Art of Seeking

developments across the board

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…”

The Beauty of Delerium

I have sort of managed to pry my eyelids open, but it wasn’t easy. The haze between dreaming and consciousness lasts a little while for me. Some days I wonder if I really snap out of it at all. Maybe that’s why time is so relative to me and little nuances, like a cloud covering the sun for a minute or a change in wind direction- have a greater effect on me than they do on most people.

And maybe I just REALLY enjoy being outside.

That’s what I did for most of this weekend- I played outside.

Here’s a great tip for making food taste a hundred times better: kick the shit out of yourself! Hike up a mountain carrying no less than 30 pounds of gear. Romp around for a while, find yourself a nice 20- 30lb. rock, and carry it down the mountain with you a few hours later. Don’t leave anything behind. And if you can, get stuck in a storm for a couple of hours, or rappel down a cliff or two. Then take a little jog.

The next morning when you get up, make (or order) pancakes. They will be the best pancakes you’ve ever eaten in your life. I promise.

We went to a show at a local bar where three bands were playing: Knucklebone with my old friend Joey and his band:

Gorgunt played next, a band comprised of a few old friends of mine; Ric, Osh, and Matt W., and my friend Katie’s new boyfriend, the bass player. I don’t know his name, I just call him Geezer. Because he plays like Geezer Butler (but looks like Bill Ward):

Finally, Devil’s Cuntry played, and of course I know all these guys. Except the new mandolin player who, by the way, is awesome:

The next day, Matt and I went gold panning with Steve, who was in a very generous mood and bought us waders because “of all the people I know, you guys would get the most use out of them.” It really helps to get some good pictures, when you can take them from the middle of the creek:

We didn’t find much gold in what we had a chance to go through (Steve took a bucket of black sludge home to go through later), but Matt made another discovery- fossils! Then I found a slab full of them. It weighed about 25 pounds. Yes, I carried it almost all the way back down the canyon. Matt’s tiny fossil was the best one, though, because it was a whole clam:

In all, I think we found about 10 rocks with fossils in them.

We got back late, but not too late to make it to the last day of the gem and mineral show with the kids this morning, who got lots of cool rocks for free. I wished I could afford some of the more expensive ones, but I couldn’t so I just took pictures of them:

Mekare and Arielle did a little gold panning at the show. They both found little gold flakes- so they did better than me, Steve, and Matt did in two trips up the canyon.

It has been beautiful all weekend. Now it is raining and sleeting outside. I think I’ll relax now, before I have to go back to studying.

a musician’s rant (Updated)

Boston- More Than a Feeling

About an eon ago (okay, more like a decade), Todd was driving me home from band practice with Dr. G. We were singing along to the above song, until it got to one particular part. “There’s no way I can hit these notes,” I lamented. But Todd hit them just fine. “She slips aaawaaaay… aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!”

I was impressed. I’m still a little jealous.

Though I’ve long since quashed my love for Todd like the common sense- defying, insanity trap that was, my love for classic rock lives on. Boston is one of my favorites. I just can’t get into most new music. Some of the Foo Fighters stuff is cool, but most everything else is getting cheesy as hell. Lyrics are moronic and sometimes so drenched in exploitative sex that you might as well forget they’re anything but singing testicles. Chord progressions are non- original. If I hear a guitar solo, it’s usually boring- no creative note choice, no changes in tempo or time, just your same old blah C-D-A chords in 4/4. Yawn.

My brain demands more. So I tune in to classic rock stations- and guess what they do to me? They throw in classic POP crap! Okay, I know he’s a talented musician, but I still can’t stand Elton John. Billy Squire and Rod Steward also drive me nuts. Billy Joel I kinda like, but holy shit do I hate Elton John.

I’m ranting, I know. I guess I should get back to studying before I settle into a good babble.

You know what I want? A Celtic harp. You know, one of those little table- top things. My guitar is sitting right next to me, and I love it, but there’s too much pressure to really kill on guitar and all I want to do is play MY music. I bet I can pick up a harp just fine.

Alright, alright, shutting up and sticking my nose back in a book.

UPDATE: Mekare has decided she’s a Buddhist. Except she doesn’t know TOO much about it. I think those hippies downstairs she’s always hanging around (don’t worry, I know them, they’re not psychos) may have influenced her. So I’m encouraging her to study so she can tell me all about Buddhism, instead of vice- versa. Apparently I, the non- Buddhist, know more about it than she does. As religions go, that one’s not a bad one to get involved with. At least it’s not the Super Cyber Satan Mystery Cult.

She has a picture of Buddha on her wall. He is fat and, apparently, in an extremely good mood. “I don’t know why he’s only wearing pants and a robe,” Mekare said.

“Because nothing else would fit?” I quipped. I know- I’m terrible.

Here are a couple of pictures Matt took on the trip:

me in a kiva:

sun through a spiral on an artist’s sculpture:

me at Hovenweep ruins (photo by Matt, effects by me):

And here are some of my pictures:

cactus detail at Moab:

patterns in the sand:

taking pictures with sand all over my &&^%$ lens:

a bleeding juniper:

some effects on a dead juniper in a wash we were rockhounding in:

A Sad Anniversary

09-sheeple

The above song was written by my good friend Art Hatfield. Today is the third anniversary of his death in a tragic car accident near Cedar City.

This is the flyer for what would be his last show.

He was everyone’s friend, a great musician, and my ally in hard times. I always knew I could call Art when I was having a bad day and needed a friend. Few people could cheer me up so much.

Here’s me with his band Ferenczy, four months before (I’m the one in the headlock):

And Art with the guitar he was buried with- which also broke in the accident.

Here’s the eulogy I wrote, and read at his funeral.

We all know there will never be another like him.

Everything he did in life: his accomplishments, his words, his helpfulness and companionship- it seems as if he did everything with the intent of never, ever being forgotten.

I valued his insight, relied on his friendship, and still I feel as if I took too much for granted.

It seems as if a huge piece of a puzzle is missing- right in the center of the picture.

The world can never be the same again.

Still, I feel like he’s smiling down on us all.

He made the world brighter in so many ways.

No one felt lonely in his presence, or forgotten, or as if they didn’t belong.

He just wouldn’t have it.

If he saw someone upset, or depressed, or anything but smiling-

He wouldn’t let it go until their smile mirrored his own.

That hasn’t changed. I can feel it.

He knows we miss him, we’re despondent; we don’t know how we’ll ever get along without him.

We know that even when the clouds cover the sun, it is still there.

All he can do now is shine down on us, bringing back all the good times, the jokes, the laughter, the music-

Those things we were meant to live life for.

What he lived for.

He can never really be gone

Because his impression on us is so deep, and he has effected us all so much

He has become a part of who we are.

He made sure he would leave this impression

With every smile, every hug- every time he bounced into a room.

Every song was part of his soul that he shared with the world.

I believe he intended- very strongly- to make sure he would always be remembered.

He did a good job.

Good night, folks.

I’ve lit some candles and I think I’m going to take a shot of that whiskey in the kitchen in his honor.

wheel in the sky

“I understand about indecision- I don’t care if I get behind
People living in competition- all I want is to have my peace of mind…”

If you ever want to know what my philosophy on life is- my life and how I choose to live it, anyway, not life and the meaning thereof- all you have to do is listen to Boston. That quote above you may recognize from Boston’s 1976 song “peace of mind.” That quote, in a nutshell, is what I’ve always really wanted people to understand about me. In fact, I couldn’t be any other way if I tried. I’ve done the rat race thing. Nervous breakdowns all over the place, even ended up in the hospital. And when I got out, I completely cut a few people (my whole band, in fact, who had just fired me anyway) out of my life. It took me a bit to get out of my old patterns and I still got walked on for a while after that, but I had finally concluded that trying to make everybody happy at my expense and never being able to please anyone was a pretty useless way to live my life.

So I hope I can somehow end up with a career I actually enjoy with people I actually like who aren’t blood and life- sucking vampires. Yup, I’m off to a late start. Because I spent too much time trying to make everyone happy, failing miserably, end ending up pretty miserable myself. I gave up.

Now I have one line for people who don’t like how I choose to live my life- Be happy that I’m happy, or go away.

Now that I can actually pay attention to myself and not everyone’s constant bitching, I’ve noticed things I’d never been able to notice before. This is why I love macro photography. With my student loan, after paying for Matt’s teeth and a bunch of bills and school books/ supplies and some clothes for the girls and lathing stuff for Matt- I got myself a relatively inexpensive but almost- annoyingly feature filled camera. I’m still figuring out how to navigate it, but I’ve taken these:

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(Yes, that is my hair.)

I have a lot of homework- most of it reading. It’s nice to be in classes where people get my cheesey jokes about playing “Weekend at Bernie’s” with Levi- Strauss (not the jeans guys, their distant cousin- the famous anthropologist whose name is pronounced “Levee Stroose”).

The seasons are changing. There’s a slight chill in the early mornings, the night sky is clearer, and I’ve got my first seasonal zit. Found it the day before I started classes. I guess some things never change.

coffee shop blues

People bug the living piss out of me.

One particular guy, who spends at least 80% of his life at the only coffee shop in Provo, is driving me phucking nuts. I have a new nickname for him- “Word In Edgewise.” If you have half a second to get your own opinion in, it’s because he’s only just realized he needs to stop for air. And as soon as he’s gotten a breath, he’ll make sure everyone knows that everything you just said is WRONG. Yeah, pretty good for a pizza delivery guy. Education: Unknown. He’s just always, always right- as far as he’s concerned.
I’m grateful for the folks in my U.S. Military History class- not only can I speak without being inundated with the opinions of the ignorant, but I can actually hear educated insights from people with real educations who aren’t driven more by opinion than fact! It’s so nice! Anth 4150 is great for that, too, except that the material is so complex that without Dr. Knowlton’s help, we’d all be very confused. Well, except for Heath and Joycelyn and Jordan, who are damn brilliant.
Dr. Knowlton is very helpful. I’m having trouble writing the current paper for this class because I’m a perfectionist when it comes to my writing and I’m not comfortable enough with the material to produce what I would consider a decent paper. He relates, he said, but “being a perfectionist can kill you.” “It is killing me,” I told him. So I’m going to bring in what crap I have and talk to him about it and we’ll see where it can go from there.
I might get to go out and play some drums tonight, so I’m going to take a short nap and get ready. Next Saturday is the next gig with Spanky’s Garage Band at the Salt Creek bar in Nephi. I like it there- it’s made of huge logs and the atmosphere is comfortable. The stage is nice and big, too, so when we take pics of the band we can get on the stage without getting in their way. Unfortunately the band website is currently down. It will be back up soon though.