wonderful wee wordies

Chaaaaaarge!!

2005-10-25T12:26:00.000-07:00

Alright, forward we charge, dearies. The print drive is underway.

I've added some of my favorite stuff, set the ball in motion, and updated my site. I'll upload something to Flickr shortly, email my folks & friends, and see how many awfulprints I can send out to new, happy homes.

Those who don't want to buy a print (or a postcard or anything else) or who only have a little to spare can donate directly, if they like, although I would be willing to bet that a little something will arrive in the mail to them if they include their email addresses...) The magic button is at the bottom of this post.

So that's that. If you know of anyone who might be interested in buying a print (or receiving a print, gifts are tasty good), by all means spread the word. Feels good to be fighting back, not moping. Moping is lousy, and I was doing too much of it.

rain makes things better

2005-10-17T19:02:00.000-07:00

Can I tell you much I am soaking in the sound of the rain? The smell of hard earth slowly softening, of grapevines almost audibly slurping it up, the pitpat on fig leaves and dripdripping off lemons - it is all so lovely.

The only bad thing about it is that my little beasty cat nipped outside earlier in a dry moment and I don't like thinking of him huddled somewhere, chilly and small.

This is his first rain.

He's new.

I expect His Wetness to leap in the window at any moment, shaking one leg, then another. And I, fresh from my indoor shower, will shower him with kisses as he tends himself dry.

sometimes things get bad

2005-10-15T13:52:00.000-07:00

I haven't been answering my phone much. I've been an armadillo, curled up in a ball. I've been pulling my head in turtle like to figure it all out on my own, but I realize this is simply not an option this time round.

I have recently been diagnosed with skin cancer. Scary as that sounds as I approach my 29th year, it looks as though it is treatable and I will be right as rain in a few months. That's the good news. The bad news is that I haven't the slightest idea how I am going to afford said treatment and not slowly slip further down in the maw of the Debt Monster, from which there is little escape. As any of you have dealt with the US health care system in any depth well knows, it is nearly impossibly expensive and a gigantic pain in the arse. Luckily, I did get insured recently, right before this diagnosis, but my coverage is limited and my expenses escalating. Monthly premiums alone top $135, and I've already racked up $440 in office visits and biopsies and the like. Makes my kitty's $250 vet bill look like small potatoes.

So what next? I already owe money to too many people who have helped me get my business started, but I'll be damned if I will let it all fall down around my ears when I am so close to making it work. I could sell my camera equipment, go back to a 9-5 somewhere I care nothing about, rewind, start back at the beginning a year from now. My folks want me to move home to Ohio to reduce expenses, leave everything behind, let cancer win and my life lose, and I won't do that either. I haven't the ability to get a loan, but am terrified to borrow from friends and family since I have no idea when I could even start paying them back, much less to add to what some of them have already given me. A little here and there adds up to alot of responsibility to alot of people, and I am scared to death to fall in this hole I see opening in the ground at my feet. I'm less scared of the cancer than I am of the debt, yet very aware that caring for myself must be my top priority.

So I've decided to start a print drive. I won't ask for money for nothing, won't borrow what I can't pay back, but I do have something to sell (other than all my worldly goods). The more photos I move, the faster I can generate cash, the better chance I have of being able to pay my bills and still get by while this is resolved. I don't know how to set it up so people can pay any amount for the print that they choose, so I'll sell at a fixed price and accept donations if anyone wants to pay more than that price. Maybe I'll try to put together a local "show" at my house, maybe the Establishment, get friends and family to come and sell stuff that way too. Maybe I'll post to Craig's List, pass out flyers at Farmer's Market, I don't know. Every little bit will help. I must find a way.

Won't give up what I've worked so hard for without a fight, not for something like this. Won't let myself sink, won't let myself drown, won't let anybody or anything tell me I should stop and play it safe. This is a hell of a hurdle, but I've got strong legs. What else is there to do?

Make a donation, get a print!

2005-09-23T13:43:00.000-07:00

Home from Alaska, though rather swamped with work at the moment. Ah the joys of camping in 38 degree rain! Wahoo! Despite foul weather galore, there were still some stunning images to be made.

But the real reason for this update is my involvement in a relief effort for Hurricane Katrina. A group has been formed on the photo-sharing community of Flickr to auction off a variety of photographic works to benefit one of the following relief charities:

• Habitat for Humanity
• The United Way
• The Americares Foundation, and
• The Humane Society of the United States

Photographers donate a print, some even mat and frame it for the buyer, and ship it free to the winning bidder. The first round of auctions netted over $16,000 in pledges and has already completed $10,405 in verified donations thus far. How exciting is that! You don't have to be a member of Flickr to participate, and there are many images to choose from with bids ranging from about $25-$30 up. Get something amazing for your donation to a good cause!

I have offered the following three images for auction:

"Heaven & Hell"

This is one my earlier images, taken in a moment of stunning natural beauty in Yellowstone National Park, Montana. The play between light & dark, good & evil, startles me again every time I see it.

Bidding on this 12x18 archival print is currently at $150. The deadline for bids has been extended to September 30th, 8pm EST.

"Burmese Flower Girl"

A favorite from my travels in Burma, this lovely girl personifies serenity, and was a sweetheart to boot!

Bidding on this 16x20 archival print is currently at $250. The deadline for bids has been extended to September 30th, 8pm EST.

"Spirituality"

A personal favorite of mine, I love every detail of this candlelit image, from the wax on his fingers to the wildly blowing flame. The light is simply sublime.

Bidding on this 12x18 archival print is currently at $150. The deadline for bids has been extended to September 30th, 8pm EST.

drip drip drip

2005-09-08T10:35:00.000-07:00

Soooooo I'm in Alaska, sitting in a li'l log cabinish coffee shop wearing a silly hat with ear flaps, looking out over the Alaska Range. Or I would be if I could see ANYTHING through the rain and mist and otherwise damp drippiness that has defined my last, um, week.

I was flown up to shoot a wedding in Anchorage, which went off without a hitch (erm, well, there was a hitch, but only the nuptual kind). Sun broke out for the two days of the rehearsal and the wedding (too much of it for my purposes, in fact) and the air was so clear you could see Denali, hundreds of miles away. You know it is a good thing when the locals are going gaga over it and taking pictures. And that's the last I've seen of her.

The day after the wedding dawned cold and drizzly. I hung around much longer than I intended with the wedding party peeps (some of which were friends of mine and the rest of which I now consider the same). We played around, stayed the night in a lovely cabin in Girdwood with a divine hot tub (tubbing in the rain in Alaska isn't a bad way to soak sore muscles). Went for a very very muddy, but very cool hike (in the rain) and while I took a few photos, I had to keep things dry, so the camera stayed in the pack. Didn't bring the monster pod either and the understory of a rainy forest is far too dark a place for handheld photography. Ah well. I would have died trying to keep up with my trail running friends while schlepping that thing around. :)

After a day trip up to Whittier with Phil Ackley (Mr. Lunatic Fringe for those of you on Photosig and/or Flickr) that yielded some neat shots along the way and a splash in a glacial lake (brrr!), back to Anchorage for my last comfy night's sleep, then off to Denali!

I've spent a terrifying amount of money on clothes and rain gear. I was woefully underprepared, but we won't go into that, as I'm a bit bitter about it. :/ My first night spent in 37 degree rain and the wettest coldest foots of me life, and now I have rain pants, boots, etc, to add to my arsenal. If I ever move to Oregon, I'm prepared.

The drive up the Parks Hwy towards Denali National Park was lovely, what I could see of it. Rain rain rain, so I drove much of it after dark. The trees up here have turned completely, brilliant swaths of yellow amidst the dim greens and gray of the weather. Spectacular, even in the rain. There was talk of clearing last night, but I awoke to more rain, still having not seen the lovely mountain herself since the wedding at Kincaid Park, back in Anchorage. Rats. I haven't time to stick around and wait for it to clear, so back I go.

I hope to hoof it quickly down to Anchorage, return my rental stuff to REI, and maybe trundle down to Seward for the day. Home all too soon, though I shall bask in the sun like a turtle.

Over n out. Happy trails!

fiddly dee dee and flaps of wings

2005-07-27T13:31:00.000-07:00

Sigh. I know it is a blogger cliche to moan about what a bad blogger you are for not posting, so I shall refrain.

But my oh my has alot happened since that Allison morning! I'm a busy cat, little time for frippery, much to do much to do, so I shall make this short but sweet.

Things are churning along quite merrily in Photoland, which is amazing, but incredibly stressful. Not too long ago, I had my first portfolio showing, put together with much gnashing of teeth in one brief week. Shown with nervous stomach and unsure self, I was hired on the spot. Now I have already done three jobs photographing for RRM Design Group, a local architecture, design, and planning firm. Less than a week after that, I trucked up to Paso Robles to interview with Wildhorse Winery and less than 10 minutes later, had contracted image sales at $250 each for a new brochure they are making.

I got a crash course in invoicing clients, have become super speedy at creating new galleries and uploading my proofs, and every now and then I have to stop and smile because, damnit, it is actually happening.

It wasn't until I actually landed that first corporate client that I realized that with all my confidence, all my hard work and careful planning, I hadn't quite believed myself that it was possible. All the little voices telling me it was a pipe dream, all my fears about being a lousy business woman undermining my skill with a camera, all those doubts and intimidations had been living quietly under the surface, only to claw their way out of me right before that first interview and hover in the air between them and me. Oddly enough, I looked down at my photos, spread out on a boardroom table, able to suck me in an instant, ripe with color and alive with memories, tangible and solid for the first time, and I was calmed. Every time I would feel myself start to freak out, start to doubt, I just let myself fall into my photographs there on the table, and was reminded who I am, what I can do, and that I do it well.

So now I am in an interesting place. Cutting back on hours with the lawyer (my real bread and butter throughout the planning and developing stages of my fledgling business) to do these jobs has left me broke and gasping. There is a weeks-long delay between doing the work and getting the check (still haven't seen the first one though my first job was July 4th). Did I mention I'm also moving during all this? Just across town, but I (perhaps unwisely) decided to paint my new room, so my day starts with photos in the morning, business before noon, law work until 6, then painting and packing until late. Sometimes I remember to eat. ;) Then again, I also have close to $1500 coming in when those invoices clear, just in time to get me to Alaska. But that's a story for another time...

Allison

2005-05-03T12:08:00.000-07:00

On Sunday, I had the distinct pleasure of meeting Allison. She is the brand spankin new daughter of a friend, and she is lovely. :)

Had about an hour for the shoot, but we rather miscalculated things. She was asleep when I arrived and, of course, took a huge poo and was hungry hungry hungry. Photos schmotos - Allison wanted to fuss. While I love the pure emotion in a child's howl, I doubt the parents want nothing but crying pictures, so we shall have another little session soon soon soon. Until then, a bit of Allison for your viewing pleasure.

Isn't she perfectly lovely?

camera intensive day today!

2005-05-01T09:14:00.000-07:00

About to head out the door to shoot a baby. Yes, yes, you heard me.

Doing a gratis photo shoot this morning, one of those things that is as much an opportunity for me as it is for the family. A brand, spanking new (one-week-old) baby. They get amazing pictures of their first child essentially for free. I get baby experience and images to expand my portrait portfolios and, perhaps, a new client down the road.

Also hooked up with a woman with 5 kids at the beach yesterday, so that shoot will be an absolute event. Let's see if I can handle it! Maybe I'll need a couple kid wranglers for that one...

And then, as soooon as I am done with that, off to Avila to shoot the prelude to the Avila Beach Music Festival. Jude Johnstone will be there, and that's about all I know. This came about verrrry quickly, but should be fun! Nice to get the official press pass for once, so I can wander at will and be legit about it, not sneaky. ;)

So off I go to gather some rose petals, then it's baby time!

currently...

2005-04-11T10:50:00.000-07:00

I thought I wanted to write today. Instead, I realize that I want to play in the sunshine and blow off all responsibility for the day/week/month. Damnation.

So much to share, that I shall share another day. Be patient dearies, I will fill your ears and eyes with goodness sooner than you can imagine. Really. You will overload and find yourself weeks later on the floor neath your computer, unsure of your own gender. Or at least a bit discombobulated.

on poppies, egrets, rainbows, and death

2005-02-24T13:55:00.000-08:00

MDO surf rainbow
Originally uploaded by awfulsara.

Oh my, what a day, what a good day, what a deeply good day this day has begun to be.

This morning, after yesterday's relentless 13-hr day which very successfully melted my head, I decided to grab some awfulsara time. Drove my housemate Michael to work in Los Osos and continued on into Montana d'Oro, camera making peeping noises of anticipation on the seat next to me. Or maybe that was me, I couldn't tell through the rushing in my ears and the periodic yips of joy I threw out of the window and into the morning.

Hazy and damp, I tromped out along the bluff trail above Spooners, stopping to sit in the wet grass amid the poppies and sneaking up on squirrel holes. I wandered where whims led me, along the edges of things (sorry, mom dear) and down into little gullies with water rushing madly through thick green. I skinned my knee. I caught a lizard. I wiggled bare toes in a puddle and stalked seagulls. I watched sparrows harass a hawk and black birds festoon a white rock.

At one spot, one that I marked in my noggin for Next Time, there was a hole in the cliff that acted like a whale spout - as the waves rolled in it first crashed through the hole, sending heavy spray 40 feet in the air, then, with a hiss, it sprayed a fine mist that made rainbows as the wave receded, then did it again... and again. I plunked my wet butt in the dirt and laughed out loud. Tried to catch rainbows in the sea spray, which is surprisingly difficult, what with the need to keep the camera dry, and the immediate mess of salt water on a lens or filter. No matter. The fun was in the trying, my success was a bonus, a lollipop when I already munched my cookie.

Finally, having forgotten my cell phone at home and having no idea how long I had been galivanting around in the Out, I wandered back down the bluffs to Spooner's, delighted with how different everything was in such a short time. The sun was out and bright, the air had cleared, and the world glistened. An egret walked towards the cliff edge, trying to get something down its gullet - a lizard. All that was left after she flew away was a fat disembodied tail, swishing back and forth on the ground with pebbles stuck to the stump. Eep.

Cleansed, refreshed, and sopping wet and filthy, I motored home past fields of yellow flowers. Two hawks lay dead on the road, wings lifting and falling in the breeze of passing cars. I have trouble sometimes with the bittersweet nature of, well, nature. The taut feel of the lizard tail twisting in my hand as I threw it into the sea, the flutter of backlit hawk's wings on asphalt lovely in its brutality, yellow flowers endless behind him. The squirrel who tore along the cliff, over the edge, to my gasp, only to careen along impossibly narrow paths with crumbly soft dirt falling to the rocks 50 feet below, little footfalls impossibly close to the edge, leaping the gaps with nothing but air for such a long long way under his flying paws. A white sailboat sliding by out to sea. The walking women and the shirtless jogging surfers. The bird-watching man with his binoculars and easy grin. The kissing couple with the shy smiles and the critters who watch us warily, watched me as I catch rainbows on a Thursday morning at the sea.

how I feel today

2005-02-09T09:44:00.000-08:00

Yup. This is about it. It's out there, sunshine and friends (if they still know I exist, what with me working too bloody much) but GODDAMMIT I CAN'T GO!

Breakthrough
Originally uploaded by KLEPTO.

What to do what to do? I'm in a bit of a bind. Yesterday was the first time (in awhile, but to be kind I won't include previous years' California state budget crises in the Blame Game) that my bossman was unable to pay me what he owes me. Of the $1100 my check should have been, it is half that. 'WTF?!' you say, 'run, run for the nearest door foolish girl! Sue him! Bite him! Call his mother!!' (You may chuckle at this solution, but actually, calling his mother would have the most immediate effect, but to pursue this vein of discussion further would, indeed, be nasty of me.)

So here's the rub. The money will come in, but not for a week or two, during which time (you guessed it clever beastie), I will have again worked such that it will double the amount owed. "I need to do more work so I can make more money," bossman says a month or so ago. Perhaps he missed that initial positive correlation between work he does, and work I then must do. He does more, I do more. Whereas I do more essentially immediately, his more only produces more moolah a month or so down the line. Houston, we have a problem.

I should be patient. Why? Because while I might not get my life back anytime soon, the money should (and I cringe at the use of the word) balance out... eventually. Fool would I be to waltz out on this gig - flexible and forgiving (usually) of my travel and photography obligations as it is. I make my own hours, can work in my pjs, regularly arrive barefoot after working the morning from home, have taken at least six weeks (unpaid) vacation in the last year, etc. Plunk me back in the 9-5 and my head would shrivel up and fall off.

Wonder how tight things will get before this all works out? : Eek.

on Avedon and petulance, mine

2005-02-08T11:46:00.000-08:00

So I must say, I am indeed a fan of the Richard Avedon style of portrait photography, the uncluttered, unfettered, unstudied honest portrayal of a human being. In 1994, he said the following.

I've worked out of a series of no's. No to exquisite light, no to apparent compositions, no to the seduction of poses or narrative. And all these no's force me to the "yes." I have a white background. I have the person I'm interested in and the thing that happens between us.
Richard Avedon

I take a similar tack when photographing people, minus, of course, the white background and welcoming with glee the exquisite light. But have these don't-smile-just-look-right-at-me-on-a-plain-background style portraits become so de rigeur that they are overdone? I think a compelling person can always pull it off, but those who think it is not approaching the level of cliche are fooling themselves, methinks.

To be fair to dear Avedon, much of his stuff is not the distilled version of those words. I adore, for example, this one and he is quite diverse. But but but what he is most known for and what is most mimicked is that sparseness of which he speaks. Hmmm...

Ran across an interesting exhibit today by Timothy Greenfirld-Sanders at the John Berggruen Gallery in San Franciso. (For the full portraits minus the cleverly placed observers, click on the menu to the left on the gallery's home page). While I enjoy the concept and find it amusing, I don't find it original at all. Art students have been tumbling on the clothes vs. nude idea for years, often excitedly thinking they were breaking new ground until someone bursts their Bubbilicious with a parade of variations on a theme. The porn part of it certainly adds a small twist, but I find myself underwhelmed, and slightly surprised that this is being touted as so innovative a concept.

Then again, touted by whom... the gallery? His own artist's statement? Perhaps the critics felt as I do, or perhaps I am in a curmudgeonly mood. I don't pretend to break new ground with my work, just make it mine, make it alive. Perhaps I am overly sensitive to those that seem to pretend to be innovators in a field where innovation is no small feat.

Nah, I'm just a grouch. Irked with the world for being so lovely and I being unable to go out and capture it, chained to my desk writing legal briefs, letters, petitions for and to people who see less of it than I do these days. I shall have to start taking advantage of early mornings, steal them for me, reject the abject goodness of bed for the rejuvenation I find Out.

baaaack in the saddle again

2005-01-31T11:02:00.000-08:00

Back in the swing!

Flickr has me all fired up about people again. That spirit was lagging recently. Crazy place, Flickr, with communities and groups and every kind of photo and photographer in the world. The majority are snapshooters, many with little mind to improvement, but that is often not the point. They are what they are, and those of us who are more seriously minded about our work have quite a community there as well. Other sites I belong to get awfully bogged down in over-critical negativity in the name of "learning" and Flickr is blessedly devoid of that. One of the just plain happiest online communities I have found in a long time.

Thanks to dear emdot for the slight push in that direction, and to the sweetest Flickrer yet, Miss hurleygurley for sponsoring me for a pro account, cause I am tight tight for cash for fun stuffs. What a beaueous benfactrice.

So now I can share photos deliciously, in my blog with ease, or on Flickr for a bit of less serious photorifficness. Like this one, one of my little lovelies in Myanmar. There are more on my site if you click on those huge limpid eyes of his.

Incidentally, I just got one of the best comments on one of my Burma photos, which I shall share here:

Hi, my name is Phoo. I was just surfing around on flickr and ran across your pictures. I was born (and my family is from) Burma. Your pictures really bring out the beautiful simplicity of the people. Thanks for taking them. :) -Phoo

What more can you ask for than that the people of the country you have come to love feel that you have captured their homeland with heart and accuracy? I'm a happy cat about that, indeed.

And that's all fer today folks. :) Over n out.

heavy heart and slow fingers

2005-01-05T17:43:00.000-08:00

It's been a rough few weeks since my return. Internet down at my house since my return has left me out of contact (apologies) and bogged down. Heavy heart has stilled my fingers and dimmed my smile.

In brief, I am becoming more struck by the moment by how much I hurt for what I see unfolding on the telly, in my occasional internet trolls punctuated by crying jags. No news from my friend Luce since just before the tsunamis, I hope she made it to India, and inland, and that she will surface soon. A bright light, that one, she simply must be okay.

The insurance company is fighting me on my claim for the lens, which (as they seem to well understand) is the last thing I want to do. My stolen money is returning to me after its adventure in the Burmese black market and into China. I feel a remarkable affinity with my new pale arm skin, and the twinges in my back and ribs seem in some way deserved for still being here. I have been squired away in my cave, athink. No photos yet, still waiting on a replacement cable for the one in the box from Thailand, which should eventually arrive intact. I sent a letter to the nurse from Phuket who was so good to me on the train, and promised her that I would still come visit someday in her beloved Phuket. I thanked her for her generosity and tenderness to me, and wished her well. I hope she is, and that she replies.

Those of you who have sent me lovely emails and replies, thank you thank you thank you. I'm a bit MIA myself, but I am a superball, and I bounce back higher than dropped. Keep em coming.

Hooooome!

2004-12-14T02:01:00.000-08:00

I'm home :) a bit the worse off, but full of good feelings and overflowing with love for me dear housemates.

Sooo what's worse than flying with broken rib(s)? Flying with broken ribs and awful cramps. A certain, decidedly unpleasant feeling of deja vu boarding a plane with many Chinese people with waves of nausea and stomach twisting pain. But... I survived. And I will extrapolate tomorrow...

The phone's on, give it a call!

"One day in Bangkok, and the blah blah something...."

2004-12-12T18:02:00.000-08:00

"...can't be too careful with your broken ribs." I'm sure that's how the song goes. I hum it whenever I see "Bangkok," just pops in there unbidden. ;)

I'm back at My House, the rather amusing name of the guesthouse I stayed in the first time 'round, on Rambutri (near the fabled and much over-hyped Khao San Road, which to me is a mess of shopping mania and Westerners who think that by wearing their hair in braids or dreds and buying baggy pants they have found elightenment). This time, however, it is nearly full, and my room for the day is a double on the 5th floor. Not a pleasant climb.

In Chiang Mai yesterday, concerned about the ever increasing crunchiness of my back, I visited the hospital there. Since the bill was so freakishly small in Pai, I had none of the money concerns that would plague such a visit in the States. This time they gave me a much more thorough examination after I explained that the x-ray in Pai was inconclusive, but that things felt very wrong. The (again female) doc laid me on my side on an exam table and pressed gently around the area of the heaviest bruising and was able to shift things that should not shift. She clucked and shook her head and confirmed that yes indeedy, I broke at least one rib, maybe two. Considering that news, I'm quite proud of myself for getting along as well as I have, and quite not looking forward to the the 20 or so hours of air travel awaiting me.

Off to find a cheap piece of luggage to check at the airport, lighten the load further and make my schleps a bit easier. Flight leaves earlier than I thought, so I shall have to leave for the airport not later than 2:30 p.m., a scant 4 hours away. I'm quite looking forward to sitting down with you, dear ones, and sharing tales of adventure and of woe. So many great people, and hopefully at least a few photos that capture how things made me feel. Took far fewer than I thought I would, really, in part because it got in the way of my enjoyment of the moment and the way people related to me, in part because I am a picky bastard. More recently, it just hurt too much, so a grand total of 3 pictures have been taken since the crash.

Snuggles coming your way soon, all of you that are close enough to reach.

the time draws nigh

2004-12-11T21:25:00.000-08:00

Well rats. Didn't intend to pass my second to last day in Thailand feeling so run down (or over). It's already 12:30, and I am barely moving on my day, though I have a night train to Bangkok to catch in little more than 5 hours. Arranging the sending of my package home is complicated by the fact that I can't carry the damn thing, and it's a Sunday. DHL is open late, but I've got to get the thing here, and UPS offers free pick-up, but is closed today. Not knowing the exact weight of the package further complicates things. Grrr...

The back/rib combo pack feels much worse today, which I don't understand, since it felt better yesterday. Perhaps I underestimated the number of little pills I swallowed to achieve that "better." Today, I get to face the music at the bike shop, so I'm off to do some research on what is appropriate to charge for the damage so I don't get fleeced. They will likely try to charge me for replacement costs of things they will certainly not replace, like the scratched headlight.

I arrive in Bangkok in the early morning with a day to kill, only I can't carry my things (part of the reason I am shipping what I can home to lighten the load). A day in Bangkok is perhaps not as exotic as it might sound, involving lots of pollution, oppressive heat and humidity, and high taxi fares. My current plan is to hightail it to a guesthouse and rent a room for the day, passing my time reading and visiting with people, napping, maybe catch a movie if there's one nearby. Sounds exciting, eh? World travel at its most mundane, doing things I could do at home, really, though with more international company. Forgive me if I sound a bit down, but, well, I'm a bit down. An anticlimactic end to such a trip, much rolling around in my head, some of it wistful. I rather wanted to go out with a bang, and I guess I did, but the wrong kind.

the zen of pain

2004-12-10T22:02:00.000-08:00

Thai drivers are indeed some of the worst in the world. Thai roads often aren't much better. Thai motorbikes, however, can survive almost anything it seems, even a trip into the side of the mountain to end ass up in a ditch.

Pai is a little mountain town, great starting off point for mountain biking and hiking into the hills, hill tribes, amazing views, and lush jungly mountain goodness. Elijah agreed to come on an adventure with me, an overnight in Pai reachable by a breathtaking motorbike ride on the road the map calls "The Road of a Thousand Hairpin Bends." It winds you up up up and around one curve after another. Some of them are steep and tight switchbacks, some swooping S-curves - a biker's paradise. People seem to share the road better than average here, though they pass on blind curves and otherwise drive with what seems to be more blind luck and reactionary selfishness than anything else. You quickly begin to drive as though anything and everything could happen at any time, always plan your path accordingly. Not 30 km from Pai (after nearly 3 hours of wonderful riding), on a big, wide, downhill outside curve, an oncoming mini truck laden with Stuff thinks it was a grand idea to simply go wide on the turn, leaving me with the option of eating his grill at 30 kmh or trying to avoid him by going wide on my side, which was luckily the hill side, not the drop off side. Unluckily, it was gravel and sand on bumpy asphalt. Can't stick it on my skinny tire bike... feel it going... then me and bike take a tumble into a nice deep ditch, bike ending nose down, me continuing my wild ride to finish wedged in said ditch in no small amount of pain, hollaring inarticulate nothings to the blue sky and waving my arms and legs about like a bloated tick.

Once the initial yelping subsides I do the obligatory body check and despite the fact that everything hurts and I am having much trouble breathing properly, decide I am gonna be fine. I also decide that I was am just gonna lie there in my awkward tangle until I am sure I can breathe, until Elijah realizes that I have not stopped to take pretty pictures and comes back to see what is taking me so long. I know his heart will drop into his socks when he sees the nose down bike, back tire poking up out of the ditch, me looking like the mess I felt, calmly examining my bloody knuckles, hand, and elbow. "Oh my God!" I hear, and Elijah is scrambling down into the ditch, shock on his face and hands flapping everywhere like he doesn't know what to do with them.

"It's okay, I'm okay," I say, as reassuringly as one can with blood and dirt everywhere and an upside down bike perched nearby. Pieces of my favorite wide angle lens lie further uphill, shorn from the body of the camera I had slung oh so casually from my neck as I cruised the windy mountain road toward Pai. My glasses lie on the roadway, my backpack still tightly strapped to me body, crunched camera still dangling with the circuitry of the lens exposed like a gash in its beautiful black body (yes, it's insured). Elijah tries to wave down a passing car, but they barely slow. He unstraps me from my backpack and tries again, with the same, disheartening result. "Three of them passed before you came back and none of them stopped," I say. "Maybe they didn't see you," he replies, "I saw the bike before I could see you." "Maybe they did, I'm hard to miss. I think they just didn't want any trouble," I chuckled, still trying to get the panicked look off Elijah's face. Before long, a group of Thai bikers stop, wonderfully calm and matter of fact about the scene at hand. One of them climbs down into the ditch with me and helps me out, hand at my elbow, reassuring grin and sympathetic clicks. They help push the bike up out of the ditch, bend the basket back into some semblance of normalcy, and look the bike over. It starts on the first try, though the mirrors are all cattywhompus. Elijah gathers the bits of my camera and lens, puts things back on that were able to be put back on, gathers the pieces of that which clearly isn't. The Thai bikers, aftering realizing that I am in no condition to get back on the bike and continue into Pai, load it up into the back of their truck with a couple of their bikes, and drive it into town for me. I gingerly clamber on the back of Elijah's bike and we crawl into town limping, every bump (and there are sometimes nothing but) making me feel a little worse, reminding me of areas of the body I am trying to forget.

Once in Pai, we retrieve my bike from our ever so generous biker friends, thank them, and carefully tool into town. First stop, a pharmacy for things with which to clean up and bandage my arms. The pharmacist clucks and shakes his head when he sees me. "Accident?" I nod my assent. "Motorbike?" Nod nod. Display my wounds and he grumbledsabout people coming in every day, same thing. Fetchesme an antiseptic cleanser, some antibacterial cream, some bandaids big and small. When the crunching begins in my back, right side, where there is nothing to crunch except ribs, we decide to go to the hosptital for an x-ray. Once in the slightly decrepit, and remarkably informal, hospital, the nurses busily attacke my knuckles, scrubbing them clean. The road rash, dirt filled mess on my right forearm she scrubs for a long few minutes until my muscles start jumping out of my skin. Nothing to numb it up first, noooo no, just some steel wool and a cheese grater, or so it feels, followed by nice pure alcohol, rubbed in for maximum squirm. The doctor arrives, a woman younger than her nurses, and pokes my back until I yelp, then sticks me in a wheelchair and carts me off to x-ray.

Everything is dingy, old, like something out of *MASH* rather than a hospital in late 2004. The x-ray machine is a relic! I slowly undress in a little room with a door that hangs off its hinges and dutifully assume the position against the x-ray plate. Back in clothes (a 5 minute ordeal) and back in the wheelchair for the trundle to where I started. The x-ray proves inconclusive, as the ribs in question are mostly obscured by the liver. The doc seems unconcerned. As far as she is concerned, as long as nothing is broken near the lungs, I will eventually be fine anyway. She admonishes me not to twist my torso about, which makes me chuckle since that is the last thing I want to do, after all. The bill comes to 150 baht for the x-ray, which is, oh, about $3. Yup, $3.00. Medication is 100 B, the "hospital fee" 200 B, cleaning and preparing my wounds 100 B, for a grand total of 550 B, about $11-$12. The x-ray costs less than my room for the night, for God's sake! Crazy.

That night, and the day following it, are passed in extraordinary discomfort. The pain pills given to me by the hospital seem to do nothing at all, so I soon tire of squirming in misery and take some of mine. From an old back injury, I still have just a few 800 mg Ibuprofin and something else which slips my mind, a muscle relaxant that has proven the only thing effective against my evil cramps. I take one of each, and within a half hour, feel my body finally relax enough that the squirming stops and my head clears of pain. Asian beds are very hard, and while this is normally great for the back, it makes the following 16 hours long and difficult. Turning over requires 5 agonizing minutes of inching along, back twitching, crunching, and popping alarmingly, breath catching with spasms of my diaphragm and horrid little noises slipping out from behind tight lips and scrunched up face. Poor Elijah sleeps next to restless me, in a zen-like tent of mosquito netting in our little Eden bungalow in Pai.

In the morning, Elijah trundles off to get food and take photos, making cracks about leaving me there to rot and running off into the sunshine with my long lens, which he covets (as one does). To my delight, my camera has ended up in working condition, though cosmetically walloped. What a trooper! My long lens, which was probably part of what jacked my back up so severely, proves to be equally fine, without even the cosmetic damage of the camera that rode out the accident attached to my tumbling body. Elijah puts it to good use while I play Tetris on his laptop and watch the curious critters creep closer to my room. He finds a fascinating funeral procession, some very photogenic little monklets, and a burning funeral pyre to shoot. In fact, he is gone a long long time, so we leave Pai not long before sunset, Elijah carrying my bags and me feeling out the bumps in the road. We should have stayed another night, neither of us realizing just how cold it would get over the passes, but we press on.

I haven't been as cold since childhood winter horseback riding, when fingers become something you can see but not feel and you shiver so hard your stomach muscles become sore. We fly through the night, relishing the lack of traffic and the forewarning of headlights approaching. There is a certain stoic meditative state to the darkness, the bikes' headlights and the endless curves, the bob and weave of Elijah's taillight ahead of me, charting my path, the cold and the colder yet sections of bitter frigidity. It is cold up in the clouds, a delicate moistness and rush of air that feels like fingers slithering up and down your spine. Everything distills down to the road and the texture under my tires, the fire of my abraded arm and the tight pain of my back and ribs. At the apex of every turn, there is a swell of sound as we slow enough to hear the insects churn, and brief areas of slightly warmer air feel like paradise. Occasionally, past the half way point, we pass through small villages and the smell of incense whooshes over me. In the darkest sections, sweet flowers pierce the darkness and a smile flits across my face. We own the road and the road owns us. It is awful, and freezing, and painful and interminable but it is also incredibly sensory and introspective and darkly beautiful, rising out of Pai and over the darkening mountains, rushing sliding slithering through the cold and the night.

Back now in Chiang Mai, the whole trip seems strange and long ago. The amazing beauty of the ride out, the slow inevitability of the accident and the aftermath, the dreamy painfilled day in Eden, surrounded by birds and flowers and huge jungly plants, curious snipy nosed squirrelly things and fresh papaya - just me and my blossoming bruises. The neverending ride home, the bonding with my bike and the midnight talks with Elijah. Did I have a "good time" in Pai? Strangely enough, I did. Not the time I had wanted, and not time I would want to repeat, but something rich nonetheless, something visceral and immediate. I don't think an evening gown will flatter me for the upcoming cocktail party once home in SLO, but some strategically worn Thai silk should hide the bruises, though dancing will have to be done by others and appreciated by me from the sidelines. If you see me smiling, I am thinking of nighttime in the mountains near Pai.

Redemption, MOTO STYLE!

2004-12-07T07:21:00.000-08:00

I. Love. Motos.

Yup, I do... shamelessly adore zipping about (sorry mom) on my rented little motorbike. It has transformed Chiang Mai in my slightly grouchy eyeballs from tourist trap to quite charming little city once you get away from where I was easily able to walk. Even though it is quite cool here as compared to Yangon, it is still too damn hot to schlep camera gear around on your back. Hop on a moto and, presto, cool breezes caress your spine. I even have a leetle basket on the front (not to be used after dark, as it quite completely blocks my headlight). Although I thought I was going to die when I first hopped on my little zoomer, I have since gotten the hang of the lack of any discernible LANES. Well, that's not true - there are lanes, no one stays in theirs, however. You might come upon, at any point, a sideways truck, someone pushing a vendor stall, 15 motos, a pile of fighting dogs, a huge pit in the road, an intersection with no light and freaky amounts of people turning every which away. Also watch out fer tourists scuttling about still thinking, ever so foolishly, that someone will slow down for them. They don't. (I do, but that will only get me in trouble from those zooming up from behind, so I too shall become ruthless.)

Anywho, I am quite comfy on my bike now, and meeting up with Elijah in the early morning to head up into the mountains towards Pai. I'm excited because I will get the chance to see this nifty stuff on my own after all (well, almost). I promised before I left that I wouldn't head off into the Great Blue Yonder on a moto by myself, and I'm not. Elijah is from Arcadia, California, a friend of John and Rosemary and a rather energetic and amusingly sarcastic fellow. Also fond of photography, he promises he won't be irritated at my very circuitous way of getting from here to there when in an area I like. I shall sped the night at a gueshouse in Pai (prolly... or somewhere near) and then either trundle home, or trundle onward, depending on how my time looks.

So that's that! Wish me happy motoring! Please oh please send me emails. Now that I can get em, I'm sucking them down like lemondrops. Mmmm, lemony.

Travellerville, Thai style

2004-12-06T23:12:00.000-08:00

I simply cannot get over how many tourists are here! How many things are geared towards them, how many many treks and tours and elephant rides and SeeRealHillPeopleSoCloseYouCanPokeEm places there are. Internet cafes around every corner, not a single curious glance my way - I am among the more nondescript travellers here. I would quite like to adventure up into the hills, but I'll be damned if I'll do in a group of gawkers, on a package tour like all the other package tours, with the Elephant Ride and the Snake Farm, the Real Villages, the Bamboo Rafting.

Maybe I know too much... maybe if I didn't know how many of those Real Villages are barely that anymore, that the kids in the traditional wear are dressed up for the benefit of the cameras and the tour companies often have deals with the entire village to parade us through and buy stuff. The Long-Neck Karen, for example, had stopped the practice of the debilitating neck rings until tourism swooped into the hills and they became a commodity, a source of income. Come here, daughter, let me start squishing your shoulder blades so we can make money. Don't forget to ask the nice lady for some after she takes your picture and try to sell her this jewellry. If you're cute, they might give you candy.

So I'm torn. I haven't the time nor the money to do this right, to get to the more remote places that aren't ethnic theme parks. I do want to see them, however, undeniably. Is it ego to want to see them as they were? Is it pure hypocrisy, even, as by wanting to go the remote places, I am arguably causing more harm than by visiting those places already changed? These remote places are only remote until people start visiting them, until they see what we have to offer, until my tourist money becomes more than they can make by traditional means and the tide turns.

Some argue as well that they have the right, as we all do, to make their money however it is best. There is no denying the fact that these villages are prospering under the weight of those white faces, they are wealthier and experience more "comfort" than their more remote counterparts. So the question remains - is it better to stick to the beaten path in the hope that by treading where people have already tread you do not increase the damage as much? As those numbers grow, however, there is no disputing that the "damage" again starts to be done as these cultures are swallowed up and exist only as shows put on for our benefit. Is is then better (and what the heck does better mean anyway, better for whom? the Thai economy? the tourism industry? the villagers' lives? my conscience?) to leave the crowded tour buses to the hordes of Groups and strike out in as small a group you can muster to the more difficult to reach, and thus more rarely reached, places counting on the fact that fewer visitors means slower change?

I'm just ranting now, I believe, and better minds than mine have written extensively on this topic with much better analysis than my slightly irritated drivel. Pay me no mind. :) I need to get out of town and get Away. Away is a lovely place I've been looking for since I knew it existed, it seems. Sometimes I find it for small periods of time, but it seems to be as transient as I often desire to be.

rescue and loving care, John and Rosemary style

2004-12-05T23:30:00.000-08:00

... and do they ever have style!

Called once I arrived in Chiang Mai to find that my emails sent from Yangon apparently never reached them, as they were most surprised to hear from me and some time south buying ceramics to carry back to Chiang Mai on motorbike in true Asian style. So I settled in with a book and a fruit smoothie (what a treat!) to people watch and await their arrival a the airport. The CM airport is pretty close to where they live, which is in an awesome easy walk to the heart of the downtown "moat" area inside the old city wall. True to Sara style, I arrived in Chiang Mai on the night of both the Sunday market and the King's birthday, an event that is celebrated in true lavish style.

Once at the their house (which is fabulous and lovely, delicate and open, and blessed with two wonderful little meows with whom to pass the time and play little meow games) I filled them in on the wallet Tale of Woe and received 4,000 baht, just over $100, which is more than enough to keep me in the black until other arrangements can be made. They tell me that Western Union is easily findable and surely easily used, or that I can avail myself upon their already touching generosity if that 4,000 baht starts stretching too thin. So to my near would-be benfactors, looks like (as I thought would be the case) the Gods have smiled upon my little traveling self and all is indeedy right with the world once more.

The Sunday market sounds very quaint, but in fact is was a teeming throng of people, including a parade right down the middle of school boys in their blue and gold, carrying flags and huge portraits of the king. Perodically the King's music would play and everyone would stop what they were doing, stand and face the nearest picture of the King, and either be silent or sing along. Occasionally it would clearly go on far longer than they had anticipated and everyone would start walking again during what would turn out to be just a pause before verse 72 of the song. Young girls in elaborate costume performed traditional dance at the end of the street and plentiful food could be had for next to nothing. There were carvings and paintings, scarves and cloth, jewelry and dresses and handmade papers and soaps - much of it really quite nice!

From John & Rosemary's little rooftop widow's walk, fire lanterns rose into the sky, some carrying litle strings of fireworks, and burning high high into the sky until they looked liked little orange stars and you could see their movement anymore. You could hear singing and count the lanterns rising with a gentle sway into the night. I slept hard and sound that night, save for the occasional mosquito attack, and awoke relaively early to the sound of motos scooting by and workmen pounding something. I lay contentedly in bed and read a book John lent me, 'The Silver Castle,' by Clive James. I snuggled with sleepy morning kittens and thought about my too brief time here.

This afternoon, I am in search of a good motorbike to steal away on, but currently in search of a good meal, which can be had on every turn. Gmail works fine here, so I am back to the original staple, drama subsiding. Thanks thanks thanks to the kind words and thoughts you have sent. I feel em, I do.

Fiddle dee dee & the Man with No Toes

2004-12-04T03:09:00.000-08:00

Well, I have concluded, somewhat resignedly, that there is no point in being vexed. Another one bites the dust. Mail2world can only be accessed by way of entering the url for "mail2girl," which feels rather sleazy even though I am one of the aforementioned girls, last I checked, which was this morning. Contrary to my little bloggy timestamp, it is now 5:43 p.m. and I have given up on checking emails or making proper connections with people until I leave the Golden Land and arrive in Backpacker's Paradise. After so much time practically sans other tourists, the galloping hordes of Merkins and such will be an adjustment. English signs? WHAT a novelty!!

Perhaps I should be more concerned about this money thang, being that I only have about $14 in Thai baht to my name, and the carefully saved 10 cold hard Merkin dollars for the all-important departure tax. DON'T wanna be thrown into a Burmese jail for a failure to pay it and the fact that I am now high and dry. Spose I could sell my big shiny lens and live like a queen for a little while, but I would rot naked in a gutter before sacrificing my sweet baby to the streets. No, really, I think I would. As long as I had mosquito repellant, what with the naked part 'n' all.

So I have officially regained my happy temperment, my go with the flow California traveler-ness, my la dee da self, my ever so slight but everpresent "Holy hell I'm in Myanmar" grin. You get the point. No more vexation over here, noooo no no. The rest of my roasty toasty Yangon day was much more on the sweet side of the fence. Quite a grand (if horrendously sweaty - I swear the babies should run screaming just from my bright red, sweaty squinty face, if the pale skin, glasses, and weird spiky hair doesn't get to them first) trundle around the city. The poverty is getting to me, however, towards the end here.

Crossed the tracks, literally and figuratively, and found myself in one of the worse little settlements I had seen. This whole no money thing is pretty hard to swallow when I meet some people, especially those who cannot work, like the young guy with the really messed up legs I met today, who could be greatly benefitted by a few of my dollars. If I had a few dollars, that is. What I have is the exact amount of the taxi to the airport carefully set aside and about $2.50 for my food and water for the next day and a half. I don't know what this guy had, but it was bad. No toes on one foot and strange, whitened skin, swollen ankles, gnarly sores. Leprosy? He had strangely pale eyes that watered and followed me like a hungry dog making motions to his mouth. Hell, I didn't even have any damn food to give him - nothing but my fancy camera. I know they can't believe me when I say I have nothing to give, not with my white skin, my camera, my expensive glasses and clean clothes. I'm here, aren't I? I must be rich. We all are. Comparitively, I am. But in my pockets is nothing to pass along, and this man doesn't even have an address to send him something in the future. "Man with No Toes, Near the Tracks, South Side, Yangon, Myanmar." Not a kilometer away the Strand Hotel charges $350 a night and private cars ferry the truly rich past this "village" which tinted windows so they don't have to see the Man with No Toes as they swoosh on by.

Vexed. I am VEXED.

2004-12-03T20:04:00.000-08:00

This country can be trying, I must say.

Gmail today joined the list of banned sites. Yesterday, fine, today – nada. Ah timing, as I had just sent an email to John & Rosemary in Chiang Mai explaining my situation and requesting advice. They no doubt gave some, but I’ll be damned if I can read it.

So for now it seems this little bloggy is my only link, and replies here the only way to reach me with any reliability at all. I am quite surprised I can blog here, as the whole point of banning the large email providers is that the government has no control over what we say in them, and little way to monitor the communications leaving Myanmar, about Myanmar, and potentially in criticism of Myanmar. Frankly, the romance of being so far afield is beginning to wear thin when communications change from day to day, ebb and flow, wax and wane… mostly wane it seems. Gimme some damn wax!

So I open yet another email account at mail2world, which seems to be downright endorsed here. That address is awfulsara@mail2human.com, and word on the street is that it is fully accessible here and in no danger of joining the Bad List. What makes it different? No clue, but I only wish I could get its POP collector to grab my hotmail and/or gmail stuff and get it all in one place while wandering about the Golden Land O’ Difficult Communications.

My last day in Yangon, in Myanmar, in fact. Currently tending on the bitter side of bittersweet, but that shall soon turn around I am sure. Have set aside just enough for the taxi to the airport, and possibly enough to go to the disco with Osman tonight. Mostly curious to check it out, as it is full of ladyboys and owned by a former drug lord turned military high up and is a side of the city I have yet to see. (Osman is a young Indian/Burmese whose English is quite good, friend and helper to Philip and several other semi permanent Westerners, a familiar face around this area of the city though he lives across the river in the poor village of Dahla.) The question becomes if I have the 2000 kyets necessary to have the club experience. To quibble over $2, budget travel at its finest indeed.

Too fustercated to wax poetic about Myanmar in my current aggravated state. I shall save the tales for Chiang Mai tomorrow.

Ack. Double ack. Shit & damn.

2004-12-03T02:57:00.000-08:00

On the boat from Mandalay to Bagan, about a week ago, my wallet grew legs and disappeared, most vexing since its disappearance and my remarking upon its disappearance had a gap of a wee half hour. Still can’t figure out how the wily thief snagged the thing, but at the time it was a mere annoyance, or so I thunk. I thunk, you see, that my wallet only contained about 4000 kyets (just about $4) and my driver’s license. I was frankly much more irritated that the newly acquired addresses of new traveling friends and such were squired away in its folds. We searched, we hassled the captain, we turned the lower deck from whence it vanished inside out and upside down, and I cast quite the hairy eyeball upon whoever might have snagged it in the hopes that the heat would cause it to reappear, even minus the wee bit o’ money.

So as I pass my final few small days here in Myanmar, get my things in order to make the trip across into Thailand, I realize with a thunk somewhere in the pit of my tummy that my visa debit card must have been also squired away in that little wallet. Since it cannot be used in Myanmar and I had enough cash for my time here, it is only now that its absence becomes a real problem.

I have no money, having (perhaps foolishly in hindsight) counted on withdrawing a couple hundred from one of the many ATMs in Thailand. Didn’t want to carry any more cash than I had to, see… in case I got robbed. Ahhh the irony. So what in the good god damn will I do now? Think Sarita, think. There must be some way to get money rapidly from there to here, some Western Union-y sort of thing. Failing that, let’s hope there are kind souls in Chiang Mai in the form of John & Rosemary who can slip some sweet cash my way. Failing that… um… I’ll figger sumthin out. Eek.

a small but delighted yip from Myanmar to you

2004-12-02T01:33:00.000-08:00

Covered in the dust and grime of city life, so different and somehow less satisfying than the dust and grime of the villages, I write this from (drum roll please) a cyber cafe in Yangon, Myanmar. It is new, it is the first time since leaving Bangkok that I have been in contact with the world, and the reverse problem - no hotmail, but gmail is just ducky. Certain biggies, hotmail, yahoo, etc, are all blocked, but gmail has slipped under the radar as of yet, so I can access it without a problem. Blogger seems to be working as well, though apallingly slowly.

There is so much to tell I barely know where to start, so I though I would simply reassure you that I am indeed alive and kicking, and to those of you who predicted I would fall in love with Myanmar, I owe you a drink, you were ever so correct.

What I never expected was to fall in love with whole families, to have an address section at the back of my journal with addresses in Burmese I have to try to translate into English before I leave, to have photos that make me cry because they are so beautiful and photos that make me cry because they are so heartbreaking. To put away my camera to better appreciate things, to have a dozen grubby fingers touching the lens and not to care, to be in love with the dust, the trishaws, the misty mornings and the oxcart tracks, to treasure my thanaka and wonder if I could get away with wearing it back in San Luis, to be so eager for letters from a place I barely knew anything about one month ago.

I will dribble bits onto these pages when I arrive in Thailand, little tales to spin, small and large stories of small and large people, in he scheme of things. Can't wait to see my photos, and the funny thing is that some of them will be blurry, some of them unusable, but I have a sneaking suspicion those will be my babies because those were the ones I took even though I knew conditions were not right because I could not bear not having them in more than my head.

Over and out, more soon. Let me know how you are over there in wherever you are!

crisis (sorta) averted

2004-11-18T01:12:00.000-08:00

Well golly friends are good things to have when yer in a tight space.

What a fun time to live in when I can sit in a guesthouse in Bangkok and talk to my friend Darren in Taipei on Messenger. He logged into my unavailable gmail account and forwarded me the info I needed. Got the numbers, got the info, sent off a few replies to key people and oozed out on to the street.

Sure nuff, as I knew it would, Bangkok is growing on me. I still can't imagine deciding to spend alot of time here, but I must say I am enjoying the time I have spent. My lungs will never be the same again, I swear, but for 30 baht I trundled in a tuktuk (three wheeled instrument of death) to some amazing wats and got to see the "lucky Buddha), a small wat that is closed all year, open one day in the afternoon only, and my very cool driver took me there. Underwhelming when you aren't a believer, but the sincerity of my driver and the man I met there made it worthwhile. Felt much more real than the other places, though there are those there that also are more than tourists, of course.

This man had come down from Chiang Mai just to see the Lucky Buddha, get blessings for his recent wedding and good luck on his honeymoon in Australia, which he was leaving for the following morning. They have this one week, sponsored by the government, where export tax is waived on some pretty big purchases like sapphire and ruby that would fetch double that price, at least, elsewhere. The export tax is over 150% of the value of the merchandise, normally, except this one week. So it is that the tuktuk drivers get coupons and subsidies to take foreigners to the Blue Dragon export center and a few other random places - textiles and tailor, places I had no interest in visiting, but hell, it was a cheap way to get a driver to wait for me at all these neat places for next to nothing - i.e. 72 cents, really.

The driver, however, was SUPER aggressive and several times I actually closed my eyes in abject fear, and I'm not scared off that easy. When his side of the road was blocked, he would just veer into oncoming traffic, get bottlenecks into parked cars, storm intersections full of people, dodge little scooters at astonishing rates of speed. All that and we really didn't have any near misses, we just should have. From time to time he would pull his t-shirt over his face when a bus would belch blue smoke at us, and I found myself often holding my breath without even realizing it until a bit of semi fresh stuff wafted my way. Crazy.

Off to find a phone, call Troy Montgomery. Troy was sent my way thanks to Johhny B, but I didn't realize that he used to live at the Establishment until this morning's email! Excellent. Stabbies the world over. How exciting. :) Hopefully, we can hook up and play tonight, maybe maybe even get me a nice shower and some quiet sleep. My room here in the My House Guesthouse is pretty grim, but pretty cheap! Lots n lots of Aussies, and a welcoming slightly cool breeze makes me feel sane again.

ack! denied! stranded! hot and sticky!

2004-11-17T19:51:00.000-08:00

Bangkok. Is. Huge.

Can hardly breathe, the air is so thick with badness. Arrived dog tired at 2 a.m. barely walking with nasty cramps. Did not meet Philip at the airport, though it is hard to say if I was MIA too long, in the wrong place, or if he didn't come. Got a taxi to Khao San Rd thinking I would drag my weery ass out as early as possible (like 9, been traveling for nearly 27 hours at this point) and find an internet cafe to get ahold of the world, find Philip, check on contact with John & Rosemary, etc. Lugged my gear around (ack hot sticky) and found what I need, but CANNOT ACCESS GMAIL!!

I can only assume that they are using an old browser, and I will try again, but in the meantime, this puts a mad damper on my communication plans. If gmail is toast hear, I have just fallen off the grid more than I wanted by alot. Can't find Philip, can't communicate, can't get important phone numbers. Eek! Emailed a friend to have him forward my gmail stuff to hotmail, but hotmail fills so fast it is a temporary solution at best. Yahoo seems to not like my password, but want me to call their 800 number to get it reset. Ack! and again, ACK!

So I think I shall get a room here so I can stash my Things. Pare down, take a deep breath, and keep a-schlepping.

Email me at awfulsara@hotmail.com if you want to reach me!! Gmail... you have made the morning a tough one...

flap flap FLAPFLAP

2004-11-14T17:44:00.000-08:00

Well, all other options exhausted, I am leaving early (Tuesday morning instead of late Thursday night) to secure my visa in the polluted, crazy city of Bangkok. Woo hoo!

I have nooo idea what will happen or whether I will be going to Myanmar or not in the end, but I am surprisingly calm. What will happen will happen and I have truly done all I could! So I have much to do before jumping ship, one of which is to get my procrastinating tail to work for one last push. Yikes. Sunday night legal work. Big big fun.

Thien Tran - potential savior

2004-11-10T10:35:00.000-08:00

What a stinky headache this is becoming. Visa woes left and right. Still no word from the embassy in D.C. - a place I am beginning to loathe. Their main goal seems to be to get me off the phone as fast as possible after giving me the least amount of information they can provide. Lots of canned answers that frankly don't even apply to my situation.

I have verified that all visas were indeed on hold in Washington for at least two weeks after Myanmar's junta arrested their prime minister. That hold should no longer be affecting me, however, as he was arrested on October 5th, and we're a good month out. Things should be mellowing out and the borders creaking open once more.

So I have tried the e-visa site what feels like a dozen times. I get an error message to the tune of "No can do. Please try again or use a different visa card." I tried again. I used a different visa card. Rinse, repeat. Jump up and down, try again. Nada. Finally this morning, in a series of frustrated emails with Philip - he telling me to try e-visa, me telling him I had tried it till my fingers fell off - he checked and, sure nuff, welcome to an embargo. This is what Philip wrote:

Just did a quick check, and it seems Visa have joinedAmex and Mastercard in the boycott - more accurately,the US has passed an Act decreeing that there shouldbe no financial services offered to the Myanmar ovt byUS financial institutions. So Visa have had theboycott forced on them.

Keep in mind that the U.S. seems to have no problem importing from Myanmar, but has imposed sanctions on them for their oh so stubborn refusal to accept democracy. That, my dears, is a topic for another day. So my options have narrowed to either not going to Myanmar at all or trying to arrive at least two days early to go to the Myanmar embassy in Bangkok and (supposedly) get my visa there in one, albeit long, day.

Just as I was about to call China Airlines to see what it would cost to move my trip back two days (and if it was even possible at this late date), I got an email from Thien Tran. Thien lives in Vancouver, but is, I think, Thai. He offered to let me use his Canadian issed visa card to try, once more, the e-visa option, which offers near 24-hour turnaround time. Ooooh I hope it works! A measly $30 standing between me and Myanmar, and a large U.S. embargo blocking my path. Grarrrr!

What to do.... what to do...

2004-11-07T19:54:00.000-08:00

So. Still no visa. Time is running short, and it looks as though I shall have to be flexible. (Elastigirl springs to mind, forgive the pun, but you simply must go see The Incredibles because, well, it is damn funny. Hee. Hee hee. Anyway...)

What was I saying? Ah yes - flexible. Myanmar schmyanmar. Damnation, I wish I meant that. I will really be bummed if it doesn't work out. Not to denigrate the idea of more time spent in Thailand, or the possibility of going into Laos or Cambodia instead, I was really relishing the idea of meeting and shooting with like-minded people, getting to places I might not get on my own, motivating myself to get up at the blazing crack of day or before. Rats.

Off to the Palm to see The Motorcycle Diaries, which sounds quite nice. Will get me all fired up, I'm sure. Lotsa good stuff out right now, not so good for the Saving Sara, who is doing a lousy job of not going out for sushi to save moolah. Sigh. I am weak.

Anywho... no big clods to share today. Not up for it. Instead, some small curds (large curd is just too much for me, though good with pineapple on a bed of lettuce).

Utopia bakery is delicious. YUMMY food, yummier yet pastries and bread. The only thing that could be yummier is their location, which is not so convenient and fronts busy busy ugly south Broad St. Try their chicken sate sammich. Or anything else. "Appel bols" are whole roasted apples in a ball of flaky crust, cinnamon and almond paste. Good god. Heavenly.
My room is a disaster. Even my plants are suffering from my inattention these past few weeks, and that is a Sign that I must get my shit together indeed. Eek!
Did I mention you should go see The Incredibles?
Got a couple weddings booked for March - one of them in good ol' SLO, the Madonna Inn no less! That one should be fun and funky.

Over n out. Movie time.

on shame and adventure

2004-11-05T11:18:00.000-08:00

Let me just get the shame out of the way.

Many are the times I have thought, "Awful, you really need to write in your little bloggy all that is happening so those few souls who read it will continue to do so..." I usually end up playing with photos instead... Apologies, few souls.

So here's the rub. Soooo much has happened that it would no overwhelm even the most dedicated blog reader, so I have decided to deliver it in manageable chunks, clods even (curds, perhaps?) of info.

Clod #1. Good lord I can barely believe it but... I'm going to Thailand in less than two weeks. I have a delicious 25 days to kill once there, and lots of camera gear to schlep around. I. Am. Excited.

This clod comes with a mini not so good clod, to whit - I was supposed to be going to Myanmar (Burma) as well, meeting up with several awesome photogs and all round interesting people to shoot in Myanmar for one week with local guide and rad ex-pats. My visa was denied, however, for no discernable reason, and the Myanmar embassy in D.C. is being decidedly less than helpful. I resubmitted yesterday, but am quite doubtful that I have time to get it returned to me before I fly off into the dark of night.

Sooooooo what to do? If I don't go to Myanmar, the group I was to travel with will take a financial hit by having to cover my portion of the cost. I would also miss out on something Very Cool. But I don't see that I have many options, as getting a visa in Bangkok would be quick, but not quick enough to not eat into the Burma week by one half. Must try to contact Philip, the organizer of the trip, and hope that he gets my message in time to give me some advice. (You simply MUST check out that link, because then you will understand why travelling with this man would be a fabulous experience.)

Much to do much to do. Clod #1 is complete.

when plants move on their own

2004-09-28T10:37:00.000-07:00

Ya know the ground is shakin. Welcome back indeed, back to the land of sunshine and earthquakes! Just had quite a rocker. My plants started doing the mambo, then everything started creaking and I trotted outside. 5.8! Followed by a 5.0. Golly. Don't have those where I just was...

Passed the weekend in a sunny and mild Minneapolis, where they name the streets the same 14 numbered names then recycle them so you are guaranteed to get lost on each and every attempt to find something new. The first time you find yourself at the corner of 5th & 5th, it is very disorienting, specially if you then don't remember whether you wanted 5th St. or 5th Ave... or was it N. 5th St.? Which side of the lake was it again? Fuck, which lake??

When trying to figure this out (without benefit of a good map, in the dark, with a frustrated driver who has just flown for 5 hours) you would think directions from the nice bartender would be helpful. So Jess (my sis, who just got married in said city), who has no idea how to tell you get anywhere and has an infuriating habit of giving you imprecise directions that consist of telling you it is near something else you have no idea how to get to (go down a couple streets, then take a left - it's near the Grand Poobah Cafe & Hookah Bar), hands me off to the bartender. I breathe a sigh of relief, thinking he will give me concise, and most importantly, precise directions to his place of business. Instead, he begins asking me questions I can't answer, and when I hesitate, trying to find the answer on my pathetic rental car map, he says, "You need to engage your brain here." Hmmm... I, instead, engaged the End Call button on my cell phone and got my own damn self there. It was then that I first noticed that there were 11th Streets, Avenues, Ways, Paths, Blvds, and all their permutations of NSEW all over the damn place, and that the reason we were having trouble finding 11th St. and Harmon was that it didn't exist... and 11th Ave. and Harmon was a good 12 blocks away. You need to engage your brain here. Bastard bartender.

So here I sit... in a trashed room filled, literally, with the detritus of recent trips, clothes and camera gear strewn about and unopened mail stacked in precariously perched piles. Downloaded the images from Jess's wedding and, despite near zero cooperation on their parts, there are some lovely ones. Whew. Off to work. Two days of madness followed by a client wedding in Laguna Beach, then knuckling down for the long haul. Wish me luck.

news from a bad blogger

2004-09-15T14:28:00.000-07:00

I have been remiss in not filling these pages with all the delicious tidbits that my life has been these last few weeks. Apologies. I shall now fill you in, though in bits and pieces. Wouldn't want to scare you off with these epic Monster Posts, now would I?

My site, ahhh my site. I love my love with an S because she is Superfantastico. Her name is SHP and she comes from San Luis Obispo. In all seriousness, for one tiny instant, I am immensely proud of my site. :) New additions are up, and all sorts of yumminess fills its pages.

So why so happy, you ask? Oooh because I am waiting for the Perky Brown Man, a.k.a. the neighborhood friendly UPS dude, to knock on my door with 11.4 lbs of deliciousness in the form of my new lens! Ain't she a beaut?? Oh the places we'll go...

And after I take her down from her pedestal, I will pack her up and take her to Bodie with Ray (the taker of the linked lovely photos). We'll also be heading to Mono Lake. Nothing like traveling with a fellow photog who gets as geeks out on Good Light as I do. He claims to never camp, which is weird, especially in somewhere as lovely as the Eastern Sierras, but what can ya do. I'm sure I will relish the hot shower and soft bed of our motel after carrying my new beast around all day. That lens is 3 1/2 pounds. Yikes!

And in this package, this delivery rife with goodness, is also a nifty little travel tripod (more on why I need one of those next time), a couple filters, and a portable hard drive/card reader. Why do I need one of those fancy schmancy gadgets? Don't ya wish ya knew... (Hell, if you are reading this, you likely DO know, but I like the idea that I am teasing you, true or not.)

So that's all fer now... for I have work to do, and a box to open. Glee.

awfully good day

2004-08-25T16:20:00.000-07:00

Oh my. :) Today is an Awfully Good Day. My silence here has been due to mad progress on the photo front. Check out my nearly complete site at www.saraheinrichsphotography.com. Most of it is up and running, though there are some kinks to be worked out. Many thanks to my dear Joe for helping me so much. I hope what you learned in the process helps you as much as it has helped me!

The coooolest thing I found was www.photoreflect.com, an event based online storefront for photographers. For a very reasonable 15%, they host photos, allow you to design and customize your prices for different jobs, and direct process from the pro photo lab of your choice, or do it yourself. They deal with all the Messy Stuff - the moeny handling, the shopping cart, the forwarding of orders to the lab, and then, every two weeks, they mail you a check for the difference. The lab bills you automatically for the printing, and you pocket the profit. The only downside seems to be the poor resolution they use for their previews... horrid. Since people will be seeing samples of the image quality on my site first, I hope it won't turn people off... So, if you click on "order prints" on my site, you will be directed to my storefront, which is currently pretty darn empty (just one shoot). Neato!

Gosh. PhotoLand is growing so fast. :) Not just the site, but I did my first real shoot a week or so ago. Met the cutest little monkey ever, Clare, at Farmer's Market in SLO, dancing in her stripey poncho to the Spanish guitar. Snapped her picture and spoke to her father, Dan. Asked them if they would like to do a portrait shoot in Morro Bay, on the beach around sunset with Morro Rock behind them.

Turns out they are from Indianapolis, only here for the summer, and were about to leave again. We only had a week to get the shoot done before they left. My first! Lovely family, freakishly so. Sweet, loving, and intelligent as well - just all-round wonderful people. Dan, Amy, and their three adorable blonde daughters. We got fogged out the first two times we tried to do it, and on the last chance, the last day before Amy and the girls left town, we were graced with one of those golden evenings, moody skies, and warm wind. Heavenly. The shoot went incredibly well. Made me wonder what I was so worried about! They love the images, I get all this great stuff for my portfolios, and gained so much confidence in the process. Learned things that way I never would have guessed in all my book and internet research, from all the second hand knowledge in the world. Practice does indeed make perfect, in this case.

I also managed to drop my tripod in the waters of Morro Bay the day before... shooting from a dock down on the water. Gone. One of those slo mo things where you say "Nooooooooo...." and plunge your arm up to the shoulder, heavy sweater and all, into the cold water, just touching the cold metal as it sinks, but unable to catch a finger around the tubes. Glub glub. No more tripod. Not worth diving for, but still a pain in the ass, not having one. But not fer long... The friend connection has pulled through, and another one arrives in the mail shortly.

Oh! Bought a Wacom tablet, Intuos 6x8 for a measly $150. Should arrive from Alaska by Friday or Saturday! Wheee! Excited about not killing my mousing arm/hand and learning how to use the thing.

So. Let's recap. First clients are happy (though I had to get them myself... ) and sending me an unknown sum of money when they get their photos in the mail. My tripod is in the drink, but I'm gettin a new one fer free from a friend, complete with lovely ballhead! My site is up and I love it. !! More! I am shooting an engagement portrait session and might, if they like it, shoot their wedding in March. Their wedding site is here, if you want to see who I'll be pointing my lenses at! Fun stuff galore.

I'm downright giddy.

how to die happy

2004-07-25T19:29:00.000-07:00

Hot water sends me to my knees.

A friend recently joked that it was almost worth getting poison oak so you could take hot showers, which made me look at him like he'd just turned purple and sprouted flowers from his ears. But damn if he wasn't almost right.

That water hits and it is the most intense itch and scratch all rolled into one. The knees go weak, and like a dog scratching fleas I curve into it. Inarticulate noises escape and I press myself against that heat until I forget to breathe. It hurts, it shrieks, and it is incredibly powerful, heady, orgasmic even. The healthy skin is crying out that it is too hot, but the pain/pleasure is so intense that I could scald myself and not care. The pounding water only adds to the sensation. All thoughts of water conservation go out the window for the minutes I stand moaning under that heat. For several hours afterward I can almost forget my infuriating itch, until it slowly creeps back and I start to wonder how many showers per day are too many.

As many as it takes.

disembodied, a.k.a. Gimme Back My Face

2004-07-24T17:06:00.000-07:00

It isn't mine, this sandpaper face, this tight, dry, rough skin that feels as though it is trying to tear itself off and run around screaming. These rough rimmed lips, this swollen eye, this look of misery is not me. The most lovely laughing conversations dull the frustration somewhat, but unmeasured smiles even stretch this ugly canvas too tight for comfort. Sad when you try not to smile, hands hovering near that miserable blistered skin, hover flapping with the desire to touch, to tear skin from bone. I will never take this lightly again.

I have narrowed it down, in the hours spent trapped in this alien body wrap my flesh has become, whittled away the possibilities until I have mapped out its path to my bare softness. The handle of the broom I used to sweep the trail, used by gloved hands that pulled the Weed from trailside. Everywhere that wood touched, sweeping raised rash. Hot sweat, I wipe my upper lip with that toxic hand. A mosquito lands on my arm, high by the inside shoulder, I swipe it away. Sweat gathers on the curve of the tender skin inside my elbow, I wipe in on my shirt, the oil spreads. Play with my glasses with these toxic hands, put them back on - the backs of my ears look like a bad Halloween makeup job. Then happy tired I bike home, thinking foolish blissful thoughts of how I never touched the Weed, should be fine as long as I wash up. I wash up, but not the glasses, not the camera neck strap. I swear that oil has a cackle, that its life work is seeping silent under my skin until my body shrieks and rejects it in blistered skin, weeps it away over weeks.

I thought a lot about pain today. While I certainly don't enjoy it, I am unafraid of pain. It can be endured, stoic, a companion. This, this is enough to drive one mad. My eyes peer out from a face I do not recognize, a skin that feels like burlap stretched over pebbles. Everything is tight, dry, my lips have cracked and my eyes tear all the time.

I have learned things through my desperate search for knowledge these last few days. You cannot spread it from scratching unless the oil itself is still on your skin. By the time the rash appears, it has already reacted with your body and the nasty little bumps are simply your immune system trying to fight it off. If you have cleaned your skin (and anything you have touched) with Tecnu (or some oil-dissolving cleanser like dishsoap) you cannot spread it to your poor scared loved ones. BUT it is very easy to recontaminate yourself from such simple things as, in my case, eyeglasses, or clothing, pillow case, etc. Obsessive cleaning is your friend, and never stay far from the Tecnu bottle just in case it has gotten on you again. Wash yer dog.

And once it has moved in like a smelly roommate, hunker down, it won't be fun. The Tecnu folks make a good gel to help the maddening itch, but it is temporary and incomplete relief at best. I would like to fall into an induced coma until it is better. In the meantime, I will occasionally scream and fervently hope that it will only get better from here.

on party crashers

2004-07-22T18:59:00.000-07:00

I have houseguests. Unwelcome. Multiplying. From behind my ears inexorably marching around my chin to my lip, nostrils, brow. Buried sneakily in my eyebrow, lurking at my hairline, casually lounging on my cheek. In the shower I notice their leavings on the tender inside of my right elbow, a little line of them (connect the dots, 1, 2, 3) on my left hand. Little bastards. I must now wait them out. They'll keep me up and they'll drive me batty. They'll only get worse before they get better and just when I think I am stuck with them for life, disfigured, beleagured, they will sneak out the back without so much as a thank you. This level of discourtesy is apalling, had they asked up front I would have politely declined their visit with some disengenuous nicety, something about next time, and how the kids look lovely this year, so fresh and shiny looking. I won't let them get comfortable, no no, they'll know they are NOT WELCOME HERE. And next time... next time I will be prepared. This will be a long, long few weeks. Let the battle of wills begin. Grrrr.

woe. woe.

2004-07-21T13:49:00.000-07:00

Woe is me. I talked smack about not getting poison oak after my recent trail clean-up adventure. Fool, fool that I am. Awoke this morning with my ears feeling like they were little balls of itch attached to my head. Nose, forehead, side of neck, and even eyelids soon joins the chorus. Oh yeah, I have poison oak ON MY FACE. The culprit? Must be my glasses (damn them) as the worst of it follows spec patterns across my poor beleagured skin. Backs of ears, eye region, fallout creeping to neck and chin, forehead. Misery knocks on my door and bloody kicks the thing open. I DID NOT SAY COME IN! Rats. Bollocks. SHIT. Twasn't careful enough, it would seem. That thunp you hear is me kicking myself in the arse. Oh misery, thy name is poison oak.

Sigh.

2004-07-11T16:24:00.000-07:00

Mellow silken seas and a pastel horizon, Montana d'Oro last night after sundown.

new & old

2004-07-11T16:23:00.000-07:00

Midnight Nintendo, wine & cherries, zooming in an old blue Porsche, and a camera by the sea - yesterday was a good day. Some quality baby time, always good time, and delicious new discovery of a kindred spirit in a wild place. New friendships are so exhilarating, old friendships so calming, what would life be without them both?

happier things, a.k.a. on recent travel

2004-07-10T11:42:00.000-07:00

I whirled wheels south with a little bag of wasabi peas
not too long ago.
I smelled the ash
and breathed the emptiness of the Gaviota fire,
wiggled bare filthy toes in the softened, blackened earth
overlooking idyllic whitecapped ocean,
cried over crumbling little bones under every group of
burned oak arms,
no shelter at all from the heat and the smoke
to the little creatures who hid there.
I passed reverent lens over petroglyphs on hot rock,
snuck up on fat lizards and watched birds pant
open-beaked in the 108 degree days.
I climbed crumbling sandstone, found tiny yellow flowers
and busy ant trails,
drank gallons of water and never felt anything but thirsty.
I crouched in Death Valley with cold raindrops
hitting my bare shoulders while rain lay heavy
on the valley floor and lightning slapped the ground.
I caught it and took the ephemeral home in permanent form.
I dodged hookers and flatlanders, executives and philanderers,
children and retirees among the slots and the bells
and the Cheap Buffets of the abomination that is Vegas.
I packed myself in an elevator with the biggest
stuffed horse I have ever seen.
I ducked under its misformed hooves to escape to my room
overlooking the candy-colored towers of the Kitch Castle of Excaliber.
Met a grand German dame in the tourism center on the Strip,
and a dread-locked resident of Springdale, just outside Zion,
who blew there much as I blew into San Luis, and has a fondness
for my town and outspoken women like myself.
He served me roast pork with mango chutney and we spoke
of Reisner's Cadillac Desert
and of winter in a deserted Zion, where he & I might play soon
if my hunch is correct.
A family from Paso shared our campsite.
A girl from Ohio fell on the trail ahead of me and skinned her knee.
I photographed a giant black beetle
that crossed my path to Angel's Landing.
I swatted mosquitos knee deep in the river
that carved the walls of Zion's cliffs
and stubbed my bare toe on its warm rich sandstone.
I saw old friends in Long Beach, slept on their couch
and played pounce games with their stately feline,
Frodo of the Pale Yellow Eyes, in the darkness
where I couldn't see his blackness quivering to strike.
I slept on the ground with the wind on my skin and laid
my palm on black volcanic rock.
I wandered Acres of Books for hours
and lugged my treasure box around Long Beach
satisfied with my Kundera,
Alice Munro, Toni Morrison's Sula, Joyce Carol Oates,
Camus and several treasures from childhood,
like The Wind in the Willows.
Though I found no Roald Dahl,
I spent a blissful hour in the photography section,
perched under the 'humor' sign and petting a strange small cat
with an oddly folded ear.
Pleasantly lighter of wallet and heavier of burden,
I exited Acres and found myself, oh glee,
reflected in the window of a camera store.
I photographed the hairs on a fiddleleaf fern
and the texture of rippled rock,
the lights and movement of a Vegas night
and the calm of a Zion dawn.
I thought on love and dreamed high adventure
back pressed to the earth, face to the sky
I relished my own company & drank in my solitude,
and still I feel thirsty.

on love and other diseases

2004-07-08T22:15:00.000-07:00

I should quote my mother here, but I will instead make a few slightly bitter comments and hang up my hat.

Hurting someone else, someone you care for, is akin to the sinking feeling you get as a child when you say something horrible you don't mean. Something that hits home more accurately than you ever wanted it to hit, and harder. You want to take it back, you want the ground to swallow you into some grand Madeleine L'Engle time warp where you never said it, never did it at all, or where it no longer matters. You want to hide, you want to scream, you want to run, you want to get angry back but you haven't the right. You are the Wrongdoer, the Cause and the Reason for the pain on their face. So you swallow once, twice, hard. You accept what they need you to do to make it easier, and you go home. You don't pick up the phone because you said you wouldn't, and you try to pretend that you're not just filling up the days until things heal themselves. Insert wise Mother Words here, any will do.

on pain and parties

2004-07-04T10:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was awful. Nothing but horrid tummy feelings and disappointments. I was supposed to go to a housemate's play, the last show no less, and, instead, was felled by horrid stomach cramps and nausea. Hung out with a wastebasket by the couch, but never needed it. Instead of going to Morro Bay as I had hoped, I went to sleep late, and slept fitfully, quite miserable. To my glee, however, I woke up this morning feeling halfway human! Wheee!

Ya see, today I plan to go to the beach, something I don't do enough. Even better, I plan to go to the beach with some friends and to see people I see not often enough. Good food, good company, and distant fireworks over the water. I hope it doesn't get socked in with fog!

In other news... well, there is no other news. The last few days have been dullsville. Rat fink.

2004-07-03T14:21:00.000-07:00

the strange new Beastie Who Sheds On My Bed, name unknown

furry apologia

2004-07-03T12:00:00.000-07:00

I take it all back. Well, not all of it, but I take back any disparaging comments about the New Furball with the Funky Eye. She lurked in my loft until I went to bed last night, then excitedly leapt onto my bed, licked my nose, and purred herself to furry sleep draped over my ankles. She does cuddle! She's certainly not normal... and she's certainly not a snuggler when the sun is up, but in the wee hours of the night Funky Eye is a sweetheart. And she's back in my room as we speak...

2004-07-03T00:21:00.000-07:00

Kitty Meow Kitty in all her glory

2004-07-03T00:19:00.000-07:00

the Wizard, looking crusty, as always

meow

2004-07-03T00:12:00.000-07:00

So I have a thing for cats. All critters really, but cats with personality, with chutzpah and spice the most. A few years ago, a wonderful black panther of a cat spun crazy like a leaf blowing into my life. She had sunflower eyes and a triangular face. She was delicate and powerful and exhilarating and tender. I loved her body & soul, but she was killed by a dog, a needy spotty mongrel beast, a cross between a pit bull & a dalmation with the brains of neither and a lust for the hunt that claimed my Mallory's life and my happiness in one fell swoop. I miss her deeply, she can still make me cry.

Kitty Meow Kitty lives across town from me, in the house next to a dear friend, and she rivals Mallory for sheer coolness. She hugs like a child, she tucks her forehead under my chin and kneads my chest with eager feet. She makes my heart sing. I see her less now that I do not sleep at that house, now that I do not sit on the porch in the sunshine with her, fetch her from the neighbor with caresses and our special hug.

Why don't I just get a cat already, you might say? Stop my whining and my strange obsession with other people's beloved pets, stop my elaborate scenarios of catnappings and stealing them away from their always undeserving families? Well, I can't. Here at the Establishment (a tale for another day) I cannot have a cat. Nevermind that Wizard lives here, for all intents and purposes. Wizard isn't our cat. He isn't even named Wizard. I'm not even sure some days that he is a cat. He is the crustiest, boniest Head Wound Harry I have ever seen. When I met him several years ago, he had staples in his partially shaved noggin. He makes horrible noises. He smells funny and he licks the floor when you scratch him right above his tail. He loves laps. I do love him, but the interaction with Wizard is minimal. GIVE ME LOVE! MEOWWWRrrrRRRR. He is the master of expressing Supreme Irritation. This occurs when you fail to pet him, when you pet him too much, or not just right, when you open the door or don't open the door, when you remove the Lap, when the Lap isn't quite right, when you eat, when you drink, when you don't get up quite fast enough at 4 a.m. when he wants out of your room, when you Screw Up. You never know when this will be, but after Supreme Irritation is expressed, there is no doubt. Wizard rules the roost. He decides who is allowed to come over (of the feline persuasion, that is) and when. Most other meowboxes are percata non grata, and feel his crusty wrath, but on occasion, someone will break through and charm Wizard, or at least not threaten him, and we have a second cat buddy to hang out. In this fashion I met Josh, a very cool, bird-chasing, gangly grey teenager cat. Josh came around daily until his family moved away and didn't even let him say goodbye. Bastards.

I also met Dudley in this fashion, and Dudley was an angel, a true gift to me. He came around one rainy day when I was new to the house. I had injured my back and was sacked out on a housemate's couch counting things and dying of boredom and floating in a fog of drugs. Dudley, a.k.a. Stubby-No-Tail due to his tailless physique, charmed me, won me over completely. He was black like my Mallory, and her death was still fresh on my conscience then. He had green eyes and a pure cat soul, and wicked swipe, and was a supreme cuddler. He too moved away without leaving a forwarding address, so I hope he found a new girl to charm.

Since those two brave creatures won over Wizard with their wiley ways, there has been no one. A recent mottled teen came around, but he and the Wiz were bitter enemies from the moment they saw one another. But the other day, a huge fluffball wandered in, blue-gray with a pushed in face and one milky grey eye, like a marble. This cat seems to own the place. She climbs in people's lofts. She lolls about on the kitchen floor like she has lived here for years. She has no collar or tags and she and Wiz are indifferent to each other, strangely so.

You would think I would be ecstatic, wouldn't you? All my plotting and planning and a lovely soft furball has simply walked in to stay. But this one, this one is weird. It doesn't like to be petted, it doesn't interact. It is like a cute stuffed cat that sometimes makes noises. It purrs near you, and it isn't scared, but when you caress her, her spine turns squishy and bends the wrong way to avoid your hand. Despite my best efforts, she likes neither chin scratches, belly rubs, gentle touches or hard pets. She likes us, but it's like having a fish with fur. No fun at all. Decoration that wants food. I'm so disappointed. :| She is in my loft now... sacked out, and I have no belief that she will cuddle with me. Such a tease. Her presence is both pleasant and infuriating. Of all the cats... sigh. At least she doesn't have staples in her head.

aaahhhhh blogdom!

2004-07-01T11:33:00.000-07:00

Well. Golly. I have resisted the call for so long, worried that I will become a slave to Blogland and cease all more Responsible endeavors. A recent foray into a new aquaintance's blog has, however, convinced me that my blog can be a complement to my More Important work, which I will delve into at another time. So welcome, as yet unknown visitors. :) Warm happy thoughts your way. I think this is the start of a beautiful relationship.