The Journey

This Magic Moment

2010-09-19T21:08:00.000-07:00

...and then sometimes IT happens. That magic moment on the train that has you thanking every deity mankind has ever worshiped for public transportation...The overwhelming, multi-sensory experience where you knowfeel, with every ounce of your being, you are EXACTLY where you are supposed to be...

Cue Synchronicity in NYC...

I noticed her as I sat down next to Greg on the G train, and I was pretty sure he saw her too...she is not the kind of girl that walks into a public place unnoticed, beautiful curly hair, long with a light blonde streak just catching the eye...her energy was warm and light...she had a subtle smile on her face, carried purple calla lillies, and bobbed her head to the music playing on her ipod...

I enjoyed her presence, and was feeling high...I smiled and made eye contact, she smiled back and quickly looked away...flash of blood in the veins, just that moment was enough to send the body into 2nd gear...my mind and body so closely tied, my mind wondered if we would meet eyes again, hoped we would...I looked back down at my book and glanced back to see if she would return my gaze...she wouldn't, but her head bobbing grew to a point of near head-dancing, probably a beat dropping...

...I looked back again and she was writing in a journal...cool, i dig that...feeling good, curious, and bold...I'm gonna do it...

flip to the back of my book and there is a blank page, I pull out my only a pen, a pink highlighter, and write my message large enough to read from across the aisle.

WHO ARE YOU?

...As I flash my makeshift sign at her, she holds up a piece of paper, cocks her head to the side with a smile that says she is holding the answer to my question...

and the body kicks it up a notch, breath a bit shorter, blood pressure rises...excitement, giddy like a child, with a major confidence boost, all of the sudden I can do no wrong...she hands me the note, it reads:

Haley
(phone number)
(address)

come to a
party tonight
at my place

love your hair.

...feeling high and mighty, any self-conscious doubts have vanished...quickly I scribble down a response, hardly legible I am sure, totally disconnected thoughts of appreciation and excitement...I look up and she is about to get off on the next stop, I hand her the note unfinished and after she reads it, hands me one of her flowers...

amazing.

frozen a bit, stunned...I pause taking in this moment, looking around me - the faces - realizing that many of these people just watched this exchange unfold...

"Wow." this is how I start my monologue to the train...then continued to ramble on about how amazing New York City is, that this kind of thing can only happen in a city like this...I thank everyone in the vicinity for being a part of the experience, I am telling them how beautiful they are, that we are creating a vortex of positive energy right here...

smiles appear everywhere, I am making eye contact with many, and folks are returning my smile...I am not being treated like a crazy person, in fact people seem to be enchanted by my words...more reflecting out loud about how beautiful it is to be through with a work week on a friday evening, each of us with the whole weekend ahead full of who knows what kind of magic...

then the singing starts...for my first tune, an improvised love song, delivered mostly to the woman sitting next to me who was very excited by the whole ordeal...you could tell she was the kind of woman who loved love, watched strictly romantic comedies and dabbled in romance novels...

I was prompted to continue my lover's soliloquy as people laughed and enjoyed my outburst, one woman said good bye as she left, Greg told her we loved her, and she said she loved us too...I moved on to the classic song, "Cheek to Cheek"

Greg joined me as we sang our hearts out to the urbanites on our train, our temporary tribe...spreading the good vibes we laughed and got more and more lost in the fun we were having, the zen lunatics in heaven looking down upon us and smiling and laughing too...I supposed..

Exit the train, "We should all do this again next week, seriously...let's all get on this same train next friday, this is great!" And back to the singing..."Heaven, I'm in heaven...and my heart beats so, that I can hardly speak..."

the train passes, it's noisy departure making it hard for me to hear my own beautiful melody, but as it quiets I hear more music ahead and search for the source...Greg stands near two old hippies sitting with a banjo and drum...and singing the very same chorus...

Hallelujah! I hoot and holler, coming right up to these guys to sing the last words with them..."And I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek!" ...Greg and I dance and sing in utter amazement and gratitude...now THAT is real...

the flow of events leading to that moment, the natural high and feeling of all the pieces being in place, leading to the catharsis of singing an old Irving Berlin tune with hippies on the subway platform...that, in my reality, is perfect...I cannot ask for more than that...

and yet, I do...because that moment has passed, it exists now only as a memory...perhaps in another universe it plays over and over, but here and now, in this life I am in a new moment...sitting on the couch again in Brooklyn recalling my joy, sharing it with you...

the real life heebie jeebies

2010-09-15T20:12:00.000-07:00

how can i explain what just happened?

first you should know that i am feeling more grounded than i usually do in this city, i am fresh back from the high of the burning west coast, not yet hurrying to catch up with everyone pacing up and down the avenues...there is a calm in my body, a knowing, perhaps assisted by the current guru's voice...affirming and guiding me through the streets of new york city by way of the ipod, i am present, or strive to be.

I am on the L train, I know this, put it into storage as I close my eyes and let the reality of his words sink in, allowing my moment to extend beyond the walls of the train, i step back from the cycle and into yes.

occasionally I open my eyes. check. where am I? I knew it, but fear made me check..what if I got so lost in the other reality that I missed my stop? as if that is "bad" or "wrong"...ah, whew, First Ave...still good...who is that? my eyes see something strange, unique, interesting, it is peacock theory in action...

immediately my mind begins tearing down the information that my eyes pass over, short jean shorts, so short they expose the off-white pockets -she's trendy- her pale skinny legs and over-sized shirt lead me to place her in the Lower East Side Compartment, but wait those eyes...what is that? the mind breaks it down again, taking what was initially a whole being, mystical and inexplicable, and putting her in a box one accessory at a time...her eye make-up is heavy and dark, the liner extends out from her eye in a small swoosh, reminiscent of our pop culture image of cleopatra, only darker...what is she reading?...

For reasons I cannot explain I have an impulse to catch her eye...she is not altogether very attractive, nor really my type, but I am compelled to make contact...I am in a zone for sure, feeling confident in myself and my knowledge that we are all connected, all made of the same stardust...woah...nearly immediately after desiring to catch her eye, she looks back at me...stillness...I hold...she holds...I hold...

...there is some kind of energy exchange happening, no words but each of us checking to see if the other is still with us...fear creeps in, this is not normal social behavior and the mind doesn't know how to respond...it is the very thing I desired, but I don't know what is supposed to happen next...her eyes are intense, there is not a hint of a smile, I try to crack a little of mine, just small enough for her to follow me, that we may both end up smiling and laughing at this beautiful moment on the subway...no returned smile, I give a little more, thinking she may have not noticed...still no smile...she is staring hard and deep into me...I keep holding and start laughing, perhaps from nerves, but I am still feeling calm, though unsure of what her intention is...it is so rare to hold a stranger's gaze, even that of our loved dear ones, I assume she is on some similar level of thinking...that she is also curious...but as more time passes, I feel a dark presence...I cannot describe it, but I feel there may be some ill will...we are NOT in the same boat...this is NOT someone who does a lot of smiling...

She lowers her eyes and returns her head towards her book...I am left perplexed...still calm, even more curious...the human urge is to look back...but for some reason I know not to..I don't want to alarm her, and I know that what just transpired has passed.

The next stop arrives. I stay on. I check, she too stays on...The next stop is mine...I wonder if we will both leave together, if our experience is to continue in some way...

We exit, through different doors, but both towards the union/metropolitan exit...I am not following her with my eyes, but keeping her in my awareness...she chooses the exit on the opposite side of the street...again I wonder will i see her again? I keep my pace up the stairs and as soon as I am back above ground, turn my head to see if she is walking in my direction. Yes.

Excitement returns...more non-verbal play with a stranger...so much curiosity, her darkness is magnetic...I pick up my pace so that she might notice me on the other side of the street. I am egocentric, so I assume she too is left wondering about me and our exchange of energy...I think back to exercises I have tried on the playa, I send pull energy her way, I ask her to come to me...I keep walking and notice that I will barely catch up to her, so I let it go...I assume that all is done and my mind moves on to other thoughts, reflecting on a beautiful dinner with a dear friend, a true light in my life, an incredibly thoughtful man who is on his way to greatness. I am feeling so much gratitude--WHAM!

There she is. I nearly stop in my tracks as I had forgotten about her and had not noticed her cross the middle of the street and come striding up right next to me. After an abrupt scare I return her eye-contact as she is staring at me. I smile almost immediately, first in pleasant disbelief, then surely from nerves...we lock eyes, though in different energies...she is feeling more dark, her stare is abrasive...a few paces and she walks just ahead of me, no words...I laugh again at the strangeness...we cross the street and I drift to the left, towards my home and she stays the course...I call out to her playfully, "bye bye!"

no response. just darkness. I walk on, my skin crawls a bit and i find myself peeking over my shoulder to see if she has indeed come to follow me...I question her intent...my mind wanders trying to explain this mystery...darkness, was this some demon woman? my logical brain kicks in and sees her actions as her complex social walls...perhaps she felt intruded upon by my initial gaze, and sought to scare me back off her premises...

it worked.

i did not feel safe until i had stepped foot in my apartment and locked my door. and still her image haunts my mind...

(Punchline Here)

2010-02-11T05:35:00.001-08:00

I'm learning to be more patient at these things...not letting folks rattle me, and in general becoming more numb to the situation. Definitely less nerves. Of course it helps to be surrounded by a group of actual friends. Not "new audition friends," but people I have known and worked with for years.

So with Deidre, Katherine, John and Eric, UC Irvine had a little alumni reunion in halls of Pearl Studios. We were not all there for the same show, but to have a home base where people could leave and come back was very nice. It was actually kinda like when we travel out onto the playa at Burning Man. A fortress of backpacks. thinking on it now, these people are the creme of the crop from my time at Irvine, people who I had tremendous joy spending time with, lots of memories with...this was the community I missed upon moving...and as we commented upon, it is here at auditions where we can all run into each other kinda on accident, or at least unplanned, and spend a whole day together...

I was waiting to audition for the non-equity "Wizard of Oz" tour. Not my show per se, but my goal currently is to learn how to audition, which entails going to every call that I can...another benefit is to audition for a casting director who I haven't yet sung for, and who casts a lot of non-eq tours.

Eventually I had nearly forgotten we were auditioning. it felt more like play time, with some nostalgic story telling sprinkled in. these are people that I have played with....a few stories and many laughs later, I decide to practice my headstands. recently took my first yoga class in a long time and at the end of class I went into my head stand three times without even using a wall, just straight up...so as I had nothing better to do with my time, I might as well...

Using the training wheels, I started against a wall. Tried a few times, wasn't really happening, I think the jeans were the problem, yeah, the jeans were definitely constricting me...then I tried again sans watchbracelet/vest and tie...I got up and was holding it, remembering the little tips that the teacher gave me last week. and soon I heard someone hollering about, just as I was finding my zen place, total focus.

"Hey you! Hey! Hey you!" the voice was getting closer. I wondered if this voice was aimed at me, but as my eyes could only capture a bench, I had no idea what was going on.

Soon John had picked up this guy was talking to me, and said, "Hey, Mitch."

At which point this genius calls my name, "Hey Mitch! Whaddaya doing? Get down from there!" in one of those lovely Long Island/Jersey/Brooklyn accents...(I can't really tell the difference, but who cares, right? They are all really attractive.)

I stay up up for just a few seconds, so as to take my time coming down gracefully. And as I do and stand up to this man, he says, and I quote, "That doesn't work...C'mon man, use your head!"

Really? did this guy just set me up like that? I mean, that is sit-com material. So I respond in the only way appropriate.

"I did."

He mutters a "not like that" and strolls back into his "private office" talking and shaking his head at someone like he had just confronted some idiot in the hallway who was wrestling, or punching the walls or running around naked. But no, I was practicing a yoga pose.

At this point everyone in the hallway busts up laughing as the tension releases. And I take my cue to go on a stand-up-esque tirade about the absurdity and audacity of this man to come out so angry at me. With quips about how dangerous it was for him to distract me in such a vulnerable position, and adding that he might actually benefit from a little Yoga himself with that temper problem, I was really wondering what the hell was so wrong with a headstand. Of course all of this came at a volume just loud enough so that he could probably hear me, and I tended to send them in his direction, "Is warrior one alright?" I called out to his office...

There are people littered all over this place singing God-awful trills, stretching, sleeping, gossiping...I mean if anything I was contributing a little good energy to the collective. I was not shouting, or running, and I was only taking up as much room as I would have if I was standing up...minding my own business.

I debated walking into that office and asking him, but my better mind saw that he had probably suffered enough. Everyone in the hallway was now looking at him like he was the village idiot. Even our "new audition friends" Jeff and Morgan had watched the scene and got a kick out of it. Not only had he disrupted a good vibe, but he laid down a total bonehead line, bringing out the original smart-ass in me that had me flipping cards so often in grade school. What can I say, I am a clever cat. and I don't mind making a grown man look foolish after he nearly paralyzes me.

But, I should be thanking this man. And I will now. Thank you balding man who works in a private office in a studio in New York who sits around all day doing God-knows-what other than giving people people perfect punchline opportunities. With your help, our group of friends now has a ripe new inside joke, one that will probably get years of use. So I appreciate your humility, and if you'd ever like to learn that headstand, just let me know.

The Toaster-Oven Dilemma...and Patterns

2009-11-25T18:08:00.000-08:00

I feel the symptoms described by a character in a Tom Robbins book...comfort levels rising causing me to feel some paralysis.

(Exactly one month ago I let this sentiment flow from my head down my likely tense shoulders, through my arms to fingers tip tapping their way across my keyboard...it continues)

I am afraid to open my toaster oven, as though once I do that I will no longer be capable of traveling the world...I break that seal, it is still possible to return it, but once it is out of the box, working for me, toasting my toast, warming bagels and vegetarian meatballs i will no longer want to get rid of it, it will be too painful, plus i have the added investment of money and time...I just know now, after college and buying things to make our houses homes, that it all just ends up being stuff to deal with, stuff that is scattered across the current homes of several friends, money down the proverbial drain...so wasteful, blind consumption...I have a desire to take all of the things I bought this evening back to target. the house is fine as it is. does not need more. the simple plastic plates will suffice, glass jars are perfect glasses, no fear of plastic contamination, they say, "i care about the planet." and they are also unique, like I'm that cool guy who has jars for glasses, like it is some novel idea...I have just grown so accustomed to middle class life with homes completely furnished by target and ikea, so the idea of random stuff making up a home feels so WILD.

...I have wanted to go back to these words...but I do not want to touch them, what I wrote was what I felt...I can now tell you that I took the toaster-oven back, it never even left the bag. The only things I kept were steak knives and plates. the knives have been the very necessary sharp tool used for all cutting needs...such is the life of a Californian transplant bachelor...He lives without scissors.

I can tell you this. in this entire month I have not missed the toaster...only once burned toast in the oven, and I just scraped off the black parts with my knife...and i enjoy drinking out out glass jars that used to house spaghetti sauce. they are hefty, a good size. at some point I'd like to soak them, let the labels peel off, but honestly...it is not necessary, so laziness wins that battle...

I was right to know that life without these items would hardly make me blink...impulse purchasing and thinking we need things...we don't. I don't. It was a nice step in the right direction. A step towards simple. Simplify. (Here I wrote something cliche, like a bold observation about life with a trite ending. perfect for the last 5 pages of some Hollywood script. so I deleted it. saved you from reading more worthless self-indulgent crap. you're welcome.)

Though I still notice myself finding comfort...in patterns, habits...wake up and immediately stumble to the kitchen, bring water to a boil in an old chrome tea kettle and make coffee in my stove top espresso maker....every day...

...or my walk to the gym: South on Hooper for two blocks, across the street from Alberto's Laundromat and under the Dominican Flags, then I stare down at the garbage that always collects by the chain-link fence...a right onto 5th street, I pick this street because after the first block which is mostly dirty and at the end always has cat food sitting out for strays, I walk from Keap to Rodney streets, and this one block is lined with trees, clean neat houses with stoops that watch me pass...and then then the real reason I take this path. the old church on the South-Eastern corner of Rodney and South 5th. red brick. tall steeple, juts into the sky and no matter blue skies or grey clouds, either way i find it an inspiration. a reminder to keep my head up...
then i pass the the Red Mill Warehouse, which for a long time I thought was running a drug-game... (that may have just been watching too much WEEDS)...then there is the large tree with the Mother's day balloons...back in May they were full of helium trying to pull away from the tree, now they are pulling in the other direction, a sagging bouquet drooping in death, gravity pulls them to their grave, the branches keep them swinging in mid air...I cross the street, by the sweet nuts vendor and the table with ladies undergarments....then I walk through the bus lot, wonder about the folks using this form of transportation and avoid dead birds on the concrete...under the JMZ line I walk carefully so as not to get hit by the mysterious dripping from above that covers most of the sidewalk... I glance at the curls, beards and yamakas as Hassidic men bustle around the string of banks and then the same men watch over the brown men building their latest addition to Williamsburg...luxury apartments...last, past a cool looking bar that I have never walked into, and there it is: my little piece of comfort and luxury...SOMA health club...I walk in and either make awkward eye contact and hellos with the girl who stands so uncomfortably that she makes me uncomfortable, or i talk with Liam the musical theatre actor who has also been in NY for a year...through my workouts, distracted on occaision by Sports Center...and i end it with five to ten minutes in the steam room...

...very predictable...pattern habit, this little controlled piece that gives me false security in a chaotic unpredictable world, one might say...

also. I found a desk...on the street, it was dark out but looked to be in good condition, so i rolled it home. It was dirty, so I cleaned it up, but now I have a perfectly good desk. It was on the invisible, ongoing list of things to add to the apartment...A bargain.

Temptaion Laid On My Cold Living Room Floor...

2009-11-13T08:50:00.000-08:00

...I leaned back in my chair, stretched my neck and as I turned to my left noticed a small baggie on the floor...faded batman insignias on one side...even against the built up grime on the hardwood floor, behind the semi-transparent zippie I could see it. White powdery residue. Cocaine. There is cocaine in my home. I knew this already, I saw the rolled up dollar bills on the table a few mornings ago...turns out my one-month-subletter enjoys a little nose candy on the weekends after his long hours at the IT company...I picked it up and looked at it...a strange sensation, desire came over me...wanted to smell it, then had a fear that some of the drug could be inhaled, causing a high which I don't think I am ready for.

In a matter of seconds thoughts are speeding through my mind..."what if I put this on my gums? Would it work? Is there enough in here to have affect? How crazy would that be, my first time, perhaps only time, doing coke by myself on a friday in my pajamas while reading a book on love and journaling?"...(my thoughts turned positive, probably the devil on my shoulder)... "it seems pretty artistic...could take me to an interesting new depth"...(the angel then chimes back in) "could also create an addiction," (the devil sends one back across the net) "maybe my writing and essence would be so raw and conscious that I would become hooked on the stuff, never bothering to write unless I was on coke...a speed freak trying to take my own writing to the next level, competing with Jack Kerouac's ghost, following his example...using narcotics as a way to open up my mind"

...I stared at this small baggie no bigger than a quarter and saw the power it had, or that I had given it...I had two choices: to do, or not to do, that was the question...

In a moment I could see my entire existence explained...the make or break point...I would look back 40 years later saying to the camera, "it was in that moment, at age 23, I chose to take the chaotic road, pushing my body to unhealthy extremes, choosing to know addiction so as to learn a new high...thinking, logically explaining to myself that it would be worth it because pain and pleasure come as an inseparable pair, I cannot know new depths of one without the crest of the other...If I ever wanted to live, this was the way..."

...And after that 15 seconds of thought, I set the baggie down, picked up the laptop with the flickering screen, and decided to write down my thoughts instead. Maybe it is fear, and maybe I am missing out on a piece of life...but part of my soul knows there is something very dark about this drug...and I'm just not sure that is a road I want to walk...

However, it is clear to me that not to allow my mind to even wonder about the possibility, or open myself up to the opportunity is a great mistake...How can we really know something without exploring it? As this example proves to me, I do not believe it is necessary to actually take the steps, to act on impulse...but it is crucial, if we are to have any objectivity in our thoughts and opinions, to allow for the possibility...We must at least walk these lines (cocaine or otherwise) closely, get right up to them and study them, sometimes must cross them to find out how we really feel about them...By banning something outright in your mind, you choose ignorance for fear that by exploring it, knowing it, you may then think differently about it...and this new idea or belief may contradict a pre-existing idea you have about your identity, then you are left asking the ultimate frightening questions, the ones that society and culture want you to forget about, encouraging you to buy handbags and watch 'Desperate Housewives' instead...

"Who am I? Were my ideas about who I was in the past false? Have I been living a lie?"

...and once you've asked the questions, if you are at all honest with yourself, it is impossible to go back to living in the old patterns, you are now too aware of other possibilities, too aware of yourself...you question any and all of your actions, "Is this actually me, or am I acting in accordance with the rules of society? Am I merely mimicking everyone else? Am I playing a role?"

...today the real me sat in my pajamas, in my chair, in my brooklyn apartment and considered trying cocaine...at least I think it was the real me, I could have just been hoping for an interesting experience to write about...you never know with these exhibitionist-artistic folks...

*upon further examination, I would like to note that there was really only what would be considered a "trace amount" of cocaine, and my ponderings were more in the "what if" zone...my intention was to share an example of my mind playing with an idea, less of an actual struggle with a desire to do cocaine...to be honest it really doesn't excite me, but in that moment I played the "but what if i did?" game with myself...no need to fear folks, I am not about to slip into a Lindsey Lohan-drug coma....

breaking all the rules...

2009-11-12T09:45:00.000-08:00

A bit of a mischievous smile is creeping onto my face. In my soul, the excitement of a child...I am breaking a rule, an arbitrary rule: listening to Christmas music before thanksgiving...As a kid, this was the rule my parents enforced, I think because they knew they would have to listen to the Raffi Christmas album about a thousand times, and hoped to buy themselves a little more auditory peace...a smart move on their behalf, but one that has me at age twenty-three with a slight feeling of guilt as Paul McCartney sings to me that he is "Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time."

Adulthood continues to settle in my body, mind...these little realizations further my understanding that I can do exactly as I choose. No one will stop me from listening to the Charlie Brown Christmas album a million times this season. But there is a part of me that wants to respect the old rule. The question I must ask myself is whether I want to respect the rule out of continued childhood desire for acceptance and validation from my parents, or out of a fear that the special-ness of the music will be lost in listening to it for an extended season...

As I was about to expand on this idea that by choosing to listen to Holiday music 14 days early I, in essence, am choosing to leave childhood behind, I concluded that I may be looking a little too hard at a simple desire to listen to this music...agh, but no, christmas is this strange and mysterious thing, all this fantasy and magic, it was particularly wonderful for me as a young boy, full of belief...I wonder about my emotional response to the holiday and the season now, am I clinging to childish habits, illisionary ideals? A piece of my soul wishes to have back some of that naive optimism...the snow and magic and films depicting dreams coming true...

'tis the season for continued refleciton, I know this...

Excerpt From a letter to Deidre...

2009-11-11T21:46:00.000-08:00

I finally sent this letter to Deidre, and in rereading it there was some stuff that I thought I might share...it has been a while since posting, but not since writing, just haven't felt like what has been coming out has been worth sharing...or it feels incomplete...

here are bits and pieces from words on October 2, 2009:

In the past months I have continued to give my dreams more weight, or I am paying more attention to them. As a kid, parents and folks tell you “Oh it was just a dream,” but my instinct tells me that if I spend such a large percentage of my life sleeping, and therefore dreaming, there must be something to them. I continue to set the goal of recording all dreams in the morning, but I often fail to actually accomplish this. The interesting thing to note through all of this is that as I have treated my dreams more seriously, it has changed my perception of waking life. Here is why. After you have a dream, you can recall feeling and sights and images, but it has nothing to do with the present moment. After you have an experience, you also can remember these details, perhaps a bit more clearly, but in this moment, now, it is nothing but a story or scene that exists in my mind. Both memories exist purely inside my brain, so can they be the same? I don’t know about all of this, but it makes me curious.

So I went to a lucid dreaming workshop at burning man and we talked about how to become lucid in our dreams and how to use this as a tool for further learning about our subconscious and true desires. He suggested some ideas for bringing about specific dreams, like if you want to dream about flying at night, then spend time during the day thinking about flying, and imagining yourself doing it. Think about birds and planes and imagine what it would feel like. Then when you are dreaming you recall thoughts and feelings from your day, and the feeling of flight will be more easily accessible. Some cool ideas that I have been toying with a bit.

I just smelled my armpit and it is a good thing you are not actually sitting here with me right now. Good God, that is hideous. It’s about time I get myself together for my first day back on the job. I’m hoping to work as much as I can in the next six weeks to hopefully have a little bit saved up so I can survive January Rent, and hopefully find another job that is less taxing on the voice. And inside would be nice for the winter months.

Also, Greg pierced my ears with a safety pin, a cork, apple and his sister’s help in his Grandfather’s kitchen in Berkeley. It was pretty wild, and kind of happened on a whim. I had been thinking about it for a while, I just wanted to see what it would look like. I also felt it would fit my look at this point in time. And I wanted to feel the pain, I knew I could handle it, but had to actually do it. Another attempt at a “rite-of-passage” I guess. Still feel like I need something to cross over to the land of…manhood? I still feel like a student of the universe. When will I go away to the woods and find out what I am made of, who I am, and come back standing with knowledge and confidence to tackle this whole planet in a giant hug?

Loving peace, exhilarating adventure and joyous laughter I wish for you.

And maybe you can cause a little trouble too.

Life in Williamsburg: Alberto

2009-05-14T18:03:00.001-07:00

His name is Alberto. Probably around 4o years old...maybe less than that, many people in this neighborhood seem to age prematurely. He works at the laundromat down the street that I go to. I had seen him there twice in the spring, and each time he was very welcoming and had a big smile on his face. Once I was there with Lucas, and they spoke in Spanish with each other...I was impressed by Lucas' hidden talent, but more importantly admired his ability to speak with this man in his native language...it is such a beautiful sign of respect, one that Alberto probably rarely receives from hipsters in our neighborhood...

Upon my return I had laundry to do and had hoped to see Alberto, but alas he was not there. I realized that having a regular laundromat I went to, and knowing one of the workers, by face at least, helped provide me with a sense of community. Ever since coming back, each time I walk past, I look inside to see if he is working. I have seen him several times and each time we have made eye contact and waved. It always feels like a nice gift, like somebody here knows me and is acknowledging my presence...I have only come to understand the importance of this after living in such a big city where you pass thousands of people each day without the slightest form of a "hello."

Tonight as I walked home from the gym, I thought to myself, "If that man is working tonight I am going to go inside and thank him." So I peaked inside and there was his smiling face... You should know, his smile is not conventionally beautiful. He has probably never worn braces or had much dental work, but it is the kind of smile that makes his whole face glow...I walked right in and said, "Hi, we see each other all of the time, and I just wanted to know what your name is?"

He was surprised, but pleased I think, "Alberto. And what is your name?"

"My name is Mitch." I then continued to pour out a very poorly articulated "thank you for existing" speech, which sounded something like, "my family lives in California, and I've been trying to make it out here, back and forth all year, and I just wanted to let you know that I really appreciate that you are always smiling, you really make me feel at home here..." blah blah blah...it was one of those cathartic moments, where you just let the dam go and see what happens...He just kept smiling, said a "thank you" and asked if I lived in the neighborhood.

I told him I lived just down the street. And we both suggested the other have a good night...

I am amazed by this man. I don't really know anything about him, but I can assume he has a family and probably doesn't see himself changing jobs any time soon. A relatively simple life, folding clothes as Spanish soap operas play on the crappy TV up in the corner...I just needed to let him know that I know he exists....and I am thankful for his smile...

Tales from Times Square: You should really get a life

2009-05-13T23:00:00.000-07:00

The following is just one example of a conversation I have had dozens of times while on the job...

"You should really get a life...do you hear me? Take that sign down." She was maybe 16 and standing with perhaps a couple of sisters or friends and her mother, as I walked past to meet friends.

"Actually, this is my job."

"Well then you should get a real job." Her mother decided to chime in. It is amazing the anger that comes out at a stranger just walking down the street with a sign on his back reading "OBAMA CONDOMS." People have some kind of pent up anger at the world...What is amazing is that many of the people who are the most, ahem, critical of my work are usually the conservative, moral, religious type. Correct me if I am wrong, but didn't Jesus say in a fairly famous scene from the bible, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone?"

I defended myself, as I always do..."Ma'am. This is a real job, in fact, I probably make more money than you do...and what kind of job would you suggest?...at least I'm not selling drugs."

This, by my own admittance, only stepped up the energy in the exchange, as she responded, "No you don't...how do you know that?"

"I just made one-hundred and fifty dollars in the last hour." Aaaand check. First round to me. Round Two...

"Well you should get a degree." I love the assumption that anyone can just get a degree if they choose to. Clearly this woman lives in her own suburban reality, with no comprehension of socio-economics. I would love to see her take the A-train up to Harlem and tell the folks there to get a real job, or to get their degree...I'm sure she would get a nice ear full...Surely they could help her understand that not everyone has the financial means to attain their degree...

Little did this woman know though, her last retort set me up perfectly for the knock-out punch, "I have my degree already ma'am."

"Oh yeah, where is it from?"

"U. C. IRVINE." I made sure to say it nice and slow so it really sunk in.

Now, as if I were making this up, she tests me with the ultimate question, "Ok, so what's your degree in?"

"Theatre." I smiled, turned around and walked towards the lottery for Hair, where I was meeting some friends. As I looked away I could see her a little dumb-founded, and mumbling something, as people often do when they want to respond, but realize that they have already lost the argument...

As I like to tell people, I have already played by the rules of society. I grew up doing my homework, playing soccer and preparing for the future like every good upper-middle class white kid. I graduated High School a well-rounded young man with good grades, pushing the boundaries a bit, but never to the point of harming anyone. I went to college, a UC, and got my degree...I've done everything just as society has asked...and now, I will play by my rules...

Tales from Times Square: Mother's (and sons) Day With Minnie, Sponge Bob and Lady Liberty

2009-05-10T22:19:00.000-07:00

It was Mother's Day, and business was slow. Of course one of the benefits of this job is that I get to people watch. All day. And on top of that, I get to watch them respond to me, to the product, to my jokes...It is like a fun, interactive social experiment in which I get different responses every day. So it never gets too boring, usually.

One of the other gifts of this job is that on a daily basis I see nearly the entire spectrum of human life. People from literally all over the planet, with different cultures. I see stock brokers and business men, I see fellow vendors and homeless folks. In every size, shape and color. When I really let this sink in, I am very thankful for it. It is a constant reminder that there is no such thing as normal. An idea that I am part of the "main stream" is merely that, a concept developed in my mind to provide my ego and conscious, an identity and a sense of belonging. It has no basis in reality. And this is where suburban life fails. I grew up around a bunch of other middle-class white people who shop at Target and drive their own cars. The problem here is subtle, but after 18 years of seeing, hearing, believing in that surrounding, it develops this "idea" in my subconscious that most people are living the same way that I am. One cannot live in New York City and still harbor this concept in their mind. You see far too many distinct species of human beings to do so...Exposed to every rung on the socio-economic ladder.

On this particular day, there were a few beings that struck a chord with my soul. Not because I interacted with them. In fact it was for no other reason than that my glimpse into their existence immediately made me grateful for the gift of a life I lead. Reality check. My life is blessed.

First I should set the scene. Mother's day. 47th and Broadway in front of Starbucks. On my left is Minnie Mouse. On my right, the Statue of Liberty. Further down on the right is Sponge Bob Squarepants. And there I stood in the middle of these characters selling my condoms. We together formed some kind of sight from a distorted theme park, a bastardized Disneyland, if you will. Kids and families walked by this sight, which could only be found in New York City.

A young man who looked to be anywhere from age 9-12 walked by with his mother and an older sister. He was fairly tall, and wore glasses. He seemed happy to be in the city, but a little apprehensive. Totally understandable. His sister and mother encouraged him to take a picture with the Statue of Liberty. He obliged, walking over and following her gestured direction to take the torch and wear the cap...and then started talking, I was tuning it out a bit at first, but as he finished with the picture and his family was moving on he continued to talk to Lady Liberty, I heard him say, "You'd be surprised by what the french have accomplished. They made a painting of Napoleon on his horse that is so realistic..." At this point his mother hurried him along as he continued to spout out information about the french. This scene was very funny to me. This young man, who by now in my mind had some kind of a learning disorder or slight autism or something, was spouting off information about the french, just this little human being who probably knew more about France's accomplishments then 90% of our nation. But beyond this, I was amused by his uninhibited way of speaking to this person in costume as if it were a real person, with whom he was having a casual conversation with over a cup of coffee. All the while, unbeknownst to him, the human being inside the costume was a small older asian woman who hardly speaks a lick of language. (I know this because just prior to this I tried to engage her in conversation about dealing with the cops.)

Another son walking hand in hand with his mother. Only this man was clearly at least in his late 30's. He had the typical look of someone with Down syndrome. As he and his mother walked past towards Minnie, she urged him to shake Minnie's hand. He approached this character the way I approached the plate in little league: to be only as close as is necessary. (I stood on the far outside of the box for fear of being hit by a ball, this fear was completely justified because I was hit on nearly 75% of my at-bats.) As he extended his hand and the four fingered white glove reached toward him, his eyes lit up and with excitement he pulled back and turned right back into his mother. Off they walked into the magical, overwhelming world of Times Square. I tried to see myself relating to this man. The fear he battled as he went to connect with Minnie, I can look back proudly and say I conquered that fear at age 5 at Disneyland. Done. It is hard not to feel some sadness for this man. Confusing, a child's spirit in a grown man's body. Perhaps it is just a matter of expectations, and he does not expect that same things out of life that I do. And that's just fine for him.

Keeping with the theme of mothers and sons, I had moved spots, to the island in between Broadway and 7th on 47th, in front of the Olive Garden right at the top of Times Square. A young man sitting in an electric wheelchair, the kind that lean back a bit. Usually the people in them have no control of their movement. This 12-13 year old young latino boy did, he could move very easily, but maybe just couldn't walk...He and his mother seemed to be looking around kind of frantically. Eventually she had an empty soda bottle in her hand and I saw her pulling up the boy's shorts. At first I was alarmed, uncomfortable...then I realized he needed to go to the bathroom, and they probably couldn't find anyplace that would accommodate his wheelchair. So right there in the middle of everything, she fished his penis out of his pants, put it in the bottle and he urinated...When nature calls, I guess...I found myself trying not to stare, but my mind was being blown...And most fascinating was the fact that very few people even noticed, most just walked right past, without a second glance...He sat there and looked around, but with such comfort, with a look that said, "yeah, this is my reality. ok."

These thoughts swam through my mind: I can go to the bathroom whenever I want with very little difficulty. How does a young man relate to anyone, when his mother often has to help him go to the bathroom in such an intimate way? Surely no one can understand what that is like. I feel lonely? I don't know what lonely is...this guy, he understands lonely, he understands being "different." I have been given every possible gift...Everyday I take, what I consider to be such basic functions, for granted. There is no reason for me not to be living my dream...I have been given virtually no limitations. And there is nothing fair about that. I must only remember to be grateful. And thoughtful towards people with less...they surely don't want me to feel guilty, but only to acknowledge their challenged existence...Good God I am blessed...

Each one of these little scenes, seemed to kind of hit me in the chest...Nothing other than more observations, more food for thought...as I continue to shape the way I want to live my life. Informing my decisions and outlook on the planet, shaping my belief system....and the great thing is each day I get more of these...constantly changing my point of veiw, my seemingly solid thoughts on what is right or wrong, or true or false, all out the window the next day as some new experience or scene unfolds before my eyes...and I am thankful for these little gems from the universe...

...though I will admit sometimes I like to listen to pop punk music and remember what it was like to be in high school before my thoughts were so wide spread, and all of the sudden I am driving in my first car, a 1985 Buick SkyLark Limited, with the vinyl top which had been shreded by some cat's claws...and I am driving in the summer Sacramento Valley sun with the windows down and my thrift-store-t-shirt off, over to folsom to see my first real girlfriend...Christina Day...and I am simply happy to be driving a car, on my own, making decisions...God, just driving a car was exciting, and that thing was a real piece of work...but I was happy to wonder about our next sexual explorations, and fantasize about some fairytale summer romance that could last a life time...and I played through my mind the last water polo game I played in, how I scored that one goal...Who was that kid, so damn sure of himself? Just playing...freedom...God that was a beautiful time...

Chocolate Pain

2009-04-29T02:01:00.000-07:00

At a simple, yet refined, dining room table meant for eight, with the taste of bitter coffee present, I exhale.

Morocco and Paris gifted me the ability to see more clearly what I am seeking. I learned that it is not tourism. I do not desire to travel to major sites and monuments along with thousands of other foreigners. I do want to live among the locals. Adjusting my own pace and habits to the vibrations and activities of the culture. I want to travel, but in a more pure way. The need to go has been in me for over a year now, to have a journey, to go into my own wild and meet my own alchemist. Being here, the need has never felt more present. Although I had already sensed this, after just a few days on the road I knew for sure that a "Eurotrip" would not satisfy my hungerthirst for a hero's journey on which my will is tested, faith proved stronger, and the secrets of the world are learned.

This feeling combined with a few other pieces. One, I love New York City, and when I flew away I felt a magnetic pull to return there, soon. (I felt similarly in December when I flew to LA, I had unfinished business and knew I must return. What this says about my long term desires to be somewhere, or where to call home, I do not know. I know that right now, my soul feels happy in the city.) Two, I have the opportunity right now to be making a ridiculous amount of money in NYC, that opens up more opportunities in the future, and also allows me to rid myself of some weight on my shoulders (debt). This aspect of the decision making lives more in the land of logic and reason, fear and earthly material desires. But I believe it affords me great freedom in the future.

A dear friend, and fellow wanderer, offered very solid advice, peculiarly attuned to my personality...to see myself in 30 years and ponder which story I wold rather tell...yes. brilliant advice. and though a piece of me feels I am backing away from some adventure, I also know the city to be its own adventure. And the "job" I am running back to is no 9-5 desk job at "the office."

Lastly, one of the most valuable lessons I learned with Two of my dearest friends in Morocco was this: It doesn't matter where I am in the world, if I am with dear ones I am always able to have a good time. My mom noticed this about me when I was younger. She told me that it seemed wherever I went, whatever new activity I might be trying, I was always able to make friends and enjoy where I was, even if the circumstances were less than stellar...She was right...I had forgotten this about myself...but I also recognize now the univeral truth of it. I can choose happiness anytime anyplace....

Thanks mom.

Love in the form of a beautiful cloudy Parisian sky reflecting off the wall of the old building across the street to you all...

That One Day...with all the hubub...

2009-04-02T02:15:00.000-07:00

sinking into my mattress, gravity doing it's work on my eyelids, Time has again pulled a fast one on me. As soon as it actually set in that today is my birthday, I was immediately reminded of my birthday last year. A year? already? was it really 365 days ago that Coco and I sat in our philosophy class and he made a big scene for me? It is hard to believe that that beautiful sunny day full of introspection and questioning the actual celebration itself took place so long ago. many thoughts ago...a million plans ago...

this year with so much happening in my life and on the eve of such adventure, the expectation that normally comes with impending birthdays has diminished...though now i sit here with this feeling like when you are driving somewhere new and all of the sudden you think, "was I supposed to turn back there?"...execpt it is more like, "Is something supposed to be happening now?

YES. sure always.

and on that beautiful train ride home. it did happen...a musical duo, performing on eukaleli, kazoo, and accordion told jokes and performed with vigor to a mostly uninterested audience...i enjoyed their persistence, and that they didn't take themselves to seriously...I laughed out loud, and gave them a dollar to thank them for the birthday gift...

made the dollar back plus four more when I sold a condom to a curious young hipster from upstate NY...we dove into travel talk as I convinced her to buy a condom as a birthday present to me...she tried to make a deal, but I smiled big and just said no...her energy was, well now I'm dozing off trying to find a poetic way to describe her...a tough beauty, small but condfident...with a smile that said "hello, I want to know you..." with that smile, and a piece of paper with her name and the name of a bar, we went...

and now I rest for my big day...

love

The Storm Clears; or Beginner's Luck...

2009-03-01T21:22:00.000-08:00

blurry eyed, I greeted the morning...tense, but determined...like a soldier preparing for an anticipated battle, with slightly lower consequences...I ran to the gym for a quick triceps workout, knowing time was precious...

On the way back I stopped by the home of my spirit's kryptonite: The United States Postal Office...My struggles to maintain peace in these houses of torture have been epic...I approached this one with a renewed sense of resilience...this was very necessary as there was a line of 20 people, moving at about a pace of 5 minutes per customer...my mind weighed options...to wait what could be over an hour for the needed cell phone charger (i had been without a cell phone for 48 hours) or get out of there and start selling quickly, waiting until Monday to pick up the package...I stayed in line....I didn't need the cell phone, but thought it would be better to have it than not...a feeling of hope and faith that I made the right decision to stay in line helped, along with the iPod, to calm my soul and even to start semi-dancing...smiling as much as I could and then Aha!!!! A second worker came to help...Universe you've done it again! A lesson in patience paid off big time, my mood shifted and I practically skipped out of there...about as optimistic as a broke man can be...

I readied myself for a day on the street, and walked out the front door with my sign...down the street I saw a girl throwing up in a garbage can, and a man behind her patting her on the back...my fear of vomiting forbade me from getting too close, but as I passed, the man shouted, "What's on your sign, man?" I flipped up my large patriotic, semi-phallic poster and received a hearty laugh and words of encouragement...his love prompted my love, "I hope you feel better darlin'."

As I walked through the subway tunnels I was making affirmations and "secreting" making a profit of $250 on the day...choosing it...I set up like not a day had passed since I stopped selling...Put the sign on my back and turned around practically running into my first buyer who purchased a single Obama for five dollars without me saying a word. Within another minute a woman bought a set...fear leaked from my body about as quickly as the air leaving an air mattress when you pull the plug. I had made fifteen dollars in two minutes...

Within two hours I was cold and had restocked once...I was moving through product more quickly than I could have dreamed...a lunch break at the Marriott to warm up and count cash...this was the place I always used in the fall to stay warm or rest a while or phone a friend ( I had several great conversations with Jaysen there)...nice restrooms and no one ever bothered me...I counted $472 dollars. I started with $101 for change. I made rent.

Excitement filled my body and I even considered calling it a day...I called my dad to tell him the good news...eating another of my delicious sandwiches I felt free and easy again...miraculously the demand was still as high as when I left, and I had not been hassled by the police...all tension gone, I sat on the ground feeling like a king...the secret was working...

I went back out, and it had gotten colder...more clouds and more cops, I was almost deterred, but hung it out for another hour and a half...I made a total net profit of $352 dollars...an exact average of 100 dollars an hour...

I went back to Ben's house to celebrate with a glass of Scotch and to pick up more product...My body mind and spirit were flying...I was beginning to think I was going to pull this off...Even now as I try to reflect on that feeling, it escapes me...such release, all of the sudden everything in the world was possible again...I was as powerful as I thought I might be...any anxiety gone. just peace and love pervading my every step...I think I was nearly dancing home...

On the Edge of a Wipeout...

2009-03-01T15:25:00.000-08:00

Like a wave, just as soon as it came, it passed. The love-high. I again found myself filled with fear. Financial woes led to "the magic if" game where I take myself down a fictional path in my mind which inevitably ends in disaster...waking Friday I felt the urgency to make money, because as it stood I would not be able to make rent...sticking to my regime, I jogged under the train on Broadway, made my way past the jammed dirty shops of Brooklyn, with the smell of urban life and the chill nearly choking me...there is not a better way to describe the swirl of scents breezing by: the fried foods, garbage, bodily excrement, vehicle pollution....ahh the odoriferous gifts of high-density living...neither my first "Abs/Stretch class" or a shoulder workout could lose the anxiety clinging to my body...back at home I slowly made lunch, finding ways to procrastinate, and convincing myself why "today was a bad day to start selling again."

On my desk, or as some may call it, "the top of my dresser," was a gift from my sister. A deck of playing cards each labeled with some adventure to go on in New York City...I stumbled upon the MoMA card, which informed me that every Friday evening at the MoMA is free admission...Done. This in tandem with the impending rain, convinced me I should wait until Saturday to return to my day job. After all, I wouldn't be spending any money...

With my journal, two books, pens, highlighter, an apple, klean kanteen, and an immaculate sandwich I prepared, on my back I wandered off into the grey clouds to escape my fear...though that bitch was hot on my trail...to be absolutely honest it was on my back the whole time...But I told myself, "if this was your last day on the planet, would you want to spend it selling condoms on the street or visiting the MoMA?" I decided I would prefer the stimulus of a museum...it seemed to me that to use my last few hours trying to make money to prepare for a trip in the future would lead me to take the first few minutes of the after-life to kick myself for not "living in the moment," and visiting the MoMA instead...

The line was around the block, I smiled when my mind drifted to Greg Washburn's (my shnauze-soul brother) story of attempting to get into the museums for free in France and it being ridiculously busy...I got in and was told that I had to check my bag...Frustration. I was very proud of the sandwich I made, and didn't want to see it get smashed...(As a side, I chose that word "immaculate" to describe the sandwich, because it was...it looked like the kind you see in an advertisement: the softest, spongiest wheat bread with hummus on one piece and mustard on the other, crisp green and deep purple lettuce, brilliant red slices of tomato, two deli slices of herb infused turkey, and a perfect slice of 25% less fat Muenster cheese)....I decided to take the sandwich and eat it in the garden before wandering the galleries...in the garden I was approached by a guard that told me I was not allowed to eat in the garden, but if I went and sat in the back I would be okay. I couldn't help but thinking, "Damn, we have a lot of rules." I was only momentarily frustrated, and then I was thankful that the guard let me break the rules...

The first exhibit ended up being the one to leave the deepest impression...A performance artist who voluntarily locked himself in a cell in his apartment in NYC for one year, without any possible distractions...he was visited daily by a friend who gave him meals, changed out his clothes and bucket of shit, and took his picture...this man of extraordinary focus and determination has preformed many such year long endeavors, such as being tied to a woman friend for a year by an eight-foot rope and never touching each-other. living outside on the streets of New York for one year and never going inside, (not in a building, subway, car, train)...and never used shelter, just a sleeping bag...I admired his strength, and understood his need to know that he was capable of accomplishing these feats...His name is Tehching Hsieh, for those interested...

My journey through most of the museum ended up being more people watching, the place was packed and the opportunity to really sit with a piece was just not happening...people constantly moving around, everywhere...there was some kind of a traffic flow--people just glancing at each piece as they slowly kept walking...the people stopping were like a speed bump, annoying...I was just as happy to watch people...

Once on the the second or third level I noticed people looking lethargic, their minds clearly drifting from where they were...carrying bags and jackets, wishing they were laying down on their bed at the Hilton...i think this is common...people going to a museum and then dreading it...but faking interest because, well aren't we all supposed to be interested? shouldn't we all be amazed at the truth? the beautiful way of interpreting life? well. sometimes. but sometimes our lower-backs are sore. and sometimes our feet hurt. and sometimes I get sick of a blank canvas being hung on a wall at the damn MoMA...and while I'm on the subject, pieces of trace paper with random scribbles or just one haphazardly drawn line do not do a damn thing for me. I refrain from saying "that isn't art," because I think some abstract point can be made to prove that it is...however...it pales in comparison to a real painting, such as The Sleeping Gypsy by Henri Rousseau...(my favorite painting of the trip. probably because it reminded me of The Alchemist, which I just read on Wednesday and continues to be an inspiration for this journey I am on)...

at last I gazed at these people and wanted to shout out, "Wouldn't we all be much more comfortable in our burn clothes?!?!?" Fear kept one hand over my mouth and one in prime position to punch me in the balls...I decided to stay quiet...I tried to figure out why we were all there, not individually, but as a group...what did this place offer us? ...creative outlets, something new to cause our heads to start spinning some idea we had never thought of before...But wouldn't we rather make it ourselves? By going to the museum do we quench the thirst to create, letting these artists do it for us, instead living vicariously through their work? ...now Burning Man was battling the fear, "Why don't WE make something here? Let's stop looking and start doing!" Again fear reminded me of the consequences...but i dreamed about this amazing collective experience where we all started making something, using whatever we found, built, painted, danced on...some amazing happening for people expecting just another day in a museum...yes we would be arrested, but we would make headlines, and the people that were a part of it would share a joy in living, tasting our potential for a brief moment...

enough of these daydreams...anxiety and her best friend, frustration, were poking and prodding me as I was trying to enjoy this evening of free entertainment...why couldn't I connect with these strangers? not a single conversation...feelings from the fall reemerged, the longing for a community, contact with people...the ego beating itself, no people and no money...walking home in the rain I feared wiping out...The "Had I never..." thoughts started coming...had I not come back to New York I would have 2,500 dollars in my pocket for Europe....blah blah blah...that sort of bullshit that is just a bunch of horseshit...of course I know I could never have spent the remaining six weeks in California...it would have driven me crazy...(haha, just reread these last phrases and realized that I explained bullshit as being, "just a bunch of horseshit." what can I say, I'm a young writer.)

curry chicken and rice, carrots and hummus put me into a sleepy mood...i laid on the couch feeling scared, but trusting in what the shepherd is taught in The Alchemist...As I am pursuing my Personal Legend, the universe is conspiring with me for my success...even when it looks like all is lost, he is on his way to his treasure...I assume the same is true for me. for you. for everyone searching, wandering, loving, exploring...

...falling asleep...waking up 30 minutes later feeling overwhelmed...I cruised PUA articles, and received a hit of love via gmail chat with Sage...thanks again, love...

just before bed I felt the storm clearing, confidence building, determination beaming form my heart...I made signs with a sharpie and paper from my journal...one posted over my bed, "I will fly to France with $5,000 cash" The other posted over a map of Spain and Portugal Margo gave me, "I am backpacking here in April/May." The secret baby. Boom. Mine. I don't know how these things will happen, or what the steps will be to get there, but we never do. I'm just saying they are happening.

...I also posted a bunch of affirmations I wrote in Huntington Beach over my head...constant reminders...I need them nearly every second to stay on task...to keep my head in the game...

Saturday I would experience, Beginner's Luck...I was choosing it...

*As a note, I nearly didn't post this...I was feeling, and still feel some hesitance to post a blog that exposes the fear...on Friday I knew I would write this down, but keep it to myself, because it is a downer..."all of my posts should be good stories, ones that make people just see how amazing this trip is...all the beautiful and amazing things should be shared" i was thinking...but I think now that is kind of false...along this amazing journey I will have many ups and downs...and it is only fair to be honest about them...it is quite easy to romanticize this trip, and i hope this kind of blog, might bring it back down to earth, make it all seem a bit more real...i am a free spirit, but one that still battles fears...

The Universe Hugged Me Tonight...

2009-02-26T21:02:00.000-08:00

I tried doing dishes, but there is too much to say. Sorry Lucas. I am feeling envy for all writers who have ever successfully written about New York, for as I am about to dive into this beautiful beast of a task, I am overwhelmed with words and phrases swirling in my mind, images sketched on the chalkboard just behind my forehead blazing bright like a slideshow on cocaine. I will try to spill this ecstasy that is in my mind body and soul, a gift from this whirlwind city, as best as i can...

I feel I must start backwards, as the events that just transpired are most fresh, though climactically speaking it may not be the best choice... (climactically means referring to a climax, yes i made it up)

walking home at midnight from one williamsburg apartment to another, a brisk pace due to a combination of the urge to relieve myself, in the urinary sense, and also because I had just been given a gift from the Gods...love poured out on the streets of New York tonight, and seemed to follow me all evening, building to an orgasm of types on the L train heading in from 6th avenue...It began even before that, as LJB and I transferred from the F and waited for the L train and we spotted her...the dancing queen in all her glory: fingertip-clipped gloves, simple khakis worn with wear, a practical jacket for the chill, normal dirty blonde hair, an un-made-up face, average height, average frame, and armed with her modern boombox, that indeed was changing the world...

From just beyond the I-beam, about 10 yards away she moved like a goddess, free. Not too showy, but enough movement to attract herself a mighty load of attention at this hour of night in the subways...who was this angel, dancing on the edge of the track, the edge of life? everyone watched smiling, some uncomfortable, some curious, and most all of us jealous. How could she be so free? Didn't she know that someone would be laughing at her? LJB and I watched, smiled. Laughed. We wondered whether it was choreographed, it was like she was marking a dance she had learned many moons ago...her eyes closed, living in her own reality...a beautiful brother walked up to her and stuck his hand out, bobbing it to the beat she was pumping into all of our hearts...she smiled, but did not act as we all thought she might, (surprised that anyone was watching)...she just kept on dancing...we all boarded the train and LJB and I ended up sitting next to her...I wanted to find out what she was listening to...but mostly I just wanted the chance to connect with her, with God...She was half with us and half in the heavens, her soul infused with a beat that her body could never let go of...the brother sat on her other side and she shared her left earbud...LJB shared yet more music with us, but I was fixed on these two beautiful strangers...after both nodding their heads to the beat, eventually they just were resting them on each other, like two lovers who had lived a lifetime together...every once and a while she would sing a lyric and then back to the sweet smile...I tried to take a picture, but my camera was dead...an omen perhaps... i see now that a moment that beautiful could never be captured on film...I told LJB what I was feeling, "I am so in love with them right now. So beautiful."

I just stared as if I was gazing into the pupils of God...their love quenching my soul's thirst for IT...the train stopped and i saw that this moment was about to speed by faster than the train would leave and the angel leaned into the brother gave him a couple of generous kisses on the cheek...glowing, she skipped off the train like a fairy, only once pausing on the stairs to take one last look at her love, blowing him a kiss and a small one to me, she danced up the stairs...I sung her praises to my singing friend, LJB...I had to say something...I ran after her, just barely catching her before she glided through the turnstile...

"You are beautiful. Thank you, thank you so much. You're amazing, so free, what a gift..." I gushed...she smiled and turned into me...we hugged like two souls melting together, and she kissed my neck and as she turned to whisk herself through the turnstile, to vanish up the stairs and into the night, she laughed and said, "You're amazing!" Aha! She had one last gift for me after all...an affirmation of all that I know and believe, but yet sometimes gets clouded in fear...she reminded me that LOVE is absolutely all there is...

I was now glowing, and how could you not after hugging God...LJB and I laughed and announced our gratitude for the night...we seemed to be following her for a bit, then she turned left and whoosh... she skipped out of sight...even now I wonder if she was some kind of angel...

And now I sit here in my apartment thanking God I am here...and as I told LJB on the walk home..."A night like this, and I have no more financial worries...this is it...Love is enough, the rest will work itself out..."

I am going to try to remember that...

There is more to say about this night including running into Max Haymer, the number one jazz pianist in the world, and a college buddy on the subway going to our first show, another stunning moment of excitement in the subway, and he told us about his show at 9:45...we went first to see Jeff something at Rockwood music on "the lower east side" a simple man with brilliant lyrics and melodies that set feet tapping and hips swaying...

An aussie woman who was traveling opened me with a line, "How you going?" which confused me...and then I was thankful that she was courageous enough to talk to me, as we both sat silently, awkwardly, next to each other waiting for the next act...she had been traveling for 2 months, including two weeks in the city before heading back home next week...she said new york was not as glamorous as she thought it would be and made her appreciate her home more, that she realized Melbourne is actually a pretty cool place...she had been traveling with her boyfriend, a lighter for a successful Aussie Circus company until they broke up a week ago...she advised me that traveling with a girlfriend would be difficult, and I assured her that would not be the case for me, instead I was traveling with two of the biggest pain in the ass friends I'd ever met...(that's a joke)

I gazed to the window during the second set and noticed a man I recognized. An older dude, but someone you could never forget, balding short curly hair, bleached blonde and dressed like a rockstar...then he came inside, he came up to where LJB and I were sitting and LJB told him she recognized him, and he said the same, then I said the same and he said the same...that means that we all recognized each other...I couldn't remember where, and then I saw his necklace: a Buddha in a silver frame with glass over it...I was ecstatic, I had met him the night I left NY, December 16, 2008...he was at The Living Room when LJB and I went there to see another of her friends play...that night we had somehow gotten into a conversation and bizarrely enough joked about being in a relationship, doing the complaining that happens over a long stretch of time with a lover and ends in the demise of the thing, and then we said we had hoped we could still be friends...a bizarre joke that had us laughing hysterically...and here he was tonight....he didn't quite remember that night, which was fine because I did...I took it as an Omen that I was exactly where I was supposed to be...I watched him interacting with his beautiful lady friend...they were both older, but clearly attractive, and, when in their younger years, were the hottest thing on the block...as we decided to leave to make it to Max's...I couldn't leave without giving him something, but all that I felt was meaningful enough was my gratitude rock...even now I long for it a bit, but I needed him to know how grateful I was to see him...he thanked me and gave me a business card of types...wow...amazing to see him, and more so to remember him, a man I had only known for five minutes...

oh yeah...this means i'm back in new york...

lots and lots and lots...
good night.
-mitch

Part One of a Two Part Series Entitled: Storming the Gates of Rich Orange County With One of My Soul Brothers, Nik Kazoura

2009-02-04T01:32:00.000-08:00

An early start was out of the question. God knows what we were doing, but I can guess there was ample dicking around, the eating of a Popsicle, one solved Rubik's Cube, and a healthy dose of the British sketch comedy show: Man Stroke Woman. And cut.

The beautiful day snuck in the back door of Bluefish Lane, through Margo's mini-potted-forest on the back porch and eventually made its way over to Nik and I. We were seated in our underwear at the computer when it slapped us both in the face and said, "Get your asses out here. Do NOT waste me." We followed the instinct to soak up some California sun, and I took it in with a little greater appreciation, knowing that for the first time in five years I would not be enjoying a Southern California Spring or Summer. (which are not all that much different from a Southern California Fall or Winter)

Unsure of exactly where to go or what to do, we just hopped in the xB and started driving down PCH...I've driven this stretch a million times before, but on this drive I realized how quintessentially California it is. If one travels to California, they ought to spend an entire afternoon just driving through the beach cities. I told Nik about Esau, the saxophonist I had met on the subway in New York who told me he had never been to California, but that he hoped to be able to take his two daughters to Disneyland someday. I hoped instead he would just be able to make this drive some day. I cannot imagine not knowing what a California sunset feels like...I wish everyone in New York could experience just one, as I am sure it would help them embrace the idea of stopping to take a breath and just enjoy the moment as-is...Perhaps they would also come to understand the music of Jack Johnson, and Jimmy Buffet's hit tune, "Margaritaville."

We drove in and out of cities we had explored before, and I began to get anxious to find a new spot to start playing with Nik's camera during "magic hour." Dana Point presented itself nicely...Our walk started on a cliff overlooking the bay of ridiculous yachts. Orange County continues to blow my mind as one of the most outward displays of wealth I have encountered. What makes it so mind-boggling is that luxury is common: the sight of Porches, Lamborghinis, and Rolls Royces no longer receives a second glance. This is the area that causes America its confusion about wealth. We see "average Americans" with these luxurious toys, the newest technology, going shopping midday during the work week, and we think that only if we have the lifestyle they have, are we wealthy. What we forget is that they are among the top two percent wealthiest in the world, our context is totally skewed...

I see how easy it is to get going on a tangent in this blogging activity...yikes...

Along our walk we encountered another cultural gem. About twenty-five Orange County Parents gathered to take pictures of their precious fifteen and sixteen-year-olds going to what may have been their first winter formal. These kids were dressed to the nines, and have been groomed to be our nation's next wealthy upper-class, for they know no other way. As my mind wandered to thoughts of high school dances, and beautiful girls whom I had no idea how to act around, I remembered what it was like to be at the very beginning of this figurative dance between the sexes. Having absolutely no clue, and no experience, but acting as though it was the opposite...And as I look at myself now, not all that much has changed. I'm disappointed to say I haven't made all that much progress as far as my understanding of the dance goes. I've racked up a fairly wide range of experiences, but the female species continues to be one of the biggest question marks in my brain. As I told a dear friend once, "There is nothing on this planet that has such a polarizing affect on me as women." I like to believe that upon death this will be one of the first revelations, because as it stands now, I often tell God, "There has got to be an easier way."

Weaving our way downward toward sea-level, the sun neared its ritual setting...laughing at dogs and continuing to battle urges to punt the little ones, I articulated (one of my favorite words) my desire not to fall into the trap of society: buying a dog with your lover. Everywhere we looked there were couples walking quietly, often looking distracted or disengaged, led by a dog on a leash. At this point in my life it just looks like another beautiful distraction, and quite the money pit (this past summer my parents spent $1500 on dog surgery to retrieve five rocks and two Scrabble pieces from little Zoe's tummy).

Past pirate ships and private docks we came to the breakwater edge where Nik attempted a super-slow shutter speed picture of the water. Better luck next time. Gazing out at the Pacific Ocean I wondered about my plans to be on the other side of this little pond next summer in Thailand. I also remember thinking "this would be a great place to bring a girl."

Fulfilled. Exactly. IT. I experienced the joy of feeling alive, full of love, and accomplishment. I was glad the sun had coaxed us out of the comforts of home, and resisted the urge to kick myself for not enjoying sunsets more often...Let Go.

Practice Blog

2009-02-03T23:41:00.000-08:00

Inspired both by three dear friends who keep what i consider to be the top three blogs of all time, and by the constant suggestion of people to "blog" my adventures this year, I am attempting to make this a habit...I have been hesitant to do so because I worry that I will share my best stories on this site. Then when I get back from my travels, I will see people, begin to tell them a story or joke and they will interrupt me with the punchline, having already read it on this site. I also have a small, fear that when the Y2K bug finally kicks in, all of my precious writing will be lost forever...yes, i know i can back it all up on an external hard drive, but call me old-fashioned, I just prefer writing in my journal...As I have started writing quite a bit in the past months I will use this as my tool to document events and keep track of my day-to-day life on the road. The journal will be used primarily for reflections, stream-of-consciousness thinking on paper, and experimental type stuff, (some people call this type of writing 'poetry')...it feels kinda silly to even be saying this on a public journal...as i reread it, i am already thinking, "who gives a shit?...this is the most boring blog ever-written." off to a good start...

also, be prepared for an abundance of ellipses...

Moving out

2008-06-09T17:23:00.000-07:00

Greg made one, so I made one too...