Art of Seeking

Notes to Self:  How to Study While Insane

MAKE COFFEE. Medium latte with a spoon of honey. Eat a waffle and an orange or something.

Get online. Check email and facebook crap, read the news. Close all but two tabs.

Go to dictionary.com on one tab, Pandora Radio with the other. Click on the Paris Combo list on Pandora.

Open reading in separate window, open Word in another for note- taking. Refer to dictionary.com whenever a word comes up that you haven’t heard in use since Gross Anatomy eight years ago, as Dictionary.com is counterintuitively better than www.medical-dictionary-online.com.

Click (control)+ a few times so you can lean back in a comfortable, if chiropractically ill- advised, position in your chair (usually in a half- fetal position wrapped in a blanket or four) and still read the font.

Ocassionaly get up to add ginger and orange peel or whatever to beef stir fry stuff in the crock pot, make small talk with wanderers stopping in to use the wi- fi or game with Matt, answer munchkin questions, usurp the bathroom.

Combination of caffiene, smooth jazz, and brain occupaion help create perfect intercranial atmosphere for the ignoring of vaccuuming, arguing, three- way discussions in the other room, people borrowing and replacing and tossing things onto my desk, company roaming in and out, people asking questions.

WARNING: COFFEE BEGINS TO WEAR OFF AFTER 2-3 HOURS. Mood gradually changes from floaty- comfortable concentration to hungry- and- need- and- creative- outlet distractability. People begin to flee perfect boring environment, causing changes in overall ambiance.

Solution: lukewarm Mango Ceylon tea. Too hot and your brain goes fuzzy, too cold and the effects are nullified.

Eat something. Chips and salsa. Tabbouleh. Squash. Pozole. SOMEthing.

Change Pandora playlist from Paris Combo to Solace.

Open Irfanview and edit photos in another window if brain wanders.

If it wanders too much, take a shower or a bath and do spa stuff and go over belly dance routine.

Caveat: IF IT IS SUNNY, YOU CANNOT STAY INSIDE. If you try, you’ll just end up staring longingly out the window. Take a walk somewhere and take pictures, or you will NOT be able to concentrate for shit. If it is not sunny out close the study off, clear the floor, and dance.

Late afternoon is too exhausting and distracting to study. Usually. Eat something and listen to Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me! on NPR or watch the Flogging Molly “Float” video again. Once refreshed, study can begin anew.

As a general rule, sensing that you are relaxed brings everyone back into the sphere to ruin the mood. Return to reading. Go to Pandora, click on Trivium playlist.

People flee. Continue enjoying Trivium, Slayer, et al., or click Type O and Tool playlist depending on mood. Return to reading and note- taking. If attention is still wandering, switch to other reading assignments.

Practice Arabic. Go over phrases and words six or seven times, write each version of each character five times while repeating sound. Practice writing your name.

Eat a meal of some sort. Drink a giant glass of water or ice tea and take vitamins.

Play some Loreena McKennit to relax while reviewing notes. Check the time. If it’s after 10 p.m. on a school night, close out of everything and begin tooth- brushing, face- cleansing, tracking- down- person(s)- responsible- for- disappearance- of- dental- floss ritual.

Get shit ready for morning. Load backpack. Find some kind of food that can travel and doesn’t mind being smashed. Make sure phone is charged. Double- check assignments due. DON’T FORGET THE YOGA MAT.

Grab Palaeoepidepiology book and headphones and get in bed. Doze off trying to make sense of tables.

This SHOULD get you ready for tomorrow’s discussions, notes, etc. Unless you forgot to do laundry, eat, stay hydrated, take your B vitamins and calcium, or shower. Then you’ll be too distracted to think straight and possibly make an ass of yourself. Best thing to do under these circumstances is keep your damn mouth shut.

This concludes today’s episode of Notes to Self. Stay tuned for How to Deal with Whiny Bitches Without Screaming. If you remember to write it.

Welcome to the sporadic attempted documentation of the random acts of insanity by and around me that seem to permeate my life on pretty much every level. This time I have tales of “art” gone awry, some rather public humiliation, a panic attack or three, and…. um… well, fuck. Just stuff. I have no patience today.

So. The big (-sigh-) night was last night. Matt has joined a band of musicians who rarely use traditional instruments associated with popular bands. This is not popular music. And in the case of the one guy who was going to do ‘effects,’ and who took the stage first, few regard what that guy does as music at all. He thinks it’s music. But after ten minutes of horrendous feedback and distortion, the world’s most irritating old keyboard drum machine, and occasionally beating on a frying pan with drum sticks,among other things– few were inclined to let him think it was music, either.

I saw it coming like an out of control train down a steep mountain a mile away. You see, City Limits is a bar for the old- school partying crowd. Think 80’s music, blue eyeshadow and hair spray… Cheech & Chong fans and Alice Cooper groupies… folks with leather jackets, mixed drinks, and the occasional mullet who all know each other.

Enter the alternative 20- something crowd.

Sagging jeans hanging on to boxers for dear life. Rumpled t- shirts and gritty hairstyles to match gritty attitudes. There’s a protest going on here, and it’s debatable if they care if you know exactly what they’re protesting. Everything and anything, really. They like chaos and beer and whatever you don’t.

So this guy gets up there with a couple of drums, a skillet on a drum stand, some effects pedals (notably a loop) and a mic, and within five minutes there’s a palpable change in the atmosphere. He gets more and more annoying- the ear- bleeding feedback and brain- crushing distortion that drown out whatever the hell else he was trying to do are intentional. He holds up a child’s see- and- say toy that he’s pray painted and modified the circuitry in and plays with the buttons in front of the mic.

It doesn’t take a trained anthropologist to observe the moment when a bunch of barflies are about to kick someone’s ass, so I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who noticed, even from the other side of the room. By then half the customers, hands over their ears, had fled the bar. I was tempted to join them but had obligations.

Pretty soon some tough- looking biker- ish types were standing front and center. “Fucking ignorant, man!” “What the hell are you doing?” etc. Finally a man who was taken to be an authority of some sort told him he had to shut down.

He said he thought it was “awesome,” and so did his fans, who I overheard saying that getting shut down makes him “even more awesomer to me, because he was too extreme.” But he also looked upset, and his fan base (all six of them) thought it was bullshit.

“Extreme” is not the most fitting word for what that was. Intentionally causing irreparable damage to my eardrums is supposed to be art? That’s “extreme,” but stupid. It’s symptomatic passive(ish) aggressive behavior and self- abasement. IMHO. I personally only admire extremism when it takes actual SKILL.

So he wasn’t able to “help” (and I’m personally SO grateful) with the effects on Matt’s didgeridoo and his own weird vocals, etc. I drummed for about three minutes with Matt and Tirsa and Glen, then Glen (as our cue to quit) picked up his banjo and proceeded to play it enthusiastically and- intentionally- badly. But, of course “badly” is a relative term, depending on your style and taste and all that politically correct horseshit.

So if you’re wondering why I wasn’t out there for the past couple of weeks telling everyone “Hey, I’m drumming in a show on Friday night, wanna come see me play?” Well, there’s your answer.

I hate to dis on my friend’s music, but you know what I hate even more? Pretending I’m someone I’m not. So I don’t. Matt likes weird music. He can’t wait to get a theremin. I hope he has fun with it, and I’ll support him, but I’m not going to pretend I enjoy extreme oddness in music. He said he didn’t care for the one guy’s style, so at least that’s something.
Am I being too judgmental? Maybe. But I’ve known most of these guys for years, and I gotta say, I just don’t care if I ain’t perfect all the damn time.

Aaaaanywhoo, despite some morning mayhem and not being able to make it to acupuncture for the second week in a row, I still had a good day. I stopped at a park with Ana and took a couple dozen pictures (that I’ve been scattering through this post):

I took about 155 pictures in all today. Not as much as a normal shoot, but it’s too cold out to really go nuts. We suffered for our art a bit as usual:

I wish I’d had more time for creativity, but sleep dep is getting to me and I still have a lot of reading to do…

Lisa* and her gin. Photo by me, tattoo by Oak Adams, Painted Temple Tattoo, Provo

So there’s never a dull moment, of course. Last night, I ended up hanging out with a bunch of Hare Krishnas. It was fun. They’re great people- even if I don’t buy their doctrine, I don’t mind hanging out for their Kirtans. Besides, I can get henna tattoos, and the food is great. Best of all, I get to drum.

I’d had a photo shoot planned for today for the past two weeks. Seven models wanted to come. Then Blue had to cancel, then no one else got back to me- then I heard back from Lisa and Tirsa. We had a great shoot, though Tirsa was a little buzzed and Lisa… well, I worry about Lisa. She’s one of the most unique, talented, beautiful people I know- and lately every time I see her, she’s smashed. She killed nearly the entire bottle of gin by herself. I love this girl. I wish there was more I could do. But, she still has a good time:

Lisa was toast by the time we got back. TOAST. We could have buttered her and she never would have noticed. Tirsa and her husband, who had kindly brought some Dos Equis, had some trouble getting her into the car, but didn’t seem to mind much that it took half an hour to get from the porch to the car as they didn’t have to carry her this time.

I’ve had two shots of the gin she left (there’s maybe an inch of liquor in the bottle).
It’s pretty damn good.

I picked her up at the bar around two in the afternoon, where she was helping some confused drunk guys pick out some music on the jukebox.

“I’ll come down with my air compressor tomorrow,” an older drunk promised as we left. All the tires on her car were flat and she had to have it moved. Along with everything else.

Ana and I helped her load the rest of her earthly possessions into my station wagon. She explained how she had gotten sick and lost her job when the company’s number to call in sick was down. Not a month later, her roommates deserted her, and the landlady kicked her out. “I’ve been here for two years with no problems,” she said. “The guy next door was here three months without paying rent before she made him leave.”

We emptied her neatly organized refrigerator while she explained that the friend who is taking her in for a couple of weeks could use the food. Then the only thing left was a box of men’s shoes. “I take it these aren’t yours?”

“No… but I’m taking them and calling them later to come and get ‘em.” She pauses. “Sometimes I wish I could be as mean as they are, but I just don’t… I can’t.”

We inspected the dingy, empty apartment for anything that could have been forgotten. Her cleaning couldn’t do much about the patched holes in the walls, the spackle on the wooden door, the heavily- trafficked carpet. But it was good enough.

The storage unit was tiny and crammed. A 10 x 10 right by the gate. It brought back memories. I remember having my life reduced to a very similar storage unit, years ago. And years before that, a black duffel bag… not too long before that, just the clothes on my back. The bag and clothes had later been a gift.

I’d asked her where she was moving to. She’d told me just to a friend’s for a couple of weeks, then to Payson. I’d been afraid of that. She was forced to move back in with her mother. She’d struggled for years on her own and just when things had started to look up…

“So, I had court yesterday.”

I asked her how it went.

“It went okay. I took the stand twice. The arresting officer took the stand twice. He was found guilty- he’s got til the 25th to get his things taken care of before he has to turn himself in.”

Ever since she’d been assaulted by her ex, things had gone downhill. But still, she never complains. Just states things as they are. She looks worried but won’t say she is. Her health isn’t great- her skin tone is suffering and her teeth have been deteriorating, though her eyes are just as green and gorgeous as ever. She smiled and thanked me.

I reminded her that she’s helped me out before. It’s no problem. Anytime.

We took the rest of her things to her temporary residence, but the doors were locked, so we put the clothes and food on the back porch. Then she had me drive her back to the bar, her home away from home, where she can’t work anymore because of her record, but still hangs out and helps all the same.

As I’m seeing her off, a frail figure in a puffy coat is walking down the street, her gloved hands out in front of her at an odd angle, her gait stiff. “I feel so sorry for her sometimes,” she says. “She’s so skinny. Frail. And always walking around everywhere- just this tiny, stick figure thing.”

We listen to the cars go by.

“They call her a butterface.”

“A what?” I ask.

“A butterface. Everything on her looks good but her face.”

I mention I’ve never heard that. It’s sad, but I can’t help but laugh at the term.

She thanks me again before I drive home. And I wonder, not for the first time, how she manages. Her head is always up. She’s never one to bitch and moan. And she has a lot less than most people who do nothing BUT bitch.

I know she’s strong, but I still hope she’ll be okay.

Apparently while I was at school yesterday, an unauthorized person was granted access to my computer. When I got home, I was informed that something was wrong with it.

So this unauthorized person used Internet Explorer instead of Mozilla, and “accidentally” downloaded some malware.

While we have some major problems worked out (I can SEE my SCREEN now!!), others are still driving me nuts. For example, uploading pictures, in most cases, just doesn’t work.

Let’s see if  Wordpress will work…

Nope. Errors. DAMMIT. And I even got an awesome shot of the full moon tonight…

Well, if you’re awake right now, I guess you’ll just have to look out the window.

So I’m sipping some crappy box Merlot and thinking I might get into the liquor since I was supposed to be at band practice with the Quorum (HA! that makes me laugh) and getting a consultation at a tattoo place, but band practice was canceled because the guy with the effects tech equipment couldn’t make it, and since we’re not going to be up that way, we’ll have to do the consultation another time.

Meh, I’m in no hurry.

Maybe I’ll just curl up with my Bioarch book and a second glass of what I’m only tentatively referring to as ‘wine’ because my brain is too tired at the moment to manufacture a decent insult for it.

In the meantime, here are some quotes from the last couple of weeks:

“So, you’re saying it’s like a promise that there is cake, somewhere under the icing?” – Prof. Mark Jefferys, Biology of Religion/ Evolution of Storytelling class, on what is meant by “based on a true story”

“(What might result is) a child with a massive thyroid who glows in the dark.” -Dr. Haagen Klaus, Bioarchaeology, on how many roentgenograms (or was it MRI’s?) it might take to verify certain things about the growth patterns of subadult skeletons

“I wish I had a loop pedal. I could have fun playing with myself for a change… I mean, someone would actually be following me! Because it’s ME!” Angela, violin player

Arielle: “This is, like, an evolutionary error.”

Me (imitating Arielle’s oft- heard insult voice): “You’re an evolutionary error!”

Arielle: “Yeah! I’m YOUR evolutionary error!!”

…And this is where I applauded Arielle on her very first decent comeback.

Matt’s gone to visit friends. Tomorrow he’s going to a friend’s house where someone lives who I cannot bloody stand, but that’s okay because I’ve been invited to the hookah bar with a couple of the belly dance girls. Sounds like fun to me… I hope they don’t mind if I wander off for a bit. Maybe I should forewarn them about my wandering isolationist tendencies.

Oh- I’ll be performing on stage at the Covey Center for the Arts with Gypsy Tapestry Belly Dance Concert on, um… well, in the first two weeks of March. We’re not sure of the date yet, but I’ll keep you posted…

If my life gets any more interesting, I’ll be a great case study soon. But until then, I’m rather enjoying the oddness.

First, I’ve found out that my intermediate belly dance class will be performing in the first two weeks of March. The choreography is awesome, and the music is everything I’d hoped for. It starts out sounding really tribal, then this heavy bass kicks in… hell yeah. My teacher Natalie is a sweetheart AND a good teacher. Very patient.

Then, there’s the explanation for this picture:

(That’s me in my funny hat on the djembe and Matt on didgeridoo, Angela on violin, Glen on djembe/ banjo, and that one guy I just met on doumbek and effects pedals. No, the drum set wasn’t played and I have no idea what the skillet is for.)  Matt and I were asked if we wanted to perform with our friend’s band, Delphi Quorum, on Feb. 5. Sure, why not, an excuse to play music is an excuse to play music. This is an…. interesting musical experiment- some guy is using effects pedals (including a loop) on some odd sounding vocals and Matt’s didgeridoo. Then there’s a few djembes (including mine) and my Remo klong yaw that Matt is pretty good at using as a “talking drum” because it’s so out of tune.. I guess you have to hear it and know a little about tuning drums to understand why. But anyway, there’s a banjo and a violin as well. Yeah. Experimental. It’s fun, but I’m sure plenty of folks might see it is strange or just plain creepy.

So, I was at my acupuncture appointment getting jabbed when for some reason, in a conversation between me and Brent and Allie, it was mentioned that Brent knows an Incan Shaman. I’m about to start writing a research paper on medicines and hallucinogens in the ancient Andes, so it seemed quite serendipitous. He hasn’t seen her for a bit but says he’ll look her up for me. Meanwhile, I’m also doing a research paper on NAGPRA, and Ana just revealed to me that her best friend’s father is a Lakota Shaman. Perfect. And weird. But cool… I’ll be attempting to set up some interviews soon.

Meanwhile…

I’ll be doing a photo shoot this Sunday with a few models. It will hopefully involve a collection of antique tools, really colorful clothing, railroad tracks, possibly a raccoon skin coat, and a crumbling silo. Sounds like fun to me.

If you’re not calling your favorite legal drug dealer (i.e. psychiatrist) for some Prozac on my behalf yet, it’s only because you know me well enough. I guess. Thanks.

I’m making some Pozole and hoping the damn hominy is done before the cornbread is. I need to get to sleep soon… long day tomorrow…

Oh, yeah. The top picture is my friend and tattoo artist Randal, playing a variation of chess invented by our friend Kurray and some other guys. Possibly including Randal. Matt helped make the board a couple years ago. The board they’re playing on has elevated squares in a roughly pyramid shape, and the corners are decorated each with tropical island, Antarctic, desert, and jungle scenes. No idea how it’s played. I always lose chess. And Hearts. And Gin. And… well, everything but scrabble and connect four.

Back to the “grind…”

My new lens is here! And I’ve been having so much fun…

sprouted peas

Matt’s favorite fishing spot before they closed it off

power strip in the wood shop

my friend Dan

in the shop

Matt has been making a sword, definitely not a battle ready one but a sword nonetheless. As much as he would like to have the equipment to do the proper folding techniques, he doesn’t. What he does have is a bar of steel and an angle grinder. Voila.

I have a lot of reading to do, among other things. First of all, I need to get ready for bed, and get all my stuff together so I can grab everything and get off to a running start in the morning…

It’s late at night on a far- away shore. The moonlight is so strong that flashlights aren’t necessary. I’m not alone- I’m talking to others around me, but I don’t know who they are.
Talking about the stones we’re walking on.

They are black- volcanic, I think. But they aren’t just stones, they are ruins. There is something important here, I can feel it.

The tide is coming in, the waves are crashing. Then, I see it. Something that looks like carving in the stone.

I call the others over. We all begin to examine the stones. Then, for some reason I don’t know, I look up.

A huge, flat, rectangle stone is on the ground. It looks to me like a door. I walk toward it, I walk on it. The waves are crashing louder.

Someone is standing in front of me, a man. An authority. He’s saying we need to go, but we’ll return.

But I don’t want to go. I feel there’s something here I need to know…

I woke from this dream many years ago.
Then today, in class, it all came flooding back to me when Dr. Haagen Klaus showed us pictures of Peru.

And there it was- the rocks, the beach, the flat stone, everything. Ruins soon to be excavated. The only difference was, the picture had been taken during the day.

I talked to him after class about going to Peru, but the next two excavations are full. However, he said he can help me study those ruins for my Master’s.

Literally, a dream come true. I can’t wait.

(*NOTE: I did my best to find stones in my picture archives that look like the ones in my dream, but this was as close as I got. The stones in my dream were all black.)

So we have the worst air in the country, and it won’t clear out until, hopefully, a storm later in the week comes to our rescue.

There was so much fog this morning I thought about turning around and calling Mekare’s school and telling them that no one should be driving in that crap, but it let up as soon as I got away from the wal- mart shopping center area. The smog there was almost a charcoal color. And on the way back, I braved getting out of the car without a gas mask on to take some pictures of the lovely crystals that form on everything near the lake, especially on smoggy days.

I’m waiting rather impatiently for my new fisheye lens with detachable super macro to get here. Then I can have REAL fin with ice crystals and snowflakes…

I keep forgetting to blog. Sometimes I’m busy. Other times I’m spacey.

I start classes again tomorrow. Now that the pesky stats class has been conquered, I feel like I might actually graduate in the foreseeable future. I need to talk to a counselor and get it all worked out. Yippeeee.

I’m belly dancing again, taking an intermediate class. Now my goal is to finally conquer the 3/4 shimmy. A regular shimmy is done in 4/4 time, this one is in 3/4. And once I get it down, I’ll bet it will work with a 6/8.

I thought I would get some resistance from Matt over taking this class, given that it is an added expense. But he didn’t complain at all. Between belly dance and yoga, I might actually develop some kind of muscle tone in my arms. At the moment, I am the scrawniest weakling I know. My kids open jars for me.

I need to turn in for the night. Yoga third thing in the morning, classes all day.