:110223: When I was a young captive, I thought this would be the best job: cleaning the insides of the giant tanks at an aquarium, and holding yourself in place with a little suction-cup handle. I'm not sure what about it appealed to me so much...

For a while there, I wanted to be a marine biologist. Maybe it had something to do with that, although cleaning tanks is only obliquely related to marine biology. Maybe it was the free-floating aspect of it - the little suction-cup handle made it clear that without it, you'd have no leverage for cleaning the window and you'd float away. Maybe it was the appeal of being inside a photograph - the exotic colored fish in the impossibly green water wasn't real on this side of the glass, it was more like watching a movie. But on the other side of the glass, you were really there.

I can tell you now what doesn't appeal to me about that job. I don't really like the idea of not being completely surrounded by breathable air (which is why I'll never be an astronaut). I don't really like to have lots of people looking at me; performance gives me hives. I know I wouldn't be putting on a show or anything, but I also know that as an aquarium visitor, I'm much more interested in the window-washer than the fish. I don't really like to swim, nor do I like wearing the things you need to wear in order to swim—they're uncomfortable to wear, uncomfortable to put on, even more uncomfortable to take off when they're wet, and then putting on dry clothes afterward is uncomfortable, too.

Oh, and fish are creepy.

Good think I never became a marine biologist, eh?

:110222: One thing my captors love, and it happens nearly every time:

I go to a live performance, and find a little unexpected treasure. You know, like when you go to a concert with an opening band you've never heard of, and now the opening band is one of your favorites, like these blokes.

So, a little while ago (OK, August 2009), I went to see some live ballet in Washington Park accompanied by the Portland Cello Project. I love me some cello, and there's almost nothing better than free performances in parks. It seemed like a lovely way to spend a summer evening.

The unexpected part was this little bit at the end where Brian Perez lent his voice to the lovely collection of cellos. The cellos started out slow and haunting, and as John Brophy's bass guitar began, Brian Perez let loose that voice of his. I was taken aback by the clarity and power Perez packed into each note. Even with the wide open outdoor venue, and me sitting near the back of 3,000 people, Perez effectively filled the space with his slow croon.

I thought to myself, "who is this guy?" I didn't really wonder why I'd never heard of him. I don't really pay attention to these things. Interestingly, though, I haven't heard anything about him since. It seems Brian Perez is well known (on the internet, anyway) for that particular song, but there's not much else about him out there. No solo career, not much in the way of other songs that aren't bad video of karaoke. Oh well; I'll have to be satisfied with that one live performance.

You can see a video on YouTube or Vimeo of Brian Perez singing "One More Try" with the Portland Cello Project at the Doug Fir, or a lower quality video of the same song in Washington Park, where the above photo was taken. The Portland Cello Project's latest album is available now.

:110215: My captors were looking at the newspaper today, and they noticed an interesting headline on the front page. "Hey, check this out! Pretty cool, huh?"

I looked at the picture where they were pointing. "Yeah! I made that!"

"What?"

"I made that. The vest, the shirt, the pants..."

Turns out, they were pointing to the article next to the picture, which made my comments not make any sense at all. The article they were referring to was also incredibly cool, and you should read that one, too.

But what I saw was this:

My dear friend Loren Hoskins has gone and followed his dreams. He has been a professional pirate for quite some time now as "Captain Bogg" in the Portland-based (of course) pirate rock band, Captain Bogg and Salty. Every once in a while, he calls upon my garment-copying and modification skills to enhance his piratical wardrobe.

Recently, (OK, a while ago, but we're all just now finding out about it...) he and band-mate Kevin Hendrickson began writing music for the new Disney Channel series, Jake and the Never Land Pirates. The two fellas have such charisma and stage presence, that they became animated and live action characters in the series. How many people do you know who are Disney cartoons?

Anyway, Loren's live-action wardrobe matched his cartoon persona, but didn't look like it was going to withstand too many live performances. Loren commissioned me to craft some replacements out of sturdier materials, with lots of double stitching, and based on past costume pieces I already knew would fit Loren pretty well (like this vest, of which I have made several copies. Oh, and you can't see the vest or pants that well, but this is my all-time favorite Pirate Rock Star photo of Loren).

Also: pockets. I mean, this is Peter Pan after all; I can be Wendy and sew pockets for my Lost Boy. A live-action cartoon Disney pirate rock star's gotta have a place to put his keys, you know?

If you have the Disney Channel and a young toddler at home, watch Jake and the Never Land Pirates for the everything. If you have just the Disney Channel, watch it for the music, music videos, and endlessly entertaining performances of Loren and Kevin.

:110214: My captors have no sympathy for my self-imposed torture.

I walked, once, from a few blocks from the Campanile (that bell / clock tower you see in the blue hazy distance) to a few blocks from where this picture was taken - about four and a half miles.

It seemed like a reasonable idea at the time. I didn't have a driver's license for the entirety of the time I spent living in this area, so most of my solo travel involved public transportation.

Much of the public transportation was underground, so I would emerge from the tunnels with an understanding of the immediate radius of the station, but not so much a clear understanding of how those radii connected to each other.

On this particular day, I realized that I not only knew precisely where I was, but I also could envision all of the connecting streets between my present location and my destination.

Knowing how to get from point A to point B makes public transportation obsolete, right? I'm pretty sure that was the rationalization I made to myself.

Things I had going for me: My understanding of my route was accurate, it was a lovely day, it was nearly 100% downhill, and I had no deadlines. Things I failed to consider: I had no water or sunblock, I was wearing flip-flops, I had already been walking around downtown Berkeley all day, and I had no realistic concept of the distance involved.

Parts of the route were quite lovely in their city way; Telegraph, Shattuck, and Solano Avenues are great for people-watching. Henry and Sutter Streets have broad, leafy trees. Mostly, though, I realized pretty early on that I should have just taken the bus.

I arrived at my destination sunburned, dehydrated, exhausted, and with sore feet. Also, I had nothing to show for it. So what if I walked? It wasn't so great a distance that it actually mattered. The dollar or so I saved in bus fare wasn't significant enough to mean anything. I got no sympathy for my exhaustion. Nobody cared. Nobody even really noticed.

Therein lies the lesson, the thing I can take away from that walk, and from subsequent instances in which I have decided it might just be easier to walk. It's not easier physically, but it's a form of catharsis that makes sense to me.

When the "easy" way will get me there too fast, the journey too banausic. When I'm not ready to be at my destination, but I know I have to go. When I want to take the time to see every step of my journey, no matter how many steps it might take. When I need to organize my thoughts before I get there, or before I get anywhere.

Little things happen along the way, which remind me of little other things, which remind me of still more little things, and I can't help but smile at how all things truly are connected. Nobody could possibly follow along with all the leaps my thoughts make as I walk. Even walking next to me and seeing what I saw, a companion could not comprehend how the scene before us translated in my mind to the interconnectedness of the universe.

So, I arrive, sunburned and sweaty, thirsty and tired. And grinning.




What took you so long?

I walked.