When I woke up on Friday morning, there was no air left in my tire. Not exactly an auspicious beginning to the day. We were supposed to head out to a bluegrass festival in Ramah, but Big O Tires at Central and San Mateo became the first order of business. I have spent enough of my life in auto shops, so I opted to wait next door in Castle Superstore, the Walmart of sex emporiums. I entertained myself by perusing the dvd section. I absolutely love the titles. The only other customer was some guy wearing black Dickies and no shirt. He had a giant Virgin Mary of Guadalupe tattoo on his back. Seriously, dickies and virgins. Sometimes life is my favorite joke. By the way, this little episode was the most normal thing that happened to me yesterday.
Hours later but back on track, I set out for the mountains with Chelsea, Henry and Elizabeth. I am sometimes taken aback by what an awesomely beautiful place New Mexico is. If you have never been to Ramah, please go. It’s near El Morro and El Malpais on Highway 53. The evening was brimming with good weather, good friends, good food, and good music. Toward the end of the night, someone near our tents started playing Appalachian Civil War tunes on his fiddle. There is something about the fiddle that just breaks my heart. The songs were so breathtaking, they mitigated what happened next (audio only until 2:12, highlights at 0:07, 2:20, and 6:23):
It might seem like a remarkable coincidence that I happened to record the exact moment of my fall, but I fell because I was recording. I would have noticed that dastardly log had I not been looking at my camera instead. I was after footage of a drunk guy who was smashing his way through a group of tents. It’s called karma, folks.
I drove home alone on Saturday, an early departure. I decided to stop at the El Malpais Information Center. It didn’t occur to me that it was probably an odd decision until I walked in. Adults tried not to look at me, alone in the badlands with a black eye. Children stared in open astonishment. I bought this book about riparian areas because I was taken by the lovely shade of blue on the cover. And the beavers. The Park Ranger was very kind to me. I think he thought I was a battered woman.
What else… I went to Urgent Care. The wound was irrigated and glued and taped. Too late for stitches. I got a Tetanus shot. Then, Myles and Angela took me to dinner at Nob Hill Bar & Grill. I started spontaneously bleeding at the table and had to walk through the crowded bar to get to the bathroom. BUT! I plan to wear a navy blue eye patch to my cousin’s beach wedding next week. I am wearing this pretty sailor dress and intend to go as a pirate.
I love my eyeball. I couldn’t be happier that it is still in my face.
The End.
Filed under: slowblogger
At first, I thought this endorsement for Klonopin was irresponsible, but then it occurred to me that more pharmaceuticals should be plugged under the influence of the drug in question. This video offers an unusual synopsis of both the benefits and risks associated with taking tranquilizers. On one hand, who wouldn’t want to achieve a state of instant zen’d out crackdom? On the other, I have been apprised of the danger to my liver, lucidity and sartorial judgment. Although dressing up like a Bratva familiar might be part of the appeal:
Also, I created a short questionnaire based on DROFMINDMD’s criteria so that you can determine whether or not you should start pill popping.
Filed under: slowblogger
Here are three of my clips. Sorry I didn’t get to this sooner, but in the true spirit of this site, I was waiting for the dust to settle. And for my heartrate to recover from a surreal week at 120 bpm, my vindication for defying a universe that seemed hellbent on keeping me home. There were functional Tesla Coils! Justin was barefoot. I was not not licking frogs.
From my Twitter account:
1:20 AM Tesla coils. My phone is dying. Goodnight.
10:36 PM Dragon gets me every time. Okay, now chemical bros.
10:13 PM Lost, then found. M.I.A.
9:47 PM Check that. Band of horses first.
9:46 PM Mimosa on the way to chemical brothers.
9:18 PM Thievery.
8:39 PM Fleet foxes.
7:40 PM TV on the radio. Coachella stage. Fucking sun.
7:16 PM Bloody beetroots. Sahara tent.
3:57 PM Wow, guess I took the scenic route.
Filed under: slowblogger
A friend recently announced that she was going to train with Starhawk, which left me feeling unsettled and uninformed. Did she meet an intergalactic superstar? Has she taken up with an ornithology cult? Does she have an imaginary friend with extraordinary abilities? Could this be a call sign like Maverick or Goose? These were questions needing answers. I searched the internet and found that Starhawk says it best herself:
“I’m Starhawk, author of many works celebrating the Goddess movement and Earth-based, feminist spirituality. I’m a peace, environmental and global justice activist and trainer, a permaculture designer and teacher, a Pagan and Witch.”
My friend is training to be an earth activist, and I really should have guessed. Don’t get me wrong, I am for Earth. It is my favorite planet. All things considered, it takes a special type of nihilist to be against it. Accordingly, commotion seems like an unnecessary approach to ecological activism. I work for a large steel recycler and in my observation, a stringent commitment to environmental practices is less ceremonial than it is dirty and hard work. And of the many ways to contribute to our planet’s health, how does building a wigwam with 20 of your fruitiest friends stack up? It looks like a lot of hilarious and wholesome fun, but net zero for the environment. On the other hand, I am not a witch so it is possible I am missing something.
Speaking of magical prowess and fictional powers, wouldn’t you rather train with this guy?
This is also Starhawk (né Stakar Vaughn Ogord, Giver of Light). Kudos to Tophat for the tip. He also suggested a battle for moniker supremacy: Pagan Feminist vs. Invulnerable Superhero. Any bets?
Filed under: slowblogger
