the truth. That's why for the past several years I've been walkabouting through intense activities - creating the borderlands. That and the novelty factor.

But there's something about coming back to a place you know well. A place you not only know but love well. That includes the writing of Bruce Chatwin.

My inspiration to travel has returned. I use to feed that wanderlust by traveling to the furthest, exotic, difficult, rugged locations. I've flown into tin shack airports in the south pacific in the middle of two political coups. I've traveled 5 hours over sand dunes to get to a remote beach in the north of Brazil - twice. I've boated up and down the Nile, picking through Eqyptian Temples and hiking into the pyramids, not to mention navigating haggling for belly dancing costumes in the largest bazaar in Turkey.

But those locations are no longer foreign. The most dangerous and exotic small locations in the world are right here in our backyard - it is a small town America.

This first occurred to me when I went to a small town outside of Reno to demolish some cars. Let, me take that back. This idea first occurred to me in 1996 while driving the gravel roads in fecund Iowa summer. It was a comparison of the fields, forests and plains of the midwest to the savanna of Africa. The only reason we don't think the things around us are exotic is because they are so familiar.

That is why I think the small town is a most exotic place. If you've ever lived in a small town - it's freaking hard to make a living. It's much harder to make a living in Cedar Falls, Iowa than New York City. Hard to believe, but true.

Anyway, I've meandered. My point is that in my travel revival due to Chatwin's wonderful writing I've restarting my exotic travels - to the most exotic locations on earth - small town America.

1300 mile highlights

Eight hundred miles in the past three days. (A total of 1300 in the past week.) Three states. Many states of mind. Much stimulation of the brain. Meeting new people. Getting to know acquaintances better. There are not enough words in my exhausted brain to even begin describing all that transpired the past seven days. I returned to Los Angeles a few hours ago - a car full of packages and a bit more worn for the wear. Both my fog lights were blown out Friday night after hitting a raccoon just outside of Sedona and a rabbit about 30 minutes south of the Hoover Dam.

I will try to pull out some snippets from my memory.

Most recently I returned from Death Valley this afternoon after a sleepless night filled with stars and conversations. A friend brought up two concepts I realized during our conversing I don't really know or use: Mercy and Happiness. I am not motivated to live my life with Happiness in mind. I have other emotions that motivate me. And about Mercy, well, it never even occurred to me. I don't think I even know what Mercy is. I generally wield the ax of justice and it definitely severs relationships. So this concept of pondering mercy and how to be more merciful, is intriguing and something I will meditate on - and perhaps practice.

Hiking at dusk in Sedona. I wanted to go to a magical place and instead the trail I chose went along an Indian resort. I was irritated and frustrated. It was getting dark, and it was not my idea at all to drive 5 hours to Sedona only to be surrounded by the sounds of cars and air conditioning and civilization when I was supposed to be in a magical place. I guess the Indians need to make a living too.

When I stopped to catch my breath on the trail at the twisted juniper right where the sign was posted "You are on camera, so don't jump the fence you stinky hikers" complete with industrial lights destroying the natural darkness. I spied a ledge - right in the middle of the light. I had a flash of inspiration and went straight to the spot - straight in the middle of the spotlight under the surveillance cameras and proceeded to meditate upon being in the spotlight. And so, instead of fighting my self about NOT being in the spotlight because that's not where I thought I wanted to be, I understood why I need to be in the spotlight because that is really where I must be. Inner conflict resolved.

I can't even begin to express how much the conference I attended in Tucson effected me. Over the next few days I'll try to write up some notes. I attended the conference to learn more about what science is doing around the study of understanding and explaining consciousness and the human brain. I left with the beginnings of a new language and awe for ourselves and awe for science. I plan to explore my interest in this subject more and more in the coming years.

I love driving in the desert at night. I put the top down and looked at the stars, felt the wind in my face as I drove back from the official conference dinner Thursday night at the Desert Museum. I put on Orbital Blue Album and took in the wind, driving fast and taking the curves. I am happiest at the wheel of my car, alone on a dark two lane twisty highway. My car is an extension of my body - I feel the vibrations of my tires on the road through my stick and wheel. I listen to the motor as I increase RPMs and slow down, shifting accordingly for speed or coast.

I wondered, why does this make me so happy? To be alone, a bullet speeding along. But then I stop thinking and enjoy the ride. This is truly something I love.

I felt the same way when I came upon the Hoover dam past midnight. I had spent hours driving through Arizona. Napoleon Hill was speaking to me in those midnight hours (and when the rabbit met her death under my wheel). I passed through the check point and then was upon the dam. A huge bright lit construction was being built above me. I was in awe at modern engineering. I slowed and looked at the new bridge. It was beautiful and massive.

A moment later I crested a hill and a city of twinkling lights unfolded below me. It was beautiful. And for once in my life I saw the beauty of Las Vegas. I found my way to the Strip and a posh hotel filled with friends. A strong difference of my last days in the desert.

There are many more stories to write. Many more things I want to share with you - my anonymous readers. But tonight I sleep. For tomorrow another adventure begins and I must tend to my dreams.

To Kick Ass in 2008....

The theme for 2008 is the lion with a bucket of water in the spotlight aka going mainstream. I know that might sound a bit strange but that is what my 2008 meditation is going to be about. Probably in reality I will have this pegged in May, but we'll see.

I also have big plans for kicking off/revitalizing two very different communities in Los Angeles. Neither is related to the LA Tech community. Let's just say "the only way up is down" and I'm going "down down underground" and I like to stir the pot. Instead of a magic wand, I carry a wooden spoon, which can be used in much the same way.

I'm very excited to take on this, the biggest challenge I have thought up this far.

Recap 2007: A Year of Pimping and Promoting

I knew 2006 was going to be a hard year to follow. I didn't even try to come up with a goal as big as "to kick ass" for 2007, because I thought there was no way I could even come close. Instead 2007 was the year of 007- double triangle - the Jesus Year.

My goals were to 1) find my reason for existence; 2) pimp and promote; 3) simplify; and 4) create. At the bottom of list in my 2007 guidebook I found this in my own handwriting: "Rally myself into an unstoppable brand." I find that humorous. My only specific goal was to spend 40 days in the desert, because hey - it's the Jesus year, right? I didn't hit that one. I just couldn't take myself away from my projects for 40 days. So how did I do? Pretty awesome actually. Specifics after the jump.

Voting Day

San Francisco votes for a new mayor today. Like I have said before, following Chicken in this race has been inspiring. He's audaciously plucked his cubic centimeter of chance and run run run with it.

Today, the people of San Francisco will vote. I don’t know how many. I don’t know who they are gonna vote for, but something is gonna happen. When I decided to run it was because nothing was happening. And something has to happen. I hope that the something that happened was as fun for you as it was for me.

 

And who knows… maybe this is just the beginning…

Another dot on the line of life. Of possibilities explored. I wish I could join the party tonight at 12 Galaxies. But another me, a different heather, one who never left San Francisco is there playing her part, possibly not  even named heather - but she - or he - is being the me, who would be, there.

And there is another universe, where I am there, celebrating the win, and the end of the beginning and the beginning of something else. A Calixeco Muni. I have been there, have been that person, for others.

Please live it well. Savor the moment - it only happens once - but the taste can last eternity.

Burning Man is not my desert

I told you a little bit about my desert and how I like to experience it. Today, I want to tell you that Burning Man is NOT like that desert experience. When you go to Burning Man, you are not leaving civilization. You are not in a desolate, barren place. It is instead a blank canvas on which many possibilities in human creativity are realized.

Burning Man is the intersection of two worlds. The natural world - everything on this earth came from the earth. Everything has been refined. Every single thing you'll see on the playa (or today wherever you are) came from the earth. And the human world. Man taking these raw materials and transforming them into magical fantastic creations.

At burning man, we are all actors on a stage. We've disconnected from our everyday life and take on the persona of someone else. This disconnect allows something new to happen - call it magic. It's a bath in this type of energy. It's addictive to shed your stinky character and be something different.

The first time I was on the playa, I was disgusted. I hated the destruction of the desert quietude with the racour of dance clubs. The destruction of the cracked surface into a fine powder. This was another way people - supposedly enlightened people - we just abusing nature. But then I saw this is not about Nature. It's about humanity. (And it's not about people living in harmony with nature either.) It's an opportunity to leave everything behind, and become like the playa - a blank canvas on which a picture will be painted. A new story to be lived. It's a disconnect. A view, that the life you think you have to live, is the only way.

Because it's not.

But you don't have to go to Burning Man to get that. But you won't find a wider display of human creativity anywhere on the planet.

Delerious

This is a quick update from Frank Zappa's Camarillo (Brillo). Am I getting old or did I just spend all day driving, getting nowhere except covered in rubber. Really, black streams of rubber just washed down my body into the shower drain.

I.am.exhausted.

Like never before. Class was a.w.e.s.o.m.e. A true dream come true.

It feels so good to have dreams come true. They are not so far out of reach. And when you start tasting them - what they taste like - there is no going back. There is no more soul selling and putting off for tomorrow. There is only the present. Living.

Black pavement. Airplanes overhead. Sun blinding your eyes (because doh - you left your sunglasses back at the hotel). Blowing tires, burning rubber. I was the first to knock down a cone (I gave myself permission to knock down cones because I wanted to do the course faster and tighter. And I did. And then I didn't knock any cones down.) I blew a tire practicing ebraking (pre-180 slides or were they sliding 90s?). My eyes hurt like never before. I have blisters on my hands, thumbs from practicing the shuffle and pulling up on the ebrake.

It took me 20 tried to do my first slide. I practiced Zen Mind - even when berated and taunted. As I increased speed, my calmness stood, although my hands were flying. I kept hearing the voice of my yoga teacher who says "palmy hands up" saying "no palmy hands" as I kept them below the center line.

I am learning (remembering) more than skills, the importance of tires. I am remembering to look to the horizon, to pause before pulling the trigger. Timing. The feel of the cars, the road, the manuevars. I am remembering to live with a wide smile across my face.

Saying goodbye feels good

You know how the heart's desire series says you gotta make room? Sometimes it's hard to say goodbye. But you gotta make room for all the new exciting stuff. So today, I say good bye to the blogger heather. It's my last month at Daily Mantra and Blogging.la. Admittedly I've not been posting much on b.la, but it's finally time to say goodbye. Daily Mantra is getting a new editor, Nicole and she's going to be great.

I'm excited to be pulling all my blogging back to heathervescent. And I've got a couple new websites I'll be telling you about soon (I hope), and then there's the whole LA Tech thing. It's not like I'm hanging out by the pool filing my nails. ;)

New Role Model + the challenges of big busted sword weilding

So the boyfriend told me about Ivy last night. Ivy from SoulCalibur. Described as my body type with purple hair - I was like WTF? For reals? Yeah, I can hack the Aeon look, but I'm not lanky enough. I'm handy enough with guns, but I really prefer to use my hands, a staff or a sword. (I've just gotten back into practicing Aikido + sword work). And wow, is her sword interesting. Yeah, yeah, I know it's a video game, and she's a character, but so is Madonna. As far as alchemy, which is basically a metaphor for personal transformation - come into my secret lab.

But yeah, the purple is very very cool. I love her huge claw hand/arm protector. You know what is funny. My brother and I were doing a thought-experiment a few years ago about cutting our arms off and I was not actually that concerned about losing my limb, as long as I could have a super awesome cyborg one to replace it with. We're almost there, technology (science, it works bitches). But no need to act before time.

Back to Ivy. There's another problem with wielding a sword and being busty. Form. Yes, my chest gets in the way of my arms holding standard form. I can't imagine the technique modifications if someone was seriously as busy as the new Ivy. It would be a challenge to hold the forms - especially if wearing a hard breastplate. I'm constantly squishing myself when I bring my sword strike down. Of course, I'm wearing a distraction and as much as any male warrior can practice, it's gonna be hard to not look a certain somewhere (unless he's not into women at all). So in a way, I can see a benefit for being a woman swordsman. And actually, as a woman swordsman, knowing the bustyness is so distracting, I can see the benefit of busting out more bustiness. A bigger breastplace. Women know the value of padded bras - it's not just to make us look bigger - it's protective of our magical mams. (Did I really just write that? Oh, it's so cheezy I know, but true!!!)

Anyway, so yeah, Ivy, you're on my radar babe! I'm gonna check out your sword technique now - especially with that crazy magical sword you've got. In the meantime, I'm gonna find me some purple thigh-highs up on Hollywood Blvd. I might even modify the claw arm to include this hip-top flame throwing I've been dreaming of...

Angsty = Awesome

So last night I made Kaliya (who was in town visiting) meet me at LA Angst. I dug out two of my old journals 10 minutes before I left. One was the infamous Brazil journal - which is green and falling apart. The other was a journal I occasionally write and give updates to (it was started in 1991 and there are years between entries) - hey, who says I have to have only 1 journal? I mean, I've got this blog, my paper journal, my nav log, my GTD notebook and a variety of other notebooks. Anyway, I even found some poetry stuffed into the brazil journal (amazing because I burned all my love letters and most of my writing 2 years ago)

Here's the line up from last night. It was a total blast! Thank you to Leah (top o the list) for organizing it.

LeahPeah

Mocha Momma

Katronika

Redleather

West Coast Grrlie Blather

Heathervescent

Yay for us!

Recapitulation - why - a Hofstader story

Recapitulation is an exercise to recall, review, release, and recharge energy.  It rids a person of assumptions and preconceptions. Recapitulation is remembering or more precisely, reviving events and experiences. [Source]

I've alluded many times to Douglas Hofstader's new book, I am a Strange Loop. One of the reasons this book fascinates me so much, is that much of Hofstader's descriptions, describe almost exactly knowledge I learned through other sources.

But first, I'll come clean. I studied and practiced the teachings of mystic G.I. Gurdjieff actively for 5 years and in a school for at least 3 of those. (Much of what I know of Wilbur's Integral Theory reminds me of those Gurdjieff lessons.) Then I flowed into Aikido and practiced martial movements and paratheatrical rituals. One fine Berkeley day, I was coming back from aikido class and on a whim, I stopped in the temporary Berkeley Library. I frequent bookstore more than libraries. I had no idea what to look for. Them I remembered someone told me about some teachings of don juan. It was the last person I talked to at college. I had no idea who the author was, so I started looking up titles. I couldn't find that particular book, but I found the section that included other books by the same author. I picked two at random and took them on vacation with me. The author turned out to be Carlos Castaneda, and the first book I read, was The Fire from Within. (Shamanism was not new to me. Another fluke library stop, more than 10 years previous got 13 year old Heather obsessed with Lynn V Andrews. I accepted these stories as the myths and fairytales I had read.) I read the stories with a skeptics disbelief - the activities in his books are truly impossible, but I found myself agreeing more and more on the explanation and belief structure. It was so similar to my own, I realized that I was holding in my hands a book I would write had this book not been written. Rather than get angry (like I did at Taoism 10 years previous) I wanted to learn more. I gave myself a year to experience these impossible things. That year was the first of many years of practice and studying personal freedom - true freedom.

So what does this have to do with Hofstader?

Much of the more difficult concepts I learn (and try to explain) about true freedom Hofstader has explained with the ease of mathematical terms, analogies and stories. He easily explains Plato's cave - much more eloquently than Plato did. Here's an excerpt he uses to explain our warehouse (of symbols) and I can use it to show the importance of recapitulation.

(book excerpt after the jump)

Thoughts Percolating

Friday I was hit with a big does of project creativity working on the various unicorn forms for my burning man camp. I was mocking out the 7ft metal structure, when staring out into the yard, I spied a pair of sawhorses. And the vision of transformation hit me. Or rather a vision that transformed the sawhorses into unicorns hit me. So I mocked it all out and proceeded to plan to work in wood.

That put on a trip down memory lane. Back to shop class in 8th grade (I was one of 4 girls) and metal working class in 7th grade. It was great fun to map out the plans and make templates/patterns. I imagined this was similar in a way to what Suz did when she was a pattern maker. And I could see the challenges in doing this work. Then I spent 2 hours at home depot gathering materials. I realized how thankful I am that I do not have to cut the trees myself or plane them for smooth edges. And I realized the amount of work it took to be a carpenter back in the day. You had to have tools, building knowledge, wood and tree knowledge (like do you want to map out your template against or with the grain of the wood?) and which wood is best for the thing you are working on?  And then of course my mind wandered to Jesus. (Disclaimer: do not think I am going all Christian on you, I am not - it's just the Jesus Year, ok.) And I was thinking about being a carpenter was about creating. Starting from a basic idea and some basic materials, a carpenter makes real an idea - cabinets, furniture, a house.

And the act of creating, the practice of creating something over and over gives one a lot of power and insight, not to mention skills.

A comment on my suicide post a few weeks ago. There is a follow-up rattling around in my head called, the human is dead, long live the human. When the human sheds its form and becomes something different and at the same time retains human shape.

Which reminds me of detachment. Recapitulation. Self-observation. The Confessional. The act of Confession, practicing Buddhist detachment, the warrior's method of recapitulation, and Gurdjieff's self-observations methods are all methods to the same end. Awareness of the many facets of our personality, (bonus points for understanding that others have many same and different facets), detaching from those facets as our ultimate identity (realizing the collection of facets is not You), and forgive oneself when those personalities manifest themselves to us/in us again.

Hey, wasn't that one of the roles of the pantheon of Gods? (I am just remembering an idea I had about this.) It was because the Gods/desses were making you do it, or you were under the influence of that Goddess, or you pissed one of them off. The Gods gave standard metaphors for a  personality characteristics that you and I have. It's a facet inside us. The gods and goddesses are in_side us. But they are not us. Yes, we are puppets of the gods, until we are master of ourselves, and then the gods are the puppets.

Anyway, enough on this subject for Sunday morning. I've got some projects to manifest.

Transcendeffervescence

A friend sent me a link to a galley page by Jonathon Earl Bowser. I don't usually go for this type of imagry, but one caught my eye. Gee, I wonder why??? Source.

Now, if she only had purple hair....

Sargasso Stories: Friday March 9th

I slept dreaming of other lives. Waking up at my friend's house in Austin to childish giggles and laughs. I rolled out of bed and showered for the first in several days, purple running down my back and into the white basin. Coffee, fretting over my packing, calling the cab. Waiting, waiting, late, waiting. The plan was to stop by the airport, drop off my luggage for my 5pm flight and head downtown to catch a couple movies before heading back to LA.

Cab arrived. I piled my luggage in the back. It was heavy. Made fast friends with the cab driver who was from Nigeria. He tried to hit on me (as usual) and I started talking about the boyfriend. He wasn't really my type. My friend Suz had more in common. I prefer the quiet geek type with secret superpowers. During the drive to the airport, I told him I would need another cab back to the airport later in the day. He offered to pick me up. This could be sketchy, right? But he was a sincerely nice guy. MBA, considering Law degree. Used to work at a semi-conductor company in Austin until it relocated to Korea. Maybe this was a sign from the universe. So far, I had not had one second of trouble finding a cab when I needed one, despite the explosion of SXSWers. I took this as yet another boon from the universe - the tricky part was finding a cab on time who would be able to rush me from the movie to the airport in time to catch my flight - and here I was - sitting in his cab. He dropped me off, and we made arrangements for him to pick me up later.

Then I went to check in my luggage. This was much more difficult than I had planned. I should have known, with my liter of Tito's Vodka and the bullet belt in my carry on. Then there was the 4 hour pre-flight check in limit. And no lockers. I had to think on my feet and be creative. I rebooked on a flight that would leave in less than an hour. Twenty minutes later, my luggage was on it's way to TSA's security check. I had my boarding pass in hand. 30 minutes. Could I get downtown in 30 minutes? I had nothing to lose. I decided to give it a try.

Heathervescent in Austinland

I'm still parsing my week in Austin at SXSW. I've come to use the mental metaphor that I had my own Alice in Wonderland experience.

I drank and got big, then I drank and got small. And all the while there was the white rabbit tap tap tapping about his watch. Who was the caterpillar, the Cheshire cat? the Mad Hatter? Was it Tom Ze Frank or Robert Scoble? The tweedle-dee brothers (although the brothers I'm thinking of, don't remind me much of tweedle dum/dee - they were more delightful). And when did I stumble upon the mad tea party? I think that was the night I drank too much. I don't want to deconstruct this metaphor too much, because it loses power in the deconstruction (and maybe it loses the deconstruction in the deconstruction). All I know is that I fell down a rabbit hole and came out in Austin. Then I flew on an airplane and shared the row with a crying boy, a lawyer turned rock star and some dude having a seizure. I can't seem to get away from adventure these days.

Hang on baby, cause I'm turning up the throttle!!!

a piece of the picture

I'm on the 23rd floor of the Hilton in Austin. The sky is filled with black storm clouds. A break in the clouds shows blue laced with orange. It's time for night. Neon lights look stronger in the wet rain. I'm looking straight out on a building. It dominates my view. Looking like an insect en chrysalis, wings about to spread and fly. Or maybe one of those worms from Dune. A single circle eye focuses my attention. I love looking out at it. I'll give you an update on the sky. Black clouds have rolled in. Yellow-Orange shows through like those black paint etch drawings you do as a kid.

I'm being a voyeur. I'm watching the people inside their lit hotel rooms. Curtains open, tvs on, moving people inside. I watch them. No one seems to notice my observation. I make up stories about them. Which ones are geeks, rock stars, bloggers, or the like.  I'm one of them.

The Immaterial Mousketeers

Here's a photo of the Immaterial Mousketeers from last week. Was that really just 1 week ago?

the sxsw party scene is like

my Brazil. There is something to be said to running into your friends in random bars or on the street. It's kind of cool and something that doesn't usually happen to me on a regular basis. It's strange and wonderful. And reminds me of my months in Brazil. Hot moist night air. Meeting with friends sporadically. Things happening. Connections. Magic. Possibilities tempt me and I taste them on the tip of my tongue. The wind caressing my skin. The sound of birds in the trees. Lights flickering. My equilibrium less than equal. It's times like this that I must remember what I want and not be swept by the many possibilities. To plunge my hand into the swirling possibility and return with something sweet and magic.

I'm enjoying my moment of solitude with Party Ben and my favorite mashups. Highlights of the past 24 hours include
- being recognized fairly regularly. this is really perplexing to me, because I don't feel particularly internet tons of new ones.  celebrity. why would these people know me from anyone else. It's great to see old friends and I'm making
- Can I say the red bull house fucking rocks? The liquid dance floor is really spectacular.
- I am digging on the purple hair
- the high brow/low brow design session today was really fabulous.
- I've become crack addicted to twitter.
- I really am utterly introverted.

Tonight I'm going to take a practice from one of S's friends and bring along my ipod. That way I can listen to my own soundtrack. That should motivate me enough to leave the introverted heathervescent in the hotel room

In Remembrance

Today I found out that one of my friends took her life jumping off the Golden Gate bridge this past weekend.

I am stunned. I don't know what to think.

Lori was one of the first faces I saw on the playa and she was a phenomenal leader for Tazii - the group I camped with my first 1 1/2 years. I am sad to hear of her departure, but I hope she has found peace.

Much love to you Lori, to your memory, to my memory of your strength.

The Fragile Body

Last week, I crushed my left thumb in a compound metal door frame at a Boston Hotel. In an infinite second I watched my thumb turn white and lost all feeling in it before my synapses fired PAIN and I arrested the crushing. My bold, I can live through anything will, told me I could still make it to my business meeting in 10 minutes, not even late. But then the throbbing kicked in, and I started getting cold and realized I was going into a bit of shock. I could not power through and ignore the major pain just inflicted on my body. I had to take care of it. And help my body take care of it.

I called the Hotel and had them get a doctor. They brought up a silver champagne ice bucket filled with ice. (Oh the irony.) And pain even lashed out at my other fingers when submerged in icy cold water. I was all I could do to lay still on the bed, quietly meditating, keeping the pain at bay. I had never broken a bone, and the pain was intense, so I wondered if this would be my first time. The doctor arrived. He tested my joints which barely moved, but moved with my yelping in pain - no broken bone this time. The pain was caused from the pressure of the fluid (blood) trapped under my nail. To think that such pain radiated from something so trite, so simple. And the remedy, sounded gruesome, but promised immediate relief.

I watched as he held an unbent paper clip over a lighter. It was red hot. And then I turned away. He was pressing it through my nail. The pain of fire was added to the pain of pressure and then, the release. Cool, liquid flowed. I squirmed as the doctor pressed down on the nail to squeeze out the remaining fluid. Add yet another type of pain to the morning's tour. But when he was finished, I felt 500% better and all that was to show for my labors was a simple band-aid.

In the course of a week (and several more self-surgeries) I watched my thumb heal. It was painful for many days after the accident. And then yesterday I removed the band-aid for good. There is still the blood path (more like ocean), but the bruises on my tissue are almost gone. I have started using it. And I don't cringe in pain when it is accidentally bumped.

Such a dramatic different. In one second, my thumb was crushed and I lost the ability to use it. In the following week, my body has been healing it at a rapid rate. In that one moment, I wanted to die for the depth of the pain. And in the following week, I am at awe of my body. Fragile and resilient. Broken and healed.

And it's this, my body, the ability to fix my cells, to take care of my pain that is most awesome. Awesome, because it's something that is a natural activity for my body. And I don't have to do anything to reap the benefits, except take care of it. And it's going to happen, regardless of my awareness of it happening.

On Luxury

Up on the desert mountain I decided to point my laser beam focus to a new direction. Part of exploring satisfaction and what it means to live, to have, a satisfied life and yet still have projects and goals and passions and unfinished business. Up there, surrounded by the wind one word came to me: Luxury.

I don't allow myself to have much luxury and at the same time I revel in luxury in some other ways. I realized that I don't have a great understanding of the word. I see it only as spending a lot of money at the W hotel. Or getting a decadent massage. But luxury is also taking a breath of fresh clean air - no strings attached. So to bring a sense of awareness to the word and experience I've started asking myself, how can this be luxurious? What can I do to bring luxury into this experience?

Sometimes it's just feeling my feet on the earth and paying attention to walking. Sometimes it's taking that breath. And sometimes it's paying $50 to add 5 inches of legroom on the 6 hour transcoastal flight. Luxury doesn't have to be big extravagant splurges. Mostly it's a relaxing of the rigidity of my worldview and feeling and being in the world.

Being Aeon Flux

It's Halloween and of course my blog is full of Aeon Flux costume search hits. I know, you guys want to see me in Aeon Flux pictures and the girls want patterns. Well let me help you out.

1. Pictures.

2. On the costume

Reality Check
First we must realize that Aeon Flux is drawn. She does not exist in 3D space. She is a style. A persona. A character. A caricature. A possibility. A dream come animated reality. So girls, first off, give up on being an Aeon like before. Aeon is well... aeon and constantly flux. That is the point.

Know yourself
What can you pull off? Do you need a wig? Breast implants? Do you have 6 pack abs? If not, so what? Pick the look you want. Aeon has many. You don't have to be a stripper to be Aeon.

The Costume
It's not just about liquid latex. Or vinyl. You don't have to suffer to be Aeon. I had my costume made out of black crushed velvet. I wanted one that I could wear without showing everything (and staying warm), so I picked the high neck and full arm. Don't feel like you have to exact - it's about expressing and being the essence - not a clone.

One more note: get professional help. I had a seamstress/pattern-maker make my costume and it was well worth the $200!

The Hair
Let's get real. Aeon's hair twists are crazier than Princess Leah's donuts. Don't think you can get those? Well don't worry. I've seen people go the wig route, but those always look too big and bulky. Here's what I've done. If you have a graduated bob style it brushed forward. Don't worry about the curls yet. Get a wig or some hair. Form it into long curled hair pieces. These will attach to your head around the ear or the ends of your hair, depending on how strong they are.

Take a 3 to 5 inch piece of hair, spray it with some strong hair spray or other setting glue like substance, wrap it around a can and let it set. Have some slightly sticky hair gel or pomade to "attach" the hairpiece. Style the rest of your hair and put your make up on. Then start with the hairpiece attachment. It might take a few tries and different hair products so be sure to practice before the big night.

The Attitude
Aeon is a double agent. She's a confident trickster with her own agenda. She'll kick your ass and has a deus ex machina in her boot. That doesn't stop her from getting killed over and over. These seemingly conflicting characteristics make aeon Aeon.

Boots
Boots are key to give the allusion of height and length. Even if you are 6ft get yourself some platform stilettos. Frederick's of Hollywood has some good mail order ones. Or if you live in LA go down to Hollywood Blvd and hit up the stripper stores. If you're not in Los Angeles, a stripper store should have a good selection.

Final Accessories: Fishnets, Laser Gun and a Podbelt
Under the boots I suggest fishnets. If you go the more revealing costume route, you might want to get an fishnet body suit with full arms and wear gloves and neck choker.

I also suggest a podbelt from my good friend Isa.

And girls remember. Guys only think they want you to show it all. Leave a little to the imagination and get a good laser gun.

Have fun!

Young Hothead

A real blast from the past here:

"Young hothead suggests it one time, then in subsequent practice said
hothead makes suggestions and abruptly leaves; we decide to pursue
hothead's suggestions in her absence as a sort of not doing. We found
out she's essential to the group."

It's interesting to find this again after all these years. And to see the essence in the absence... again.

Hell Hawks

A war interest has always surrounded me from my family. We're not a military family by any means, but someone from every generation has been in the Air Force. I even entertained the idea of enlisting after I graduated college, but decided on the civilian life. For one, I'm not one to take orders from anyone. I'd rather be the renegade Col. Kurtz utilizing my own unsound means (because, well, I like to do things a different way).

But Grandfather was in the HellHawks and I do think that is pretty cool. I have an old black and white picture of him looking young and dapper, wearing a flight jacket, smoking a cigarette, leaning against his plane. There's a reunion of the guys this week and Dad sent me this photo.

I think it's pretty cool and only re-whets my desire to get on the goal of learning to fly.

News from the Future

"It's going to be a kick-ass Wednesday!"

The sun is shining bright and there are many exciting things happening today. People to meet. Plans to communicate. Here in Boston, enjoying the other coast. I'll roll up the red carpet, like Mievelle razes the tracks. Only to lay them down in front of our feet for tomorrow. Zoom, zoom baby! We're flying!

Wheeeeee!

Make the Beaten Path

I should be used to magical things happening to me, but I'm still surprised when I experience it.

I spent 3 days straight with a new business colleague. We've been working together on a new project and I've extremely impressed with so much. She's smart, fun and we get along "like a house on fire". I haven't had this fun with tech work since 1999!

We're half-way through day 3. We've finished our meetings and are doing some last minute shopping before catching a cab to Logan airport and then the West Coast. For some reason all the on-ramps and tunnels are closed (not the one that collapsed) and our taxi driver is getting more and more frustrated. We're driving all around Boston. We swing by the conference center, back through downtown and then I see Boston Commons and the airport is the opposite direction. We've been in the cab for 40 minutes and our flight leaves in 50.

I keep calm. I know the technique our driver is using: leaving the herd to make a wide sweeping turn. But to do that you have to break really far away. Find the crack, the clear cow path and accelerate out of problems. Make the beaten path. I sit back and close my eyes. I meditate on a clear path and feel my body pressed against the seat because we're accelerating - out - of - problems! I continue to meditate until airplane exhaust fills my nostrils. It's been about 15 minutes and we've arrived to an empty airport. We zip through security and have a short wait at the gate before embarking.

My colleague and I have booked window and aisle seats in hope that our middle passenger doesn't appear. We're busy chatting away as the plane loads and our B seat arrives. She's this quiet, cute 14 year old that looks like Scarlett Johansson. A question popped out of my mouth and the three of us spend the next 6 hours talking, laughing and watching TV together. It was the kind of airplane ride that changes your life - all three of them. Someday that ride will go down in history - but for now - it's a secret. For a time.

Loopy like a new mom

The past month, I've been gestating something. Yesterday, I pulled it sticky and sweet from the ether. One moment it was a concept in the unknown, the next it was dripping in my hand - a physical manifestation. A perfect evolution.

I was in love with it from first conception. Since then, I've been using every single trick in my book from riding the birth high. There's just so much more to do. The birth is the beginning. Yes, it will be a challenge to keep it safe and grow, but we've gotten this far already. First impossible hurdle, hurdled.

So Lars, you asked, what's on the stage. I am, and in my hands I have something fragile, that I can't yet show off. And for some reason, I really want to keep this a secret. Maybe it's because I'm sleep deprived as all new parents are.

Hit the Sky Flying

Someone a while back accused me of nipping at the heels of the big dogs. I've never seen myself as a run with the dogs type of person. I'm a lone wolf. I watch the pack from the trees and interact as necessary; I am my own pack with my own direction. When I identify with animals it's been of the big cats or raptor variety. I love the sky and the possibilities when you take a leap and jump into the wind.

My life has been a combination of climbing mountains and jumping off them. I enjoy the climb. The challenges that come along the way. The things I learn and the tools I acquire. Constantly learning, modifying, adjusting and reaccessing. Here again, I find myself at a flat mountain top and I can't but help raise my head and set my sight on the sky.