Valentines Day: A Rant

I am aware of the history of Valentine’s Day.  I know the stories of the priest performing illegal Christian marriages, the story of him helping Christians escape persecution, and even the story about him falling in love with his jailor’s daughter.  I am also familiar with the Roman festival of Lupercalia.  However, it is impossible for me to separate the holiday’s meaning from that of our contemporary culture.  So, no matter how hard I try to have a good attitude about this holiday, it usually ends up with me feeling sad and or angry (usually both).  I can’t help feeling it has become something of a report card for how I am doing in my dating life, and just as I would dread getting report card in school (particularly if I knew the grades weren’t going to be good), so I now dread Feb 14, and the media build up around it as a time when I cannot help but evaluate the status of how my romantic life is going.

I dislike this holiday whether I am single or dating someone.  If one is single the holiday feels like a slap in the face as to how you’re failing at one of the most basic animal instincts: finding a mate.   Seriously, watch the animal kingdom.  A three-legged hyena with mange can find a mate,  a Siberian tiger can find a mate and there are only about 200 of them on the planet.  There are close to seven billion people on this earth, you (most likely) do not have mange,  and you are still single.  (And that annoying little voice in your head says “wonder what Darwin would say about you?”)  Sure, most of the year  you are sitting back, sipping your martini,  enjoying the freedom and lack of drama that comes with being single.  And of course you remind yourself that this fantasy of love that the madmen advertisers sell this time of year is a far far cry from the reality of love.  But those advertisers are very good at their jobs, so for some reason, around this holiday in particular, if one is single, it just seems lonely.

Valentine’s Day usually makes me miserable when I am dating someone too. There was the year my boyfriend at the time was on tour and didn’t even call because he just lost track of what day it was.  (Yes, I believed him,  because I tour too and know that when one in on tour, the day of the week is often unimportant and untracked by the crew.  Here’s how a crew conversation about calendar dates usually sounds: Q:”What day is tomorrow?”  A: “Detroit.”  However, understanding how he could forget, didn’t make me feel any less like he just didn’t care enough about me to bother remembering).  There was the year I dated the guy who was REALLY cheesy into Valentine’s Day, and I am really not a cheesy person.  So, I simultaneously felt nauseated by the extreme cheesiness that he took very seriously, and horrible for being a total bitch who wasn’t  appreciating all of the effort/$$ he had spent.   There was the year I dated the guy who said “I don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day. Period.”  Which translated to “I could give a fuck about what matters or doesn’t to you.”  Then there were other normal “couple years” where my boyfriend of the time and I struggled through what I have come to think of as “amateur night on the town” just because we felt like going out to dinner etc was what we were supposed to do.

It has never really ended well.  And sadly, the VDay behavior  seemed to be a small scale sample of what the relationship as a whole was like on a larger scale.  The first few were cases were where one or the other of us in the relationship didn’t care enough about the other person to really get to know what made them happy.  The latter was a situation where we cared about each other but didn’t have enough of a spark to make our own path.  We sort of went with what society dictated we should do until we completely fizzled out.  And what really annoys me about this holiday is that I am even writing this.  That I am even thinking this much about my failed relationships or being single to write about it in a blog makes me feel like one of those whiney little romantic comedy women who have no self esteem other than what they gain from a relationship, and I am so NOT that girl.    DAMN YOU JEWELRY STORE COMMERCIALS AND YOUR CONSTANT BOMBARDMENT IN ALL FORMS  OF MEDIA!!!!!

I have never been in a romantic relationship that lasted more than five years.  So my personal experience for couples in long-term happy relationships is nil.  However, of my friends who are in happy long term relationships, it’s a pretty mixed bag about whether they like Valentine’s Day or not.   To use another school reference, it is like asking someone with a doctorate in physics to take a 7th grade physical science exam.   Some of the couples think it’s cute and amusing and really enjoy celebrating the day.  Other’s think it’s pointless and ignore it.  Either way, these couples are so secure in their relationships that when they have that Feb 14 examination of their love life that is almost impossible to avoid, it effortlessly passes with flying colors.

The absence of love isn’t hate; it is indifference.  I think if I were in a relationship that could pass with flying colors, I’d be way way more indifferent to Valentine’s Day too.

Sea Island

I am currently sitting on the puffy cushion of a wicker sofa on the balcony of a condo overlooking the pool at the Cloister at SeaIsland.  The condo, like the rest of the property, has been decorated in an unusually tasteful style.  I have heard that the condos run around $1100/night.  I sit here with no make-up on, in a short cotton nightie typing away on my laptop with a glass of very expensive French wine in my hand.  The property is peppered with large live oaks that are regally adorned with Spanish moss, and the air smells strongly of the Confedeate jasmine and magnolias blooming in the abundance of fertility that seems to characterize so much about “The South.”  The Atlantic ocean is just a stone’s throw away.  These are the moments I live for.  These are the moments that make me stay.

I suppose that in modern society one’s job and one’s relationships often swap roles.  One can be in a job/relationship that one has fundamentally outgrown, but there are such moments of absolute divinity that make you stay.  This job has its serious downs.  Living on a bus and waking up to a festival with no running water and nothing but port-a-toilets for amenities is the other  side of the coin.  But on nights like this:  a night where the air is lovely, warm, and moist, and scented of jasmine, and the villas are spacious and beautiful, and the wine is extremely fine and French, and I sit alone on a sofa on my private balcony that is larger than my kitchen at home listening to the ocean.  These nights, these moments make so much of it worth while.

I am trying so hard to save these sparkly glowing moments.  To encase them in my memory and love them for the moments that they are without weighing them down with needing them to continue.

“Everything that’s good about now, I don’t wish for it to last…” -Beth Orton

Part of me wants life to always be like this.  Part of me is wise enough to know that if it were, I probably would not appreciate nor enjoy it as much as I do now.  The  whole loving each moment for the moment and then letting it go is not the easiest mentality to maintain.  But aren’t wisdom and experience what we are trading our youth for every day?

A Week After

It has been exactly one week since I returned home to find my city in the midst of a crisis.  Last Sunday, the rain had stopped but all of that water was making it’s way into the rivers and they were still rising.   It was an odd feeling to watch the waters rise with the sun shining.

I volunteered at one of the Disaster Assistance Centers a few days during the week.  I observed so many different types of people coming through.  Some of them were volunteers, ready to jump in and clean up the mess; others were people who had been working in the waters trying to salvage anything they could of their homes.  The level of community spirit was pretty astounding.  Here is a fairly large city population that sprawls across multiple counties and it has pulled together like a small community.  I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud to say I live here.

The waters have receded.  We have been living with a strict water conservation warning since Sunday.  One of the two pumping stations that supply Nashville with drinking water was submerged until just a few days ago.  The government asked that citizens cut their water usage in half to compensate.  This request went fairly unheeded the first 24 hours, consequently our reserves of clean water dropped to a dangerous level.  The city had to shut off the car washes and places that used water only for irrigation purposes.  They also asked the citizens to please only use the tap water for drinking and cooking purposes.

“Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink..”

Slowly, our water reserves have built back up to a safe level.  Last night, they announced that citizens could begin doing necessary loads of laundry and hand wash dishes.  It was such a relief.   I think its been hard on everyone to not use the water.  Our city, our businesses, and our homes were violated by the flood.  The natural response is to  want to wash the evidence of the violation away.  To make homes clean and whole again.

Metro did provide non-pottable water for city sponsored neighborhood clean-ups.  However, individuals have either had to wait, or to live with the knowledge that they were going against the common good of their community by wasting our very limited supply of clean drinking water to clean out their basements or wash down their siding.   I’m sure there are many guilty consciences who just couldn’t live with the lack of closure at being unable to wash away the flood’s evidence.

Twice this week I have driven 100 miles to Cookeville to do my laundry at my mother’s house.   It will be good to do laundry in my own home again.  I am trying to get myself together for a summer tour that is approaching at a very rapid speed.  I can count my days left at home on one hand.  I have several full day’s worth of work to do in my own home.  Yet I feel like I should be back out  in the community helping those who fared less fortunately than I did.  (Perhaps a distant cousin of survivor’s guilt?)  When one is this close to leaving home for a long period of time, every hour in your own house becomes so precious.   Though I may feel selfish by doing so, since I am working on an extremely limited timeline for my own home,  my time, for these next few days, must be spent setting it back in order.

Into the Flood

I flew home yesterday to find, my home, Nashville, in the midst of a natural disaster. The city had been “blessed” with 13″ of rain in one day. This Biblical style rainfall had been proceeded by several days of steady rain mixed with thunderstorms. This is not a good combination.

Tennessee is a state defined by it’s rivers. All of our major cities nestle into the bosom of at least one large river. Nashville happens to be embraced by the curves of the Cumberland River.

Normally, the Cumberland winds along in the slow sensous manner one would expect from a Southern belle. But, like a true Southern lady, when too much is put upon her, she will rise up. And with so much rain in such a short period she did just that. She rose.

She rose and she flowed through the subdivisions near her banks. Then, like a tourist to our fair city, she rose up and flowed first through the Opryland Hotel, and then through the Opryhouse. Finally, seeking more excitement, she rose again and flowed through downtown. Like most tourists, she stopped around 2nd ave. But she did pay a quick visit to the floor of the Bridgestone Arena floor, and did a tour of LP field.

I suppose 200yrs ago the river flooding would be something of a mixed blessing because the gifts of fertile soil she she carried to the farmland might balance out the havoc wrought by the high waters. For better or worse, as a city, we are not in a position to find use in the gifts the flood may have given us, and the devestation it caused has left citizens without homes, jobs, and (potentially) clean drinking water.

I have always felt the greatest sympathy for the citizens of New Orleans who suffered through Katrina. But, I am only now beginning to understand even one-eighth of what it must have been like to live through such an event.

A New Plan

I have recently been chastised by a friend for my failure to update regularly. So, I have downloaded an iPhone app that should allow/encourage me to update more frequently. However, the trade off for such a convience will most likely be anyone who reads this having to suffer through many technical & spelling errors.

I am currently sitting in ATL airport. It is your typical busy profoundly frustrating large airport. However, there is a heavenly oasis in the B terminal called “Cafe Intermezzo.” It is a European cafe/bar/bookstore. Weary travelers can enjoy crepes & decent coffee (or bloodymarys) at 6am while perusing a bookstore & listenig to Frank Sinatra. Seriously, if this were a local establishment near my home, I’d hang out there.

After leaving that paradise I walked by the typical duty free stores that sell perfumes & colognes. I watched a man spray himself with 3 different kinds of cologne. Amateur traveler FAIL! Apparently he has not considered the fact that he is about to spend some quality time in a very confined space with a few hundred people. Excessive cologne or perfume is EXTREMELY inconsiderate.

I’m not sure who the patron saint of air travel is (I suppose it is whomever is over delay & frustration), but please please don’t let this creep be sitting anywhere near me on the flight!

Just some random thought

3/21/10

The more free time I have, the more the philosopher in me surfaces.  Work in the lighting industry is very much like rain:  one has months of drought and months of flooding.  In my particular case, the months of January through March are often a desert wasteland with occasional oases dotting the path just often enough to keep one alive.  This year has been no exception.

When one is used to a constantly moving gypsy life, standing still can take quite a bit of getting used to.  The first month I just enjoy being home and catching up with family and friends.  The second month I begin to get very anxious and cabin fever sets in.  By the third month I have to take a vacation and go somewhere.

Usually around the third week at home I become keenly aware of the fact that it is a rare friendship that can be sustained by telephone calls, e-mail, and Facebook.  Most people live lives that center around a geographically small area.  They interact with the same groups of people regularly and base the vast majority of the fun activities that make their lives worth living around social events that happen in said geographic area.  Therefore, when one is not present for all of these memory-making occasions, he/she is left out of the memories. Only very special friendships can survive that lack of presence.  (And considerably fewer romantic relationships can survive it).

The opposite side of that coin is that we, the travelers, make our memories from such a large area.  Some people admire that when we tell funny stories about everyday activities they are sometimes set in exotic locations, others resent that we sometimes make being in an exotic location sound so casual, and some can understand that one has to do laundry in Amsterdam to have clean clothes just as one has to do laundry at home to have clean clothes.

Korea

12/17/9

Seoul, Korea

I am in Korea.  We all flew from Fukuoka, Japan (which incidentally possess my favorite airport abbreviation of all time) to Seoul, Korea, today; to do a show tonight.  We arrived at the venue around 3pm. Lights and sound were already loaded-in.  But, alas,  the lights are such a poorly maintained batch that it is reminiscent of running an ICON rig in terms of the number of bad lights and constant resetting that will be required to hobble through the show.  Really though, I suppose I shouldn’t complain; the local vendor managed to find the bulk of the fixtures requested on our plot.

Being the OCD programmer I am, I tried very hard to be well prepared for all of these …er…um…”unusual” moving lights that local vendors advanced with me.  I sent tech support  DMX breakdowns of “nonexistent fixtures” (fixtures that do not already have personalities written for my console) .   Cowboy Rex kindly created officially sanctioned personalities of each of the “new” fixtures for me.  Sadly, all for not, because  none of the information supplied by the local vendors was accurate.  In some instances it worked in my favor; and I was pleasantly surprised to find the locals had sourced the fixtures I had requested.  Conversely,  sometimes I found that the gear on site was nothing I had ever heard of, and in no way resembled the advance I had been given.   And, of course, in the latter instances,  the fixture’s manual is always written in Chinese.

Today has been a combination of the two.  I was pleasantly surprised to find Martin 2k profiles.  But, the floor light LED’s were something completely unexpected.  When I showed the local lighting guys the DMX breakdown I had been advanced for these fixtures, they shrugged and said it didn’t come from them.  They have no idea where such information materialized from.

So, an hour before show, I successfully wrote a personality for these moving head LED’s that are knock-offs of the new Martin 300’s.  (They actually are really nice very punchy little lights.  I wouldn’t mind having them in the US).  Anyway, this doesn’t sound like much of a challenge until one considers the fact that there is no DMX breakdown and I’m writing each line by trial and error.  (hmm, ok , this channel is pan… this channel is Red….) I would say I am becoming quite proficient  at creating new fixture profiles for the GMA; but that is a lie.  In actuality, I am becoming quite proficient at taking fixtures that Cowboy Rex has already written and modifying  them to meet my needs.

Midnight that night…..

The crowd was THE most enthusiastic crowd I have ever seen for any show ever.  It was a great vibe.   It really was like the ICON days to run the show tonight.  One at a time, I easily reset 50% of the rig during the course of the show .  But, even that adds a challenge and sort of makes things fun.  Keeps a girl on her toes when she has to work around lots of technical problems without losing her lights.

I am currently happier than I have been in a long time.  The production manager announced that the Nigeria shows have fallen through! We were supposed to fly there seven hours from now. Apparently since no money has been deposited in the band’s account, & the credit card given to the backline vendor to charge the rental deposit was declined, we are not going!  A huge cheer went up from the entire crew upon hearing said announcement.  (Seriously, think the “merry Christmas one & all” celebration scene at the end of Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” People are applauding & hugging each other in a shared delirious happiness for the unexpected reprieve).  We are all going home tomorrow!

Tokyo

12/12/9 Tokyo

A few nights ago I met up with my friend, Luna, who lives here in Tokyo.  She took me out for Indian food.  It was actually spicy!  That is the first spicy hot food I’ve found in Japan.  (Yes, I hear that there are many Korean places that serve spicy food, but I have yet to find one that serves food as spicy as I am accustomed to eating back in the US).  Until one has spent several weeks in a culture that is quite different from the one they are used to, you cannot imagine the odd cravings you’ll get. The Indian food was wonderful.  One of my cravings has been satisfied.  Now if I could only find proper whole wheat bread…

Yesterday was our first show in Tokyo.  Gadget, Kitty, and CHL all got tattoos from a very famous local artist named Tokyo Hiro.   Though I love tattoos on other people, I have never had occasion to want one myself.  However, these turned out to be so beautiful that I am actually a little envious.   They are tasteful, vibrantly colored, well drawn, and just classically lovely artwork.   I think if I ever decide to get a tattoo, I’d make a special trip to Tokyo just to have Hiro do it.

Yesterday was our first Tokyo show.  It went really well.  I finally have the large summer arena rig show converted into the small theater rig we use in the winters.  It takes a great deal of “cleaning” to take a show from 125 moving heads down to fewer than 40 and still have some semblance of the larger show.  It is a lot of fun though, because one doesn’t have the luxury of whole groups of lights not in use that can sit in a preset just waiting for that special moment to come on.  When one has a small number of fixtures, one  has to program a show so that a few lights cheat in or out to preset things that can’t transition smoothly in real time.   Sadistically, I enjoy the challenge.

Last night Luna and her best friend took us (the usual suspects) out to the sushi restaurant they filmed part of Kill Bill in.  The sushi was some of the best quality I’ve ever had.  And, of course, looking around at what composed the background of many of those famous camera shots was somewhat surreal.

The last night in Osaka

12/10/9

Both shows in Osaka went well.  Last night the usual group (Kitty, CHL, Gadget, and I) went out for a beer after the show.  We found a Japanese dive bar that only served one type of beer, “Malt.”  It smelled terrible but surprisingly tasted like a cross between Coors Light and a German Pils.

The restaurant/bar was divided into a handful of the wooden cubicles commonly found in restaurants in this city.  Each had a square table sunk into the center of the area and was encircled (or would it be ensquared?) on four sides by benches sporting shabbily covered cushions.   You know how sometimes dives have the best food?  This was absolutely not the case here.  The food was not wonderful.  After much speculation over what we were actually ordering, we ended up eating liver flavored calamari.  (It took a LOT of lemon to make liver squid palatable).

So the food was bad, decor shabby, and the beer barely passable.  However, the restaurant’s vibe was fantastic because of the really really good jazz being played over restaurant’s stereo system.  (This wasn’t the kind of jazz that most restaurants would play that is watered down for the masses.   This was the kind of jazz that someone who really loves jazz would play if they were given their choice of music.  The kind that flutters and dances and catches the listener by surprise, and all without any hesitation whatsoever).

There was only a one other occupied table.  Two Japanese businessmen sat eating, drinking, and smoking.  They had both laid their suit coats aside and had loosened their neck ties.   They were deeply immersed in an animated conversation which required frequent  hand gestures that let fall the occasional dusting of cigarette ash onto their table.

I felt just like I was in an episode of Cowboy Bebop.

Kyoto 2- Kiyomizudera

12/8/9

Kiyomizudera Shrine sits at the top of a small hill and is composed of several buildings.  Many of them are painted orange and white with accents of turquoise and lapis blue.  There were easily a hundred tourists milling around the place.  At first we are completely absorbed in photographing these postcard perfect temples that really look like the stereotype one has in one’s mind about a Japanese shrine.

After the initial rush of photos, we begin to assess the area around us and notice that different buildings offer different “purifications.”  We first go through “the womb of the female Buddha.”   It is the basement of one of the buildings.  One must take off one’s shoes to enter.  With our shoes in a shopping bag in our right hands we walk in a single file line down a set of stairs that have been worn very smooth by generations of feet.  With our left hands, we hold onto a thick wooden rail that has been carved into bead shapes.  There is a sharp turn at the bottom of the stairs and then one is plunged into complete darkness.   The rail in your left hand is your only guide to lead yourself through the twists and turns the path takes.  Legend says that when one sees the character for the Buddha, if your true wish is pure it will be granted.

I think the whole experience could have been much more spiritual without the three school girls behind me who giggled loudly in their high pitched little voices the whole time.  Here is this great setting that smells of scented wood and is completely devoid of light.  The twists and turns are just disorienting enough to make one feel a bit vulnerable. Yet, instead of the silence or the simple rustle of feet that one would expect, all we hear is nervous high pitched giggling speech that probably translates to “Did you wish that Yuki would ask you to the dance?  He’s so cute.  I wished that he’d ask me to the dance..”

All in all, no one seemed to hold much religious significance to the shrine.  I wonder if this is how it always was or if at one point in time pilgrims journeyed here to be blessed?

After being “reborn”  (Does this make me a born-agiain Buddhist?) We wandered around the grounds for a bit, took a few photos from “the stage,” and made our way down to the fabled spring.

The Otowa waterfall, where three channels of water fall into a pond. “Visitors can catch and drink the waters, which is believed to have therapeutic properties. Drinking the water of the three streams is said to confer wisdom, health, and longevity. However, some Japanese believe that you must choose only two; if you are greedy and drink from all three, you invite misfortune upon yourself.”

We did not do our homework ahead of time, so each of us only drank from one stream.  Kitty, CHL, and I all drank at the same time, so one of us was blessed with wisdom, another health, and the third longevity.  I have no idea which of us got which. When we first saw the people all drinking out of the same metal cups we were feared one would only be blessed with mono, Hep B, or the common cold.   However, upon closer inspection we found that the metal cups were put into a UV sterilizer after each use.  Okay, it may not be perfectly germ free, but we decided to have a little faith.

After the shrine we walked out the main entrance and down the road that was lined on either side by the Omiyage shops.  (Think ‘the strip’ in Daytona Beach or Gatlinberg, TN).  Shops that catered to tourists lined the entire street all the way down the hill.  They sold SuperLuckyCats, fans, cheap kimonos, swords, dishes, boxed food, stationary, toys, and Hello Kitty everything.  We ate some fantastic noodles, bought a few trinkets, and headed back to the train station.

On the way back to the station we noticed yet another woman who appeared to be freezing in her short skirt, bare legs, and boots.  This is not an uncommon phenomenon in this country.  In fact, it seems to be a fashion trend that the Osaka women are slaves to.  And don’t get me wrong, being the vain little creature I am, high-heeled boots and a short skirt is a trend I’ll happily rock if I’m going out at night.  But many of the women here seem to wear very high heeled boots and very short skirts or shorts everywhere.  Tall over the knee boots or long socks with regular boots is all the rage, even for daywear.  We’ve decided this is why the country has toilet seat warmers on most of the toilets.  It must be a comforting relief after having their bottoms exposed to the cold winter air all day to sit down on a nice warm toilet seat.

Even whilst walking along the wooded path to the waterfall, Kitty and I were discussing the fact that the female in the couple in front of us was sporting very short shorts and six inch heeled tall boots.  We both agreed  that it was not a terribly practical choice of wardrobe for such an excursion.  CHL laughed a bit and said “I noticed that too, but all I could think was ‘I love Japan.’”