February 2003
Ballerina
Redux
Seattle
Friday February
28, 2003
Perhaps I judged too harshly. The ballerinas are intact, though the observing
trees across the street have been decapitated in a merciless way.
Trimming
the Ballerinas
Seattle
Friday February
28, 2003
Across the street from our house are two large trees, one gangly--a willow,
I think--and the other more elegant, with tidy branches that sweep upwards
toward the grey sky. I'm certain the gangly one is a male tree, by the
looks of it a conductor. The other is feminine, with the air of a mature
artist, a ballet mistress. The conductor and mistress bookend three smaller
trees that line our sidewalk: ballerinas from the same stock as the dame.
The ballerinas
arms stretched up, sur les Pointes, work hard to keep balance
and listen to the stern instructions coming from their teacher. When leaves
appear in the spring this illusion is gone, but stripped bare in the fall
and winter there is no denying that dance class is in progress. As I left
the house this morning massive orange trucks with hydraulic lifts, trailers
outfitted with ferocious machinery and "ASPLUNDE" written on
the side were parked on the street preparing to trim the ballerinas. Something
about powerlines. The truck logos registered as PLUNDER in my brain and
I felt worried. To the workers this was just another street, another job
on their list. I'm sure they didn't recognize the ballerinas.
Report
from Oklahoma
Seattle
Friday February
28, 2003
My plan to sleep in this morning--I badly need to log some serious sleep
hours this weekend--was interupted, pleasantly, by an early morning phone
call from Dia. She's in Oklahoma City for a Pre-Paid Legal confab. It's
very cold there and it looks as if many conventioneers won't be able to
make it to the event. My fuzzy morning mind was filled with two thoughts:
utter happiness that Dia is out there doing her own thing, and feelings
of missing her terribly. We've been in the same city two of the past six
weeks and of the next three weeks, we'll have one weekend together. We
miss each other, but then again, our relationship was forged with the
belief that we'd probably be working as professors in different timezones,
so every moment together seems like gravy. Absence, heart grows fonder,
all that. The separation wouldn't be acceptable if we weren't each so
committed to each other's success and adventures. But then again, if that
weren't the case, our relationship wouldn't be acceptable. Our modus operandi
wouldn't work for most, but we're not most.
Future
Present
Seattle
Monday February
24, 2003
I started and finished Pattern Recognition under the influence of jetlag,
which is entirely appropriate given the novel. I read this just after
finishing Cryptonomicon and find it fascinating that the most recent works
by my two favorite "science fiction" authors are set in the
present. I've always loved the genre of "science fiction the day
after tomorrow" which extrapolates the present in ways that are at
once familiar and strange. With these two books I'm guessing Stephenson
and Gibson felt that the present was bizarre enough to use as material.
It's been a bit exhilirating as well to read my own experiences in the
pages of these books, such as Gibson's detailed description of the hotel
in Tokyo I stayed at a couple of years ago. This convergence came to a
head today when I perused Gibson's blog and found him enthusiastically
writing about a camera phone his friend showed him a couple of days
ago, just like the one I've been carrying around for the past two months.
My Fellow
Americans
Seattle
Monday February
24, 2003
Thanks to Ariel I discovered
this
screed, which takes my fair city to task, calling it ". . .a
city apparently locked in a death struggle with Berkley [sic] to become
the undisputed epicenter of anti-Americanism and radical egalitarianism."
Even more disturbing than this rubbish were the enthusiastic followup
posts from my worldly fellow citizens, including two real gems:
JJ:
Escellent [sic] article! You are so right, the greatest danger is in allowing this Syndrome to spread unchallanged [sic]. It is an infection. A very dangerous infection. One that borders on treason at a time when our natiion [sic]is preparing for a war to protect our own citizens, even wackos like these!Doc Downwind:
Since I am downwind of Seattle, I think it would be almost worth "the fall-out" if that city were attacked first, if any American city is to be attacked. Then, perhaps, some cleansing would occur there, both demograghically [sic], and in mindset.
Brainstem
Seattle
Sunday February
23, 2003
Pattern
Recognition begins like this:
Five hours' New York jet lag and Cayce Pollard wakes in Camden Town to the dire and ever-circling wolves of disrupted circadian rhythm.
It is that flat and spectral non-hour, awash in limbic tides, brainstem stirring fitfully, flashing inappropriate reptilian demands for sex, food, sedation, all of the above, and none really an option now.
This summarizes today more eloquently than I could, even if I had access to higher brain function. Arrived home last night, changed my clothes, hopped in cab to join friends within half an hour of my return, and only as dawn approached did I crawl into bed. Today it's been 'reptilian demands' interrupted by a coma I slide in an out of.
Recap
Cannes
Saturday February
22, 2003
This week was a blur, and not my usual blur. I last felt this sort of
temporal displacement during a week in the middle of the desert last summer.
Sleep has come in 2-4 hour installments, most of my time being occupied
in business meetings I cannot discuss, which I realize sounds overly cloak
and dagger. I found myself on the bow of a yacht in Cannes placing phone
calls to Hong Kong, Sydney, Helsinki, Seattle, London, and Paris and most
strangely, thinking nothing of it. I spoke with reporters, analysts, potential
customers, and partners and then dodged off to check email and monitor
the progress of an Amazon order. I googled my meetings ahead of time,
storing information in my multitasking brain. Ad hoc meetings of seemingly
critical importance were held. I received voicemail informing me of a
social gathering to be held hours upon my return to Seattle, and joined
an expedition to find a Vietnamese restaurant of symbolic importance.
I derived strength from a myriad of cheeses, strong black coffee, and
a brick of raw beef. And, mere hours before departing I had the pleasure
of hearing the fifth granddaughter of the Pirate
Queen of Ireland serenade me and a few select others in dingy hotel
that I suspect I will be staying at next year.
Crossed
wires
Cannes
Monday February
17, 2003
I have failed, in three halfhearted attempts, to learn another language.
My files have been corrupted. Vocabulary words and verb congugations co-mingled
and contorted. At a bistro I come very close to blurting out: "Une
mineral wasser avec gas, por favor." I catch myself. I've forgotten
as well that the French word for suit is "costume," which makes
me smile. I will spend the week in my costume.
Joygantic
Update #5
Cannes
Monday February
17, 2003
I'd like to disabuse everyone of the notion that this is some real-time
journal, because if it was then I'd be an undenaible failure. Rather,
the Joygantic log is more of a near-time, chronological recording of whatever
strikes me. This definition makes it perfectly OK to post backwards in
time, which is what I tend to do a lot of when work heats up and I find
myself prefering to spend downtime with Dia rather than logging more capal-tunnel
inducing keyboard time.
Limbo
Frankfurt
Sunday February
16, 2003
When I was in college I would sometime find myself compelled to visit
the airport. LAX was a ten minute drive from anywhere I lived in LA and
I would often pull airport pick up/drop off duty. But other times I would
just go there, to the International terminal, and watch. I would make
up stories about the people moving passed me, the Indians in saris with
luggage that looked from the 1950s, the smartly suited men who I presumed
were from Europe, and the tight clusters of families about to fly off
to somewhere on a long planned trip, their passport and travelers checks
secure in awkwards pouch hanging from their neck. All were in transit,
in limbo, and that is where I am today. Planes and airport lounges. Immigration
control. Customs. In one of the Lufthansa lounges in Frankfurt I am surrounded
by people on there way to somewhere else, sedating with beer or jacking
up on espresso. It's 6:30 in the morning.
Obvious
Seattle
Thursday February
14, 2003
I feel lucky that when Dia and I met we knew that it could never work.
It was obvious that our paths would cross, then diverge, and it was so
obvious, really, that there was no point in getting wound up about the
inevitable collapse of our relationship. That was perhaps my first and
certainly most powerful lesson that the obvious is a trap. The obvious
is invented by those who lack the imagination to create. What Dia and
I are creating is certainly not obvious.
Anxiety
Seattle
Thursday February
13, 2003
As often happens, this week has been sucked into a black hole. I've vowed
not to write about work since the things that are thrilling are generally
not things I can talk about, and the things I can talk about are generally
mundane and boring. But work and the real world intersected this week.
Sunday through Wednesday night I was on the go with all the various events
and tasks that make up the annual global sales meeting. Meanwhile, the
world just got weirder. Tanks and troops at Heathrow completely freaked
out my colleagues from the UK, but just as I was composing a suggestion
in my mind that it might be, well less risky, to stay in Seattle rather
than immediately fly back to London, the word trickles out that North
Korea may have a missle pointed at, uh, Seattle or thereabouts. Can't
we all just get along? I believe the answer is no.
freeschool
at TosT
Seattle
Sunday February
9, 2003
A couple of years ago, Lara announced that she had discovered this amazing
underground music scene in Seattle. When asked to describe it, she'd pause
and the wax enthusiastic about this amazing group of musicians playing
in multiple, overlappping bands, and creating a soul/funk/psychedelic/jazz
kinda sound. I've seen a couple of these bands perform, the biggest of
the bunch being Maktub. Last night
Mark, Phil, Dia and I went to see another configuration at TosT.
The music was spectacular. Lara joined us sometime after midnight. Not
only did she stumble onto this scene, but she's been incessantly infiltrating
it and making a documentary.
Check out the trailer. The girl's got vision.
Back
at the U
Seattle
Friday February 7, 2003
Vivian's memorial service brought me back to UW for the first time in
a long while. I felt, finally, once removed from the place. As on most
Friday evening's, the campus was all but deserted. I wandered through
Gowen Hall,
where I spent so much of the 1990s, visited the TA office dungeon in the
basement and for the first time did not recognize any names on the doors.
I loved my time in graduate school, but found myself feeling not a bit
nostalgic. Post-memorial, I joined Mark, Mikelle, Trevor, and some Danes
for drinks and food at Flowers,
and Scott, Angelica and Sara soon arrived. The laughing, the non-linear
conversations, the screening of the most impressive Case Macklin Birthday
Video, Volume 5, and the toast to "Orange
Alert" all reminded me of how much I love these people.
Vivian
Seattle
Friday February
7, 2003
Vivian, a former coworker from UW died a couple weeks ago. She had beaten
leukemia, but then was taken down by pneumonia. She was a wonderful person,
somone who I thoroughly enjoyed seeing everyday, but regretably had not
stayed in touch with over the past couple of years. Tonight's memorial
was thoroughly moving; Scott's comments touched me the most. He noted
Vivian's rare combination of "strength and grace" which is how
I remember here. That and her laugh, which would slide right into an ear
splitting cackle, filled with warmth.
Listing
Seattle
Monday February
3, 2003
When paralyzed by too many things to do, I resort to proven winning formula:
make a list. But I catch myself tonight. Lists have been good to me; they
are the foundation of my productivity. And yet sometime they are merely
a crutch. Tonight it feels like a crutch and so I must go forth and DO.
What I need to do is not terribly interesting (even to me) but making
a list won't get it done.
Fatal
Error : Memory Dump
Seattle
Monday February
3, 2003
"Fatal Error : Core Memory
Dump" is the way my laptop greeted me this morning, dumping as
well a couple hours worth of writing on this page which I will now reconstruct.
(Though, kind reader, if you are reading these words things will already
have been reconstructed). I have traced this particular quirk in Windows
XP to my docking station, which I would do away with completely if only
my ethernet jack worked. <sigh> I thought this technology was supposed
to make life easier. Silly me.
Home
Seattle
Saturday February 1, 2003
My patented formula for relatively painless transoceanic travel:
scotch, half a Vicodin, eyeshades, and noise-cancelling headphones ensured
that I arrived in Seattle last night, if not refreshed then at least rarin'
to go for a reunion with Dia that involved a lovely dinner and lust-fuelled
catching up. Today I am predictably useless, but Dia has cleaned the house
(fresh sheet day!), I paid all bills before I left town, my office is
not a disaster, and So I can sink into our best couch with my thick book.
It feels wonderful to be home.
