Twi-light zone is the norm
Last night, I slepped on the observation deck. The slippery sound of the river can be heard perfecting the frictional relationship with rock, mud and pebbles. This sound is so soothing. The hour was fairly late - post midnight - despite my plan to awaken at 5 30 AM. The river music was loud but not loud enough to cover up some kind of noise. I lay in bed wondering, speculating, what the heck is that noise I think to myself... it is occuring rhymically, regularly, like someone is pulling rope on a makeshift pulley system made of rough fabric and it sounds like it is amplified. Then it occurs to me: It is the sound of someone snoring in the yurt. I give thanks that I am not in that yurt with the other gentlemen sharing it with the world's loudest snorrer.
I awaken at the appointed time, turn off a bunch of lights as I make my way to Skip's hovel a bit early to make sure that he has arisen. The interior florescent light is on, I push aside the red blanket which is Skip's alternative to a door and see that Bill is in there sitting with Skip. The conversation is one-sided. Bill's doing the talking and Skip the listening. I sit and patiently wait for the conclusion of this last minute meeting. I can tell that Bill's still digesting the teeth throwing incident. He says he wants Skip to clean up the exterior part of the structure in which Skip lives. I recognize that this is meant to be a metaphor...
Soon enough, Skip and I are on the road. I am driving the old yellow Toyota pick-up. I look in the back to see what Skip will be bringing with him for the next 3 months. All I see is a sleeping bag. He's got clothes, an abode and a car waiting for him in New York.
I did not bring a recording device and so I don't have very much to report on with regards to our conversation. Basically, Skip talked about how most folks in our culture are groundless and do not know where anything they buy or consume comes from. Skip: "People do not know where the ground is." He's curious what will happen because so many folks are living out on a limb and have no understanding what a trunk is. Skip's radio is stuck on one station because the tuner dial does not work. The way we change the station is by driving until the sigal changes. When we start we get classic rock and roll the Octopus 95.9. As we hit Point Magoo we start to hear rap and hip hop. Further down PCH a Christain radio station begins to dominate our limited air waves. About 10 miles from the airport we start hearing country music. Yeah, I guess there's something for everyone on the trip to LAX. Airports can confuse me. When I am with Skip, the twi-light zone is the norm. Our entry point into LAX is not familiar to either of us. After our first lap we realize we are on the Arrivals road. As we complete the second lap, Skip desides that he can be dropped off at Continental's arrival section and just take the escalator to the Departure section.
The ride back is uneventful. By 9:30 my head is on a folded up blanket. I am in the hovel and sleeping.
The cell phone's ring goes off an hour later. It is Devin. We are going to play some tennis.
The tennis courts are all filled with teenagers playing doubles or taking lessons. We warm up for 15 minutes. The first set goes to Devin: 6-4. By the end of it I was venting my lymbic system like a volcanoe spewing ash hundreds of feet into the air but not actually erupting. The second set, Devin picked up his game while I melted down. The broken record of self doubt and self criticism took over and I relaeased more emotional ashes and a couple boulders which did not land on anyone. Devin hits all winners, so unforced errors and his serve is smoking - 2 aces and 4 service winners. Second set score: 6-0. Devin visits the restroom and I practice tai-chi for 5 minutes. Finally, I ease back into a more balanced state of mind. I am able to think a little more clearly and realize the simple fact that Dev's playing better than I. No biggey, just relax and hit some shots. He starts out with a 2-0 lead. I notice that the heat is getting to him which he later confirms. My strokes come back a bit and I battle back. Soon, I am up 3-2. Dev's hitting unforced errors again. Bjon Borg has left his body to go terrorize some other happless tennis player. Devin is serving 4-5, I get a set point but blow it. Finally, Dev's serving 5-6, we play deuce-a-cola for a while before he pushes a backhand wide. I throw up my hands in victory and Devin graciously congratulates me and offers encouragement.
Back on the estate, we meet at the pool. A nice follow up to tennis is swimming and a dip in the jacuzzi.
Next, Bill, Devin and I head down to a Farmer and the Cook party: Mostock. Whole bunch of hippies jumping around and dancing. Kids running around. Smiles abound. Surprise highlight: Mark Dennen. He's a folk singer - kinda like a mix of Paul Simon, Tracey Chapman, Jack Johnson but still has his own unique style. This guy looks kind of goofy, he's way young, wear's his cheap baseball cap askew, big women's sunglasses sliding down his nose and rocking like few I have ever seen. He's laying out originals and his voice is clear, in key, nice range and beautiful. The words pour out of his mouth like a crystal waterfall. Before every song he kind of dances and his body language lets you see the music before you hear it. He's just signed with Universal. This boy's going somewhere.
I awaken at the appointed time, turn off a bunch of lights as I make my way to Skip's hovel a bit early to make sure that he has arisen. The interior florescent light is on, I push aside the red blanket which is Skip's alternative to a door and see that Bill is in there sitting with Skip. The conversation is one-sided. Bill's doing the talking and Skip the listening. I sit and patiently wait for the conclusion of this last minute meeting. I can tell that Bill's still digesting the teeth throwing incident. He says he wants Skip to clean up the exterior part of the structure in which Skip lives. I recognize that this is meant to be a metaphor...
Soon enough, Skip and I are on the road. I am driving the old yellow Toyota pick-up. I look in the back to see what Skip will be bringing with him for the next 3 months. All I see is a sleeping bag. He's got clothes, an abode and a car waiting for him in New York.
I did not bring a recording device and so I don't have very much to report on with regards to our conversation. Basically, Skip talked about how most folks in our culture are groundless and do not know where anything they buy or consume comes from. Skip: "People do not know where the ground is." He's curious what will happen because so many folks are living out on a limb and have no understanding what a trunk is. Skip's radio is stuck on one station because the tuner dial does not work. The way we change the station is by driving until the sigal changes. When we start we get classic rock and roll the Octopus 95.9. As we hit Point Magoo we start to hear rap and hip hop. Further down PCH a Christain radio station begins to dominate our limited air waves. About 10 miles from the airport we start hearing country music. Yeah, I guess there's something for everyone on the trip to LAX. Airports can confuse me. When I am with Skip, the twi-light zone is the norm. Our entry point into LAX is not familiar to either of us. After our first lap we realize we are on the Arrivals road. As we complete the second lap, Skip desides that he can be dropped off at Continental's arrival section and just take the escalator to the Departure section.
The ride back is uneventful. By 9:30 my head is on a folded up blanket. I am in the hovel and sleeping.
The cell phone's ring goes off an hour later. It is Devin. We are going to play some tennis.
The tennis courts are all filled with teenagers playing doubles or taking lessons. We warm up for 15 minutes. The first set goes to Devin: 6-4. By the end of it I was venting my lymbic system like a volcanoe spewing ash hundreds of feet into the air but not actually erupting. The second set, Devin picked up his game while I melted down. The broken record of self doubt and self criticism took over and I relaeased more emotional ashes and a couple boulders which did not land on anyone. Devin hits all winners, so unforced errors and his serve is smoking - 2 aces and 4 service winners. Second set score: 6-0. Devin visits the restroom and I practice tai-chi for 5 minutes. Finally, I ease back into a more balanced state of mind. I am able to think a little more clearly and realize the simple fact that Dev's playing better than I. No biggey, just relax and hit some shots. He starts out with a 2-0 lead. I notice that the heat is getting to him which he later confirms. My strokes come back a bit and I battle back. Soon, I am up 3-2. Dev's hitting unforced errors again. Bjon Borg has left his body to go terrorize some other happless tennis player. Devin is serving 4-5, I get a set point but blow it. Finally, Dev's serving 5-6, we play deuce-a-cola for a while before he pushes a backhand wide. I throw up my hands in victory and Devin graciously congratulates me and offers encouragement.
Back on the estate, we meet at the pool. A nice follow up to tennis is swimming and a dip in the jacuzzi.
Next, Bill, Devin and I head down to a Farmer and the Cook party: Mostock. Whole bunch of hippies jumping around and dancing. Kids running around. Smiles abound. Surprise highlight: Mark Dennen. He's a folk singer - kinda like a mix of Paul Simon, Tracey Chapman, Jack Johnson but still has his own unique style. This guy looks kind of goofy, he's way young, wear's his cheap baseball cap askew, big women's sunglasses sliding down his nose and rocking like few I have ever seen. He's laying out originals and his voice is clear, in key, nice range and beautiful. The words pour out of his mouth like a crystal waterfall. Before every song he kind of dances and his body language lets you see the music before you hear it. He's just signed with Universal. This boy's going somewhere.
posted by Dij at 7:40 PM
0 waves:
Post a Comment
<< Home