heathervescent

STL

"A true traveler has no fixed destination and is not intent on arriving."

I've been looking at flight timetables weighing possibilities for the past hour. I've got to get myself back to Europe sometime next week, but I'm traveling a different way. I'm traveling the way I used to travel. The way my Mom taught me. The way of the flight attendant.

I remember standing in the International Terminal of STL - that's St. Louis - one of the main departure hubs for TWA, the company my mother worked for. I lived just across the state in Kansas City and most flights on TWA connected through St. Louis. It was great, a short hop and then I could literally go anywhere in the world. 

I was probably returning home from a California Summer, arriving from John Wayne Orange County (SNA) or San Diego (SAN). 

That TWA International Terminal was full of possibilities. Milan. London. Paris. Zurich. Frankfurt. Rome. Berlin. Athens. Istanbul. Cairo.

Ah, Cairo. The memories of the bazaars. The stares at the blonde teenage Heather.

I never knew if I would get on the flight, but it was fine, because there was always another one, going someplace else, but nearby enough.

So as I head back to Europe in the next 10 days or so, I ponder where I will land. Will it be in Paris? (I haven't been in Paris, except for the Eurostar, in decades. What about Zurich? I always wanted to go to Switzerland. Or good old London? Dare I return to Germany? After my antics of decades ago and my very German last name, misleading my complete inability to sprekenzie Deutsch. 

It all depends on the ticket sales. 

I mentally pack my bag. I plan to attempt travel with merely a carry on. I plan to bring my favorite Joshua Tree painting. And I plan to bring an attitude of adventure, of luxurious time. Of travel on my terms. 

Scenic Flights

I read this WSJ article today about scenic flights (h/t @daveharkins). Well, you know the Heathervescent has flown more than 100k miles this year and I have some opinions of my own! So here's a quick list of my top. You'll notice I quickly skew to Mountains and Deserts. 

• Utah. Utah is one of the most under rated scenic states in the US (for us local Americans). LAX to NY, LAX to Denver, or  LAX to Toronto all pass this gorgeous landscape. You'll catch birds eye views of Zion, Grand Staircase, Escalante, Capital Reef, Canyonlands and Arches (Moab). All in about an hour. It's the most gorgeous landscape gorging feast. I toast it every time.



• LAX to Denver/Colorado Springs: In addition to the Utah feast, you'll watch the rolling Rocky Mountains. 
• LAX to Austin/Denver/Texas: I love this route as it flies directly over my own property before passing over Arizona (Monument Valley!) and New Mexico. 
• Brussels to Bologna: The Alps. Need I say more?



• LAX from the East: Any flight coming into LAX from the East/MidWest flys over the Mojave, often over Death Valley herself. And the flights from Texas, they fly right over my property near 29 Palms.
• Rio to Lima: Although I was scammed out of my window seat for this flight, I caught glimpses of the amazing Bolivian Desert before flying over the Andes. Um, just wow. I am going to fly this route again with a window seat.
• The Clouds: I never tire of looking out the window. Here's a recent Thunderhead.

That's the short list for now. What are _your_ favorite flight routes?

Que Saudade and the Problema com Succeso

Note: This post was written, but not published, when I was in Rio de Janeiro.

I walk these city street at home as in Los Angeles. I love the black and white mosaics, the moist air, the breeze, the grand mountains of rock, the ocean waves. The language returns to my tongue, unspoken for over a decade. Its sounds are hot and salty on my lips, I twist the words improperly, with my american "soutake" and mis-conjugated verbos. But my passion is there.

I had forgetten. How could I have forgotten? Forgotten the joy, to forget the longing.

--

Walking back after midnight from the Copacabana night market, I decided to pass by a certain corner I had written up in my Rio de Janeiro guidebook 12 years ago. It was across the street from my beachfront apartment. It had a cool little bar and boteco. Imagine my shock! when I saw the tiny local place with barely 6 seats had quadrupled in squarefootage becoming a pizzeria. Taking over the little bar with the Marlene Dietrich shrine. Bright lights.

My heart died. I thought... I did this. I personally contributed to this reality.

God DAMN, Heather! You did not THINK of the impact of putting these things into a popular guidebook! I kept walking into Ipanema, beating myself up for my lack of consciousness, for my inability to see this possibility 12 years ago. I kept thinking about success and failure. Which was worse? Wondering how and when things happened. Did the bar owner sell out and start a new bar elsewhere (quietly)? Obviously the botequim was doing well, they had expanded. The business was good. I suppose that was good - for the business.

But still... as I walked the empty after midnight streets in Ipanema, a single woman, alone, wearing platform fluevogs, wondering what I would find in the shadows, realizing I had nothing to fear, because I was one of them.

Road Warrior

It has been a luxurious week in Los Angeles, but my time here is coming to a close. Over the past 6 months I have had to completely change the way I work. No more long weeks in my office, I have been away from it more than I have been here. 

 (Note: I started this post three weeks ago... back when I had a gorgeous week at home.)

Reduced Productivity

I'm not as productive when I travel. This is because I have a highly optimized work style for a home office set up. I've had to change this. My office is now my beloved Brenthaven backpack (thank you @urbanverse and @busynessgirl). In this I carry 2 laptops, an ipad, an iphone, an itouch, a kindle, various headphones, a notebook, office supplies, business cards, and a myriad of necessary power cables, cords and power adapters (when I travel internationally).

Respecting the Introvert

Most people don't believe me when I say I'm introverted, and that's because people see me when I'm out in my extrovert character. You don't see me, like this past week, when I spend hours on end in my office, very quiet, talking to no-one, listening to music, typing away. It's not that I try to hide this part of me. It just by it's nature isn't seen except but a very few intimate people. I am a different person when I am around people.

So while traveling, I have had to change this. Let the introvert show a bit more. Not engage with people. Eat lunch at my desk. Listen to headphones. Not book every evening with events. Not book every traveling moment with meetings. And to give myself a break. To stay in my hotel room, order room service and spend quality time with myself.

Respecting the introvert in New York is especially hard because of so. many. people. It's exhausing just to go into the office. People everywhere, bumping into you, crammed like sardines into a train. I hate it. Which is why I come in late and work late. I just can't stand the onslaught of humanity.

Air travel hacks

I thought I was good at air travel, being the daughter of a flight attendant. Traveling 50-75% of my time has optimized this. I don't bother to pack light anymore. I check my bags and have a flight carry-on that includes includes

• my leather moccassins
• face mister and moisterizer (face and hand)
• noise-canceling headsets
• my iphone/itouch (to take pictures out the window)
• Window seat is a MUST
• Internet on domestic flights
• Snacks
• I drink a lot of (sparkling) water

I almost always make sure I get to the airport early. I don't like the stress of missing a flight. (That's the years of flying standby.) I try to make sure I eat good food. No junk food.

Making it fun / Keeping it stressless

I try to make it fun to travel. I hate the TSA - I find it degrading and non-effective. So I try to make it fun. I try to humanize people. Talk to them. Joke with them. Make myself (and maybe them) laugh. Taking pictures and Instagramming them.

Missing Home

I miss Los Angeles a lot when I travel. I love this city. What it represents. Who is here (my dog, the boyf, my car, the freeways). It's proximity to the desert. I miss my easy weekends in the desert. So I travel with a piece of it. I have a painting of a Joshua Tree that I bring with me. There are other memories of home I bring with me, my West Coast style. My coffee with cinnamon. I've been known to imagine NY skyscrapers as Joshua Trees and Mountain Ranges.

Sometimes I listen to Los Angeles' police radio. Often I'll catch early morning tweets by the LAFD. I always check in on the LA Times. And always there is Twitter and Instagram. These are important links to my city while I am gone. 

Time Traveling as Therapy

I often think of the past. Moments I have essence snapshots from. I remember years when I didn't leave LA. I think back to those dog walk mornings. I think back to my times in grad school, spending every weekend researching and writing. I think back to camping trips. To home cooked meals, to cakes made from scratch. I visit their sweet memories - a juxtaposition from waiting for my flight at an airport, riding in a taxi cab, watching the earth pass below me. I think of these moments  - while in another: waiting in an airport, riding in a taxi, flying around the world, riding the subway, eating out. Present in these moments, I savor the opposite, holding both in my mind, present in my experience. Later, I will visit the snapshot of jetset memories for the same type of therapy. Perhaps when I am on a dusty lakebed or driving off road for several days or something more mundane.

 An Iterative Process

I'm still learning how to have a satisfying life traveling so much. I am reflecting on a comment from a William Gibson novel - about a writer who wrote much of his books in hotel rooms. I am looking for activities I like to do - and do at home - that I can transport and do with myself in hotel rooms.  I try new things and adjust what I'm using to make it work better for me.

European Fields

I was having one of those days. A day when I was in no mood to deal with people. Didn't want to talk to them, didn't want to see them, didn't want to be around them. I have been fairly lucky to set up my life such that when I have one of these days I sequester myself in my office with my dog. I don't like feeling this way and I don't like inflicting a cranky, negative Heather on the world. I gotta keep up my, I am so awesome, invincible, rah-rah-rah personal brand, you know on the blog, ya know!

So anyway, after an awesome day of London shopping, I had to cram everything into my suitcases (which I barely fit stuff into), then lug all this LUGgage off to the train station to catch the high speed Eurostar to the continent. When I arrived, the train station was a madhouse. Crazy lines, people cutting in line, rolling these huge suitcases everywhere, people bumping into each other, no awareness of space and people behind them. For 3 seconds my blood boiled and then I looked around. There was nothing to do.

I watched the guy in front of me become red-faced with his wife and two kids. They had waited until the last  minute to get to the station. I watched him try to bully the woman keeping order among the chaos into letting him cut in line. Her response was pure pleasure, straight British to the point. Unbudging. The Europeans sure can talk straight. (How refreshing!)

Finally I'm on the train. (All my luggage lugging reminds me of a train ride 20+ years ago with my Mom and Grandmother. Between us, we had 7 huge pieces! And all this, before roller bags.) I'm engrossed with my latest iphone app purchase, zoning out to my downtempo mix. Across the aisle from me is a family - I think they are Americans. But I'm not feeling chatty. (Come to think of it, until the conference call this afternoon, it had been more than a week since I've heard an American accent. Even the English non-native speakers speak that damn British English!) American family is crashed out across the tables. It's a bright sunny English afternoon. Which means the sun is rising over the US. Jetlag. I wonder if they are from Austin, California, New York, Colorado - the time zones in my phone. 

I'm watching the countryside. It looks strangely familiar. (More on that later.) We cross under the Channel, then we're in Calais for a short stop. Sleeping family starts awake... the teenage son is dragging his heels... almost wanting to go back to sleep. I'm watching detachedly. There is one bag they missed. I call out, but the teenage son is intent on getting off the train. I jump up, grab the bag from under the table and run down the aisle. The family is off the train and down the platform. I wonder if I can catch them before the train leaves. But the train attendant sees me (running down the aisle) - understands - and takes the bag from my hand at the train door. She calls out to the family and they turn, return and get the bag from her. I see their sighs of relief as I return to my seat at the window.

That would have really sucked, hm? Leaving your bag on the train. Who knew what important things, money, passport, clothes, phone, were in it. Hours of heartache, frustration and anxiety - the possibility evaporating in a moment. Along with my cranky mood. I was left only with a feeling of relief and the view of European fields, wind turbines spinning, black and white cows frolicking and another day living.

Foreign / Not Foreign

I had a strange realization just as my Virgin Atlantic flight took off from Los Angeles bound to London last week. I was listening to the directions - all in that lovely internationally sounding female British voice. I overheard my fellow passengers chatting - most in that British accent. Flight attendants also all in that British accent. Finally, the captain came on and welcomed everyone on the flight that would take them ... "home."

Home?!?! What shock then! Los Angeles is my home! From my perspective, this flight is taking me away from home!

That's when the epiphany came. _I_ was the one with the accent. I was the foreigner. 

--

As I've walked these London streets this past week. Managed my jetlag (brilliantly, I might add), met with people, had conversations, eat, go to the office, go to stores - all the normal everyday things I might do at home, I've been aware of my foreigner status. I've made no effort to try to blend in. I've made no effort to change my LA (recently strongly influenced by Texas) style. I'll bet, I'm the only person walking around the London Bank district in black cowboy boots. They're just my favorite pair of shoes at the moment and I couldn't bear to not bring them with me. 

What fun is it being a foreigner if the whole time I'm trying to fit in - trying to smooth over my standing-out? Squashing my California expression? Does a rock star change their style when they are traveling to fit into the local look? I don't think so.

The point of all this a awareness. The conscious choice to stay attuned to my culture, while in another culture. This goes for corporate culture too. 

--

When I send emails from my corporate account, the British English spellcheck always catches specific words, trying to convert them into their British spelling. This is a strange thing for me - because for some words, I already use the British spelling (thank you International Flight Attendant Mom). But for others, I use the "American" English and refuse to change the spelling. 

It was a cute thing at first... and it's certainly helping me learn differences between American and British English. But if I ever start saying/using "maths", will you please shoot me with my own gun?

--

When I was a teenager, "banished" to grow up in Iowa - the great plains - the MidWest - farm country; I used to entertain myself in the afternoons by driving the open roads. I'd spend hours exploring gravel roads, barely paved paths, of course at as high speeds as I could push my teenager-safe car to go - I would listen to new-wave rock and think about other places. Exotic, cultured, foreign places. Places like Europe, Africa, India, South America.

One day it hit me (after I had returned from six months in Brazil, so full of saudade I could explode) - this place I lived in - where I freely drove to Hell and back. Down to the Mississippi on a midnight lark. Racing trains, kicking up dust on gravel roads, triumphantly stopped on the bridge overpass, waving as the train passed under. Hiking old Indian paths in the forest, barely visible, picnics in old horse thief caves (long since collapsed). These "boring" "normal" "unexotic" places to me - were to someone else ... quite exotic. And these were grand adventures. 

--

It's about perspective. Where you stand when you look. Isn't that magic? That the same object, the same experience, the same thing... can be interpreted dramatically differently?

Who can say, which perspective is "right" or "correct" - rather than "is."

Beatnik Dodge

I admired your black classic Dodge. It must have been from the 60's or early 70's as you pulled behind me in the gas station. I don't see guys like you in LA. I don't even know how to categorize you. Beatnik? Richard Brautigan style? That high whiny voice. But soft, gentle. Counter-culture, when there was just one culture.

You were pissed, and rightly so. The traffic was a clusterfuck. The gas pump was out of order. I had to back my turbo in wrong-way to reach pumpside. I heard you cursing. I'm just one of the young-ones. Ruining the memories of the past, I think, as I start speaking. Telling you I was almost finished, that I can back out, that you can have my pump in a moment.

At least this gas station has invested in the super fast pumps. A few more miles of my magical elixir are transferred into my exobody. I wave off the others trying to block me in. Lying. You and your black Dodge are a picture. I skim my eyes over it, lest to stare. But it's like water to a sponge. Those few moments, I can't forget.

And then I'm gone. A final glimpse of you pulling forward, as I back out and onto 19th Ave traffic. The shiny black and chrome. From another era. 

Future of Space Travel Analogy

The breakthrough came this morning:

Birds are to the Earth as Humans are to Space.

The analogy is not as simple as it may seem. There is a new Nature report out describing a type of internal GPS/internal avian magnetic compass that birds use to navigate their migrations.

Wouldn't it be cool (and perhaps it is necessary) for humans to create/develop a similar sense to navigate to cosmos?

Untypically Hawai'i

When people think of a Hawaiian vacation they imagine sunny, sandy beaches, froo-froo drinks in hand and lots of relaxation. Well, leave it to the contrarian to have a completely opposite experience.

S and I went to Hawaii to celebrate our 3rd year. I thought it would be cool to see the Volcano, so I booked us a cottage in the sleepy little town of Volcano. Well, we had a less than sleepy time.

It was non-stop adventuring with volcano hikes, lava viewing, exploring a lava tube, buying orchids at local farmer's markets, waterfall frolicking, banyan tree climbing, mountain climbing to Mao Kea (13k feet!), stargazing at 9k feet, touring a coffee plantation, eating awesome pie at the southern most restaurant in the US (they played Bluegrass music too!), seeing sea turtle on a black sand volcanic beach and driving 600 miles in 3 days! I didn't don my bathing suit once.

I really can't describe it in words, so here are some pictures for you to enjoy.

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.

Headed a North - maybe

Hello Frisco! Well, maybe hello. I'm considering heading North this weekend to celebrate one of my old friends US Citizenship. Lars has been my Swedish bodyguard on multiple occasions and traveled with me to South America and the South Pacific. He's also a rubix cube champion. And a programmer at Google. And I've known him for ... yes, 10 years. Ten years. He's cool, smart and has a very dry sense of humor.

Then there is Maker Faire that would be fun to stop by with another of my friends, who I also have known for 10 years - barbarizinho. And not to mention my various friends performing and otherwise participating in Maker Faire. And my other friends who I have promised to visit, and this G35 in the driveway with a radar detector. Anyone need a ride?

NY at night

One of my favorite things to do in NY was to walk the streets at night. It was perfect. Cool, darkly lit streets. Fewer people and I was wide awake due to my California body clock. Bars were open. Cafes were open. I could buy pizza and french pastries at 3 in the morning just down the block from my hotel. And I did.

It was at night the majesty of the city was apparent. The architecture. The buildings. And the infrastructure. We walked down the avenue to Madison Square Gardens to the 24 hour post office - with its row upon row of columns and steps. I reflected on the Greek and Roman architecture of our founding fathers. Earlier in the day I had admired the new glass buildings being constructed from the observation deck of the Empire State. I enjoyed the mixed architecture - the old and the new.

Walking the streets with the boyf I remarked that NY is like the internet before the internet. The sheer quantity of people in the limited space. And because of the quantity you're going to find people with your same interests, no matter how subcultural they might be. I imagined people came to NY to connect. To find people like themselves. To find acceptance. And to make it big.

I walked so much In my 3 days in the city. I didn't like the crowded sidewalks or the loads of people during the day. I have always loved big spaces where people gather when they are empty. And the streets of NY at night were a huge stage. I saw the trash trucks stopping in for pizza along the route. I saw the grocery store delivery trucks restocking NYC shelves. The moist streets from power washing - preparing for the day.  I looked to the sky to see if I could see stars and got distracted by the reverse-vertigo of the buildings and the twinkling of the top floor lights.

NY you showed an LA girl a good time. Thanks. I'll be back.

In <3 w/ NY por causa de Chelsea Hotel

Oh man, what a day! I awoke at 6am to LA sunshine. Cozy dog sleeping by my face in an otherwise empty bed. I heard the text messages to my phone in my office and pretended to sleep for another 45 minutes when I finally drug myself up. I could have slept in, but I had 8 million errands to run before catching my flight to JFK.

Walk Dog. Check. Shower. Check. Finish packing. Check. Post Office. Check. Bank. Check. Storage unit for banana suits. Drama. (Shout out to TC at the storage unit this morning, who made me cry with his impeccable view of the world.)Check. Drop car off for body work repair. Check. Coffee and bagel @ solar while I wait for car paperwork. Check. Back to the house. Check. Move the cars. Check. Repack in bigger suitcase. Check. Walk the dog. Check. Wash dishes. Check. Oh yeah, check email. Check. Feed dog chicken to distract him while I take luggage out to car. Check. Drive to LAX. Check. Wait patiently in long security line. Check. Watch TSA dude check my ID for fakiness and then harass him about fake IDs. Check. Flight gets delayed for 3 hours. Check. I reschedule for another flight. Check. Bop around LAX entertaining myself until flight leaves. Check. Get on flight. Check. Hang out in the back galley and chat with folks. Check. Get into JFK and wait for a llllllooooooonnnnnnnggggg time for bag to arrive. Check. Get all agro on the limo people. Check. Arrive at the Chelsea Hotel.... Yesssss!

The limo was zipping on freeways not unlike the ones I zip on and I wondered... where was NYC?! I kept seeing signs for Midtown Tunnel and I kept thinking of Mid-Wilshire. And then we crossed over. And I felt the electricity crackling all around me. I was in the land of skyscraper buildings. Bricks!!! Gorgeous architecture. And I started chilling out. I started getting excited for being in NYC. And then I arrived. About 10 years ago I took an x-boyf for lobster at the Chelsea for dinner and old kicks. We are still sporadically in touch. This time, I remembered in time to book a room. AND I LOVE IT!

Really, this is completely and utterly my vibe. Of course I've spent the last hour + talking with the guys at the front desk about mercy, guns and getting away from it all. As I walked down the 8 flights of stairs looking at the art and thinking of my pal Neil whom I'm not going to be able to meet up with cause he is out of town :( I thought, if I ever move to NYC I will be an artist. But then, aren't I already one?

2 Years of LA's Geek Dinner!

Next week will be the 2 year anniversary of the LA Geek Dinner. This is really exciting for me, because tech communities and bubbles come and go. I lived through the first bubble 1.0 in the Bay Area and watched it blow up and then blow out. I've worked really hard to make the geek dinner sustainable and long-term. Two years doesn't seem that long, but it is big landmark!

Anyway, come on down to an awesome geek dinner. Just be sure to buy your tickets in advance.

---

The Geek Dinners are a monthly gathers of Internet technology lovers in Los Angeles. Anyone who has an interest and passion for technology, the internet, internet technologies, software or you just know you're a geek is welcome.

OUR LOCAL SPONSORS
Mike Prasad of Bullspot is covering the drinks: http://www.bullspot.com/

Boris Epstein of BincSearch is hosting the "Ask a Recruiter" table and bringing cupcakes. Check out: http://blog.bincsearch.com/
-------------------------

You must buy a ticket to attend. http://geekdinner24.eventbrite.com
$20 and good karma in advance, $25 and bad karma if you pay at the door.

This month we're at BLANKSPACES - LA's 1st co-working space.

It's also the 2 year anniversary of the LA Geek Dinner!

GEEKEST T-SHIRT CONTEST
We're also having a "geekiest t-shirt" contest with prizes for 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place. So wear your geekiest t-shirt!

Update: The Winner will take home a $50 gift certificate from Threadless. So you can increase your geeky t-shirt collection even more!

And we're having some exciting press coverage, so come and celebrate with us.

Attn: East Coast Readers

I will be in NY and Boston the end of this month. I'm staying at the world famous Chelsea Hotel. (begin Leonard Cohen with images of Sid and Nancy.) Then I'm up to roflcon on the 24th. If you're around and want to hang - let me know!

Tucson Arrived!

I'm checked in. My belly is full. My body is fresh showered clean. The Pixies are playing through my tinney laptop speakers. I'm remembering the sunset, wind whipping through my hair. Top down, zipping at 90 miles an hour. Seven hours across the desert - from Hollywood though the Mojave and then down into the .... is it the Colorado Desert? With the Saguaro Cacti? With the flat expanses and crumbling pedestals of mountains.

Drinking not one drop of coffee, instead having tea with Joseph Campbell and Napoleon Hill. I'm listening to his masterpiece and thinking... have I heard this before? How did I more or less implement his methodology before even hearing of him? It wouldn't be the first time I "discovered" something for myself only to find out there are books written on the subject. These books are huge cairns on my own path.

Anyway, I've been inspired to get very specific with my goals. I was kind of lax the past couple years focusing instead on a theme. And look where that got me? Listening to the CDs also made me take stock of my past "failures". Well, the things I consider failures, because they were not smashing successes. Learning from other people's failures (all those startups that didn't make it).

My attitude has recently changed. Somewhere over the past 6 months, I got sucked into William Burrough's Duad. And that's a fucking horrible place, skueze my french, if you've ever visited. However in the past few days I've managed to pull myself out of the muck and my conversation with Campbell and Hill this afternoon was the shower after the shit. It was like the fog lifting and remember who I am, what I do and how I do it.

Whew. It feels good to be myself again.

Checkmark Carkill: Another dream come true

• 20 hours in the car +
• A private ranch outside of Reno +
• Practicing my stunt car moves on a dry lake bed +
• Enough guns and ammo for a Hollywood blockbuster +
• 5 cars with death written all over them +
• The usual assortment of fire accelerators =
• A dream come true.

A Unicorn with no name

I left LA yesterday, and with a song stuck in my head. My friend Jane wrote it to me and the tune is one of my favorite America songs. Sing along with me. (And yes, none of my unicorns had names - all 4 of them). I am sure they will get named on playa - before I feed them to the flames.

On the first part of the journey
I was packing up my shit
I had scrimped and saved
And still was broke
But was going in spite of it
I went for a drive up the 395
In a car that would barely start
Went to Bishop and Reno and Gerlach
And then Black Rock City and all the art

You see I've been to the desert on a unicorn with no name
It felt good to be out of L.A.
On the playa you can't remember your name
So you make one up for to give you no shame
La la la la la la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la la la la la

After three days the unicorn ran free
'Cause there was so much else to see
There were naked guys on bikes and girls
Without shirts riding Critically
There were art cars and dirty Santas and raves
Way out to the orange MOOP fence
Dr. Megavolt, hippies, explosions, massage
and the rangers to protest against

You see I've been to the desert on a unicorn with no name
It felt good to be out of L.A.
On the playa you can't remember your name
So you make one up for to give you no shame
La la la la la la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la la la la la

San Francisco, Carving a Groove

I'm north again. I came to have some meetings and attend wordcamp. I'm honestly not sure why I'm attending wordcamp. I think it was just an excuse to get me up here again, although it's been great seeing peeps and getting the wordcampy lowdown. The weather is gorgeous. It is windy and cool. I'm not used to this cool undertone. I've missed the wind.

The city seems so empty. Where are all the people. It seems so relaxed and laid back. Almost like a small town. Why do I see it like this? Was it like this before? Am I remembering differently? Or has it changed? Or have I changed? Am I uptight again? One-track focused speeding at the speed of light? (Oh yes, most definitely I am moving at the speed of light.)

I just returned from a midnight ride to the east bay (and back). The freeways are the way I remembered. Those grooves I carved so long ago, still there. I was able to slip back into them. And at the same time, the grooves were not the same.

I spent many hours on the bay bridge. Mostly when the toll was a mere buck (it's $4 now! yikes!). I realized as I was speeding back to SF tonight, that I'm carving a new groove. That that's the reason I'm back in SF. To carve this new groove. It's going to take some time - I will be back. But there's always a bushwhacker that paves the way for the trail, that eventually becomes a dirt road, a paved freeway, an information superhighway to infinity (and beyond).

San Francisco, I am soaking up your sweet wind, your little puffy clouds of fog, your live oak and hills of green. I am a sponge. The desert, we need these reminders, we need your shower of information rain.

Pimping: Adobe Air Bus in LA

Adobe is bringing their AIR bus to LA. They are currently in the hot hot desert on their way to Vegas. I'd tell them to stop @ the Mad Greek, if I could figure out how to text them... Anyway, they will be in LA in a few days. Check it out.

The event is a free one day mini conference where you can learn how to leverage the Adobe Integrated Runtime (AIR) to bring your web applications to the desktop.

On Upcoming. For more info.

Photo by Mike Chambers stolen from airbus Flickr site.

Declare Independence

For the past two days I have had Bjork in my head. C put it there and it won't get out. But that's ok, because it's the theme song for today: Declare Independence.

And in a few moments I will pack up MsVescent, put the top down and we will drive away from this land of red rocks. It's my Independence Day Drive through the desert!

I'm excited because I'm taking a northern route and swinging through Nevada. I may hit up Death Valley and most definitely the Mojave National Preserve. It's too bad I'm not in an offroad vehicle, because the backcountry roads I know and love best are gonna be right off the pavement. Another time.

What's your Brand?

I'm presenting Online Personal Branding at Social Text's Web 2 Open next week in SF. Wednesday at 2pm I'm up. Check it out. I'll be presenting all professional and shit. Not PPT Karaoke style.

The Return

Tomorrow I load up my chariot and head north. North to the land I loved, the place where all my dreams came true, the place I left almost 3 years ago: THE BAY AREA (begin dramatic music)

I'm hoping to meet up with many of my old (and new) crews in that favored city. I'm excited to return. I'm excited to show her what I've become and what I'm doing. I'm excited to be inspired by my old haunts, places of power, memories. I'm excited to see how she has changed. I'm really excited to eat a burrito @ El Toro. I got an ache to drive up Lucas Valley road and maybe up to Tomales. I'm bringing my riding gear, but no moto... so if anyone has an extra bike just sitting around... or wants to take a passenger, I'll consider riding pillion... maybe.

Since leaving, I have returned very few times. But tomorrow marks a difference. Tomorrow is the RETURN. And what a better way to celebrate a return than with my favorite dance party? BootieSF is happening Saturday night @ DNA and I will be in attendance. Please, come join me.

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.

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.

A Wall of Fog

I woke up this morning to a wall of fog. The window to my hotel opened out on a blank slate. Full of possibilities. It's been burning off the past several hours and now I can see off into the distance.

What a strange and wonderful experience this thing called sxsw. I a loner and an introvert at that. I don't like large group gatherings. I either have my extrovert personality turned on or I'm going to leave. Everywhere I turned there were people I knew. I met more than one person who was at my Birthday party. I ran into old colleagues in the elevator. In badge line. At the bar, and then another bar, and that bar too. Wow, what fun. Having great conversations, meeting new people. I knew this was what it was going to be like, but I didn't realize it would be this so exactly.

on the way to sxsw

yay. I'm sitting in the airport waiting for my flight to Austin. This is going to be fun. I'm getting excited. If you're going to be there, be sure to say hi!

This past week I was uberbusy. So many things packed into a crammed week - home, business, project stuff. And although I was stressed more than usual, I was pretty calm and feel really good about things getting done. I even made a new GTD notebook, which always makes me feel better. It feels great, when there are so many things going on, and it's all flowing. yay!

Welcome to 2007

Hi Blog.

Sorry I've been away again. I hope you enjoyed ringing in the new year in West Hollywood without me. I had a great time and I can't wait to tell you about it. Right now though, I just want to let you know I'm home and except for a couple scrapes and bruises (those darn stairs at night) I am totally unscathed. I have a lot of great stories to tell you. And pictures to prove it too.

I'm ready for 2007. I hope you are too!

xxx

-Heather

Where Have I Been?

• I was in Boston.
• I slammed my thumb in a compound metal frame and really hurt it bad. Hotel doc did mini-surgery, and then I did it myself a few times when I returned to WeHo.
• Weekend acquired a new bed and generally catching up on my east coast sleep dep.
• Monday morning kicked ass for a few hours and then jumped on the 5 and headed south - to a land of fog, confusion, memories, difficulties, family. What in linear time was not more than 36 hours, felt like a good fat week of activities. Reality metaphors created themselves as the wind whipped my hair (top was down) and I reached triple digits in orange county.
• Coming back yesterday, I sat on the 5 for about 4 hours, in a trip that the previous day had taken 1 triple digit kiss hour.
• I returned to costumed festivities, but couldn't don my own. Instead I crawled into newly purchased bed and dove deep into the material of my dreams.
• Juggling reality, metaphors, projects, fragility of my human form and more - and executing and lining up plans, events and project like barcamp, selling my house, dailymantra site, the purpletornado, helping my friends and family in all ways, and my diamond client starting to sparkle. (We're changing the etching process.)
• Then there is politics and pole dancing.
• My brain aches to change concepts into paragraphs, but my attention is needed elsewhere.

Soon, soon.

Let there be Light!

I can't help it. I'm a moth to a flame. I am in love with the earth and it's bare elements. I was going to write that Fire is my favorite, but it's not. I love the ocean, the wind and getting the earth in every pore. However fire brings out something wild in me. It is a drug and brings me - takes me - to another place. A place where I feel the need to build up the fire and then release it. Sometimes that comes by mere tending the fire, coaxing flames from hot coals. Other times it's dumping pallet upon pallet into an already roasting flame. More often than naught, it includes exploding certain flammables. If you ever hear me yell, "Fire in the Hole" you will want to get away from the fire as fast as possible. Recently I've been branching out to other metals that burn bright. A friend recently presented me with at 2 ft brick of magnesium.

This past weekend, out in the desert with about 50 of my best friends, I put that brick into a hot fire. About 30 to 45 minutes later, we saw green pools of light (through the welding glasses). 15 minutes later, the fire was ablaze. The photographs that were subsequently taken did not need a flash.

Then someone had the great idea to pour water on the fire. So we started making water balloons. Someone handed me a water bottle and an idea flashed into my fire soaked brain. I remembered how fire spitters blow fuel out of their mouth to create flames. I have always wanted to do that, but have yet to learn.  But here I was, water bottle in hand, with the primary objective of putting water on the magnesium! What better way to spray the fire?

Photo by Ranger Rugburn. Note the people shielding their faces in the background. And yes, I am wearing a white ball gown. And no, no flash was used to take this photo. Thanks to Jetfuel for the, well, fuel.

ps. Mom, don't worry, I didn't get burned. But I do kind of feel like G-d now. ;)

pps. ha ha Rob Brezsny!
AQUARIUS (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): Lightning strikes somewhere on the earth
6,000 times every minute. A single bolt may carry a million volts and
reach a temperature of 50,000 degrees Fahrenheit. If this elemental force
could be tamed and utilized, it would provide enough energy to raise a
cruise ship six feet in the air. While you won't be able to literally harness a
lightning bolt in the coming week, Aquarius, you could accomplish the
metaphorical equivalent. At least temporarily, you have an uncanny talent
for mobilizing tremendous power that's normally too hot to handle.
Halloween costume suggestion: a relaxed, smiling lightning bolt.

Manila Stories

My friend Carmen is off having adventures in Manila this month - writing some scripts and mobile content shorts. The two of us have been creatively training together all year and it's been paying off. For both of us. It's great to read of her successes and I am so proud of her. It is exciting to imagine her emotion when she saw the screening of the movie she co-wrote. That was two days ago.

She's just one of my many inspiring friends. And she can inspire you too! Just read her blog.

In some ways I wish I could join her in Manila on her exciting adventures... but were I there, I would have missed the amazing geek dinner that happened in Santa Monica last night. I'm still reeling from evening (and I only had 1 beer) and processing and getting caught up and dumping the booster rockets. I'm headed straight for that planet over there, but instead of getting sucked into the atmosphere and pulled down in a fiery ball of flame, I'll skirt the edge and slingshot around warping the gravitational field around the ship to spin me around and shoot me in the direction I've been planning for some time.

Boston talks

I took a break after noon today to take a walk in the city - Boston. I walked out the door, cross the street and see a bunch of people flocking around a black guy with a Maori like face tattoo. They are pointing camera phones and snapping pictures and I think it must be because of the tattoo. As I pass by I get a good look - I'm intrigued by the face tattoo - and I recognize Mike Tyson. Just here, walking on the streets of Boston by the old courthouse.

So I wander down to Quincy market and look at all the yummy foods, but don't feel like eating anything. So I'm wandering around and I keep hearing these big crashing noises and I'm thinking, wow - there's a lot of construction going on. But then I realize it's not construction at all - it's Thunder!

I make it back to the office with tiny sprinkles on my head, only to get up to the 31st floor in time for the show to begin. The theatre gets dark with clouds covering the entire palette of downtown Boston, then the light show begins and the cymbals crash. It's gorgeous, beautiful, I'm electrified and energized even as I finish up my meetings.

I'm totally digging on Boston today. I'm even imagining living here in one of the small 4 story brick buildings. Surrounded by the history and the freedom the United States represents.

open wide sky

I can hear the tumble and rumble of thunder from my hotel room and although I have been up for 12 hours and am exhausted, I am exhilarated, excited and about to jump out of my hotel room.

The rain is coming down and I'm sitting in a plush overstuffed chair watching the wind whip the trees. It's been so long since I have been in this part of the country. The last time, I said goodbye. I've missed the moisture and greenery and adventures. I used to drive the abandoned highways around the airport and get myself lost in horse trails. I remember the deer vertebrae I found one afternoon, while hiking in high heels after a day of tough meetings. I remember the battlefield I explored after battling in HQ conference rooms. The temporal friends I met hiking in Shenandoah and our subsequent event in DC clubs. I remember my trips to Alexandria to meet with old friends. People I have long since lost touch with. Extravagant dinners, awkward pauses. Evening phone calls to a different home, a different city, a different life. I remember these times with joy - for one instant, because I am present, and I am planning the future.

I have returned. And I am greeted by the plush rain, sky alight with nature's fireworks: crash and flash and grey sheets of rain. It's not a homecoming, but a return to long list of successes. A beginning in familiar soil. This time, I fully intend to create the road to success, instead of tread on one laid out by executives.

To Remember the weekend

It wasn't this past weekend - but I don't want to forget it - although I don't think I will be able to actually.

• Working late, 3 hours sleep before the flight
• Capital Hill
• A fabulous mocha from Vivachi
• Warm clothes from crossroads
• A restaurant that reminds him of another
• A visit to my corporate nemesis for many years
• New friends, old friends
• A drive though rain and green mountains
• Grasslands
• Fields from a previous life
• Remembering the NIN poster I carried to/though Europe for someone
• Standing outside the pit
• A night of Apocalypse now
• The sleep of death
• A concrete Stonehenge on the edge of a river
• My brother, his wife and two dogs
• A punk family.
• Home cooked food.
• Another good mocha.
• Sleeping at the eardrum blasting concert
• No energy for subversive shopping.
• Breaking point.
• The W. and sweet sleep at last.

I really want to write up the whole story of the night of the Apocalypse is in eastern Washington, but I've just been too busy. It's a good story though.

Heather in a field of rocks

This is a photograph of me in a field of quartz crystals. I was hiking up a wash and I kept finding these huge chunks of shimmering white rocks. Sam was scouting ahead of me and called me to come up over a pile of rocks. What I saw, delighted me. A field of these sparkling delights.

For some reason, I always seem to lose or forget my standard sunglasses when I go out to the desert. But lucky for me, I have my burning man big oggle-eye ones stashed in the glove box. I feel kind of weird being all clubbed out in the middle of nowhere.

I like this

"I like knowing that, despite the freeway possessing exits I might never take, winding through neighborhoods through I which I might never see, busily allowing thoroughfare for commuters I might never know, despite the freeway giving me access, that I will always have my trusted routes. I know I can sit in the cabin of my car, that as long as I maintain a connection to that central vein, that I will always find a way to welcome, loving and inviting arms."
- from liquid etchings

I could live here

There's nothing like a perfect day here in Portland to start my mind thinking. I'm up here for my brother's wedding. The sky is blue and the weather is beautiful. The sun is bright but not hot on the 8' tall sunflowers that frame the driveway.

Driving around Hawthorne I am looking at the many houses. It's been described as "hippies with money". That's a good description. I've thought about moving here. And there is a plan in the back of my mind that brings me north in a couple years.

But some plans are not really plans, they are instead dreams I know will change and fail their fruition. That's OK. It's still fun to dream them. Doors open and possibilities wink themselves into existence in a moment. And then, the possibility closes and another dream enjoyed it's kernel of possibility before melting into a sea of potential, only to rise again.

I can tell the difference between these two types of plans. The dreams that will manifest and the ones that are mere masturbation. Non-realities of this reality. Still, sometimes it's hard to taste the difference in the moment, when you're wrapped up in their greasy hamburger paper and the special sauce tastes so good and the universe gives you a fine day to dream it in.

new york evening

joshua tree photos uploaded

I've posted photos from my recent Joshua Tree camping trip. Check them out here.

It was a great 3 days in the desert. I earned a new nickname and if you camp with me, you'll find it out. We saw all kinds of wildlife (and heard them too) and I did plenty of rock pile climbing.

Since I just can't get enough of the desert, I'll be back out there this weekend. I need to invest in a 4x4, so if you know where I can get one cheap, let me know.

returned

I sit here at my desk. My passport, my Chanel sunglasses, my cell phone charging. The faint smell of paint and still boxes everywhere. I've returned. There's nothing like a few days in the desert, no shower, the rare campground with running water, no journal even to record my thoughts. The silence of the desert. The sounds of quail, coyote, buzzing insects at noon. The wind bobbing the heads of the flowers. The rough surface of eroded rocks. Pressing and stemming up eroded mountains. The hiss of a rattlesnake in a small meadow filled with grasses. Swallows imitating the nearby airforce airplanes buzz runs as I sit in a slight indentation of the rock. Inhaling the wind at night as I look in awe at the soup of our universe. Pinpoints of light, the moon long set. I'm sucked into the night. The wind, the flowers, the plain. I take no light, no water, nothing but myself. I walk into the desert at night, alone with no supplies. I have everything I need. I climb the rocks. I listen to the wind, but her voice is elsewhere. The power of this place has gone. It is a wonderland of rocks. A delight of wildflowers, but the raw desert power, the stuff that makes one wild and mad is not here. The power that pushes one to experience beyond the known experience. Or else, that raw wild power is like a familiar caress on my cheek, as the wind blows my hair into my face. And I feel that caress whether I am in the desert late at night or on the Los Angeles freeway.

when all else fails...

Phuket.

Las Vegas. Verdant Fields.

Suz and I spent the day yesterday tooling through the desert. We sped down the 10s carpool lane with the top down, blonde hair blowing in the wind. Heated seats blasting as we observed the snow capped Mt Baldy and Big Bear sky areas. The wind blew most of the trucks and huge-ass SUVs all over the 4 then 3 then 2 lane freeway. We watched it blow the powder on the top of the mountain and then sweep down the side only to be caught in the electrical windmills. So much for that long haul across the Colorado and Mojave.

We headed north to Yucca Valley. I wanted to do a drive by of Joshua Tree. I've been holding my horses to get out to the desert and it's finally paying off. I'll spend 3 weekends out here in the next month. Enough to get my fix, but still I dream of a big old crusty 4x4 with high clearance to visit a certain special place.

Before entering the park we stopped at my favorite internet cafe in the world - the Beatnik cafe in Joshua Tree. We tanked up on espresso drinks and I attempted to write a blog entry (that apparently did not get posted.)

Then it was the winding road. We stopped and climbed around on some rocks. We looked at the high peaks around the Salton Sea. My worldview started warping as I looked upon valley upon valley of Joshua Trees. They are so strange and wonderful and beautiful. The wildflowers were in full array. Near 29 Palms the desert floor was full of yellows and whites and some purples. I stopped in a wash and found a coyote melon, but decided not to take it, as I have never done anything with previous coyote melons.

Then it was the long winding road to Vegas, baby. I took a wrong turn (only noted until much much later) and we headed straight east out of 29 Palms. It was time for top speed testing. Well, not really. I'm sure the saab didn't hit her top speed, but there is only so fast I will go. The road was empty. The desert silent and gorgeous. We skirted the southern edge of the Old Women Mts and I saw Danby Lake. We found a burned out gas station with cars upon appliances upon a skeedoo smashed and trashed and burned up. We stopped and played desert dress up donning high heels, ribbons, lace and rhinestones. Yes, there will be pictures uploaded.

We jellybeaned big rigs on 95 making good time in the black bubble of my car, the desert lights falling and red and purple yellow highlights on the mountains as we made our way to the city of lights. A split second through Searchlight and a memory. The dream. The desert.

Unlike any other time I have visited Vegas, I have left my disgust of consumption and consumer culture somewhere. Why bother despising the place. I get no value out of that. As we drive down the strip looking for our Hotel's entrance, I am amazed. Yes, in these facades there is enlightenment. It's truly amazing that Las Vegas has become what it is.

biwana bollywood, LA freeways and glass

I love driving on the greater LA freeways. I have a passion for pavement (actually ribbed concrete is my favorite in the car, fresh blacktop on the moto - that sounds strangely sexual, and I guess it is). It was foggy/hazy when I awoke Sat morning. I planned to spend some quality time on some new to me freeways. Jetted out to Riverside via 134/210/91/10/15. I love the interchange from the 10 to the 15. I find freeway overpasses completely and utterly erotic. The curves and my knowledge of centrifugal force. The stacked criss-crossing curves often many many stories high.

One of my dreams is to have the LA freeways completely to myself to drive on them where ever I want, as fast as I want, in any car that I want. In your dreams, heather!

Later I discovered the toll roads of orange county. This is the most amazing concept. I've been on some before, but this day, I found 241 - a gorgeous stretch. Pay to go on a road where there are less people. It's too bad that I can't drive as fast as I want. The scenery was gorgeous on 241. I was driving my Aunt's big truck blasting the biwana bollywood mix CD. I pulled up to the toll both manned by an Indian and he smiled as my open window poured forth a strange mix of music for a white girl in southern california to have.

Later I unpacked the boxes from my grandmother's house. I closed it up earlier this summer and unwrapped package upon package of antique glass. Etched, green, cut, frosted, goblets, platters, glasses, serving dishes. I unpack them and put them on display. Not many have broken. There are a lot. Many many more than I can use.

I thought I knew it all about California. It's the center of my universe. One day, when I am finished with my time here, I will leave and burn like the letter I burned a few weeks ago. Until then, I will love her streets, her crimes, her tall building, her shudders, her tears, her mind-transforming landscapes. There's no place I love better than here.

ping pong laptop travel

I've ordered a new laptop from IBM. Here's what the tracking statement says for today. I think it's great. I want to travel like my laptop. (It occurs to me that I should visit every place every product I buy goes... hmmm...

Dec 21, 2004 10:41 P.M. ONTARIO, CA, US ARRIVAL SCAN 10:38 P.M. INCHEON, KR DEPARTURE SCAN 10:37 P.M. ONTARIO, CA, US ARRIVAL SCAN 8:31 P.M. INCHEON, KR ARRIVAL SCAN 4:34 P.M. ANCHORAGE, AK, US DEPARTURE SCAN 4:34 P.M. ANCHORAGE, AK, US DEPARTURE SCAN 4:28 P.M. CHEK LAP KOK, HK DEPARTURE SCAN 12:10 P.M. ANCHORAGE, AK, US ARRIVAL SCAN 12:10 P.M. ANCHORAGE, AK, US ARRIVAL SCAN 12:57 A.M. HK BILLING INFORMATION RECEIVED

Happy Hour with Heather in Palo Alto

A general announcement. For readers in the SF Bay Area, come hang with the Vescent one.

I guess I just can't stay away, I've got to be back in the Bay Area in November (this time for work).

I know it's a trek for some of you, but please join me at Nola's in Palo Alto on Monday night, November 8th for drinks and catch-up and maybe dinner.

November 8th, 7pm

Nola's
535 Ramona St
Palo Alto, CA 94301
Phone: (650) 328-2722
http://siliconvalley.citysearch.com/profile/920419/palo_alto_ca/nola.html?cslink=search_name_noncust&ulink=search__searchslot2_520__0_profile_2_1

ass was not kicked

When I usually go to the desert my ass gets kicked in some way and my body is somewhat debilitated. Not this time. I think it's because I didn't drink any alcohol. Lesson to finally learn - don't drink alcohol in the desert - regardless of how little.

At Burningman I met a really interesting person - he was in the same Village and camped not 15 feet away. If you look at the Tazii photos, he's the one who is sticking his tongue out at me. I was so struck with him, because I had very low expectations that someone like him existed. Well, I was pretty sure he existed, but I had no way to go about confirming it. (Bjork line here: I miss you, and I haven't met you yet.) So needless to say I was completely and utterly blown away to be face to face with a fluffy, horned, jauntie, clever, sensitive person. Perfectly costumed as Mr Jauntie, my current patron Saint. It was no coincidence.

G met me in LA on Friday and Friday night we headed to Barstow to meet Carson. I wanted to show G the Vision Cave and introduce him to Carson. We arrived late - stuck in bumper to bumper traffic the last 10 miles into Barstow at 1am! We had the top down and found some R&B Hip Hop station to whomp on the sub woofer as it took us 20 minutes to go 1 mile.

Next morning, like a herd of desert tortoises, we took 40 east to Water Road. There's nothing here. A grated road that goes along the powerline. Pass the little Paiutes, then the Paiutes (no water there) then the first turn west after the entopic cattle wrangling enclosure takes you to the base of the Old Woman's. Skirting along the base until we reach the rocks that have the Vision Cave - not really a cave, but an overhang with petroglyphs on the walls. The floor of the cave has gotten very dirty with bird droppings and I later cleaned it with water and very expensive french champagne.

There's not much out there in the desert except rocks, wildlife and a whole lot of silence. No buzzing laptops, radios, cell phones or traffic noise. Just wide open space. The silence is thick. Huge piles of rock play with your long distance vision - is that one pile or are there several canyons behind it that I just can't see. The rocks blend and undulate with the light and color striations and desert patina.

We arrived late afternoon and it was blazing hot. Not much stirring about - some jackrabbits, some quail, a few lizards. We parked near the painted rock and went to see what changed. The bees were still there, there was a little water at the edge of the wash (one of the only places that almost always has water - even in the past 6 years of drought). It had rained recently and we saw the rivulets in the road, yet it was very sandy and gave our 4 wheel drive a run for it's money. I grabbed some snacks and found some shade in the shadow of the big rocks and sat down to look out and enjoy the silence. I laid back and looked up at the rocks going into the sky. At the hollow places in the rocks. At the view of the vision cave. The wash. The dry mountains of rock and scrub, junipers, barrel cacti, choya and native grasses.

I wandered over to the cave, where I checked out the floor situation. The floor has been worn smooth by many years of human butts sitting on it and it is usually very clean. No animals live in the cave, some birds make their home above it, but usually they don't shit in the cave. Last time I was there, the floor was covered with bird shit and I brought some cleaning supplies (water and scrub brush) to clean it up.

I became sleepy in the cave - so I laid down on my shirt and dozed for a while. The floor of the cave is uneven and there are nice walls to lean against. It's open on two sides - one side drops at least 25 feet to the wash below where the bees live. This opening give a grand view of one edge of rock. It's cracked and has several sunburst holes where the sparrows live. I heard the droning of the bees and watched the birds flying around in the increasingly cooler light. It's a nice place to ponder those things in your mind. What you believe, who you are, what you are doing, happiness, life, etc.

The sun would go over the ridge early so I rousted myself to make camp: set up the tent, roll out the sleeping bags, check on the fire situation and start thinking about dinner. Carson and I brought complimentary desert food and Geno had stopped at the Health Food store in Barstow (yes, can you believe it, a health food store in Barstow of all places). We collected wood and got dinner fixings out, black beans seasoned with desert sage and chiltpotes, corn, fresh tomatoes, red pepper and lettuce. The cans bubbled in our small cooking fire and we watched the sun set behind the ridge.

Dinner was served and we climbed up on some rocks to eat and watch the view. Slowly the sky became darker and the stars came out. We finished up and started to clean up. Darker and darker it got in the shadow of the rock and then rose the moon. It was not quite full and shining bright - we didn't need flash lights and could see our moonshadows.

We took a walk into a canyon leading to the ridge. It was cool moonlight and we didn't use any illumination. The rocks took on a new feeling. They were realer than real. They were alive and we saw faces and characters in those rocks. They said to us - you can not imagine how long we have been here and how long still we will remain. Their desert patina exhaled the heat of the day as we walked past. We saw doorways in a juniper and passageways in rocks. We saw the leering old man sitting with his cat and cocktail waiting for the swimsuit session of Miss USA to begin - he was watching out towards the east. The show would unfold over the next million or so years.

We wandered back to camp and took turns watching the mice jump around and scurry over our dirty dishes and empty cans. These desert mice may never have had canned corn or black beans and no amount of light or fire or humans would scare them to immobility. We didn't want to scare them away, but instead flanked them on three sides (Geno in the throne seat, Carson to the east and me to the west.)

Exhaustion caught up with me and I fell into my tent. I didn't bring my blow up mattress, so was left to sleeping on my yoga mat which was basically not sleeping. It's a night of tossing and turning, waking up and looking at the stars.

Dawn brought the sounds of quail and coyotes and cool light soon to turn into the heat of midday. I rousted myself out of the tent. Breakfast was toast over a fire, hot chocolate, cheese and mandarin oranges. The day was cool and it was time to clean the cave. I got my scrub brush and some water and spent some quality time scrubbing away.

Then it was time to head back to civilization. It was a fairly short trip - not without it's revelations. And it was really nice to have such a pleasant time. Next trips calls for a visit to the Miner's Cabin in my big burly truck and serious alone time for H. It might be a while though.

the glitterarmi

Cleaning up the playa dust

I spent all of today cleaning up from the past week. Unpacking the weasel, washing the camping gear, filtering through the coolers for remnants of food, sorting through the costumes, shaking out the glitter. As of now, the car is cleaned and smelling sweet and I have my post BM manicure/pedicure. How nice to get those final bits of dirt out from under my nails. (Thanks Doug.)

Im still processing what happened out there. What did happen? And the aftershocks of my time in Black Rock City are starting to hit my "everyday life". I'm getting hints from Mr Jauntie from all fronts. Be a tricky clever fluffy rabbit. Step carefully among the rattlesnakes.

I strung my horns over my head as I took my first step in Los Angeles. I walked into practice regardless of my self-importance to slow moving earth affection. I wonder about this decision I have made to live the myth. I step outside to practice in the light of the bar with a favorite colleague. A moth draws to us. At dinner later, he tells me, that the goals do not interest him. I am inwardly reminded of my natural inclination to make goals. He is right, it's all about being right here in the present. This world has much to offer. Why focus on the future goal. Cut your teeth today.

Tazii

I posted the first set of photos from Burning Man. The Tazii album on the left is the wonderful group of people I had the great fortune to camp with. Tazii was an amazing camp and we had such a great time. I can't wait until next year or at least the next Tazii party. Love you guys!

what is burning man haiku?

Burning man is a city as
Eraserhead is a movie about a man and a woman and a baby
I wonder if China Mievelle was there.