Art of Seeking

¿Por qué?

No me gusta idear títulos. Takes up way too much time.

It’s been an eventful week. Obviously I have school and lots of homework (which I’ll get to as soon as I’m done with this, I swear), then we’ve had old friends and new dropping in, working out four days per week (me, anyway), and a photo shoot and… other stuff. Laundry. Weather. Lots of weather. You know, other stuff.

There are some serious highlights, though- Matt’s band, the Delphi Quorum, had their second (and much bigger and better) show, and it was recorded for Comcast. I was really worried at first, but the more they practiced (of course) the better they got. Now I think they have some real potential. They’re creating their own genre with a theramin, hand drums, bass guitar, a violin, a banjo- and there was an autoharp but it turned up missing. Glenn (a.k.a. Judas- bass, banjo, harps of sorts) was really upset until I told him I’d seen a lap harp of some kind at a thrift store. He went and picked it up for thirty bucks, and it turned out to be a very rare instrument- a tremoloa. I don’t have pictures of it yet, but I will…

For now, here are some pics from the show:

Matt on (my) djembe

Judas (Glenn) on bass for a minute

Angela on violin

Glenn has always gone by the nickname Judas. He was actually a model for a famous painting of the Last Supper that has won several awards, as Judas. Look! I found it online! That’s him, on the far left- and yes it’s a perfect image of Glenn.

Interestingly enough, when I was studying and visiting the Tarahumara Indians of Mexico, I couldn’t help but notice… okay. Judas (Glenn) has always loved black and white striped things and painting himself to look mime- ish. In Tarahumara culture, their hybrid Catholicism/ Native religion has an Easter theme of Jesus and Judas as brothers embroiled in rivalry. In their ceremonies, Judas and his minions are painted… black and white striped.

Our own Judas was clueless about this until I showed him the pictures, then he thought it was pretty cool.

Trippy.

Anyway, me and Blue and her kids and a couple of mine did a photo shoot on Saturday. Unfortunately, I had no idea Mekare was coming until she was getting in the car, and unlike most everyone else, she did not dress up. So we got kind of a princesses- and- the hobo thing going on:

Arielle is an interesting person to photograph. Here’s the difference between Friday:

And Saturday:

(That’s her boyfriend, who happens to be Blue’s son.)

Here are my other favorite shots of the day:

Sensitive eyes may want to look away now- you see, we kill Blue in every photo shoot. It’s usually her idea. Usually. This time, it was definitely her idea- and a brilliant one:

Ahem.

Finally, my friend Ian from high school whom I haven’t seen in 18 years just happened to be traveling through, and stopped in. He picked a great night for it. We has some company over, including a native Philippine girl who made some traditional stuffed talapia. I’d found some gigantic campfire marshmallows (I called them “Deathmallows” -it caught on fast) that we roasted over the fire, and had a drum and didgeridoo circle. All had a great time.

On a sad note, Matt and I had to cancel our planned trip to Zion National Park because we’re simply too broke to get there. But, at least I’ll have more time for homework…

~sigh~

One Last Day

I’m almost finished with my last paper, and I hope it’s a good one. I just took on too much at once this term. It doesn’t help that I completely failed in creating or finding a workable study environment.

I can’t be the only one with these types of learning disabilities- I have to have complete silence to study, for the most part, and any distraction at all- light through a window, people talking, ANYthing- throws me out of my groove. Sometimes I can listen to music and block people out to an extent, but if I want to really absorb anything, I have to be in a sterile environment with muted lighting and no noise. Which is obviously practically unobtainable.

You know what sounds awesome? One of those sensory stimulation blocker/ isolation tank things. I think I could stand to live in one at least part of the time. I’m just so over- sensitive to everything, to the point that it takes on a kind of blurry heaviness that settles behind my eyes and I just space. It’s most notable when different elements are demanding my attention at the same time, like when two people start talking to me at once. It all turns to gibberish and I can’t understand a word either of them are saying. This is NOT good for concentration.

It got to me the most one day when I actively sought out- and FOUND!- an isolated corner of the school library with a computer. I started doing my reading, and found myself getting very excited. “Holy shit!” went my brain.  “I’m reading, AND absorbing it! I can THINK about this now! Maybe I’ll even pass that quiz on Tuesday!” But, the ecstasy was short lived, for no more than ten minutes later, a couple of kids sat down three seats away from me and began having a loud, annoying conversation (that was probably relatively normal but sounded very loud and annoying to ME). It all fell away. I got aggravated and left the previously- single- actually- very- quiet corner of the library.

I’ve turned into a bitch in class a couple of times and snapped at people who were talking when I was trying to listen to the professor.

I’m beginning to suspect hypokalemic sensory overstimulation might be the culprit, especially since I’m prone to potassium deficiency (as well as others, such as iron). Time to stock up on lentils again- as soon as there’s anything with which to fill the cupboards. I don’t know if it’s enough, though. I think I need a supplement. That, I can’t afford.

Yeah, I’m poor. It’s socially unacceptable so I don’t generally broadcast it. Thankfully, at least lentils are cheap.

I’m very upset that I’ve let my very patient, wonderful teachers down. They deserved much better from me. It makes me feel like shit.

Today, the kids are arguing, Matt’s annoyed that someone has eaten all his pretzels, and I really need to finish this paper…

Then I start classes again later this week.

jetlaggish

I just rolled in from the airport and I feel like my brains are squished into the back of my head. I need a nap. A long, memory- foam enhanced dream of a place where the air smells like cooking corn tortillas and sagebrush, the morning doves coo, distant  laughter echoes off adobe walls, and accomplished nerds come in droves to share their immense knowledge and excellent beer with me.

No, I wasn’t quite done with Albuquerque when I had to go. I’m a little sad. Especially since we flew into Salt Lake and I wondered why, while they had announced clear conditions over the intercom, it still seemed overcast. Then it occurred to me- the sky is brown in SLC.

I won’t be done with editing Albuquerque pictures for a while as I have three papers to write, a test to study for, and some serious napping to dedicate myself to. But here are a few from the week so far:

ABQ botanical gardens

Display at Church Street Cafe in Old Town Albuquerque- go visit and tell Tony “Hi” for me. Oh, and the food is great.

My little niece at the children’s garden

..and my feet, of course, with some tree blossom petals that I swear were just like that when I got there.

Nap time.

a smattering of quotes

“I think you can tell a lot about people from the hors d’oeuvres, she said. I nodded & hid my Vienna sausage in a big plant in the hall & avoided her for the rest of the evening.” -my wonderful, witty friend Dana

“So.. are you going for a UVU or Euro- centric Jesus look?” -some guy in my Peace and Justice Studies class, on Jeff’s famous Jesus look. Really. He looks like Jesus- only happy. Except that he just chopped off his Jesus hair so he would appear less intimidating to conservatives he’s working with.

“You have done well, my minion.” -Ana, to Arielle, who’d just brought her a drink

“So you’re saying, the term “Eat Shit and Die” came from the ancient Peruvians in Nasca?” -my friend Ryan in my Bioarchaeology class, on the war- related practice of shrinking the heads of enemies and the discovery of fossilized ancient poo in the mouth of one of the shrunken heads

“I DO like it! It just felt weird at first!” -Bobbi, in my belly dance class, commenting on a choreography sequence- prompting my very first “That’s what she said.”

“Sorry for driving too close to your front bumper…” -homemade sign on the back of a truck at the post office

“Why do I get coffee? It only makes me jittery and AWESOME. But only awesome for about ten minutes, and then I’m back to being jittery. Does it help me write papers and articles? Not really. Does it help me update my status? Obviously. You guys are angels. Angels among men and other angels. You are also all beautiful. I can’t blink.” -my wonderfully creative friend Meg

Smoky Blue

“I can’t believe how strong she is.” I hope I’m not being too solicitous. It’s been at least a year since we’ve had an opportunity to sit down and have a real conversation, and I’ve been a little worried.

The smoky blue eyes are distant as she takes a long breath and says softly, “She blows me away.”

Her tiny daughter has endured the umpteenth surgery with the usual aplomb and gentle strength not betrayed by her fragile body. I don’t mention how difficult it must be- it’s obvious enough that it would be condescending to say.

She doesn’t talk for long about the trials and tragedies. She focuses more on the her daughter’s personality and intelligence and little eccentricities. Her smile has a lonely beauty, but the distance in her eyes remains.

I worry about the coffee cake I ordered for us even though she said it was fine. I’m not sure how the sugar effects her particular form of diabetes. We’ve been talking over coffee, usually among friends, for almost a decade and I still haven’t asked her about it.

At least there’s some relief. She and her family are going to Disneyland- though the financial windfall that created the opportunity soon collapsed into ruin, with a vulturous collection agency swooping down on all her assets and freezing them. “I’m getting a wheelchair this time,” she tells me. “Last time was a nightmare.” The ruined cartilage in her hips makes it impossible to walk for long. “She’ll be sitting in my lap. You get weird looks from people, though, when you get pushed to the front of the line, and you’re young and in a wheelchair.

“I need a sign that says, ‘yes, we really are disabled, we’re not faking it for special privileges.’”

We talk about more menial things- our friends, our husbands, day- to- day issues and amusing little stories, her recent performance with a band when she was able to sing onstage for the first time in a long while. Her voice is amazing. She’s used to the compliment, so I don’t reiterate.

Then the recent financial nightmare, fueled by astronomical medical bills. Apparently not being able to pay to be disabled is horrifyingly sinful enough that one can face homelessness or jail.

And another looming crisis.

Her ophthalmologist has just informed her that, without the expensive (only in America) insulin her body requires, she will soon go blind.

“At least they were kind enough to leave me alone with a box of tissues and let me bawl my eyes out for a while.”

One can’t expect the creditors to sympathize, but one can wonder what circle of hell they’re running the front desk for when they’re told, “That money was supposed to keep me from going blind” and they reply,
“That’s none of my concern. You owe this money.” Mostly lawyer’s fees for the credit agency.

I don’t pretend to be able to fathom what she is facing when she asks, desperation in her face, if I can.

It’s crushing me just to imagine her deep, smoky blue eyes as sightless.

between now and nowhere

Coffee with a friend helped.

Virtual coffee with a friend and mentor half a world away helped.

A snuggle with my husband helped.

Keeping myself occupied with the possible psychological effects of iconography on an ancient society helped.

My new wearable Ecuadoran alpacha blanket is definitely helping.

The weather still isn’t helping. I have little energy and even less motivation to do simple things like make dinner or clean off my desk.

the cold isn’t helping. I should really do laundry, but the basement is freezing. Maybe I’ll recruit the girls… no, they always lose my clothes.

A bath might help, with some Epsom salts and essential oils and sweet almond oil. I think my toenails are overdue for a paint job- the green is losing its luster.

I’m trying to surround myself with brightness and color, as it seems to help. But the lighting in my house sucks, and everything outside, after the morning snow melts, is a dull grayish brown with hints of withered ocher.

I want to paint again. I’m trying to figure out where to set up my easel and what to clip my lights to. And I’m messy, so I’ll need a drop cloth.

I tried to start making jewelry again but I keep forgetting how to tie the knots.

Maybe I just need glue…

I’m worried about my desperate clinging to snippets of fantasies floating through my mind. It’s the only color that seems to stay, and I don’t want to get too lost in them.

I’d better usurp the bathing facilities before someone else does. Inevitably, the second I start thinking of bathing, three other people announce their intentions toward usurping the bathroom as well.

Hopefully the world will seem slightly brighter when I’m scrubbed and polished.

seasonal affective blah

The gray sky and monochrome environment have really been getting to me. I’ve been anxious and listless and desperate all at the same time.

Usually when it gets this dull, I get homesick for the desert where I grew up. At this point I could hug a palm tree- even one of those short, spiky ones with the fan- shaped leaves, though I’d prefer to hug one of those gorgeous 200- foot graceful palms that line Palm Canyon Drive in Palm Springs.

It’s the perfect temperature there right now: mid- 70’s during the day. If only my hometown hadn’t been overrun by gangs to the point that the neighborhood grocery store is dangerous to traverse alone. The last time I went there to visit- as my parents were permanently moving out- we were almost carjacked.

Palm Springs- at least parts of it- are still relatively safe. I’d like to visit again one day and hike  Taquitz and the other canyons again, maybe even go up Mt San Jacinto on the tram. At least I know to stay out of Gateway (Northern Palm Springs, but not North Palm Springs, which is another town entirely and kinda scary. One of my friends was shot to death there when I was 17) and the Dream Homes (East Palm Springs, where a developer in the 60’s or 70’s started building a housing plot and ran out of cash, so it crashed and is now one of the area’s most affordable and most dangerous neighborhoods). Gateway and the Dream Homes were the area’s most notorious rival gangs when I left. While visiting Palm Springs, CA, stay as far south as possible, and don’t carry all your cash or any credit cards in your wallet. Anything north of Vista Chino is not safe, at least the last time I was there.

The area of Indian and Palm Canyon Dr. (parallel streets in the downtown area) around where Peabody’s Cafe and See’s Candies are is still pretty and peaceful and safe and fun. It’s where I got addicted to coffee and chocolate and blues guitar.

So here I am in the drudgery of the last great expressive BLAH of winter, but at least it’s a peaceful drudgery. Nobody is playing guitar for me currently, but when Cody is done burning his old ones in our backyard fire… er… fire box, maybe I can get him to play me some blues while I break open a whiskey bottle.

I can’t wait for our tax return to get here. We’re already planning on putting some flag stones down and cutting some Kokopelli shapes into the fire box, but I really want our yard to look pretty. My dear husband, for the life of him, can’t figure out what I see wrong with this picture:

-sigh-

Hopefully I’ll have some “after” pictures up for you soon in a blog titled “landscaping on a food stamp budget” or something. Until then, I’m going to make some s’mores with the family. Gooey chocolately marshmallow stuff generally cheers me up as long as I don’t think about where the chocolate probably came from.

How to Study While Insane

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.

I hate it when I’m right

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…

computer flu

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…