Virago Vagabond

Six month anniversary.

2006-03-13T13:34:00.000-05:00

"I just know some old guy is going to snatch her up and we're never going to see her again," is what my dad told my mom when I left NY back in August.

I had no idea that less than a month after I left, I would meet Kevin. On Sept. 12 I went over to his place in S.F. for dinner and a massage, and I didn't leave for 4 weeks. And now I'm living in the Bay Area, and yesterday we celebrated our six month anniversary.

We decided on that day, because we didn't go on our first "real date" until almost a month after we met, and I was living with him, so the date of me first coming over seemed more appropriate.

I'm so happy. I can't believe it. Sometimes we just hold eachother in a tight hug, and celebrate how lucky we are that we found eachother. It only took me packing my life into a van, driving 3,000 miles, and having a body full of muscle knots that Kevin was a pro at getting rid of.

I feel all mushy and gushy, but I won't make you get a toothache with all my sweet thoughts.

Like all relationships, there's balances to find and adjustments to make, and we evolve and grow and work together to strengthen what we have. And it's all new to me, and sometimes it's hard and scarey, but it's also so wonderful and exciting, and completely worth my time and energy and emotions.

So, that's where my heart is right now. And everything else is great. I feel like I've never looked better - California agrees with me physically. My friends are all interesting and funny and supportive and I love them. My family is doing well and my mom and sister will be here in a month (YAAAAAAAY - I miss them sooooo much!). Work seems happy with my performance, and it brings home the bacon (and sometimes free prosciutto.)

And tonight I am starting yoga. A little anxious about that, but if I can't move Kevin will rub my muscles until I can again. Oh, and he is teaching me how to massage as well. It's amazing how many people line up to me massage dummies. :-)

Life is good

2006-02-24T12:05:00.000-05:00

It's been a long time since I posted here, and people might not even look at the site anymore. If that's the case, I'm sorry. Hopefully those of you who want to keep in touch have my contact information.

I'm just posting a quick blog to say that life is good. I have an apartment in a warehouse. My housemate is awesome. The apartment is COLD, and the cats have fleas, but all of that can be fixed with warm blankets and flea bombs. I'm waiting until March to paint the walls red - yes, red. And I'm in the process of getting furniture.

The job is OK. It pays the bills, and provides security. Right now, that's what I need.

Kevin and I are great. We're wonderfully in LOVE, and happy, and enjoying our time together.

Other than that, I have a great group of friends, am constantly meeting more cool people, and am just enjoying life.

LIFE IS GOOD.

I GOT A JOB!!!

2006-01-18T22:01:00.000-05:00

The National Meat Association just hired me to be their Communications Assistant.

I'll write the weekly newsletter, distribute it via email, update the web sites and be an initial contact person for the media.

Yeah, I'll be bringing home the bacon!!!

Actually, I will probably get some free summer sausage and stuff around xmas time, and at trade shows where they have samples. Maybe I can hook up a deal with some bacon people.

It pays well enough for me to live comfortably, I get benefits, I get to travel a little, and it's in Oakland so the commute is really easy.

I start TOMORROW!!!!

It's such a relief to know I'm gainfully employed!!! And yes, I still giggle every time I say I work for the National Meat Association.

Random good news

2006-01-06T13:17:00.000-05:00

When I first started traveling, I had the bright idea of being a travel writer.
Uh huh.
I wrote ONE article - about Yellow Springs, Ohio called - Putting the "High" in Ohio.
It was published on a British travel web site that didn't pay me anything. Oh well, I figured.
That was months ago - before I even went to Burning Man.
Well, today I got a random e-mail from the site publisher.
I WON 50 POUNDS for the Most Entertaining and Memorable FreeStyle Article.
That converts to about $86!!! Hurray!!!

(They even posted my picture: http://www.synergise.com/tales/contributors.php)

Maybe I'll write more articles, although probably not for this site again because they changed their award system.

Any way, just some random good news.

If anyone wants to check out the article:
http://www.synergise.com/tales/tale1028-north-america-ohio-yellow-springs.php

Merry Christmas

2005-12-24T14:36:00.000-05:00

It's Christmas Eve, and here in California we just unwrapped all of our presents. With a party tonight, rolling into a party tomorrow, we decided we wanted to have our family tree time before the chaos.

Lovely presents.

I hope you have a wonderful holiday. Mine is going great.

Made it safely

2005-12-07T12:29:00.000-05:00

I'm in California. We rolled into Alameda at about 12:30 Sunday night, or technically Monday morning.

It's sunny and warm today, and it's so nice to see my friends again. Life's busy, but I'm enjoying it.

That's all for now.

Moving to California

2005-12-02T12:31:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow morning I'm heading West again. I'm going to drive down 25, over 40, stop at the Grand Canyon Sunday morning, and be back in Alameda Sunday night.

Kevin is flying into Denver tonight to drive back with me.

I'm so excited, and nervous, and scared. But I really love the Bay Area, and I'm not making a forever decision. I'll definitely be in Alameda through February. After that, I don't know.

Wish me luck!

'Tis the season...

2005-11-25T17:19:00.000-05:00

I went Christmas shopping today. Yes, I know, to some anti-capitalism gift-griping friends this is a travesty, but it was what I wanted to do after working 16 hours yesterday (Happy effin Thanksgiving), sleeping in and then telling my boss I am leaving on Wednesday.

So, I went to Target looking for gifts for my sister, my mom and my dad. I already got something for my brother. Adrienne, my sister, wasn't too hard to find. But my mom and dad were really difficult, and in the end I caved and got my dad something typical and I am making something for my mom that I hope she enjoys.

But as I was shopping, I wanted to find gifts that would be meaningful to my family and that somehow seemed perfect. I had such an easier time shopping for Kevin. In fact, there were so many things I wanted to get him I had to finally stop and say enough.

Maybe I just wasn't going to find the gifts at Target, but I tried to think about gifts I wanted to find for my mom and dad, and I realized that I don't even KNOW what my parents would like.

I don't feel connected like I used to. Ok, I've always struggled to connect with my dad, whom I know loves me but he has a hard time showing me in non-critical ways and has been intentionally cruel. Now we just talk about the weather, which seems really sad to me. But I used to be so close with my mom, and felt like she really knew me as a person and cared about what I was feeling. And I enjoyed that connection, even when it was sometimes strained.

But now, after the past three months of changes and experiences, and in comparison to the developing "family of choice" I have on the road, I don't feel as close to my mom, and even more distant with my dad.

Yesterday I called my grandmother's house to speak with my family on Thanksgiving, and it was wonderful to spend 30 minutes being passed from my sister to my grandmother to my little cousins to my dad to my aunt to my mom, etc. etc. But at the same time, my heart didn't yearn to be with them. It as wonderful to feel their love across the miles, and I DO miss them, but it doesn't feel like HOME to me anymore.

And I don't feel so wrapped up in my family any more.

Someone anonymously posted a comment on my blog saying that I should think about how my family feels about my adventures, and I should remember that they are part of who I am and that they helped me come to a place in my life where I could do what I'm doing now. The part about the past is absolutely true. I have always felt that I am so lucky to have such a wonderful, steady source of support. That doesn't mean I need to always think about how they feel as it relates to my life, but I do need to think about HOW they're in my life. And I don't have the horrible relationships so many of my friends have with their families. Mine, in comparison, is quite nice and functional.

But it's not the same as it was three months ago. My parents, my siblings, my extended family members are no longer my primary sources of support and love and understanding. They're still there, and I want them to stay in my life and I know they will, but the past two days have really made me think about how my relationship with them is changing.

I think it's probably a natural process to move away from the family fold and create your own clan of friends. I'm enjoying the new relationships, and feel like I am indeed finding a place where I fit by choice, not by birth. But even knowing that I decided to leave and decided to distance myself from my loving family, I still mourn the diminishing closeness and wish I could think of Christmas gifts that feel like more than just easy purchases wrapped in pretty paper fulfilling an obligatory expression of love. But that's what they are. And part of me is really sorry.

Knitting and neurosis

2005-11-21T02:03:00.000-05:00

Tonight I learned to knit. I had found this pretty teal and blue fuzzy yarn, and I decided I wanted to knit my grandmother a scarf. So, I bought the needles and I tried to teach myself from Internet instructions. But it just wasn’t working. So I had this beautiful ball of yarn, and these brand new needles, just sitting by my bed.

Then tonight my roommate Elizabeth started knitting, and she showed me how.

At first I was tentative, and I was so worried I would make a mistake that it took me forever to really get going on the scarf. But with every new loop of yarn I made, my confidence grew. And when I did make mistakes, and I certainly made some, I was able to fix them or they weren’t big enough for me to notice.

I actually have a few inches of scarf, and it’s beautiful and fuzzy and warm. There are some mistakes, but it’s made with love.

Right. There’s the knitting. What about the neurosis?

Well, for the past few hours I have been freaking out to Kevin. He leaves in about 10 hours, and I was in bed next to him and my heart was pounding and my head was aching and I just had to spill my guts out to him. I had to tell him about all the crazy fears and insecurities and worries running through my tired mind. They’ve been in my head and my heart for weeks, to the point I pushed Kevin away.

I still haven’t forgiven myself for that, and I keep waiting for him to bring it up or get mad or remind me that I didn’t believe in us enough to fight my fears back and hold him close. I keep waiting for him to tell me that I LEFT him in California, and that I didn’t love him enough to stay.

I keep waiting, but he doesn’t say that. He doesn’t THINK that. I know. He tells me his heart, and shows me, and when we’re close I can hear it without him saying or doing anything. It’s just there, beating inside of ME, Loving me more than anyone ever has.

But I’m a bundle of insecurities, and I’ve never been in Love. And I keep saying that, because Love is what scares me the most of anything. I can backpack through Europe on my own, I can ride in my car and leave my family and friends behind, I can do what I need to do. I can be alone. But what if I fall in Love and I don’t want to anymore? What if I want Kevin to be beside me in my car, in Europe, in everything. What if I end up losing myself in him, and it’s just another way of escaping and drowning. Instead of hiding behind the titles of “journalist” and “daughter” and “RA,” I hide behind the title of “Kevin’s girlfriend.”

That would be sad, and I don’t want that to happen. And tonight I was finally able to say that out loud to Kevin. I know he had already heard it in my heart - he‘s good at listening to mine. But tonight I actually believed he loved me enough to bare a LOT of my neurosis out loud to him. And it felt wonderful, and frightening, and exhilarating and horrible all at the same time. Because once I started, they all came flooding in.

Wave after wave of insanity, and I kept trying to keep them at bay. But I just couldn’t. Kevin kept telling me he loves me, and I kept telling him I love him too. He asked me a simple question. Am I happy? Simply, yes. And so he told me I should just enjoy that, and we’ll deal with any problems and “What Ifs” when they arrive. But my fucked up mind wasn’t ready to hear that, despite knowing it’s true.

And then, finally, Kevin said the biggest fear I have out loud. He said he knows I love him, but he just wished I would stop questioning if I really am in love with him. "Oh my God, he knows!" That’s all I could think.

He knows that deep down, in the darkest, most scared places of my heart, I’m not sure if I really love Kevin. MOST of me, almost ALL of me, knows I am. But there are these ugly niggling doubts inside, worming around and poking holes in my happiness.

I keep wondering…' If I love him, how could I walk away? How could I leave California, and then try and break up with him? If I love Kevin, why have I played with other men? Shouldn’t Kevin be enough?

And the biggest one of all…'.. If I love Kevin, wouldn’t all of these insane fears go up in flames?

And that did it. I couldn’t lay there next to him with my head swimming painfully while he tried to sleep because he’s so tired from the altitude, and all the sex because I can’t keep my hands off him.

So I grabbed my knitting and came into the living room, and I tried to clear my head with the click clack of the needles and the loops of teal and blue yarn.

And the more I worked the needles, the more comfortable I got. I became less concerned with making a mistake, and my stitches relaxed. Suddenly, rows were growing quickly, and my mind was easing.

And then I looked at the inches of pretty yarn I had made just today - my very first day knitting, and I realized something. Well, a lot of things. And there’s still more for me to work out, but at least I feel better.

I learned to knit today, and I’m learning to Love. This big, beautiful ball of warm and fuzzy yarn caught my eye, and I was smart enough to grab it. And maybe I didn’t quite know what to do with it at first, but it’s mine. And I can take my time, and I can make something really wonderful with it. But I have to stop worrying about making a mistake. I have to stop worrying that I really can’t knit --- whether it’s a scarf or a relationship. Because I am happy with the click and clack of my needles, and my heart.

The more relaxed I am, the more I enjoy every loop, the easier it becomes. And already I have something delightful. Already there are inches of scarf, and lengths of Love, that I have made. It’s my yarn, it’s my life, and it’s great. And double bonus - I have Kevin, this amazing, beautiful, special man who likes and loves me even when I can’t see myself clearly or like myself too much. Kevin’s there to help me with my loops, and loopiness, and I have to realize he doesn’t want to go anywhere.

I’m so afraid of how strongly I love him, and how much he could hurt me, that I’m freaking out from the “What If he leaves, What If I’m not enough, What If he wakes up and realizes I’m not so great, What If…' What If…' What If…'” thoughts that I am not even allowing myself to relax and just be happy. I am relaxing now, and somehow something has eased inside me. Unburdening so much of this on him, and yes, even here on this crazy cathartic blog, is helping. And I just need TIME. Lucky for me I have a patient, loving boyfriend to provide that, and I‘ll be with him and my new California friends soon. So I’m going to keep practicing knitting, and work on removing the neurosis. And I’m going to tell the dark places and the niggling worms of doubt to shut up. I DO love Kevin. I really, really do.

Yikes! (I still have work to do!)

My 3-month anniversary

2005-11-16T22:23:00.000-05:00

Was yesterday! I can't believe it's already been a quarter of a year since I left Rochester for the road.

Taking stock, I have done A LOT so far. In no particular order:

I have fallen in LOVE with an amazing man, and he loves me back.
I went to Burning Man.
I had my first co-ed naked hot tub soak. It was fun.
I have driven approximately 7,000 miles.
I fell in love with an art bus that had fur and a mister inside. Wow.
I saw Apocalyptica in concert.
I ate Ethiopian food for the first time.
I went to Fulsom Street Fair.
I had the most amazing massage EVER.
I skied the Rocky Mountains... for a minute or two. I'll try again.
I met a bunch of new friends, and said goodbye to some old ones.
I visited the center of the contiguous United States outside of Lebanon, Kansas.
I went on a motorcycle ride through the Sierra's.
I jumped naked into the Pacific Ocean.
I tried Uni, possibly the most disgusting sushi ever. (Sea urchin, ewww.)
I bought a teal wig.
I learned to love my ass.
I stayed in the Home of Foam.
I saw an underground punk show in Kansas City and got my toes smashed.
I sexually propositioned Tom Robbins, one of my FAVORITE authors. I also heard him read from his newest book and had him sign copies for me.
I made a kick-ass costume for decompressions.
I visited Lake Tahoe.
I told a friend I couldn't be close anymore.
I soaked in a natural hot springs for the first time.
I visited the Continental Divide.
I ate Kansas City bbq.
I read "On the Road."
I bought a t-shirt that says, "Fuck You. I have enough friends." I think that's a lie. I love making new friends.
I walked across Golden Gate Bridge, climbed an urn at the Palace of Fine Arts, visited the Sutro Baths, explored the Exploratorium, and walked down Lombard Street.
I went to the Ghirardelli Chocolate Fest, and ate dim sum in China Town.
and, and, and... I'm sure I'm forgetting stuff.

But reading it now, I've had a great three months filled with challenges and adventures. And I know I'll have lots more in the future. Hurray!
Happy anniversary to me, to me!

Ouuuuuch!

2005-11-15T12:53:00.000-05:00

I have had my ass handed to me by the mountain.

Everything was fine, comfy even on my first run of the season - called School Marm and a nice green circle.

Mmmhmm. Then my former roommate Helen wanted to take a different run, because it was too slow and she had to unstrap from her snowboard. SO, we took a black diamond. YES, a BLACK DIAMOND.

I completely bipassed the nice blue squares, and went right into insanity.

I must have been out of my mind. I have never skied in deep powder. I have never skied at an elevation of 11,456 feet (or so), and I haven't skied anything in about a year.

So, the powder here is about 4 FEET deep (it snowed like crazy last night). That's not a TON, but it felt like it compared to my days of ice and chunks in NY.

I was doing ok, had made it about half way down the run from HELL, my legs were killing me... and I WIPED OUT. BIG TIME. I fliped on my neck and ended up with my head down hill and my feet up hill (on my back) with my skis and poles all over the place sticking out of the deep powder. Talk about a yard sale!

It's not like in NY, where you fall on hard ice. No, the powder was a nice cushy landing for my ass. But my neck got strained, so it hurt the rest of the way down. Not to mention, the powder felt like cement around my legs.

Soooo, I made it down two runs. Yes, two. It's completely demoralizing. But I'll try again... when my neck stops hurting. :-(

Can you hear it?

2005-11-13T20:40:00.000-05:00

Everyone I talk to from my past has commented that my voice sounds different.
Like the rest of me, my vocal chords have stretched and turned and grown into something new. And I like it. No, I LOVE it.
It started after Burning Man, when a friend said I sounded "unleashed." My family says I sound happy, and many friends say I sound more free.
Tonight, talking with a friend from college who used to be the biggest freak I knew (now most of you blow him out of the water, and I'm starting to match him), it was amazing to hear him tell me I'm wilder than he is now. And then he told me I don't even sound like the old Elliotte.
It's not just what I'm saying, although that has changed a lot too. It's HOW I'm speaking. Every syllable I utter sounds richer, sexier, more excited and much much happier.
My voice, the tool for so much of my communication, has changed during this growth spurt I'm experiencing.
It's exciting that the changes I enjoy have manifested so powerfully that people can hear them over thousands of miles of telephone wires.
I can't hear myself, but I can feel the changes inside me. And lately, I can see them in the swing of my hips, the glint in my eye and the smile on my lips.
I don't know what will develop or unleash in me next, and I'm dealing with some small growing pains, but I'm liking the changes so far.

My Power Color is..

2005-11-08T19:11:00.000-05:00

What do you think?

Your Power Color Is Lime Green

At Your Highest:

You are adventurous, witty, and a visionary.

At Your Lowest:

You feel misunderstood, like you don't fit in.

In Love:

You have a tough exterior, but can be very dedicated.

How You're Attractive:

Your self-awareness and confidence lights up a room.

Your Eternal Question:

"What else do I need in my life?"

What's Your Power Color?

One Hour

2005-11-08T17:48:00.000-05:00

That's how long I worked today. It took me longer to take a shower, put on my all-black uniform, drive to work and clock in.
The restaurant's dead, so my boss sent me and the other waiter, and the chef, home. At 5:30.
So, I made approximately $5 and a chicken sandwich today. Oh yes, and I also got a side of potato wedges. Whoo hoo.
Thank goodness I already made about enough to cover rent, because I have almost no hours this week. I just hope it gets busier after Keystone opens on Friday. Thanksgiving week will be the real clincher.
I don't think I like the "bum" part of the ski bum life. No wonder everyone around here smokes pot. They have to do SOMETHING with their time.
I'm going to watch more television. It has about the same effect on my brain.

Guest Post: Ticket for One, Please

2005-11-05T07:22:00.000-05:00

"It's a great show," he said. "You should be sure to catch it. Even if you have to go by yourself."

At twenty, I never dreamed of going to the movies alone. But here I was, going on twenty-six, with yet another relationship down the tubes. This was the year that taught me the secret of single womanhood: that it was far, far more exciting to go it alone than to wait on the sidelines, missing out.

The simple truth was that I wasn't in college anymore, and my friends had lives. Sure, sometimes they were free, but just as often they had PhD hours to put in at the lab, new babies to soothe, or the budget was simply too tight. It might take weeks for our schedules to overlap. And in the meantime, life was determined to go on whether I had a partner or not. I took the advice, and bought a ticket for one.

As the film unfolded, I finally understood the insight of another friend: going to the movies alone is powerful. There is no one you have to impress. You can love the flick, or hate it, and not hurt anyone's feelings. You can cry without hiding it, you can laugh at the jokes, and if you want conversation, the audience surrounds you. I had three young ladies behind me, eager to coo over Johnny Depp. I didn't actually join in, but I didn't have to. Some things are universal. It was enough to know we were all there together.

I decided that day that solo womanhood isn't a matter of bravery, but vitality. People expect you to have a partner in life, and if you fail to collapse when life doesn't provide one, you'll impress them no end. But the truth is that life is there to be lived, and if your people are all busy, you get to live it anyway. And you live much better if you step up to the counter.

When you realize that, it's the simplest thing in the world. If it's worth sharing with the most important people you know, then it's worth doing for yourself - and by yourself.

It was a great show.

-----
Dedicated to our vagabond virago
by Bliss Girl

Halloween

2005-11-01T12:13:00.000-05:00

The actual Halloween night, last night, was a bit of a bust. I was supposed to work and then my boss called me an hour before my shift and told me she couldn't train me. I don't work again until Wednesday. Damn. I need MONEY to make the ski bumming a reality. Oh well, it will work out. I have to believe that.

But despite a lame Monday, I had a kick ass weekend.

On Friday night I drove to Denver to hang out with Rainie and Ilia, etc. I was supposed to go to Rocky Horror Picture Show with them, but I was too tired after being up at 7 am for work training. So I helped them get ready to go out (I did everyone's makeup - don't they look cute) and then I crashed.

On Saturday I spent the day setting up for the party at Ilia and Nani's house, and then I got into costume. I had no idea what I was going to be until about an hour before I put the costume on, but Satan's Slut worked out just fine. I really loved the horns Nani lent me. But fishnet is not terribly warm on a chilly October night, just in case you were planning a similar outfit.

It was nice to see a lot of my friends from Burning Man, and I had a really excellent time. I slept for maybe an hour, and then on Sunday I went and got custard and burgers with Rainie at Good Times before heading back to Keystone for work at 4.

A Ski Bum

2005-10-25T19:11:00.000-04:00

is what I'm going to be. I just got hired as a full-time waitress at Keystone Resort in beautiful Colorado. Now I just need to find a place to live, buy some black clothes and shoes, get some skis, and go crazy.

OUCH!

2005-10-20T00:08:00.000-04:00

My body, heart and mind are aching. And I've done it to myself. OUCH.

Growing Up

2005-10-17T21:45:00.000-04:00

I am shy. So seems to be most of the world these days. I think back to seeing children running around the playground, loud, demanding of their wants and needs, liberal with their acclaim. That was never me. Even as a baby my mother says i did not cry. When I suffered, it was in silence, and when I knew joy only the quiet smile of contentment, that makes so many people turn towards me twice and wonder who I am, would show it. So now I am growing up. I am becoming a woman and part of that, methinks, is to shed the layer of shyness. I want to express to the man I love that I want him, and want more of him than he has given so far. I want to be able to make demands on my friend's time. I want to be able to say- this is what I want. I do not want to get what i want all the time, but i want to express it, and i want more than just my terrified eyes to betray my needs.
The difference between a boy and a man seems easy to feel. Within a conversation you know whether you are talking to a little boy (who is endearing and special and great) or a man (with confidence and concern) but I wonder what the layers are of girl and woman. It seems much more difficult for me to seperate the two. Some days i feel like a little girl, lost and scared and joyously childish- then hours later i feel the power of my womanhood come upon me and i wonder what prompts the change. It is not just demanding what you want- spoiled little girls do that, but it is a certain peace in taking control of your own life. So maybe the two are not related at all, but for some reason it is more painful to be shy when i am a woman than when i am a girl.
So I wonder- do I want to be a woman... or am I content being a girl? And how, oh how, to I blend together the best of both worlds?

Censored

2005-10-15T12:30:00.000-04:00

Elliotte here.

I just wanted to let you know I have had an attack of privacy and decided to censor parts of the posts made by Kevin. He's wonderful, and I care about him deeply. I love what he wrote on this blog, and I kept a complete copy for myself, but the more I thought about it, and the more concern from friends I received, I started to think I don't want the world to know all of my business.

I know Kevin meant no harm from the posts, and was writing how he feels, and I didn't want to censor anything on here, but I have to consider my name - my real and full name - is on this.

I'm not ashamed or embarrassed, I just want to keep aspects of my life a little more private than a post on a public blog that strangers read, future employers can google and find, and that might cause my grandmother to have a heart attack. I am going to censor as little as possible in the future, and I hope it doesn't discourage my guests. I'm not a prude. Not at all, if you read the uncensored versions of his posts. But I do have some boundaries that make sense.

Thanks to everyone who contacted me. I appreciate your comments, and I love you.

~Elliotte

p.s. I'm in Boulder, CO having a wonderful time. I went to the Rocky Mountain National Park and drove up to the tundra, saw some elk, and enjoyed the ride with a friend. I also went on a cruiser ride through the streets of Boulder with about 100 other bikers - all dressed in funky costumes. And last night I went to a bar happy hour with a bottomless glass of wine for $5 and got sloshy and had a wonderful time and met a lot of nice new people. All in all, it's a great time here in the mountains, although the altitude hurts after a month at sea level.

Seducing Elliotte by Kevin Gilmore

2005-10-13T17:50:00.000-04:00

Delicate.

The situation was so very delicate. Subtlety would be required. Despite my overwhelming hunger for her, I would have to play it very calmly. She was staying for a while. I had a little time.

First Step - get more time.

I had two tickets to a Dead Can Dance Concert I had been given as a thanks from a grateful friend. I think I had built them a computer or something similar. I don't really keep track of these things I do. In any case, I had an extra ticket. I offered it to another friend who let me know she was going to Hawaii instead. Perfect. I didn't even know if Elliotte had ever heard of Dead Can Dance (turns out she hadn't). She said she would love to go, and that's when I know I had her for two more weeks.

Second Step - Find out more about her and charm her outrageously.

I made sure there was lots of time to talk, laugh, and be light. I put my life on hold to spend as much time as I possibly could being with Elliotte. She may not have known how much I said no to or pushed back to make time for her. She will now, but I think she knew that I was making her my priority. At least I hope she did.

In those days we packed, talked, and generally just connected, deeply. By day, I would work, when I wasn't playing hookie to spend time with her. By night we would snuggle. Sleep was an excuse to wrap my arms around her and feel her against me. She nestled in to me far more than a casual friend, and I knew that. (private, censored)

Time was my ally. So, I created more time.

Also in that time, I began to provide the subtle clues that I had feeling for her. Small things said. Blog entries I knew she would ferret out. Once a journalist, always a journalist. All I had to do was make sure the posts were not too much over the top. I couldn't let on how much I liked her, just that I did. Once I was happy that the posts were honest without being too cloying, I made sure Rainie had access to them. Rainie is the most honest creature I know. She couldn't help but let on that the posts existed. And Elliotte would find a way to read them when she found out about them. She actually asked to read my livejournal. I stalled long enough to make sure she would read them before I gave her access. Then I gave her access, but not to those posts. It was a funny moment when I honestly told her I didn't give her access to ALL my posts, especially not the ones about her. I had to make SURE she would read them after all. I left lots of clues and made sure she knew how I felt about her. Over time, I was rather forthcoming about it. I just needed to ease her into the idea.

The Dead Can Dance tickets were fortuitous. An excuse. When Elliotte found Apocolyptica tickets online, that was god-damned serendipity. I had played some Apocolyptica for her and Rainie. I am very fond of their music, mostly because of the raw power and beauty in their music. It speaks to something primitive and passionate deep inside. Some of their arrangements actually bring tears to my eyes. I wanted to share that with both of these amazing women. But, the extra week it would buy me was the clincher. I bought those extra days for the bargain price of $18/seat.

And since she was staying for the Apocolyptica, we got her to agree to stay for the Beach Burn Camping trip the following weekend. But, I knew that was the limit of my ability to make her stay. After that would depend on her.

In those extra days, I kept the attention on her and continued my subtle campaign against her better judgment. She continued to struggle with her emotions, so I was supportive and kept things as stressless and easy as I could. (private, censored)

Barely. I somehow knew the concert would be a turning point.

And what a concert it was. My body and mind were exhausted from the emotional exertion of that music. They were as entertaining to watch as they are to listen to, and their performance of Nothing Else Matters drew so many tears that I gave up wiping them away. The opening band was truly dreadful, and out of courtesy, I will not provide their name. At one point Elliotte suggested I make out with her to provide distraction from the mental assault of the opening band. It worked quite well, actually. Her attempts at distraction by kissing Rainie were successful, as well, but in a completely different way. Both of them erupted into a fit of giggles. It was the sweetest failed kiss I ever have been witness to.

After the concert, we wandered in a daze out to grab a cab. Once the daze of awe and emotion left us, we were left with a new sensation. We were all incredibly horny. Powerfully so. Elliotte and I finally got Rainie to call her City Bootycall boy within seconds of having to ride away on the train. Rainie had to practically throw my phone back to me as the doors closed on the train and she turned to meet the train that would carry her in the opposite direction where her boy roused himself to meet her. Poor boy probably had no idea what was about to happen to him. That girl is dangerous when horny.

(private, censored)

And just as soon as I had Love, Elliotte left.

I had my sons to distract me, but once they went home to Sacramento, I resigned myself to catching up on all the things I had set aside while working on my campaign to catch the perfect girl. I had so much to catch up on. And I knew it would be a good thing, too. I would need the distraction.

So, imagine my surprise, and chagrin, when Elliotte came back. Now I had booked myself solid for an entire week. And Love had returned.

The universe has a cruel sense of humor...

On Not Being a Writer

2005-10-13T14:45:00.000-04:00

Meaning no disrespect to prostitutes, but storytelling is surely the oldest human profession.

And why not, since good whores are consummate storytellers: they need something to tell their clients, something to tell their friends, and something to tell themselves.

Indeed, it's entirely possible that storytelling, and writing, evolved as the mechanism by which human beings justify their constant whoring. What are you doing when you go to work every day from nine to five but selling your body for money? And how do you justify it except by telling yourself a story about the way the world works? Storytelling is thus the engine of all human progress because it enables us to be better prostitutes.

Dr. Johnson summed it best when he said: "Nobody but a blockhead ever wrote but for the money." Notice he said it: he never wrote it down. One of his literary whores did that.

No one who's ever been a professional writer can deny that writers are intellectual prostitutes. But somewhere along the line storytelling picked up a nobler visage: we discovered that stories convey the deepest aspects of human life better than anything else. Storytelling is the way we tell each other we have looked upon the face of God.

Not being an animal that can keep two complicated ideas in its head at once, Man got the two mixed up and created a mythic professional writer who acts like a prostitute but lives like a prince: a noble savage mystic who experiences hidden truths and brings them to others, much like Prometheus would be if fire had a "spell check."

My father once told me: "if you want to know what's really going on in high school, you should join the school paper." Ridiculous as that idea is, the premise behind it is the very misconception most of us have about writers: they're writing, so they must know something. They must have experienced *something.*

On the contrary. Prometheus never wrote a memoir - although "Your fire, my liver" is a great title.

A very wise and evil man once told me that "Language under represents reality." Later he wrote it down so that no one would forget.

But we do. All the time. We get caught up in storytelling and we forget that language and living are not the same thing.

They're not. And they can't be. The virtue most needed for writing is detachment: to represent life well, however futile a task, requires that one detach from it. You get perspective that way, but you lose camaraderie. You gain understanding but lose the milk of human kindness. You waste away as you know better.

This is why writers of quality tend to be failed human beings. Dante never got over a girl he met when he was 11. He might have written the most enduring work of literature in history but, if you were taking him out for dinner at Chili's you would, at some point before desert, have to tell him to get the fuck over it.

Nabokov was just nasty. The aforementioned Dr. Johnson was tormented his entire life by "impure thoughts about leg irons and restraints," a phrase which he inscribed - in Latin - in a journal. Were Dostoyevsky alive today he would doubtless be best known for his appearance on the Oprah episode about compulsive gambling. Hemingway killed himself and no one seemed to mind. Hunter Thompson is sorely missed, but, he was unquestionably better appreciated from afar. James Thurber beat his wife.

It's not universally true but it's close enough to be a dictum: great writers lead wretched lives.

Their talent didn't drive the greats to these pathetic states, but using it did. Writing talent is a monkey's paw. It depends on the id and the darker places of the unconscious in a way that, say, great accounting never will. When you invoke it, who knows what will come up? Writing talent depends upon clarity, which depends upon keeping your eyes open, which ironically depends upon not telling yourself stories. The strategies others use to justify the terrible things of the world, and the terrible things they do in it, are not available to you because you can't fool yourself if you're going to bring truth to others.

Look at what happened to Prometheus.

Worst of all is when you're getting paid for it, because then you're a tormented prostitute with no delusions. It's the worst of all worlds. The noble things you do are stained by commerce, and the commercial things you do are infested with nobility. You're whoring out the best of your self.

Mediocre writers don't have this problem. Their talent comes from a place much safer because it's much less insightful: you can't fall down in only two dimensions. You can't sell something you don't have. But who wants to be mediocre?

The only sensible way out, if you have any real talent, is to not be a writer. To dance to life's music instead of describing how others waltz. To taste of life's bounty instead of listing how it's prepared. To feel what you want to feel when you want to feel it, instead of coming up with a tear jerker on deadline that's no longer than 1100 words. To say what you mean instead of running it by an editor whose first concern is "will it offend?" To stop under representing reality by not trying to represent reality at all: reality doesn't need any representation. It never did.

- Rochefoucauld

Meeting Elliotte by Kevin Gilmore

2005-10-13T02:20:00.000-04:00

My first encounter with Elliotte was fleeting and unimpressive. I had to get into work, but had stayed at the bar long enough to meet her, say hi, and bolt. And that's exactly what I did. She seemed sweet, but didn't make much of an impression on me in those five minutes.

I next encountered Elliotte at my best friend's birthday party a couple days later. I was actually not feeling very social. I ended up sitting next to her on the couch, both of us buried under a layer or two of drunken loadies. Pinned in by my inebriated friends, I watched her deftly evade the advances of our mutual friend's amorous and interested lover. She refused to kiss the boy, because she didn't want to hurt our drunken friend, who was, at that very moment, dancing topless to the very loud and great appreciation of the crowd.

This intrigued me. Integrity is a rare commodity in the city of perpetual indulgence. I began to jest and joke with her. I may have even kissed her chastely. I am never sure who I have kissed at the end of an evening. It seems like everyone in this town kisses their hellos, goodbyes, and excuse-me-I-have-to-get-by-you's. This town is a cold sore breeding ground.

I offered her a massage after someone commented on my massage ability. I am one of the best. I could waste time being modest about it, but it's a fact that is uncontested among my community, and frankly modesty would be futile. So, I like to do it. And I love to do it to new people.

It's always nice to have a regular or friend gush about my massages. But, when I get someone new on the table it's quite a thrill. I love getting to know people this way. Their body tells me a great deal about them, and in that hour or two, I get to form a bond with the person that is real, personal, and always positive. In short, I make a good impression that way. And that's always a good feeling.

Elliotte came over before I got home from work the next day to hang out with my pet, Rainie. Rainie was getting our friend, Sara to dread her hair for her. Elliotte came over and the girls were all in heavy girlie mode when I got there. We all hung out for a bit, gathered up Limbo, and went to Ethiopian. I ordered, as it was just easier than trying to get everyone to decide what they wanted in any sort of concrete way. I think people in this town are allergic to decisions. Dinner was fabulous, even thought they got part of the order wrong. Conversation revealed a very intelligent, and quick-witted woman in Miss Elliotte. I think we connected here first. Ice cream afterwards was delicious and silly. And then we hot-tubbed.

Our hot tub is a tiny little thing, with a capable, yet finicky filter/pump system. Detergents will chew up the filter quite quickly. So, we don't allow clothes in the hot tub. Elliotte has let me know since, that that was her first naked hot tub experience. Not that it was anything but a normal hot tubbing experience. I just think it was a first because we weren't barely covered with strips of colored cloth. I can't imagine people wanting to wear clothes in a hot tub or sauna. It's just an odd thought.

After the hot tub, I led Elliotte into the massage room, and Limbo left to go home and grab his USB Drive with the new Family Guy movie. I had no idea if she had had a full massage before, so I started in slowly. She was a mess. So, I went to work. I had to really work to get some of the really nasty knots out. She was in bad shape. I did some really good work that night.

Elliotte was however so into the massage that she stopped responding. At all. Not even when I talked to her. I just chalked her up as a sleeper and left her on the table when I finished up. I went out to join the others. It was just Limbo and Rainie at this point. We set up the movie, and got the bed arrainged for maximum snuggling when Elliotte emerged from the room.

(private, censored)

Lacking anything resembling rest, I opted to take the day off. Rainie and I persuaded Elliotte to stay a day and go out with us to see a few touristy places. We wandered across the Golden Gate Bridge and back. We visited Sutro Baths. We had too damned much Dim Sum. And we collapsed at home from exertion and over-eating. We watched movies and turned in early. It had been a lovely day, and I knew I was in real danger of falling for her.

Sleep came quickly and before I was ready, it was time to go to work in the morning. I knew Elliotte would be gone when I got home. So, with a slightly saddened heart, I went off to work. To my great surprise I received a Tribe message saying she had decided to stay. I rushed home that day all excited.

Thus began my courtship and seduction of Elliotte Bowerman.

More to follow.

A new approach to posting

2005-10-12T22:15:00.000-04:00

That's it. I don't want to write... at all. I have spent so much of my life as a writer that it began to define me, and I didn't like that limited definition. So, I am taking a break. An indefinite break.

If and when I want to write, I will. Until then, I am not going to write list-like posts about where I am and what I've been doing. I'm too busy LIVING. But I don't want this blog to die.

Thus, I am opening the blog up to people in my life - friends, family, random new aquaintances and strangers alike.

I am going to have my guests post here in lieu of me doing anything, and they can write what they want... about me, about them, about tofu... I don't care. It's going to be random, it could be complete fiction, and it's going to be fun.

Hopefully they'll remember to sign their posts with their name so I know who to buy a big drink when the censors red flag this site.

If you want to participate, send me an email at viragovagabond@excite.com, or leave a comment here with your email address so I can send you the username and password.

Giddyup!

Leaving

2005-10-10T13:15:00.000-04:00

It's finally, really time to go. I've delayed and stalled and pushed back my departure more times than I can count, but now I am leaving the San Francisco Bay area to go to Colorado and then... I don't know.

I'm so excited to see my friends in Denver and Boulder, but that doesn't make it much easier to leave.

Part of me... a small small part... wishes I could stay forever and be okay with that. But I know myself too well, and I have too many things to see and too many adventures to have to be in one place permanently.

"One thing I can tell you is you got to be free!!!" was the line that resonated with me yesterday while listening to the Beatles.

I can't imagine having furniture or a "real" job right now. I don't know when I will.

And that's ok. Because I'm leaving, but I can always come back. And I plan to. Soon.

Catching up

2005-10-07T11:00:00.000-04:00

(Isn't this beautiful. It's an exhibit at the Exploratorium (see below) that demonstrates comets in space.)

Well, it’s been a long time since I posted anything on the blog. I actually had a nice long post ready to go, and then the computer monster ate it and I got mad and didn’t want to write anything for a while.

But that doesn’t seem to be working for you, and I now feel guilty. So, I am going to try and remember everything I have done since my last post, which was a few weeks ago.

Hmmmmm. Right. Well, I don’t remember any particular order of events, so I’ll just throw them out there as they come back to me.

I went to see Wedding Crashers with some friends. It was at this place called the Parkway, where you sit on couches and waiters serve pizza and beer. It was very cool. And the movie was so funny I laughed until my sides and face hurt. I missed about half the movie because I was laughing so loud, and so were my friends.
Best line - “You shut your mouth when you’re talking to me!!!”

Also went to see Corpse Bride - a very cool movie, but probably more of a rental for me than a big screen attraction.

Rainie and I had free tarot readings at a coffee shop in Oakland. I had never received a reading, but it was interesting. I’m skeptical, but it’s fun to play at. According to the reading, I am the wheel of fortune, with high points and low. My position is the lovers. In a minor position I have a hangman… which means I could be in an uncomfortable situation but if I relax and realize the snake isn’t going to bite me, I’ll be ok. And my outcome is the sun - which means that everything will be happy and great and I will feel like a little boy playing in the mud. This is what the tarot reader told us…. It might be why she was free. Oh well.

At Kevin and Rainie’s we have watched a lot of movies on his projector. It’s crazy - better than the movies because we can pause it, sit on the couch and eat out of the kitchen. A great movie we watched was the City of Lost Children, by the same director as Amalie.

Rainie and I also watched Requiem For A Dream. It’s so beautifully filmed, and then it sends you down a vicious spiral of despair and anguish without relief. I kept wanting some glimmer of light and hope to pierce the darkness, but it just keeps sucking you deeper and deeper into the gutter of life. Afterwards Kevin held me while I cried - really cried. Then he made me watch Family Guy until I could laugh and got sleepy.

This is what Rainie wrote in her blog about the movie:

The reason why I like that movie so much is the same reason why it hurts us all to watch it. It peels away that bullshit lie we are told from birth. It picks apart the Disney fairytale and lays the carcass on our visual dinner plate for us to examine, and what we see when we look inside that hollow shell is that it is a lie. We see that no matter what they told us to make us shut up and go to sleep at night- there is not always a happy ending. The movie is so beautiful, and then suddenly the curve starts towards tragedy and you want to turn it off but you were already so rapidly pulled into that downward slope and the momentum is swinging your guts at an appalling rate and to stop means certain regurgitation of whatever you consumed last. So you hold on and grip the blanket a little tighter around you and you HOPE. You hope that spring will come. You hope that the last scene will have a single ray of light to swing them back into life... but that is not the truth. Good does not always conquer evil because sometimes there IS NO good and evil. Sometimes there are no heroes and right and wrong. And so things may end badly. Things may end terrible. In fact, sometimes, maybe, a dream dies, and if the dream was kept alive by a dreamer whose whole sustenance was the dream, well, when the dream goes the dreamer dies with it. Maybe that is why people do not like us fluffy clouds- because we are balanced so precariously on the edge of certain death. When our dream is shattered there is no pulling us awake again. We are just a shell, just a drone. and maybe that is why some people do not get it- because they are not dreamers, and they can not see the shatter and the decimation. The first time someone sees this- they are sent into shock- what do you mean it ends like that? It got worse and worse and worse. In the end there is supposed to be some relief- please assure me that no matter how bad my life gets there will always be a release. But the answer is there wont. If you spiral- if you take the path down- if you let go to the momentum that sometimes pulls us all, there is a dark dark space waiting beneath all of our feet and it will pull you down willingly and eagerly and there will be no hope. That movie takes beauty and removes hope. What a terrible thing.

Hmm. Kevin, Rainie and I went to see Apocalyptica perform in San Francisco. It was INSANE. These four guys cover Metallica songs… on the CELLO. It’s wild and beautiful and they did things with a cello I never thought I would see. I mean, head banging cello players, and they played over their heads and then sawed at the strings while the cello was laying on the ground. It was an amazing show. Just amazing.

Also amazing was meeting Tom Robbins. I was prepared for my hero to disappoint, as they so often do. But Tom --- we’re on a first-name basis after I told him he’s “the only author I would sleep with based purely on his writing” and he responded with, “That’s kind of a backhanded compliment. Don’t I have any other attributes?” --- lived up to my expectations. He read from his new book, and he told little stories, and he was just great. I am SO happy I got to meet him. That was a dream of mine since I first read Jitterbug Perfume almost five years ago.

I helped Kevin and Rainie paint three of their living room walls LIME green. It looks SO cool. Very bright and bold and energetic. They have a raspberry red couch, and they’re making raspberry red half-circle shelves to go on the walls. It looks awesome! Everyone who has seen it likes it, and is surprised that they do.

A bonus was Kevin bought Rainie and I these really cute overall painter outfits. We looked adorable, and decided to wear them to a party in Santa Cruz and take paint brushes and “paint” people. It was so much fun. I borrowed Kevin’s tool belt and had my brushes in it, and we went around and brushed people’s skin. They liked it, we had fun - a win win.

Speaking of Santa Cruz, I went down there with Rainie for a monthly Burning Man community party called RWB. It’s held at Red, White and Blue beach, a nudity-friendly beach a few miles north of Santa Cruz. I had a good time, and on Sunday I ran naked into the Pacific Ocean with my friend Eriko. It was SO cold. We were going to go swimming, but instead we went “dunking.” As in, my head went under, I was fully in the ocean, and then I turned around and RAN my bare ass out of that water. At which point the wind pelted us with sand. It was an experience.

Another experience was the Folsom Street Fair. It’s an annual fetish festival held in San Francisco that attracts a LOT of gay men in leather chaps and whips. And it raises money for AIDS charities. It was interesting, and I got a fun fishnet tan line on my shoulders from my outfit (that's it on the left). Rainie and I went around collecting stickers from the various booths, and we both got copious amounts of condoms and lube thrown at us. I’m not so into the fetish scene, so it was interesting but I’m not INTERESTED. Still, it was fun.

Rainie and I also had a TON of fun going to the Exploratorium on Wednesday. It normally costs about $15, but on the first Wednesday of every month it’s free. So, we and a million kids went to play with cool science-related exhibits. I actually understood some of the stuff we saw, and we acted like children. We also had a big picnic at the Palace of Fine Arts right next to the Exploratorium. Then we went thrift shopping and I found a bunch of cute things for Rainie and a few items for me.

Hmmm…. What else? Oh, a friend of mine - Doug - took me on a sunset motorcycle ride through the mountains - like the Saratoga region. It was exhilarating and I want a motorcycle now. But I have a large skull and the helmet started to give me a headache. L

I also went to Pacifica one morning and helped pick up trash along the beach in a clean Ocean effort. I really love the ocean, so I was happy to help keep it healthy. I think smokers who toss their butts into the sand should be forced to EAT every single one of them. I must have bent over hundreds of times to pick them up.

I found a new pair of tall boots to replace the ones I gave a friend. What could I do - he looked better in them than I did! But these new ones are HAWT. I am going to wear them out dancing tomorrow for a friend’s birthday celebration.

I’m trying to remember what other exciting things I have done… I got my oil and air filter changed. That was nice and exciting. Yippeee.

I am working on a cool costume for a party in Colorado I am going to on the 15th, and I need to think about Halloween. I’m going to a werewolf party. Any ideas?

Ok, well, I have written a LOOOOONG post for you to make amends for my lengthy lapse. I’ll try to be better when I am in Colorado next week and through Halloween.

In the mean time, I am still having a WONDERFUL time in San Francisco and find it really hard to leave. But I am also not ready to stop my exploring. I am still “home free” and want to be. And if I come back and want to settle here someday…. Well, I know I’ll have an AMAZING group of people to be with. How did I get so lucky?

Eye talian

2005-09-21T21:04:00.000-04:00

It's 9 p.m. here in California, and Kevin, Rainie and I are making an Italian feast. Caprese salad with fresh mozzarella, basil and tomatoes to start, Kevin's lasagna for a main dish and a side of garlic parmesan bread. Yummy yummy in my tummy.

It's the first meal cooked in Kevin and Rainie's new Alameda apartment, and what a way to start. We're all hungry and munching on dinner as we go, so we don't really know if we'll eat it when it's done. We might be full.

But that's ok. I always feel full these days. My life has become so rich and zesty and yes, sometimes really cheesy, but it works for the lasagna and it works for me.

There are all these layers I've thrown off since leaving Rochester more than a month ago. In fact, a friend of mine today said something in me snapped when I went to Burning Man. I prefer the phrase unleashed, but a leash that snaps leaves a wild thing unleashed, as my friend said, and either way I'm free.

I'm free to eat lasagna at 10 p.m. on a Wednesday (I HOPE it's by 10 p.m. because I'm getting hungry), free to put my toes in the Pacific Ocean, free to tell a man he needs to kiss me while I stand on the edge of the world surrounded by a swirl of fog and crashing waves, free to strut through the grocery store and feel sexy, and I'm free to stay where I really fit for a while.

That's what San Francisco has been for me in the past 13 days, and will be until I leave at the end of the month. And yes, I AM leaving at the end of the month. I'm going to Santa Cruz next weekend, and leaving for Arizona from there.

Leaving will be hard, but I know I have a place to come back to any time. ANY time.

I don't know how it happened, but I found forever friends and a place that loves me for who I am and who I want to be. I'm an almond in the can of mixed nuts shaking around the bay, or maybe I'm a cashew. I'd like to be a macadamia nut, but I'm certainly more than just a peanut.

Ok, I must be really really hungry if I have now used two food metaphors. That, and I'm rusty at this whole writing thing. I should be sticking with my Italian theme. But I need something to distract myself from the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen until I hear it's time to eat.

Actually, to hell with the dinner being done or not. I want to go spend time with my friends. So, send me some love if you want to. If you don't, then why the hell are you reading this in the first place? :-)

Tom Robbins

2005-09-18T23:17:00.000-04:00

The man is brilliant. Since I first read Jitterbug Perfume almost five years ago, I have loved Tom Robbins. In fact, I not only have read every book he has written (except Half Asleep In Frog Pajamas) I own all his books (including Half Asleep...). I can only say that about Tom Robbins.

If I could kiss Tom Robbins, I would. Just because his books blow my mind. In fact, Tom Robbins is the only author I would consider randomly sleeping with purely on the basis of his work. It's just that sexy. He's just that sexy.

I say all of this because I am going to see Tom Robbins, in person, on Saturday. That's right... he's coming to promote his new book, Wild Ducks Flying Backward.

I have to buy the book, and that's no trouble. Then, at 7 p.m., a long-term dream of mine will be fulfilled when I am in the same room as Tom Robbins. And he'll sign a book of mine. I'm giddy just thinking about it.

I knew I was staying in San Francisco until Sept. 28 for a reason (not to mention I love the people and place).

This is the listing :

Tom Robbins ***
reading & book signing for Wild Ducks Flying Backward
Saturday, September 24th at 7:00 pm
--- Unconventional, unclassifiable, and sometimes controversial, Tom Robbins is a writer unlike any other. Wild Ducks Flying Backward: The Short Writings of Tom Robbins collects various works (some never before published) including essays, travel articles, short stories, tributes to actors, musicians, sex kittens, and thinkers, song lyrics, poems, and musings on subjects ranging from the joys of eating tomato sandwiches to the merits of Picasso's Guernica. /// Known for his offbeat plots and inventive style, Tom Robbins is the author of eight novels, including such celebrated bestsellers as Even Cowgirls Get the Blues and Still Life with Woodpecker. Hailed as "a world-class storyteller" by Thomas Pynchon and selected as "one of the best writers of the 20th Century" by Writer’s Digest, Tom Robbins has earned a special place among America's literati.

*** This Booksmith sponsored event will take place at the All Saints Church (1351 Waller) in San Francisco. This is a ticketed event. Tickets are FREE with purchase of Tom Robbins' new book from The Booksmith. Books may be purchased at our store starting August 30th, or at All Saints Church on the day of the event. Doors open and books go on sale starting at 5:30 pm on the day of the event.

Sweet Seductive San Francisco

2005-09-16T12:10:00.000-04:00

It was only on a whim that I headed to San Francisco after Burning Man. After a week in the desert, the Pacific Ocean sounded like a pleasant change of scenery.

And I knew one person (Shelley) from Burning Man who lived in San Francisco, so off I went. I got into the city on Thursday, Sept. 8 and planned to stay through Sunday, heading to Yosemite on Monday.

Right... that was more than a week ago. It's Friday, Sept. 16 and I still haven't left. In fact, I'm not leaving until the end of the month. That's right... I'll be in the bay area for another two weeks. And you know what... I'm loving it.

I spent the first weekend with Shelley, who lives on Treasure Island.

We went to a bar to meet some of her friends the first night, including Rainie. Rainie is an awesome woman I met at Burning Man, who used to live in Colorado.

On Friday I took a day of rest, relaxing and watching television. Then Saturday I explored the city - Hyde St. Pier, the Chocolate Festival, and then a moon festival in Chinatown. That night we went to a crazy birthday party at a place called the Cracktory. It was great fun, and Rainie and Kevin invited me to spend the night on Monday. I accepted, planning to leave on Tuesday.

Sunday Shelley and I slept in (we got home from the party at 6 am) , watched the U.S. Open Men's Final, then went to a bbq in Oakland. It was fun - nice people and yummy food.

Monday I went to Rainie and Kevin's. We hit it off and had a great time. I even tried Ethiopian food for dinner.

Kevin is a trained massage therapist, and he gave me a two-hour massage until I couldn't speak or move. I was jello. It was fantastic.

The two of them convinced me to stay on Tuesday, and we walked across the amazing Golden Gate Bridge, visited the gorgeous Sutro Baths and then had dim sum. Yum yum.

Replete, we relaxed at their apartment and watched a movie. We laughed and chatted and just enjoyed eachother's company.

On Wednesday morning I said goodbye to Kevin as he left for work, and even started packing. But I didn't want to leave... I told Rainie as much, and she said, "So stay." So I did. I sent Kevin an email, and he said "Yay!!!"

Rainie and I went to Alameda to help her find a job there because that's where they're moving this coming week. We had a great time, I bought some hair dye, and that night Rainie and I went out with her friend Doug. I do believe he's my friend now, too.

A glorious tapas dinner that included delicious heirloom tomatoes and to-die-for duck (we had the chef come out so we could thank him in person), a night visit to the Palace of Fine Arts (where we climbed up to sit on a stone urn and look at the lit skyline) , and then I put my feet in the ocean and gazed at the Golden Gate Bridge. It was a perfect evening. Perfect.

Thursday Kevin asked me to stay through the 26th for a couple of concerts, and I accepted. Plus, I can help him and Rainie move to their new apartment.

Then, on Thursday or Friday, I'll go to Yosemite for the weekend before heading to Arizona for the regional Burning Man event. Then I'll go to Colorado and visit all the fabulous people I know there.

That's the plan I have for now. I'll have to come back and visit Death Valley and the parks in Utah. Plus Las Vegas, the Hoover Dam and more of the Grand Canyon. But that's ok. I'm having so much fun that I don't mind rushing as I leave. It's worth it to spend time with all the great San Francisco friends I've made.

So now you know.

Sept. 11

2005-09-11T15:42:00.000-04:00

I woke up in S.F. today and immediately remembered what this day means. Every year I remember how I felt when the WTC fell.

I think the best memorial for the victims of 9-11 is to live our lives and enjoy every moment. I'm going to celebrate every minute - good and bad - because I have them.

I hope you will too.

Some photos from the road

2005-09-10T10:25:00.000-04:00

It's a gorgeous morning in San Francisco, and I am about to get ready for a day of exploring the city.

There are a bunch of festivals going on in the northern areas - the Festival of the Sea at the Fisherman's Wharf to sing some sea chantys, the Ghirardelli Square Chocolate Festival (because I'm an addict and it sounds too good to miss) and the Autumn Moon Festival in Chinatown. All happening today. It's going to be great!

But first I have to get ready, and I needed to get my digital camera onto my computer. So, while I'm at it I thought I would offer a sampling of my photos from the road. Keep in mind, I tend not to take a bunch of photos because I prefer experiencing a place rather than documenting it. But here you go....

First, I tried to see the Arch in St. Louis, Missouri. I even got semi-lost looking for the exit. But when I got to the park, parking was $8 and I said to hell with that. So, I took photos out the window of my car as I crossed the Mississippi, and that's good enough for me right now.

Then I went to Kansas City, Missouri, a place I enjoyed a lot. I stayed for a few days with a new friend, and she showed me the city when she wasn't working. One day I spent about 11 hours hiking around. Highlights included trying on a variety of weird hats (this is one example)

and playing footsie with all the fountains (there are tons of them, and I made a point of getting a foot or two in every photo. That's no small accomplishment, considering I was taking the photos myself and sometimes had to sit on the ground with my feet in the air to get the shot.)

After leaving Kansas City I headed to Lebanon, Kansas. This small town of about 300 people is about a mile from the geographic center of the continental U.S., and it is the only time I will ever go there in my life. Kansas is a state to drive through as fast as possible, preferably with your eyes closed. Making long detours to take photos of a lame landmark is not a good idea. But, I have the pictures to prove I was there, so that must be worth something. Right? RIGHT?

I hope so. On the drive to Denver I started to get bored, and took a bunch of pictures out my window. Over the course of 300 miles, every pictures looks the same. Grass on top of grass on top of grass. Oh look, there's a cow! Yeah, I needed to get to the mountains.

My first view of them (I have a picture but am already getting lazy about uploading it) was as a storm started to roll in. I guess that happens a lot. All I know is I was driving through rush-hour traffic in the rain trying to find the place I was staying. But as I drove, the sun broke through and I saw two beautiful rainbows (I have pictures of that, too, but again I'm lazy.)

Denver was great, and I enjoyed relaxing and preparing for Burning Man. The Friday before Burning Man a friend of mine and I drove to Glenwood Springs to get another friend, and the three of us caravaned out to Nevada. We each had a C.B. radio (mine glows neon blue when I transmit) and we talked to eachother the whole way. It was great fun.

As I have said before, I didn't take photos at Burning Man, but I did take one on Monday on my way out at the sign. Then, because I had walked two miles to the sign and someone else was driving my car through the loooooong line of people leaving, I decided to sit at the side of the road and wave goodbye to people. It was great! People smiled and waved, blew me kisses, and even gave me a necklace and a cookie.

After Burning Man I went to Reno for a shower and a bed. I spent Tuesday cleaning my laundry and my car, then hung out with a burner from NYC who lives in her RV and was staying at a Wal-Mart for the night. She's wonderful, and we really got along. I'll definitely see her again sometime.

On Wednesday I headed to Lake Tahoe, which is beautiful scenery but has a really fake, touristy vibe I didn't like. I spent the day on the beach, then drove to Sacramento.

Thursday morning I did some thrift shopping - I found an awesome shirt, a poncho sweater and a really nice blazer. Then, on a whim, I went into a wig store that had a sale going on. I could not resist trying a bunch of them on, and then I bought one! This photo is me, wearing my new sweater and wig. I was relaxing on the rocks that surround Treasure Island, where I am staying with a new Burning Man friend.

I think I'm heading to Yosemite on Monday, unless I think of somewhere else I'd rather go. That's the beauty of radical freedom - I can do whatever I want. Including wear a teal wig on a bright Saturday morning and festival hop in San Francisco. I'll fit right in.

One with the dust

2005-09-07T15:15:00.000-04:00

Well, it's Wednesday and I am visiting Lake Tahoe.

After a week spent in the desert seeing so much water is a beautiful thing.

Burning Man was... well, I'm not going to even try to describe it. All I can say is I'm a life-long burner now. It was like coming home.

I'm still processing, and am going to keep this short.

I just wanted to let everyone know I not only survived, but thrived out on the playa. I have never felt better!

So, that said, I make no promises about when I will write again. I am taking time for myself, and that means I might not feel like posting anything.

I'm off to set the world on fire.

Burn baby, burn

2005-08-28T20:20:00.000-04:00

Hey hey hey. It's about to get crazy. In less than 24 hours I am going to be in the Black Rock Desert enjoying Burning Man. I am SO excited. It's already wild in Reno, where I am staying tonight.

A bed and a shower are just what I need after more than 3,000 miles to get here.

My car is holding up well, despite now having some extra weight from bringing Denver friends' supplies to the playa. Space was a hot commodity.

I promised a summary of events before I left, and so this is it.

I spent a few days in Indiana, staying in West Lafayette. It was a good break.

Then I drove to Kansas City, Missouri. I stayed with this awesome girl there who showed me around, took me to some very cool underground clubs and events, and dyed my hair purple and red. We're really good friends now, and hopefully she'll meet me on the road sometime.

After Missouri I drove across Kansas. God, Kansas is a whole lotta nothing. Dorothy must have been on drugs to think there was no place like home.

I decided to go to Lebanon, Kansas - the geographic center of the US (except Alaska and Hawaii). It's OUT there. And I left late and then a big thunder and lightning storm hit.

Lightning across the empty plains is really freaky, so I pulled over early.

I made it to Lebanon the next day, took some pictures (I will try and post a bunch of photos later...) and then headed to Denver. Kansas can be summarized by the last town on Route 70 before Colorado. It is called Kanarado - seriously. That is SAD!

I got in to Denver around 6, met some friends of friends who generously let me stay with them for three nights, and hung out.

Then on Friday I left with my friend J to meet another friend in the Rocky Mountains and drive on to NV. I had never seen the Rockies, let alone driven across them before. They're really insane and I am too tired to try and describe them. Just read some nature book or something.

We slept in my friend S's RV, then crossed all of Utah and some of NV yesterday. ALL of Utah is a lot of state. The southern area along 70 was gorgeous. I am definitely going back to check out the parks. But Salt Lake and the damn desert almost drove me over the edge. I think my car got up to about 115 degrees inside. I felt disgusting.

We finally parked to sleep around 12:30, and were all going crazy by the end. Luckily we had CB radios to keep eachother awake. Mine is awesome - it lights up neon blue when I send a transmission. It's wild.

Now I am in Reno staying in a hotel, like I said.

I have everything I am going to have before I go to the desert. I already ran the gauntlet with the stores today. There are 50,000 people going to Burning Man AND tomorrow is the first day of school around here. Let's just say the stores are an interesting mix of people.

At Wal-Mart (it was the ONLY place that still had propane) this little girl said, "Daddy, look at that girl!" and pointed at a woman with red dredlocks, black lips, 20 piercings and sheer clothes.

"That's a Burning Man peson, honey. They're all out of it," the dad said in a patient voice. I just started laughing.

So, that's 3,000 miles wrapped into a few words.

I am not in much of a mood to write right now. I feel like I am still transitioning to the road, and haven't processed everything yet. Plus, I don't want to just write shit all the time. So, I make no promises about when I will post after B.M.

I hope everyone is doing well. I am feeling great. In fact, I have never felt more free to be myself, whatever that is. We shall see!!!!

Give me 1,000 of anything

2005-08-23T22:47:00.000-04:00

I would play catch up but... my blog has had almost 1,000 hits. That's right, 1,000! I know a chunk of them are me, checking on my posts and just being obsessive, but that's still a lot of peeks into my mad world.

So, I don't want to talk about my adventures in Indiana, Missouri and Kansas. Or about being in Denver right now. Or about having purple and red hair and loving it.

No, I am going to save all that for later. Sometime between now and Friday I will add a bunch of posts.

Right now, I want to talk about my 1,000th hit.

It's whoever looks at this blog next, I do believe. I sure hope I don't mess it up and have it be me. That would suck.

What I would like is for the 1,000th person to post a comment and let me know some random fact, like what you would do with 1,000 marashino cherries or 1,000 socks. Pick 1,000 of anything, and tell me a story. Or if you're hit number 1,001, pick 1,001 of something and tell me what you would do with them.

In fact, why doesn't everyone do that, in honor of my 1,000th hit. I want to hear what you would do with 1,005 pieces of duct tape or 1,013 peanuts.

Because I am hit number 999, I would get 999 bottles of beer, put 'em on a wall, then take one down, pass it around, and keep going until we all got drunk. Really drunk. So drunk we couldn't remember what number we were on, so we'd have to start all over again.

And since I'm in Denver, the mile-high city, I would get drunk faster so it wouldn't take long for me to lose count. 998... 997...996... shit, what number was I on? 999...

Have fun, and congratulations to the 1,000th hit! You know I love you!

Too busy to blog

2005-08-21T20:34:00.000-04:00

I'm in Kansas City,MO right now, getting ready to highlight my hair red and purple.
I have a bunch of stuff to post, but I'm just too busy and frankly, I don't feel like it.

I do have good news. A story of mine is going to be on a Web site. I'll put up a link when it goes up.
No money yet, but at least it's out there.

I'm off to Lebanon, Kansas tomorrow. It's the geographic center of the US. Then on to Denver before Burning Man Aug. 29. Sometime between now and then I'll catch up here.

Ciao.

Damn you!

2005-08-18T19:32:00.000-04:00

My friend (you know who you are!) sent me this Kay Ryan article from Poetry Magazine about her first-ever visit to a writer's conference.

Damn him (my friend, not Kay Ryan who is a her) for being so smart and realizing I needed to read this.

Sometimes I wish I had never gone to journalism school. I wonder what kind of writer I would be if I hadn't studied the AP stylebook. Have I slaughtered my own style for the sake of the AP? Is it too late? Have I lost it before I ever knew I had it? Can I find it still? All I can do is try to find out.

From the article (my emphasis added in bold):

The most important thing a beginning writer may have going for her is her bone-deep impulse to defend a self that at the time might not look all that worth getting worked up about. You’ll note a feral protectiveness—a wariness, a mistrust. But the important point is that this mistrust is the outside of the place that has to be kept empty for the slow development of self-trust. You have to defend before it looks like you have anything to defend. But if you don’t do it too early, it’s too late.

One must truly HOLD A SPACE for oneself. All things conspire to close up this space.

I have a weak character. I am very susceptible to other people’s enthusiasms, at times actually courting them. I like to sit among people who feel strongly about a basketball team, say, and get excited with them. I love to love ouzo with ouzo lovers.

If I’m exposed to the enthusiasms of others, I know that I am capable of betraying my deepest convictions, laughing in the face of a lifetime of hostility to instruction, horror at groupthink. The only way I’ve ever gotten along in this world is by staying away from it; I have had only enough character to keep myself out of situations that require character.

If I’d gotten those poems back at email speed, say, they wouldn’t have been away long enough for me to lose hope the way you need to. You really shouldn’t be living for a reaction all the time.

I also liked the fact that there were no faces or voices; we were all disembodied, writer and editor alike. Just the slow old mail. I wanted my poems to fight their way like that. Fight and fight again. No networking, no friends in high places, no internships. I think that’s how poems finally have to live, alone without your help, so they should get used to it.

Let’s not share. Really. Go off in your own direction way too far, get lost, test the metal of your work in your own acids.

No, I think poets should take the lesson of the great aromatic eucalyptus tree and poison the soil beneath us.

we are adjusted, physically corrected, by the repetition of patterns. They hit some deep drone part of our brains and make things better.

“Critical writing is spiritual practice.” Of course it is. Everything truly attended to is spiritual practice, isn’t it?

It’s funny how writers will all want to jump on the same bed till the springs pop out. Then they go jump on another one.

I think it’s good to admit what a wolfish thing art is; I trust writers who know they aren’t nice.

I need to be less nice. I know it. I'm working on it. I'll tell you about it later, maybe... if I want to. But maybe that would be too nice.

Skills, baby. Skills

2005-08-17T16:48:00.000-04:00

I've got 'em. Oh, have I got 'em.

As I have said a few times, I have too much crap and not enough room in my van for it all. While I packed, I realized I had under utilized an entire area of the van - the space beneath my bed. But I didn't have time to deal with it until today.

Well, now that I am in West Lafayette, Indiana staying with the mom of a friend until Friday morning, I had time to fix that problem.

Off to Lowe's I went, where this great woman named Linda helped me select the wood and cut it so all I had to do was nail it all together.

$33.18 and an hour later, I was ready to rock and roll.

I stopped at Target to get some bubbles because, as a sexy masterful friend of mine taught me, bubbles add whimsy to any situation. Alas, the store didn't have any plain old bubbles in a bottle. I could have bought a bubble machine for $10, but I could buy 10 jars of bubbles at the dollar store for that. (See, I can do math!)

Speaking of dollars, I love dollar stores. They are so easy on the mind. How much does it cost? A dollar. Duh.

What I don't understand is how the Dollar Inn costs $26.95 a night. That's what a sign told me on the way to Indiana. What happened to a dollar??? They should call it the Twenty Six Dollars and Ninety Five Cents Inn. Or the Almost Twenty Seven Dollars Inn. Or the Thirty Five Dollars After Taxes Inn. But hey, you get free HBO. Maybe that's where the dollar went!

But I digress (which I do often, so deal with it.)

I was talking about my skills. Yes, beyond opening tight jar lids, parallel parking and making men swoon (all important skills I possess) I can build things. With my own two hands. And some nails, a hammer and a lot of cursing.

"Give a girl a hammer and she'll nail you. You might like it." That's my new slogan.

Sure, it took me about three hours to make my wooden frame, cover it with plywood lids that come off (that's right, folks, storage lids need to come off so you can reach the things inside- remember that!) and then put the rear of the van back together.

Now I have extra room. Extra room!!!

I have entire cubic inches of room, dare I say cubic feet of space, I can fill with random crap I collect on the road. When I find some reasonably priced bubbles, I have room for 'em. And when I make a man swoon, and you know I will, I can throw him in the back and keep on driving.

I can do whatever I want to do. Because I have skills, baby. SKILLS.

What's that dog EATING?

2005-08-17T02:04:00.000-04:00

By the time I walked into Epic Books on Dayton Avenue in Yellow Springs, OH this afternoon, I was prepared for anything. Or so I thought I was.

After a morning of browsing through the zany town of 3,700 people, complete insanity seemed completely normal.

I don’t know how many random Santa spottings I had - old hippies with long gray beards riding their bikes in a hazey daze on their way to Dingleberry’s, the oldest head shop in Ohio. At least, they think it’s the oldest head shop in Ohio. Apparently no one can remember a head shop from before 1974, but I think there’s an herbal reason for that.

Owa might know, but he couldn’t tell you either. The owner of the Village Herb Shoppe next to Epic Books, he went and lived with the Hoppe Indians about 20 years ago. He still has the same curly mullet, only looooonger! Yeah! He seems to also still love the peyote, maybe with a side of bee pollen, his store product of choice.

It’s probably organic, too.

Almost everything in Yellow Springs is. There’s whole-wheat crust at Ha-Ha Pizza, and the Emporium sells state-controlled wine and soup. Current cuisine is a veggie delight, until you see the prices and then you wish there was a dollar menu within 15 miles of the place.

Tom’s Market sells organic produce, has every shishi foodie item the yahoos ask for, and the woman at the counter can’t tell you how to find Glen Helen, the 1,000-acre nature preserve just down the street. Literally, around the damn corner. It's beautiful (see the photo of the Yellow Spring above) but I digress.

Need something from another country? How about Asian, Tibetan, South American or even German Nuts. Wait, the nuts have closed the store and gone into the streets.

Gemini is a cool little gallery filled with musical instruments from around the world. And most of them I could touch.
Plus, check out just some of the fun signs posted around the store.

Ken Simon, who studied philosophy at the University of Rochester back in the 1960s, owns the joint (which type? Well, both joints…) and played the crystal bowl for me.

Nice guy. We talked about traveling. I told him about my trip (NOT that kind!) and he told me to be careful. “I did the same thing once, and I got here and never left.” He doesn't even get to travel the world collecting instruments for the store.

Dave Chapelle lives outside of Yellow Springs. Did you know that? I didn’t. But I shouldn’t be surprised. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think a lot of his jokes revolve around drugs. And there are plenty of those in Yellow Springs.

That’s not to say you need to put the High in Ohio to have a good time in Yellow Springs.
I didn’t smoke, snort, sniff, huff or drop a single thing - other than a few dollars for a book at Dark Star Books on Xenia Avenue.

I talked with Dark Star Steve about the healing cat Bart - “We try to sell books here, but really people just come for the cat. I call it the world’s smallest petting zoo.” - and the old collection of Yellow Springs Police reports I couldn’t find a copy of- “Man Bites Dog” and “Woman Pees in Mop Bucket” are two local favorites. They even list who gets a speeding ticket, so watch out.

My favorite thing about Steve was his name tag. I took a picture. It says “I WILL OBEY.” The world needs more people wearing that name tag. It’s better than just “Hi, my name is Id E. Oat.”

Any way, I was ready to drop a few more dollars on another book of merit, and I entered Epic Books to find it. Aptly named, but for all the wrong reasons.

A theme developed as I read the book titles. I shouldn’t have been surprised. The lavender paint and pipe music should have tipped me off. I had seen it before in town… everywhere in town, actually.

The books were all epically ridiculous. I could create my own goddess, think without thinking or find out how Uranus meets my moons.

That last topic deserved a second look, I figured, so I went to the couch to read more.
But the couch was occupied by a small white poodle voraciously eating something white and brown.

I tilted my head and looked closer. Putting the puzzle of shredded pieces together, I stared in shocked horror.

“Um, ma’am,” I choked out through my gag reflex. “You’re dog is eating a poopy diaper on the couch.”

Uranus and my moons would have to meet another time. It was time for me to leave Yellow Springs.

Ciao Ciao

2005-08-15T11:28:00.000-04:00

I have this t-shirt that's red and says "Ciao Ciao" in "CocaCola" cursive. I got it in Italy, (the photo is of me at Riva de Garda in Northern Italy) and I love it.

Italians say "ciao ciao" as hello and goodbye, and that seems to fit how I'm feeling. So I am wearing my t-shirt as I leave.

I would have taken a picture, but I'm short on time.

This will be the last post I log from my apartment, and I don't know when or from where the next one will go up. It will depend on Internet access.

But check in here often and see what I'm up to. Or, at least what I'm willing to tell you about. :-)

Until then, ciao ciao!

Turn Me Loose

2005-08-15T03:34:00.000-04:00

So why don't you turn me loose,
Turn me loose,
Turn me loose,
I gotta do it my way,
Or not at all.

(It's really "or no way at all" but I've been singing it my way, so there you go.)

Oh yes, oh yes. I started singing this chorus on Friday (Loverboy, fyi) and continued it tonight (at the top of my lungs) during the hardest, and at the same time easiest, goodbye I've said. And I didn't even say goodbye - I said "thank you" and "I love you" amidst a lot of hugging.

After an emotional day saying goodbye - to my aunt and uncle (thank you for the fishing poll and cookies!!!), my cousins and grandmother (thank you for lunch!) and my mom, dad and sister (thank you for being my family) - I met my friends at Milestone's for Celtic night with the Wild Geese (a great Rochester band which I just found out is taking a 'haitus').

It was a fantastic night, and when we walked back to my apartment and I started to freak out about a bunch of stuff, they were right there for me and we sat outside for two hours freezing on the cement steps (it's damn cold tonight).

I am so so SO lucky to have these people in my life, and I don't feel like I ever get a chance to tell them how terrific they are and how much I love them. You're TERRIFIC and I LOVE YOU!!!! (You know who you are.)

I mean, these are friends who serenaded me earlier tonight with their version of Kumbayah when I was peeing in the bathroom and discovered we were out of toilet paper and my roommate had to go get more from her car.

"Someone's pooping, my lord, kumbaya.... Someone's squatting, my lord, kumbaya.... Someone's waiting, my lord, kumbaya... Someone's wiping, my lord, kumbaya...."

Then at Milestone's they had the band wish me well, and they themselves surprised me by singing beautiful songs during a band break. It was just an amazing amazing night, and absolutely how I wanted to spend my last evening in Rochester before I leave.

Now I'm sitting in my apartment, but it's not really mine any more because almost everything's in the van and I don't feel like I'm even here.

And I am going to try to sleep now, but this chorus (which my friends sang as they walked away and I joined in from across the parking lot) is running through my mind!

So why don't you turn me loose,
Turn me loose,
Turn me loose,
I gotta do it my way,
Or not at all.

24 hours to go

2005-08-14T10:40:00.000-04:00

As I typed the title of this post a song popped into my head. Oh yes, the cult classic "I wanna be sedated" by the Ramones.

Twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go I wanna be sedated
Nothin' to do no where to go-o-oh I wanna be sedated
Just get me to the airport put me on a plane
Hurry hurry hurry before I go insane
I can't control my fingers I can't control my brain
Oh no oh oh oh oh

Twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go I wanna be sedated
Nothin' to do no where to go-o-oh I wanna be sedated
Just put me in a wheelchair get me on a plane
Hurry hurry hurry before I go insane
I can't control my fingers I can't control my brain
oh oh oh oh

Twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go I wanna be sedated
Nothin' to do no where to go-o-oh I wanna be sedated
Just put me in a wheelchair get me to the show
Hurry hurry hurry before I go loco
I can't control my fingers I can't control my toes
Oh no oh oh oh oh

Twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go I wanna be sedated
Nothin' to do no where to go-o-oh I wanna be sedated
Just put me in a wheelchair get me to the show
Hurry hurry hurry before I go loco
I can't control my fingers I can't control my toes
Oh no oh oh oh oh

Ba-ba-bamp-ba ba-ba-ba-bamp-ba I wanna be sedated
Ba-ba-bamp-ba ba-ba-ba-bamp-ba I wanna be sedated
Ba-ba-bamp-ba ba-ba-ba-bamp-ba I wanna be sedated
Ba-ba-bamp-ba ba-ba-ba-bamp-ba I wanna be sedated

Now my roommate and I are singing the chorus at the top of our lungs. A theme has started to develop in the past couple of days. "Life is a Highway" ran through my head yesterday.

Yes, my mental MP3 player is set to road tunes, and I'm getting ready to roll out.

I'm almost packed. Almost meaning I have too much crap still in my apartment that needs to find a place in my cramped car.

If I was smart, I would have already created an under-bed storage area. But I haven't been terribly smart lately, (sometimes downright stupid) and now I don't have time, wood or nails to do it.

Maybe I can get that done on the road. I don't know.... I'll figure it out.

Until then, I need to finish packing. Yes, I have said that about a dozen times on this blog, but it's down to the wire. I have twenty-twenty-twenty four hours to go.... And I wanna be sedated!

Valium, anyone?

Random quote of the night

2005-08-13T02:01:00.000-04:00

"If whisky or salt won't cure it, then to hell with it." - Florence King

God, she's a genius. I ran across this gem on a scrap of paper I had been using as a bookmark while devouring the Florence King Reader, and hadn't seen in the bowels of my former bedroom until I started packing.

But when I saw this quote, I just had to share it.

On the same piece of paper I wrote a second F.K. quote: "Now that femme fatales practice total honesty, medicine is the only thing left that keeps us guessing."

Anyone who values a razor sharp mind and even sharper tongue should check her out. I would take a few minutes to add links here, but it's late, I'm tired and I still have more to do.

That said, I have now quoted her at least twice on this blog, and she is the very reason the blog is called Virago Vagabond - her definition in Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady spoke to me.

So, I repeat, read Florence King - whatever you can get your hands on. The woman is beyond brilliant, and everything she writes has a timelessness to it. Plus, she's completely unapologetic for being an absolute misanthrope - she even wrote a book about other people who hate people.

To have the gumption to be that prickly! Damn, I need to grow some thorns.

p.s. I LEAVE ON MONDAY!!!

A special blessing

2005-08-11T22:37:00.000-04:00

A special email blessing from a Boston friend. Thanks H!

May the Road Rise Up to Meet You

May you Meet Some Cutie Studs

May you kick ass with your writing

May you know there's a whole lot of us out there envious of your guts and adventure.

My first ViragoVagabond email

2005-08-11T08:47:00.000-04:00

Well, someone loves me. I'm not going to say who, but I got my first private love note in my new email account - viragovagabond@excite.com. Then my friend sent me another one within minutes of the first. Now, who's going to join in? Come on, I dare you :-)

I would share the contents of my first private love notes with you, but they're private. So you'll just have to imagine them. Or better yet, write your imaginings down and send them to me too.

To help you out, my friend's using this random Poem Generator. It's so much fun, I created my own:

Once More, My Love

This night I shall dream of your great orange wicked magnolia.
Once again, this night as all nights, I long to sip from your cello-pink lips.
In my dreams we fly on the exquisite geccoing chicken socks of love, skimming vast continents of toilets and elbows.
The seas shall never separate our vinegars.
Its waters wave like small thumb angels greeting us from afar.
We shall feast on chocolate-coated turtleneck and tender knife hearts of love.
Adorned in white silk, we pluck our farts from our magnolias.
I shall hold your cello against my thumb-muffin so that our vinegars melt into one.
You will always be my little slapie face, the cello of my puce eye of love.

Speaking of random notes, if you want to receive a snail mail letter sometime from the road, I need your address. Email it to me at viragovagabond@excite.com.

Now back to more packing...

Packing packing packing

2005-08-11T00:21:00.000-04:00

That's what I'm doing. I have too much crap and not enough space or time to put it all in. Boxes and bags and back aches, oh my!

Somehow, by Sunday, the van (still without a name) will be ready to roll. Then I'll say my last goodbyes and on Monday morning I will quietly leave - just me and the van.

Until then, I'm packing packing packing. Oh, and adding things to my "to do" and "to buy" lists at a rate that exceeds my completion of the items already on the lists. This quicksand effect leaves me disturbed, but it will all work out somehow. And if I forget to pack something, I'll find it on the road or live without it.

Now, I'm back to my boxes and bags and back aches. Oh my!

An email address

2005-08-09T17:54:00.000-04:00

Hey, if you don't have a way to e-mail me directly already, I created a new address just for you.

Anyone interested in sending me private love notes can e-mail me at viragovagabond@excite.com.

I also want to make some sexy business cards to give out the address to people I meet on the road, now that my lame old work ones have become defunct :-). What should I put on them? Anyone with ideas, or graphic design abilities, please send me an email at the above address.

Oh, and since I'm creating things, I have also started a blog for my writing clips. I still have a lot of work to do with it, but it has to be easier than cutting out a bunch of articles from the newspaper. Hopefully I'll soon have published travel stories to add.

You can check it out here, and as a permanent link on this site.

This is what I have done for the past few hours, instead of pack. Procrastination, anyone???

Cutting It Off

2005-08-09T09:28:00.000-04:00

I got my hair cut short on Wednesday, Aug. 5. The excellent hairdresser cut off a good six inches, making the mop feel much lighter. It added bounce and life to the top of my head, not to mention looking pretty darn cute.

For weeks and months I had been wearing my hair in a ponytail, never enjoying its length and weight. So I decided to do something that would allow me to enjoy my blonde tresses. An hour and $17 later, I had a new style. The best part, though, is that I didn't even worry about the change or miss the old hair.

That's all great, but why the hell am I writing about my hair? Because it's not just about my hair.

The new low-maintenance style matches my new glasses to see the world through, my new van to explore the world in and my new attitude about the world.

I've called my decision to leave "throwing my life away" for a while, to the offense of some of my family. I'm not saying everything in my life is garbage that I don't want to keep. I'm not rejecting the people I love.

But I need to throw away or cut off the things that are keeping me from finding myself. There are so many different lenses that people view me through, and that I view myself through, that my internal image is distorted.

I can't see what's inside me until I clear away the other lenses and look through my own. Then I'll decide what to keep and what to permanently discard. For now, I've been buying road supplies and getting rid of most of my other things.

I've cut a lot of things off, not just half a foot of hair. I've given away most of my clothes, my stereo, my pillow-top full-size mattress (my back misses it, but the rest of me is happy to send it on) along with most of the furniture in my apartment, my television and VCR are staying with my roommate, etc. etc.

It's about detachment. I'm separating myself from the things that bind me to my old life.

And it's invigorating. My last day of work, the same day as my haircut, I felt so free. Cutting my possessions down to what I need and can fit into my van has made me realize how much crap I actually had.

And saying goodbye has been emotional, but exciting. I have just six days until I leave, and they're filling up with special moments shared with my friends and family. I love them so much, but right now I need to distance myself from them as much as I needed to give away my things.

So every time I run my hands through my new, shorter hair, or adjust my new glasses, or drive my new van, I remember why I'm leaving. And I get more and more excited.

Now I just need to pack...

Adios!

2005-08-03T09:51:00.000-04:00

Today's my last day of work. Today's my last day of wooooorrrrk.

This has been running through my mind since I woke up.

14 months with Messenger Post Newspapers, covering Brockport, and today I'm done done DONE!

Part of me will miss it - my coworkers/friends, the steady pay check, being published every week.... But the road is calling - less than two weeks!

So, adios Brockport Post!!!

Rollercoaster Remedy

2005-08-01T23:54:00.000-04:00

Amy C., a friend and coworker of mine, wrote a story about a man who has ridden every rollercoaster in North America. It's his job to test and design them, and he loves it.

But not everyone likes rollercoasters. Amy asked the man what makes a person love or hate the wild rides he designs. His response, in summary - people who have to be in control all the time don't like rollercoasters. They're not at the steering wheel. People who can let themselves be free enjoy the ride.

And what about people who get motion sick, Amy asked. Any advice?

"Eat a banana. They taste almost as good coming up as they do going down."

I tried to think of something else that fits this unique quality, but I'm stumped.

And right now I need something because my life's a damn rollercoaster.

I leave in two weeks. In fact, less than two weeks. Two weeks from this exact moment I'll be ensconced in my friend's home getting drunk on freedom and firewater.

I'm freaking out.

There. I've said it.

I didn't want to. I've failed to say anything on this blog for more than a week because the predominant thought is "I'M FREAKING OUT." And I don't want to be freaking out. I'm excited about the future, but the present is driving me insane.

Let's consider:
I have to go to every type of doctor I can think of and schedule in the next 13 days. I have to get my car checked. I have to pack. I have a bunch of emails to send and calls to return (sorry to my neglected friends and family). I have a list of shit to buy for the road and Burning Man and a fast-shrinking amount of money. I have a longer list of people that I want to spend time with before leaving and an even faster shrinking amount of time. Wait, did I mention I still have two days of work left?

Oh, and I don't want to half-ass this blog, which I have been guilty of doing lately... when I actually write something.

It all adds up to me sitting on my big comfy bed right now, thinking 'I only have a few more days to use this very bed,' FREAKING out.

I'm ready to let go and enjoy the rollercoaster ride, but right now I have a severe case of motion sickness.

So, can someone please get me a damn banana?

Bullwinkle's Human Bullhorn

2005-07-24T23:20:00.000-04:00

If there is one skill I wish I had, other than flight, it would be to sing well. If you have a voice box you can sing - mostly, but to sing well is a gift and a skill I just don't have. That doesn't stop me from singing along in the car, or during Sunday night Celtic singalongs, but otherwise I avoid it. And as you'll soon see, there's a reason!

While I can't sing well, my friend Sarah P. has an amazing voice. So, we headed out to Bullwinkle's (622 Lake Ave.) in Rochester on Saturday night for the weekly sing along.

We had been a few weeks ago for the first time, and it was like Sarah had found her people. When we tried to leave everyone begged her for one more song. Considering she's a professional singer, she killed 'em. Great fun.

So, back we went.

It was quieter, but no less fun because our friend Andre, also a professional musician, and his girlfriend joined us.

Then Cindy came along. Cindy, whom I have dubbed "Bullwinkle's Human Bullhorn."

We had never before heard good old Cindy, a bleached-blonde mom from Irondequoit who was seriously smashed... and more importantly, sounds like a cross between a cat in heat and a cow giving birth when she sings. Oh no, it was our very first introduction to Cindy's vocal stylings.

Dear drunk Cindy, donning a white and silver boa and pink satin hat shaped like a cone, decided to screech "Leaving on a Jet Plane" for her captive audience. It was so bad we didn't even recognize the opening "all my bags are packed..." We sat in stunned silence.

The owner cringed and shuddered, and so did the Christmas lights around the piano station. When Cindy hit - or rather missed - the chorus, the lights flickered and died. Most of us felt the same.

In a desperate act of self preservation we all started shouting along with Cindy, trying to drown her out.

Finally she finished. The handful of patrons paused in pregnant silence, then weakly clapped - I suspect more out of relief the song was done than praise - unless they were all deaf.

As Cindy put down the microphone, the owner glared from his wheelchair and said, "I'd shoot you if I had a gun to put us out of our misery."

Like Teflon, it didn't stick to Cindy. She came over to bask in praise, and to complain about the lack of contemporary songs for her to slaughter, excuse me - I mean singing.

"Maybe you should try something from a musical," I said through my bitten lip.

With an intent drunken stare she pushed her fleshy face towards mine and said, "You mean like Pulp Fiction?"

I almost lost it then and there. "Nooooooo. I don't think that's actually a musical, but a movie."

"Oh. Well... Like "The hills are alive?" Cindy started to screech.

"Umm, like that, but not that specifically," I said. She nodded, stumbled, and then paused to listen to Sarah singing a beautiful tune in an obvious attempt to balm our bleeding ears.

Cindy groaned and rolled her head, taking most of her body with it.

"Holy shit. She's trying to make me look bad. I was sounding great until she got up there. Listen to her. She's like the next damn American Idol. This isn't American Idol, damn it. This is Bullwinkle's!
Next to her I'm Peter Wong (She meant Wlliam Hung, the horrible contestant that butchered a Ricki Martin song and became quasi-famous). 'She bangs, she bangs, oh baby...' SHIT man. How do I sing after that?" Cindy nearly shouted while leaning heavily on my shoulder.

Throughout the next hour or so Cindy only tortured us with one other song - "Delta Dawn". But she spent plenty of time telling us how nice it was to meet us, saying goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, going to the bar for a minute and then coming back to tell us that Andre "is a great singer, but I mean, I don't want to sound mean here because he's attractive and talented, but all I'm saying is Milli Vanilli. Is he Milli or Vanilli? I mean, the dreds..."

Sarah, the woman with taste, asked who Milli Vanilli was. I sorta sang "Blame it on the rain...." and then she got it. Wow.

For the record, Andre does have dreds but DOES NOT look like either Milli or Vanilli!

And I should have sang at Bullwinkle's. Even though I don't sing well, I also don't screech like an angry hyenna.

Compared to Cindy, I would have sounded like Bette Midler.

Couch Surfing

2005-07-22T21:42:00.000-04:00

One of the most exciting aspects of my upcoming road adventure is the possibility to meet new people from all walks of life.

As so many of my friends make a point to tell me, I have no trouble starting a conversation with a stranger.

With that in mind, I joined the Web site community Couch Surfing. It's a brilliant place to meet people traveling or willing to host travelers. There are more than 20,000 members.

You should really REALLY check this out! (I also have a permanent link on my blog.) If you have an open couch, that's cool. If you need one, this is the place to go.

I have started introducing myself to people on the site, and have already met people I'll probably stay with in Indianapolis and Kansas City.

NOT to worry - they are both female (one lives with her family), and I am going to meet them in a public place first.

Just to update those of you who care - I leave for NYC on Aug. 15 to spend two days with friends. Then DC Aug. 17 to see the Michaels. Aug. 18 is Indianapolis, 19 is Kansas City and 20 is Denver. (If it takes an extra day, ok).

In Denver I'm meeting some people who are also going to Burning Man (one is a friend who lives out there) and we are going to drive out as a group.

Feel free to let me know where you think I should go after that. It's an open atlas!

Speaking of - props to AAA. Yesterday I went in and asked for "one of everything, thank you." Less than 30 minutes later I left with five, yes five, bags of maps, tour books and a trip-tik to Denver. I got my money's worth already, and I haven't even started getting discounts on the road.

Reiki Rocks

2005-07-21T23:58:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, despite my bitching and moaning and my upcoming departure, there are perks to my current job as a community reporter. Sometimes working on a story comes with unexpected and nice benefits. Like today.

I am writing a story about a local woman - Shari - who just opened an alternative medicine store in Brockport. She's a Reiki master.

I had no idea what Reiki (ray-kee)was, besides my brief Internet search that basically explained it as a way to unblock energy. People use it during cancer treatments, to combat depression and anxiety or to help with Western medicine's treatments of other medical problems. Shari said she wants to use Reiki on abused women to help them heal internally. Nice sentiment, but I figured it was a bunch of mumbo jumbo.

Then Shari said it's easier to show me than tell me, and offered me a sample.

I didn't see any exotic torture tools (as opposed to generic torture tools) in the vicinity, so up on the table I went. Thirty minutes later I didn't want to get off it.

I put on headphones to listen to hemi-sync music (some sort of instrumental music that makes your brain focus on your body), rested Chinese meditation balls in my palms and closed my eyes.

Shari's lavendar-scented hands grew hot, and then she placed them on me in a series of spots that help my energy flow. First the bottom of my foot, then my ankle and knee, then my knee and thigh. My stomach, my diaphragm and wrist, my chest and throat and my head- she gently pressed against them all.

And when her hands moved, I felt heat and energy move to the area between them. Honestly, I couldn't believe it at first but I felt my body responding in a way it never has.

The Japanese call a person's energy his/her chakras, and there are 7 different kinds. Reiki is used to align them all and allow your chakras to flow easily. Shari said she envisions a person's energy as a waterfall flowing through them.

(This is the symbol for chakra #5 - the throat: "related to communication and creativity. Here we experience the world symbolically through vibration, such as the vibration of sound representing language." It is the selected chakra of Shari's new store - Soulshine.)

When she was done, my body felt easier, lighter, calmer. oooooohhhhhhmmm

Not to sound all goofy spoofy, but it really seemed to flow together internally and be in balance. I'm tense all the time from work, and somehow everything had eased.

I was euphoric. It was an amazing experience, and came at the perfect time. My last day of work is in two weeks! Hurray!!!

Shari said I might get sick tomorrow - toxins flushing out of my system - but that just means I'm really cleansed. And - good news - she said she didn't feel any major health problems when she channeled my chakras. I guess she can feel or see the energy changes caused by various conditions.

I still don't really understand how Reiki works, but it ROCKS! And now my energy is nicely balanced for me to leave in less than a month!

Catching up

2005-07-19T23:15:00.000-04:00

So much has gone on since I last published a post that I'm not sure where to begin. Bear with me, it's going to be a long one...

I guess I should start with a brief overview of my trip.

It took 10 hours to get from Rochester to Athens, Ohio. On the way my friend and I tried to have dinner in a strip club in the projects of Cleveland - I'm not kidding.

Who would think the "Gateway Steak House," located in a plaza with a Chinese restaurant, dentist and convenience store, was actually selling a different kind of meat?

Check out these pictures:After we saw the dress code sign, we started to notice the bump and grind music coming through the wall. So I took pictures as I laughed and then we went and found an Applebee's (damn it!)

When we finally arrived in Athens, we met my friend's brother. Picture long frizzy braids, torn jeans cut off mid-calf and beads around his neck - this was a fun guy known around town as the "Daffodil Guy" because he gives away daffodils as he sells them. I liked him immediately.

We followed Daffodil Guy up to "The Far," a commune he has lived at for nine years.

There was no electricity or plumbing (yup, that means outhouse), and his neighbors were the spiders in the big webs in the corners of his home.

Folks, I had "gone to Far."

This is the "house."

I don't have time for many details, seeing as I am probably going to write a story about it for a travel site and I am really tired right now, but I ended up having a great time roughing it with the organic worm-poop activist farmer and his polar-opposite, matching sweater-set teacher sister (my friend).

I learned that worms really like organic coffee grounds and my face really doesn't like mosquito-larvae infested water.

I also got to make sculpey clay stuff with Tibetan monks randomly visiting Marietta, Ohio. They're really funny guys who made fun of my poor flame-making skills.

Check out Sopa on the left "fixing" my clay flower - he added the elevated center and the snake and flame.

Beyond that, I also had some of the best organic food - Athens has an organic coffee shop, worker-owned restaurant and three, yes three, organic bakeries. It was great!

We left Friday morning for Pittsburgh. About four hours later we arrived in the city, and just as we approached my friend's old mechanic near the University of Pittsburgh, smoke started billowing out from under her hood. We pulled in to the parking lot, and a river of fluorescent green coolant bled from the engine. Yes, we were screwed.

The mechanics couldn't work on it until Monday, so that left us hanging out with at my friend's parents' house without a car, and for a day longer than we planned.

But it was a nice visit, and we got out of there alive. I could go into details about long bus rides into sketchy neighborhoods, not feeling well, sneaking icecream, starting the new Harry Potter book and watching hilarious episodes of What Not to Wear and Iron Chef America, but... wait - I just sort of did.

Anyway...

We left Monday just in time for me to be really behind at work and miss a big meeting. Oh well.

It was worth is just to see this ridiculous road "art" made out of traffic signs in Meadville, Pa. I don't know what they were thinking, but it wasn't good. They should have paid more attention to the "STOP" signs.

So Monday I got home, sort of unpacked, finished reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (I proudly admit to being a fan!) at about 3:30 a.m. and then fell asleep in front of two fans on the couch in my living room. It's disgustingly hot in my apartment.

Today I woke up early, went to work, wrote four stories, went to my bank to take care of some business, picked up my new glasses, went to my mechanic's to get some stuff out of the old car that died and then had dinner with my parents and brother. I went to BJ's, bought some stuff for the road, and then came home to write two more stories and then post this blog.

All in all, it has been an insane, but mainly fun, week. Now I need to go pass out because I have to be at work early tomorrow.

Next post I'll be more... or maybe less... something. Until then, go read Harry Potter and eat organic baked goods!

Worm Poop and Pittsburgh

2005-07-13T00:10:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm off for a weekend of worm poop and Pittsburgh.

The brother of my friend Sarah P. lives on a commune in Ohio and farms worm castings, aka worm poop. We're going to stay with him - sans electricity and running water - for a day or two. Then we're going to Pittsburgh to take a shower at my friend's parents' place.

I've never been on a commune, talked with a worm poop farmer or visited Pittsburgh. It should be an interesting mini vacation.

So I won't be posting anything on here until Sunday at the earliest. Check back to see how the trip went.

By the way, I did a little looking into worm poop farming - interesting stuff.

Bull Sh*t

2005-07-12T17:21:00.000-04:00

There are times when reporting is just fun. Read this July 11 press conference transcript to see how reporters put the screws to the White House over Karl Rove.

Just a few of my favorite highlights (my emphasis):

Q Scott, what was the President's interaction today with Karl Rove? Did they discuss this current situation? And understanding that Karl Rove was the architect of the President's win for the second term in the Oval Office, how important is Karl Rove to this administration currently?

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, this is coming at it from --

Q It has nothing to do with what you just said.

MR. McCLELLAN: This is still coming at the same question relating to reports about an ongoing investigation, and I think I've responded to it.

Q Who is Karl Rove as it relates to this administration?

MR. McCLELLAN: Do you have questions on another topic?

Q No, no, no, no. Who is Karl Rove as it relates to this current administration?

MR. McCLELLAN: I appreciate the question, April. I think I've responded.

----

Q Does the President continue to have confidence in Mr. Rove?

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, these are all questions coming up in the context of an ongoing criminal investigation. And you've heard my response on this.

Q So you're not going to respond as to whether or not the President has confidence in his Deputy Chief of Staff?

---

Q Do you stand by your statement from the fall of 2003 when you were asked specifically about Karl and Elliott Abrams and Scooter Libby, and you said, "I've gone to each of those gentlemen, and they have told me they are not involved in this" -- do you stand by that statement?

MR. McCLELLAN: And if you will recall, I said that as part of helping the investigators move forward on the investigation we're not going to get into commenting on it. That was something I stated back near that time, as well.

Q Scott, I mean, just -- I mean, this is ridiculous. The notion that you're going to stand before us after having commented with that level of detail and tell people watching this that somehow you decided not to talk. You've got a public record out there. Do you stand by your remarks from that podium, or not?

MR. McCLELLAN: And again, David, I'm well aware, like you, of what was previously said, and I will be glad to talk about it at the appropriate time. The appropriate time is when the investigation --

Q Why are you choosing when it's appropriate and when it's inappropriate?

MR. McCLELLAN: If you'll let me finish --

Q No, you're not finishing -- you're not saying anything. You stood at that podium and said that Karl Rove was not involved. And now we find out that he spoke out about Joseph Wilson's wife. So don't you owe the American public a fuller explanation? Was he involved, or was he not? Because, contrary to what you told the American people, he did, indeed, talk about his wife, didn't he?

MR. McCLELLAN: David, there will be a time to talk about this, but now is not the time to talk about it.

Q Do you think people will accept that, what you're saying today?

Fate Or Fluke

2005-07-11T21:59:00.000-04:00

Some people hear a special song on the radio and take it as a sign. Others pay attention to actual road signs - like speed limits and stop signs - and don't get numerous tickets like some bloggers I know. Go figure.

Personally I don't put much stock in signs of either type, as my radio listening and driving record can attest. (Well, I've gotten better with the speed limits ... usually.)

Same for palm reading and tarot cards - I've never paid much attention. But yesterday I was spending time with two new friends who had just felt like they should buy a deck of tarot cards and use them this weekend.

So one of them shuffled the deck and randomly pulled out a card - the Chariot.

He told me he and my other new friend had been pulling this card - one of about 70 in the deck - throughout the day. I looked up the definition in the book, and I thought it really fit him and me.

Then it was my turn. Shuffle shuffle shuffle. Cut the deck, shuffle shuffle. I pulled out a card... and it was the Chariot. Weird!

I don't know if it's fate or a fluke, but the Chariot just perfectly fits me right now.

Here's how one site describes The Chariot:

Picture Julius Caesar riding his chariot triumphantly into Rome. He has defeated his enemies and conquered vast, new lands. This is the spirit of the Chariot. Card 7 represents the victories that are possible through willpower and self-mastery. A military image is appropriate for the Chariot because this card stands for the strengths associated with combat - discipline, grit, determination and assertiveness.

The Chariot represents the positive aspects of the ego. A healthy ego is one that is strong and self-assured. It knows what it wants and how to get it. We can get annoyed at someone whose ego is too healthy, but we often turn to that person to lead us through difficult moments. We know he or she won't be wishy-washy.

In readings, the Chariot often appears when hard control is or could be in evidence. At its best, hard control is not brutal, but firm and direct. It is backed up by a strong will and great confidence. The Chariot can mean self-control or control of the environment. This card also represents victory. There are many types of wins; the Chariot's is of the win-lose type. Your success comes from beating the competition to become number one. Such moments are glorious in the right circumstances.

Some qualities, most of which also sound familiar:

achieving victory: reaching your goal, winning, being successful, dominating, coming out on top,; beating the competition
using your will: being determined to succeed, focusing your intent, rising above temptation
letting nothing distract you, sustaining an effort, concentrating your energies,; fixing on a goal
asserting yourself: being ego-focused, establishing an identify, knowing who you are, feeling self-confident,
having faith in yourself, looking out for your interests
achieving hard control:: mastering emotions, curbing impulses, maintaining discipline, holding in anger,; getting your way, assuming the reins of power, showing authority

Adding just a few more layers to the whole thing, let's consider two things.

First, I pulled the Chariot card just hours after purchasing my new van - a modern-day silver chariot to set my world on fire.

Second, there's actually a song on the radio (I know I know) that I heard on the way to my friend's house. Sure, it's in heavy rotation around Rochester, but consider the title and read the lyrics: "Chariot" by Gavin DeGraw.

Think what you will, but I've got a tarot card, a new van and a song on the radio - all pointing at a successful adventure.

So if any speed limits or stop signs crop up, to hell with 'em!

Bike With 2 Brains

2005-07-11T20:53:00.000-04:00

I got to ride the coolest bicycle ever on Sunday.

It's called the Bike With 2 Brains, created as a Burning Man funded art project by my mad genius new friend Jason.

The official line is this:

The Bike With 2 Brains is a 2-person, human-powered vehicle where the riders sit side-by-side. Each rider can pedal a wheel in front of them forward of backward, so to go straight, both riders must pedal at the same speed. The Bike likes to be ridden around and uses light and sound to attract riders. It tries a variety of patterns to attract a first rider, and will change patterns to attempt to attract a second. It is most happy with two riders.

The real deal is that people try to pedal together, but they just end up suddenly spinning around in a frenzy. It's fabulous! I could have zipped around Jason's backyard for hours. I can't wait until he puts on the lights and the sound machine and we can whirl around the desert.

This is what a copper model of the best bike ever looks like:

The real thing is going to blow people away.

P.s. Jason runs a great site for Rochester folks looking for things to do in and around the city. His taste in choice events is spot on, except he needs to add the free Celtic shows at Milestones every Sunday night at 7 p.m.
Visit JayceLand.com.

Name that Van

2005-07-10T23:47:00.000-04:00

I bought a van!

Finally, after considering VW buses, RVs, trucks with trailers, and minivans, I have made my purchase - a silver 1995 Plymouth Voyager with 89,000 miles on it. And it didn't break my budget.

"Life is a highway. I'm gonna ride it all night long..." has been running through my mind all day.

I'll post a picture of my beautiful new ride soon. In the meantime, my baby needs a name.

So, I am starting a contest to "Name that Van!"

The rules - be creative.

The prize - a special place in my heart, bragging rights here on the blog, and endless amusement. (I'd offer more, but I still need to buy a lot of things before I leave. On the list still: a tent, an air mattress and storage units, just to name a few.)

The deadline - reply to this post by Sunday, July 17. I will announce my baby's name sometime after that. I reserve the right to use a name not offered during the contest. After all, it is my new van!

I hope there are a bunch of submissions. Good luck!

A Great Night

2005-07-10T04:12:00.000-04:00

Correction. A great Saturday.
It's now 3:51 a.m. Sunday, and I just got home about 10 minutes ago.
Since I left my apartment approximately 12 hours ago, I have had a GREAT time.
Generally I don't write about the exact events of my day, but I had such a fun Saturday that I want to share. Plus, since I have been feeling bad since Thursday's parental bomb, this was great.
So, here's what I did today.
I slept in - hurray no work today!
Then I went to Gander Mountain where I tried on no fewer than a dozen pairs of hiking boots.
I found these Salomon Canyon Mid Gtx Gore-Tex Lined Hiking Boots. And they were on SALE for $70 instead of $100. Hurray.
After quickly opening a new checking account with Citizen's Bank and briefly grocery shopping I returned to my apartment to prepare for a coworker's barbecue/apartment-warming party.
We drank a bunch of margaritas, played ping pong and chilled on her porch on Park Avenue. It was fantastic.
As I was leaving I got a call, and my plan to go see a movie changed.
Instead I went to meet two awesome people at LUX, quite possibly my new favorite bar. It's at 666 South Avenue, and everything has a red glow. There's a window seat with soft and abundant cushions, a pool table and a back yard with a chimea, hammock, random mannequins in a corner and a bunch of benches.
It's a great place to while away the time with cool people.
Then we went to Bullwinkle's on Lake Avenue. It's only open on Saturday nights, and is owned by this really old woman who has had the place forever.
If it wasn't so late I would try to describe the amazing vintage decor and the cool people singing old standards, but I'm tired. Plus, if I say too much people might go there and mess it up.
On to Monty's Krown and a parking adventure. I really hate finding space for the minivan.
We got there around 1:15 a.m. and not only closed the bar, but got kicked out after they had cleaned.
At about 2:30 or so we left and decided to get trash plates at Mark's on Monroe Avenue. What a scene.
People wait in line outside for the bouncer to let them in. And what a bouncer. He has shaved off all the facial hair on one side of his face (including his eyebrow) and has a wildcat tattoo on his half-bald head. The other side of his face and head has hair - including a beard and mustache - but they've been buzzed to look like claws have scratched through them. I wish I had taken a picture.
Any way, we ate at Mark's and finally left when a drunk bitch started yelling about coffee or something. Whatever.
Now I'm home and I need to sleep, but it was such a fun night.
Thank you S, J and S. I had a great night, and I feel so much better now!

Heartbroken

2005-07-07T21:52:00.000-04:00

I should have seen it coming. It's been building for months. But naively I hoped I could avoid what happened this afternoon.

I got ambushed.

My parents blew up in my face over my decision to live in a van and travel and write.

I don't want to go into details - it hurts too much to think about the things said, let alone type them. But the gist of their shouting consisted of them claiming I will go broke in less than a year, get raped and killed on the side of the road, and then come crawling home. Or something like that.

I don't really remember - it's like my mind has blocked out the trauma. I'm just left feeling heartbroken.

It's not going to stop me from going. Oh no. I'm still leaving Aug. 15. But something in me, a part of my relationship with my parents, died today.

I wish it didn't have to be this way. I wish I could find the words that would appease them. But nothing short of "okay, I'll stay" is going to do it at this point. And I can't tell them that.

I can't spend my life afraid of hurting the people I love with my actions. I can think about them and weigh the consequences - which I have - but in the end it comes down to one fact:
This is MY life. I have to live it for me, and do what's right for me. They see it as selfish and irresponsible. I see it as the only SANE thing to do.

And I am going to be fine. Scratch that. I am going to be great!

There are LOTS of people who agree with me. They're not my parents, but every vote of confidence counts. So thank you to all the people who have called or sent me notes of encouragement and support. They mean a lot to me.

Below are just a few I got today from my coworkers when I sent an email explaining my plan.
I hope they don't mind me sharing. Thanks everyone! They made me feel a little better.

How wonderful for you!
How awful for us!
I wish you the very, very best and hope we share one more Bacardi Lemon and Pepsi before you go.
K
___

Wow! That's really bold of you. Good luck, and keep us posted!
- Anne
___

Elliotte I think it calls for an afterwork get-together.
___

Very cool!

If only I could dump the mortgage etc. it would be great to travel again. Must be both exciting and terrifying to be doing this.
I took a very quick glance at your blog (enjoyed "guys gone wild"), and you have inspired me to create one. Nothing there for now, but if you feel so inclined to add http://ramblingdan.blogspot.com/ to your bookmarks, I may just have something to say one day soon.
While we have not gotten to know each other, I have enjoyed the brief time I have spent working with you, and look forward to living vicariously through you as you travel around.
___

How dare you leave and do something fun :)
___

Hi Elliotte,
Wishing you all the best as you continue to make your dreams come true.
John

Leaving Limbo

2005-07-06T22:27:00.000-04:00

Leaving is harder than being gone

It is a little-known, seldom-acknowledged fact that the act of leaving is much more difficult than actually being gone.
Leaving, especially the events leading up to your departure, is an excruciating stay in limbo. You’re ready to go, but you haven’t gone yet.

Limbo is far worse than hell. At least in hell you can adjust and deal with the situation at hand. Plus, you might find some interesting people to share a drink with at the bar - I‘ll take a Jack and Coke, thanks.
In limbo, it’s like you have no hands. And the situation, well, that’s a constant flux of ulcer-aggravating bullshit to handle - without hands. And the people - they’re the ones causing the bullshit! And there’s not a bar in sight.

Being gone, whether it’s heaven or turns into hell, means at least you’re not in limbo.

It’s like studying for a final at college. You live on chocolate and orange juice and spend hours in the library agonizing over your notes. You don’t know what the questions will be, or if you’re ready for them. You wonder if the classes were worth it and if you can hack it.
Then you sit down with your pen in hand and open the test. You might not know the answers, but at least you have the questions. You take the damn thing, and it might not be easy, but it’s so much better than the agony of uncertainty while you study.

I know. I’ve taken a lot of tests. I've been in limbo before, and I’m there again now.

Last year, between January and March, I was ready to go to Europe but I hadn’t left yet. So I had to deal with heaps of limbo bullshit. Not least were the questions I asked while I planned to be gone.
“What do I pack? What guide books do I buy? How do I get money? Do I have enough? Where will I go?”
And the BIG HUGE one - “AM I MAKING A MISTAKE?”
Plus, I had to listen to the doubters and deal with their endless questions.
I counted down the days, hours and minutes until departure.

And then I was gone.

The nagging worries and fears fell away, I threw out all the junk I had over packed, and I split my time between heaven and hell - mostly the former, occasionally the latter.
Compared to the limbo of leaving, every “disaster” while being gone seemed minor.
I can’t figure out the buses in Seville? So what, it’s not like figuring out travel insurance policies!
Every museum in Florence is closed this week? Okay, that’s better than people’s closed minds about my plans this year! (Well, not everyone hated the idea - just a select few that made it harder than it should have been.)

Leaving is a process; being gone is the end of that process. There are adventures once you are gone, but the agony of leaving itself is over and done - finally!

And leaving is agony. At least, it is for me.

It might be easier if I wasn’t leaving so much behind. My family loves me and I have a steady job, a growing career and amazing friends with whom I haven’t gotten to spend enough time. I sleep on a big pillow-top mattress that I can’t take on the road and my aunt has a heated swimming pool. My dog is old and my little cousins are still young enough to think I’m cool.

It’s agony to leave all that. It’s hard and it hurts and today I had my first panic attack about buying a van that costs too much or might break down.
But every time I’m torn apart in the limbo of leaving, it proves how much I want to be gone. Because I could back down. I could punk out and call it quits. I could let the fear and worry and pain stop me. But I want to take the test enough to deal with preparing for it.
I want to be gone enough to deal with leaving.

Being gone is so much easier than leaving.

Yikes

2005-07-04T01:19:00.000-04:00

These are seriously messed up links from BoingBoing...

Liquid Man and Falling Woman - you move your mouse around to make them move.

All I have to say is yikes.

Home

2005-07-04T00:08:00.000-04:00

This is mine.

It's the only home I've ever known. College and my current apartment don't count - they've always been temporary.

This weekend I went home on Friday evening. I intended to just spend the night, get my laundry washed and clean out all the junk I'd left behind.

In and out in less than 24 hours, I figured.

Then, suddenly, it was Sunday afternoon and I still hadn't left.

After procrastinating for most of the morning, I threw out a bunch of the past on Saturday.
I gave some away to family and Good Will. Then I put the rest in boxes and stacked them in a corner. That's my physical history, filling less than one closet.

It was strange to look at the box of books I kept, and the one I gave away - what made the difference? I'm still not sure.

And packing clothes into a trunk, knowing they'd be out of style or might not fit me physically when I see them again, seemed silly. But travel sure cleans out the wardrobe.

As I learn every day, I have too much shit. It's time to clean.

So I started. And then I took a break to swim and watch a movie. Saturday just slipped away.

Sunday my parents invited me to take a drive, just the three of us.

I haven't been on a summer drive around the area with my family in at least a decade. Seriously.

Dad used to pile us three kids into the back of our minivan, mom in front, and tell us we were going to get ice cream. No less than an hour later, he'd have made a dozen stops to look at crops and we'd finally be on our way to get the ice cream.

I still think about those drives whenever I eat an ice cream cone.

So, for nostalgia's sake I couldn't turn them down. Off we went.

"Boy, the hay needs water. Look at that field. Those guys must be cryin. It needs to rain."

Every utterance took me back in time. But this time I was a little more patient. I didn't moan and groan - ok, only a little. And I even joined in to discuss the "knee high by the Fourth of July" rule about sweet corn. I've always wondered whose knee, exactly?

Any way, we finally got ice cream - and lunch, too.

But my favorite moment of the entire day was talking to my parents on the car ride back. We were laughing about how similar this trip was to so many so long ago.

My dad reminded me about the time I fell into a fish pond when I was five.

Mom wanted to jump in after me, but he said if I could fall in, I could get out. I was screaming and yelling, and my sister and brother were laughing.

I remember little fish running into me and feeling slimy - blech.

When I finally got out, we went back to the van to dry me off. Mom's mommy-sense had known one of us would fall in, but she thought it would be my 2-year-old brother so she had only packed his clothes. I spent the rest of the day barefoot with my tummy bare below the tight t-shirt and my rear end hanging out of the pants-turned-shorts.

Today we laughed and laughed about that, and I realized two things:

1. My dad remembers stuff I thought he had long since forgotten. We both cherish that crazy little moment 18 years later. We'd never lose our past.

2. My future isn't going to have as many moments with him. When I fall into the next fish pond, and lord knows I will, dad won't be there to holler at me to get my fool self out.

But I'll remember our ride today, and laughing together.

I won't always get to go home for the weekend, but when I need a reminder on the road I'll stop to look at the crops and get an ice cream cone.

Guys Gone Wild

2005-07-01T16:36:00.000-04:00

Old men seem to love me. I don't know why.

After helping an old gentleman in Paris read the expiration date of a yogurt, he bought me Greek food and invited me to Monaco for Christmas.

In Amsterdam the drunk Greek chef in a restaurant asked me to marry him. He was downing shots of ouzo with Heineken chasers, because "Being in love means never drinking alone. I love you I love you I love you," he said to the shot of ouzo. "Oopah!"

These are just a few examples.

So I should have known better when I had the brilliant idea of writing a story about a group of guys meeting to hang out at the senior center. Me, a handful of frisky geezers and a game of pinochle... what did I think was going to happen?

Well, this is the story I wrote for the July 7 Brockport Post:

Guys Gone Wild

Walking into the billiards room at the Sweden Senior Center last Wednesday morning, I couldn't help but laugh.
"You fellas are gonna have to watch your language," Bud DeTar immediately said as he played pool.
"Why? She's heard darn it before," Walt Fisher, 75, said while he played pinochle.
Walking by, Dick Herzog stopped and asked, "Did they clean up the language while you're here?"
As a disagreement about the pinochle score broke out, and the language wasn't so clean, Lorne Day, 66, shook his head.
"There's a lot of jealousy at this table," the Kendall resident said. "We come up here to argue, honey."
As the other pinochle players told me their names and ages, DeTar leaned over my shoulder to look at my notebook.
"I just want to make sure they're not lying about their ages," the 82-year-old Brockport resident said.
"That's Bud," Fisher, of Hamlin, said as he threw down a card. "Trump that!"
"Bud Bud Buuuuuud," said George Seewald, 84, sounding like a frog. "Buuuud Bud."
For years, the guys at the Sweden Senior Center have met at 9 a.m. on Wednesdays for a men's morning. Day said he's been coming to play cards and escape the ladies since about 1987.
"If you look at any senior citizen place, the men are outnumbered nine or 10 to one," Day said. "At least on this morning we're not. I like having time away from my wife."
His wife, Thelma Day, overheard him from the doorway when she stopped to say hello.
"I love you too. You can walk home now," she said. The guys chuckled.
Fisher started to tell marriage jokes. He kept them clean, and then asked me,"Why aren't you married?"
"Tell him it's none of his business!" Ed Forys said.
"Watch it old man!" Fisher hollered.
Fisher said he comes to the center with his wife of 53 years.
"The poor woman deserves the Purple Heart," Day joked.
As a pinochle round concluded, Forys started to gloat.
"I think we sunk their ship, George," the 87-year-old Brockport resident said to Seewald. "Oh did we sink the ship that time! It's still sinking."
"Blub blub blub blub," Seewald, of Hamlin, said.
"Hey! Don't be like that!" Fisher interjected.
"There's nothing worse than four cranky old men," Day said.
"Four cranky old women are pretty bad," DeTar piped up from across the room.
"I didn't want to say it," Day said under his breath with a grin.

I kept the part about one of the guys asking me what I was doing that night out of the story - his wife might not appreciate it.

Check it out

2005-07-01T02:59:00.000-04:00

Mark your calendars. I've been published.

It's my first official travel story. Hurray!

Check out the article on BootsnAll: Nocturnal Nightmare- A Spanish Sleeper Car.

For those of you who received my e-mail missives from Europe in 2004, you'll recognize the story. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, I backpacked through Europe for two months using a Eurail Pass. This train ride was the craziest.

I hope you enjoy the article - it's rougher than I'd like, but I just thought I would go for it and voila! Published.

Now if I could just get some paid gigs, I'd be all set...

Any one else with a story - check out the BootsnAll site's writer's guidelines.

The Cookie Monster

2005-06-30T02:37:00.000-04:00

For Lent this year I gave up chocolate. That's right - 40 days without cocoa in any form. And I'm addicted to chocolate. I love it all - milk, dark, white. Plain, with nuts or fillings, in desserts and as a hot drink.

I toured Europe tasting chocolates - Belgium won.

It was crazy to give up chocolate for Lent, and I'm not even Catholic! I just wanted to see if I could do it.

And I did. I didn't even punk out and take Sundays off.

But one of the things that got me through was Wegmans' coconut macaroons.

In the middle of Lent I stared at all the chocolate-based cookies and started to drool. Then I spotted the golden suns of baked coconut.

Mmmmm. The attendant grinned at the look of lust that crossed my face.

These delicious cookies have absolutely no chocolate, and I had to have one. It tasted divine and satisfied my chocoloco cravings.

Since I've returned to my chocolate consumption, I eat fewer coconut macaroons. But they still call to me.

A few days ago I went grocery shopping at the Pittsford Wegmans - which, sadly, is one of the most popular tourist destinations in Rochester (I took friends from Italy there!).

When I walked by the macaroons, I just couldn't resist.

As you can see, the Cookie Monster attacked me... and I liked it.

ILAC for life

2005-06-29T04:30:00.000-04:00

In the fourth grade Mrs. Geno made my class create ILAC tags. It was an acronym for something like "Intelligent, Loveable, Amazing, Capable.”

On a white sheet of paper with a small hole at each end, I drew the big bold letters ILAC in magenta and purple marker. Then I decorated the remaining white space with stars.

My tag was beautiful - it was perfect. It represented my confidence.

And then my class had to wear our tags for a week - I coordinated my outfits.

For that whole week, whenever someone hurt my feelings and bruised my confidence, I had to tear off a piece of the pretty ILAC tag hanging around my neck.

If I hurt myself, I tore off a bigger piece.

If someone made me feel good and boosted my confidence, I taped a piece of the ILAC tag back on.

By the end of the week, I only had half the I left. It hung crookedly across my chest.

My week’s worth of pretty matching pockets held the pieces of my fourth-grade ILAC. Only a few had tape on them.

I wonder what my ILAC looks like now - now that I feel like I’m tearing off the biggest pieces through my self-inflicted growing pains. Can the mending tape keep up?

It might not hang around my neck, but that damn tag’s been my ILAC for life.

Sometimes, most times, knowing myself means being alone.

The more I discover about myself, the more I see how confused most people are. And seeing that, I want very little to do with them.

I don’t know exactly who I am, and my confidence might be torn, but at least I’m trying to find out and fix it.

I often resent like hell this internal emotional mining, and occasionally I try to avoid it.

Because realizing what is good for me, and what is bad, can be incredibly lonely, hard and painful at times.

“Ignorance is bliss” a bunch of “theys” say. No kidding.

A friend of mine, a kindred spirit, said we get punished for being and seeing more. The world celebrates the middle - the mediocre.

I wish I could sometimes turn off my internal warning system that shouts “Uh oh. Not Good For You! STOP!” Maybe it’d be nice to lie to myself and convince myself that I’m happy with those lies.

“Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies,” I’d croon myself to sleep. My ILAC tag would be covered with lies instead of stars.

Better yet, it’d be nice to not even know I was constructing and believing lies - to plod along in ignorance without ever realizing I should be flying.

Would that be bliss? Would I feel better? Would I get my ILAC back whole?

I sure as hell wouldn’t be alone. I could join the masses of people silently screaming through their lives. I could pop some pills, fuck some random guys and then seek atonement on my therapist’s couch or on my faith’s altar.

But I can’t. Damn it, I know better.

And knowing better, being better, means I often end up alone. Alone with my ILAC.

It means I have to grow until my internal clothes - my beliefs, relationships, ideas - don’t fit any more and I have to get new ones. It means seeking out kindred people to nourish and nurture that growth.

It means finding and applying my own damn tape, and hanging new ILACs around my neck.

So I might rip myself to shreds, but I come back stronger than before.

Damn ILAC.

Burning Man, baby!

2005-06-27T23:02:00.000-04:00

Look what I got in the mail!

Oh yeah, I'm going to Burning Man in Black Rock City Aug. 29-Sept. 5.

It's been interesting and painful trying to explain Burning Man to my conservative Republican family. They love me, and so they worry. It'd be easier if we were more disfunctional and disjointed.
Yesterday, during my cousin Kirra's 5th birthday party (Happy Birthday!), I ran the guilt gauntlet about my departure.
"When are you leaving? Why? When are you coming back? How will you live? Where are you going? Burning Man? What's that, some sorta pagan drug and sex orgy?"
My frustrated response - "Exactly!"
Seriously, I've never been to Burning Man before, so I don't know what to say.
This is what I wrote to Black Rock City in my application for a discount ticket because I'll be poor (thank you BM!):

What does the Burning Man community represent to you?
It’s a butterfly in a hurricane. It’s a punch in the head. It’s an unpainted canvas, a blank sheet of paper and pen, a book waiting for words. It’s a haven and a danger. It’s a jewel few people can really see the beauty of, and all the better for it.
Burning Man is a place to grow and be challenged and experience completely new people and things. It’s a higher level of reality, and it’s a community of people living outside the staid boundaries and confines of tradition.
It’s where reality and imagination collide and clash and commune, and come out different.
The community isn’t content with the status quo, and will push me to the limits and beyond. I want that. I need that.
I have never been to Burning Man, but something in my gut, something in my flesh and bones and my cells, tells me that the Burning Man community - the people, the art, the experiences and thoughts I will have - is what I have been looking for.

That was just off the top of my head. I have no idea.
And how do I describe my need to be really free? To explore the world and lose myself, then find my real self?
A friend of mine, a wise friend, told me today that most people don't want real freedom. It's too scary. They don't know what to do. But real freedom changes your life. If you fight for real freedom, you'll never be the same.
I need real freedom. I need to be a vagabond.
So all I can tell my wonderful family is that I'm not doing it to them, I'm doing it for me.
For the people who understand - an explanation isn't necessary, and for the people who don't understand - no explanation is satisfactory.

Our Deepest Fear

2005-06-25T10:10:00.000-04:00

I hate it when movies and television steal great poems and quotes for gratuitous tear-jerker moments.

The Dylan Thomas/Bob Dylan references in “Dangerous Minds” is just one example in a sea of sacrilege.
I get the same feeling when I see BB King doing Burger King commercials and Janis Joplin selling a Mercedes Benz from her grave.

Is nothing sacred?

So while watching “Coach Carter,” in which Samuel Jackson plays a tough-as-nails basketball coach at a ghetto California high school, I started to cringe when one of his players recites a wonderful poem in a typical movie power moment. Dim the lights and cue the sappy soundtrack.

I had heard the poem before, wrongly attributed to Nelson Mandela’s 1994 inauguration speech.

It’s good, and once again Hollywood has bastardized it to sell a bucket of popcorn and a gallon of Pepsi.

Well, I’m not selling Goobers and $8 movie tickets. I just want to share it with you.

Our Deepest Fear
by Marianne Williamson
from A Return To Love: Reflections on
the Principles of A Course in Miracles

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.
We are all meant to shine, as children do.
We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

Watch Me Soar

2005-06-24T18:08:00.000-04:00

There’s a hill on a road that’s named after my family.

It’s the refuse of a glacier that scraped across the continent thousands of years ago. In the fourth grade I learned the name of this landform, but I never remember it because I have another name for this hill.

I simply call it Mine.

And every year for as long as I can remember, I’ve gone to the top of my hill.

As a child, my mom would go with me and hold my hand. We’d pick blackberries on the hill and eat them until our fingers and lips turned bright purple and my belly ached. We’d watch hang gliders fly off the edge with their nylon wings, and hold our breath until they landed in the field below.

I remember one of my earliest visits to my hill. I ran through the tall grass and picked wild flowers. Mom warned me to stay close and not go far, but something called to me.

I let go of her hand and stepped to the grassy edge. I looked out at the entire world I knew. I could see my house, and my daddy’s farm. I could count the cows and see the soccer fields I played on.

As the wind blew my mother’s voice through my ponytail and fluttered my shirt, I closed my eyes and held out my arms and imagined myself soaring up over everything and flying away.

Now every year I go alone to the top of my hill. I stand at the edge, and I hold out my arms and close my eyes. And for a moment, just a moment, I soar up over everything and fly away.

I drive by my hill often, and every time I yearn to climb it and stand alone at the top of my childhood world. But even more, I yearn to leave my hill.

It’s time to really fly. Watch me soar.

Oh the Places I'll Go!

2005-06-24T03:16:00.000-04:00

(my apologies to Dr. Seuss for butchering his style)

Hello!

I have a question; it’s a big one too.
I need a suggestion, and I thought of you.
Over and over I’ve read Dr. Seuss’ book,
And from “Oh the Places You’ll Go” a lesson I took.

I need to see the places out there,
drive and fly and swim where I dare.
There are seven continents in the world,
people and places and things to be swirled.

Shaking me up, from inside and out,
that’s what my journey’s about.
I’ve set a date - it’s coming soon.
On Aug. 15 I’m leaving by noon.

“I’m throwing my life away”
I laugh out loud and say.
My family wonders, worries and weeps,
but these things are done in bounds and leaps.

Burning Man’s the first place that I’ll go,
but after there, I just don’t know.
North America, Antarctica, Timbuktu?
Where do I go, and what should I do?

Perhaps I’ll swim in the Mississippi,
and chat with an Asian hippie.
I could ride down the Nile,
or gaze at the Rockies and smile.

Maybe I’ll camp in nice parks,
and swim with Carribean sharks;
Climb mountains and hills,
and somehow deal with my bills.

Oh the places I’ll go,
but where I still don’t know!
So I’m asking you people who look at this site,
To send me your ideas - write write write.

No place on Earth is too near or too far,
if I can go by foot, plane, train, boat or car.
It’s time to add vagabond to this virago.
So please oh please let your thoughts flow.

For inspiration and consideration:

Oh, the Places You’ll Go!
by Dr. Seuss

(To read the story or leave a reply…)

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look ‘em over with care.
About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.”
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you’re too smart to go down any not-so-good street.

And you may not find any
you’ll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you’ll head straight out of town.

It’s opener there
in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen,
don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along.
You’ll start happening too.

OH!
THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!

You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed.
You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you’ll be the best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’t
Because, sometimes, you won’t.

I’m sorry to say so
but, sadly, it’s true
and Hang-ups
can happen to you.

You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump,
you’re not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right…
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…

…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

NO!
That’s not for you!

Somehow you’ll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You’ll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.

With banner flip-flapping,
once more you’ll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. there are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t.
Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times
you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win
‘cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you’ll be quite a lot.

And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance
you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

But on you will go
though the weather be foul
On you will go
though your enemies prowl
On you will go

though the Hakken-Kraks howl
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike
and I know you’ll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life’s
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU’LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

So…
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O’Shea,
you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!

Lady of the Library

2005-06-24T02:31:00.000-04:00

I love librarians.

Forget the orders to whisper, the secret society of the Dewey Decimal System and the late-fee nazi. Librarians are mainly magical people.

They have tools, and they know how to use them. They might not know how to fix a car or speak Spanish, but give them five minutes and they can show you a source to find out.

There are these things called books. You might have heard of them. They’re at the library, and you can read them for free. And there are these things called computers, with the Internet. You guessed it, also free at the library.

But knowing what book or Web site to look at - this is one of the magic librarian’s powers. And their help is free too!

Even better is having a librarian as a friend. Especially an awesome Lady of the Library like Bliss Girl.
She knows about my hunt, and took it upon herself to help.

Look what she sent me!

Subject: They might not all be girls
Date: Thu, 23 Jun 2005 18:20:15 -0400

…but they are all elliottes!

My source, the Reference USA (directory) database, unfortunately
doesn’t provide gender information. But - equally importantly - it IS
searchable by first name.

So in case these 45 listings are helpful for you… here are some
gender-indeterminante Elliottes across the United States. It’s hardly
comprehensive, but I thought it might give you a few fresh leads.

Cheers,
Bliss Girl

List of 45 Elliottes with address and phone number. (I’m not on it because I don’t have a phonebook listing.)

What a friend! What a librarian! And to the brilliant man who dubbed her Bliss Girl - Bravo!

I just promised him I will add posts about things beyond the hunt, and I will - really. But I had to share this news.
Thanks BG.

FYI about the database, according to the Web site:

ReferenceUSA is an Internet-based reference service from the Library Division of infoUSA. The site was designed for use as a reference tool in libraries and is continually enhanced based upon suggestions from librarians and library patrons.

The ReferenceUSA database contains, in module format, detailed information on more than 12 million U.S. businesses; 102 million U.S. residents; 683,000 U.S. health care providers; 1 million Canadian businesses; and 11 million Canadian residents.

ReferenceUSA’s residential information is compiled from more than 3,900 White Page telephone directories. Each listing appears in the database exactly as it appears in the phone book. ReferenceUSA does not include unlisted phone numbers, Direct Marketing Association and Canadian Marketing Association suppression files, or state-regulated mail and telephone suppression files (U.S. data only). Information is available eight to 12 weeks after it appears in the phone book, and the file is processed through U.S. and Canadian National Change of Address records on a monthly basis.

Each U.S. residential listing also contains information from the most recent U.S. census, including median household income, median home value, latitude/longitude and percentage of owner-occupied housing.

Email the Female

2005-06-23T01:00:00.000-04:00

At approximately 12:37 a.m. I emailed two theater groups - 7th Sign and NYMT Collective - an email asking them to forward it on to Elliotte Crowell.
This is her:

My email:

To Elliotte Crowell:
Hello. My name is Elliotte Ann Bowerman.
As you might have noticed, we have the same first name. This is why I have contacted you.
I realize I might sound crazy, but I am searching for female Elliottes (of various spellings).
I have heard “You’re the first female Elliotte I’ve met” my entire life, and I have never met another female Elliotte.
During a conversation with a friend, I wondered about the lives of other female Elliottes.
As a journalist, I’m just naturally curious.
So I am trying to find as many Elliottes as I can to talk with them about their names, their lives, and their experiences as female Elliottes.
You came up during my Google searches, and your picture proves you are in fact a female Elliotte.
As an actress, did you chose your first name or were you born with it?
I was born with mine, and somehow it fits me perfectly.
Either way, I would really appreciate the opportunity to speak with you.
I just started a blog about various things, including my hunt for female Elliottes.

You can read about it, if you like, at http://blogs.bootsnall.com/Virago+Vagabond/

I would really love to talk with you - via email or telephone, whatever works best for you - and then write a post on my blog.
It’s a funny idea, but I am sincere. For years I’ve wondered about the rare lives of female Elliottes.
I hope to hear from you soon.

Thank you for your consideration.
~Elliotte Bowerman

contact info I don’t want to post

Hopefully I’ll hear from her soon, or at the very least get some odd responses from the theater folks.
In the meantime, a friend has provided me with the name and phone number of a female Elliotte he knows. Thanks -

Google Whogle?

2005-06-22T02:26:00.000-04:00

Since search engines are right at my fingertips, even as I type this blog, I have opted to Google for “Elliotte” female and “Elliotte” woman, etc.
I’m starting with my exact spelling, but I’ll branch out to various numbers of Ls, Ts and Es.

1:37 a.m. - The start of this blog and search.
So far, things look good. The searches have turned up the following female Elliottes to contact:
Elliotte Crowell - an actress - mail@7thsign.info
Elliotte Finn Orlove - Brett Orlove U Penn Class of 1988 and his wife, Debbi, happily announce the May 12 birth of their little girl, Elliotte Finn Orlove.
Elliotte Krier - in 2003 a 9-year-old girl who participated in a 5K race in Littleton, Colorado. She finished 136th out of 210 and it took her 37:56 minutes. Bravo.

2:14 a.m.
Ok, now I have spent about an hour going through a bunch of Google searches for all sorts of Elliottes, and I’m exhausted. A Google search for “Eliot” woman turned up 866,000 hits. Add another T - “Elliott” woman - and I hit 974,000.
“Elliotte” got me 196,00 hits - mostly for Elliotte Rusty Harold. The man’s prolific!

The big problem with these searches is Elliotte (and various spellings) is a last name and a first name, so female “Elliotte”s are really Sarah Elliottes and Jenn Elliottes - not Elliotte Elliottes. Or they’re Joe Elliottes and Bill Elliottes… you get my drift.

I still have to call the FBI, but there has to be another solution. I’d love to hear your ideas, and if you know a female Elliotte (I do mean her first name) - let me know.

I’ll continue hunting, but at least the search has given me some female Elliottes to contact.
Hold on, it’s 2:25 a.m. - better wait until dawn, at least.

SS Elliotte

2005-06-21T19:20:00.000-04:00

In the hunt for female Elliottes, I figured it’s best to start close to home.
So, who keeps track of all the Elliottes in the United States?
What secretive, potentially evil government agency has a database that will reveal the female Elliottes of the world with a click of a mouse?
Mulling this over, I ran across my meager paycheck and found the answer - Social Security.
Everyone in the United States legally, and plenty of folks here illegally, has to have a 9-digit SS number.
When I started working, I burned my number into my brain. Other American female Elliottes out there must have done the same.
Light bulb - SS Elliotte could be the answer!

Time to hunt. A quick search brought me to the Social Security Web site, and a toll-free number to call with questions:
1-800-772-1213 (open 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. in Spanish and English. People who are deaf or hard of hearing, call 1-800-325-0778)
Quick clock check - 6:15 p.m. - still open!
After wading through 15 minutes of automated messages (I really hate those things) and punching my S.S. number into the service (here comes a tax audit), I finally reached a human being - Sharon.
I eagerly explained my situation:
“Hello, my name is Elliotte. I need to find women of my kind - the rare female Elliotte. Everyone has a Social Security number, including these unique individuals. Can’t you just do a quick search to tell me how many female Elliottes are out there?”

“Uh, ma’am, are you joking?”

“No, I am on the hunt for S.S. Elliotte.”

pregnant pause - “Ma’am, we don’t do that. I can’t find out how many Elliottes there are. We only search by numbers. I need nine digits, not a first name and gender. This is the wrong place for you.”

“Oh. Really? I thought Social Security knew everything. Do you know who can help me?”

“No ma’am, I don’t.”

“Ok, maybe I’ll call the FBI, or the IRS. Thanks.”

Quick search of the FBI site:
The FBI can be contacted twenty-four hours a day, every day. Here’s how:
FBI Headquarters in Washington, D.C.
Call (202) 324-3000

What’s behind door number two?

The Hunt for Female Elliottes

2005-06-21T16:28:00.000-04:00

“Hi. My name is Elliotte.”
surprised look - “Elliotte? For real, your name is Elliotte?”
mental sigh - “Yes. Elliotte. My dad named me after a cocktail waitress in Hawaii. Nice to meet you Joe.”
This is a conversation I have had hundreds, perhaps thousands of times.
As a writer, many readers seem surprised to hear a feminine voice on the phone when they call. The unique spelling leads to jumbled sounds that might be close cousins with Swahili- “eeeeelieoat” “eeeelowette” and “elleeeetay” are just a few.
But I don’t mind. It’s actually fun to be surprised with a new way of butchering my name. And dad might not have planned it, but he certainly made me memorable at the bars.
There are very few female Elliottes in the world- at least I think there are. I haven’t found any evidence of a sleeper Elliotte cell anywhere. Have you?
In comparison to the glut of Sarahs, Jennifers and Amys (I know at least 10 of each) - I love being unique.
I wonder if other female Elliottes agree.
But I don’t know, because I’ve never actually met or even spoken with one.
I don’t even know how many are out there roaming the world, or even the United States.
Today I decided it’s time to find out.

Here’s the plan:
I am going to search for female Elliottes by any means available - the Internet, the phone book, inside government sources and people I know, just to name a few off the top of my head. If you know a woman/girl/virago named Elliotte, let me know!
When I find one, and I know I will, I want to talk with her, maybe even meet her. I want to find out about the origin of her name, and how she has used it to her advantage. There is power in a name like Elliotte, and I have a feeling those blessed to have it - by birth or by choice - have utilized that power.
And after I meet or talk with a female Elliotte, I’ll tell you about her.
It’s information you’ll want to know. And if I happen to spawn a wave of baby girl Elliottes, the world better watch out - we’re dangerous.

What is a Virago?

2005-06-19T22:38:00.000-04:00

Now, nasty dictionaries (note the word “dic” in their name) make viragoes sound bad - a quick Google search gave me “a noisy or scolding or domineering woman,” and wikipedia even said it’s ” a pejorative name for a verbally abusive and angry woman. It is borrowed from Latin virago, which means ‘resembling (-ago) a man (vir)’. ”
Well, this “noisy, domineering, angry woman” says to hell with all that.
I got the wonderful phrase Virago from Florence King’s book “Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady.”
In it King writes that viragoes are “the only V worth having… A virago is a woman of geat stature, strength and courage who is not feminine in the conventional ways.”
That’s me to a V.
Like King’s mother, I should have it painted on my bowling ball. If I had one, I would.
Instead, I’m painting it on my blog.
Perhaps my parents knew before I was born that I wouldn’t fit the conventional ways of womanhood.
My father decided to christen me Elliotte, the name of a cocktail waitress he met on vacation in Hawaii. She’s not my mother, and dad claims “nothing happened, I just liked the name.”
I’ve yet to meet another female with the same name, although the brilliant show “Scrubs” has a female Eliot Reid (I like my spelling better) as one of its main characters.
A few people have told me they’ve met other female Elliottes (spelling varies), and another quick Google search showed me “Elliotte Crowell” is an actress, but generally I’m a unique first encounter with the female Elliotte kind.
I like it that way, because my dad might not have known it when he named me Elliotte, but I’m a woman of geat stature, strength and courage who is not feminine in the conventional ways.
So when I start my vagabonding in August, you can call me Elliotte, or Virago for short.