Behind the seen

I think Uncle Monkey is cutting some back stage deal with Rat Woman to be artistic director around here. I don't know what she has to say about things. I think that damn cape has gone to her head.

Ready? Or not.

Here it is. The sexy new black brace, mostly for night time. Three weeks of PT then the stitches come out. I can do a little two-handed typing now and I even drove to the post office to pick up my mail this afternoon. Rockin. I've been stalled on my creat-a-thon for the last two days but tomorrow I'll be back, sweating it out in front of the camera.

M. Lee and G. are now in San Carlos but they had a terrible day yesterday, just after crossing the border. The trailer broke away from the truck. Big mess. Lucky for them the damn boat didn't fall into the street. And luckily the cops didn't show up for bribes and all that bullshit. Instead a bunch of people immediately volunteered their help, including some guys in a pick up truck who luckily had a hitch and pulled them to a Pemex (the state run gas station, a monopoly) which, as luck would have it, just happened to be across the street and next door to a junkyard that, luckily, had the right size hitch. Lucky they weren't in the states where people just drive around you when you're having a problem.

Now the guy who owns the boat is a good friend. A great guy. I don't mean to be rude but he is, oh how can I say? Sloppy. His business until the trailer breaks away from the truck and one of its tires blows out in the middle of a busy Mexican street all because the fucking ball in the hitch is the wrong size. And probably the tire was bald. Then another problem today in San Carlos. The gas line for the outboard motor came off and the boat drifted to shore and beached. More luck. Sandy shore. Shallow draft. No big deal. Lucky again. And that is a problem. The right size hitch, good tires, making sure the gas lines are fitted properly? Not things you leave to luck. M. Lee is furious and G. is, as you can imagine, miserable.

They both feel horrible. In cramped quarters. They are good friends but very different. M. Lee researches everything first. Everything. But when it's done, it's right, or at least reliable. G. goes with whatever is handy. I'm more like him. This may be a shorter trip than planned. They haven't decided yet but I'm pretty sure they won't be doing any over night camping in remote lagoons.

For your amusment

Four short clips of animals
solving everyday problems.
Guaranteed to amaze and delight you
(if you have a heart).



Smart Animals - video via Metacafe

Wednesday cast removal day

None too soon, if you ask me. This thing leaves zero wiggle room and by the end of the day my hand is really annoyed. If I could just BE STILL, but alas that is never going to happen. A friend is coming by in a hour to pick me up. The doctor is in Reno but here I sit, one hand typing. That should be my new name, One Hand Typing. Or maybe Left Hand Mousing. It slows ya down, but it is a good exercise in mindfulness. I will say that. Anyway, I leave the fort. Other than to refill the bird feeders, I haven't stepped outside since the toy train left for Mexico.

100 seconds of crude

Okay, here is my internet musical debut. I recorded it this morning; another step in my ongoing efforts to rise above crippling shyness, soul crushing isolation, face the machine, and just be myself. Don't ask me why.

This is an improvisation. The melody is simple-minded and fumbled out and the video itself is jumpy. I should be ashamed of myself but apparently not enough. So here it is, for your pleasure, 100 seconds of crude.

The blogging life

 

This episode of Achewood just happens strike a special cord with me.

Mr. Bear's blog

Life in the house and other residencies

Here I sit doing another blog post, as predicted. My hand hurts. I slept on it wrong last night and it is crabby and swollen inside the cast today. Except for the bugs scurrying about their business, and of course the Invisible Theatre troupe, there is no other life in the house. It's not that M. Lee and I talk much during the day. I pass his door on my way to the kitchen. I see the back of his head but he is there and now he is not. For a month. This is supposed to be my 30 days of wild creative abandon but mostly I just feel lonely. What a simp. I would blow a residency in this mood. Interesting that Poets.org is accepting submissions beginning today for the Walt Whitman Award. It includes a 30 day residency at the Vermont Studio Center.

Black Balloons

Climate Project

00:45

Leaving NV

Too early. The little birds haven't even made it to the Bird Park yet although the ravens and crows have come, cleaned up all the bread and French fries and gone. And M. Lee and G. are gone, off to San Carlos and the Sea of Cortez for a month (if they can stand each other that long) while I sit at home with my arm in a sling. Bastards! Just kidding. I already miss the hell out of Lee but I have big plans for myself. Oh yeah. Sprawling through the house on a big messy creative binge. He says when he gets home I will still be sitting right here slaving over a Huffpo comment or blog post. Ha! We shall see. I say I will rise above my crippling shyness, the soul crushing isolation of the burbs, faceoff this f*cking video editing software and synthesizer and the camera to create more complex and interesting clips than my current smash hits such as Quail Dust Bath Party or Lifetime in Tonopah. The glove is down babee and the clock is ticking ... and all this pecked out by the one finger method. Anyway, here is my latest nothing happening video but hey, it's my first splice job. What do you want for free?!


Departure

Jim Morrison reading

The American Night

from LiveLeak 05:27

Bon voyagers

Nevada
Starting out

On Monday M. Lee and his buddy Greg are leaving for a month of sailing on Mexico's Sea of Cortez. It's Greg's boat, truck and camper. Lee is rail meat, Gilligan and co-conspirator. I can't imagine navigating Mexican roads with that setup, even the toll roads. All in all the whole thing is as awkward as a semi, but I'm sure they will be just fine. Greg has been hauling one boat or another around for years and once they get to San Carlos they will be able to chose between living on the boat or staying in the trailer park and the marina is a wifi hot spot. Far cry from the kind of camping we do in the desert with nothing but coyotes for company. Anyway, I'll be lonely but Lee set up Gizmo on the laptop so it will only cost us 2 cents a minute to talk. Not bad. And while he's gone I plan on turning the whole house into a studio. I'm going to record myself reading poetry, playing music and, OMG, just talking to the camera YouTube style. I've done a few takes already and immediately deleted them. Frightful. I don't know what drives me to do the things I do.

San Carlos

Destination

Zen bird

click... clickclick........ click......... cl..... ick..... click....

That is the sound of one hand not typing but I'm not complaining for one day after surgery. Hell, I used to know a poet in Santa Cruz who typed all his books with the one finger method. Anyway, yesterday I wandered down some pretty dark paths. For instance in pre-op, while the lab tech blew a couple of veins trying to set the I.V., it occurred to me that the glare of the oblong overhead light I was staring at is the last thing some people see just before dying and lying on the hard cold surgery gurney as I began swirling around the event horizon of my failing mind, I was overwhelmed with sadness thinking about all the lab animals who watch in horror as heartless researchers do terrible things to them, all without pain relief, and after surgery I briefly understood what it must be like to outlive your world and await death among indifferent strangers.

Today, swollen as it is, it's still wonderful having the pressure off my middle and ring fingers (ulner and median nerves) and the carpal tunnel repaired. If it weren't for the cast, I'd probably be able to flip the bird from a fist, a talent all but lost to me before yesterday. But in my brief absence I fear Uncle Monkey has been up to more shady business.

Hi ho

Tomorrow I am going in for carpal tunnel surgery and am trying not to obsess on the fact that I can't eat or drink anything after midnight. It's a re-do and this time ... THIS TIME ... I am going to give it enough time to heal. Yes indeedy. My poor right hand is in need of four separate repairs, undoubtedly karma, a use it or lose it kind of thing, because I still haven't written the book that keeps swimming circles in my mind like a damn shark.

Not that I don't want to write it, mind you, plus November is bearing down on us like LARGE MARGE's semi. You know what that means. NaNoWriMo. National Novel Writing Month. Already I am receiving GET READY emails from the NaNo guys and feel the pull as though a gigantic hot full moon were rising in my head. But NO! I am not going to ride the cyclone this year. One, because I don't want to put undo stress on my hand. I'll save that for pressing matters such as commenting on political blogs. Two, because I still haven't done anything with the 50,000 words I mashed through my keyboard last year. Once I received my NaNo winner gif, I closed my password protected manuscript, sent it to several of my email accounts for safe keeping, and didn't look at it again for months. When I did, I was overcome by vertigo. Nevertheless, if you're thinking about doing it, go for it. What have you got to lose? Your sanity? ... whahahahaha .... Ahem. Excuse me. Well, it is a mind altering experience but I love that shit. Since I don't do drugs anymore, gotta get it however I can.

Achewood all over again

Achewood is of my favorites but I can't read the new ones Chris continues to post daily because I never read up to them. I don't even remember where I left off so today I started reading the complete archive over from the beginning. Good thing to do after my carpal tunnel surgery this Thursday.

The Web Designer

Lie Bot's Shoes

Rat tales

Puppets are like birds, very camera shy,
especially when you sneak up on them.

The troupe here at the Invisible Theatre
are actors but even they can get touchy
when caught off guard. I only managed to
get a couple of photos before they all
scampered behind the proscenium
and pulled the curtains.

Turns out Rat Woman was reading from an
old five year diary that belonged to my mother (R).
It covers the time when she was first dating my father
and goes a couple of years after their marriage.
I wonder what else Rat Woman has been getting into?

September 11, 1940

"To C.B.* after work with Peach & Chuck.
Andy met us & to Jennings awhile.
The Draft Bill was passed. Wonder what's to be."

* Candy Bar - a favorite tavern where my parents and their friends spent A LOT OF TIME.

Marcel Marceau, the greatest mime

For me, he did not die. How could such a man die? I saw him once when I was very young and he has been with me ever since. Here is a wonderful clip I just found. It is perhaps the only talky he ever made.