(town called malice)

Scooter rally weekend... and I forgot my camera for most of it. The quick summary was drinking and riding Friday, drinking and riding Saturday, good old mod Lithuanian Hall throwdown Saturday night, and they did something in Hampden this morning though I slept in.

Lately I've been running into old acquaintances, a lot. The cool thing is that even though 5 or more years have gone by, nothing's changed. And each time I catch myself about to say, "Its a small world," but its not... its just Baltimore.

Last week, Otis was flirty.

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So Friday night we got together for a banquet, met many folks for the first time (the group is still going, so there were folks there who were born on the year the group actually started), and looked back at videos and stories of the history. Then we crashed a college party, took it over, kicked the college kids out, and had our own house party. Saturday was workshops and time just spent hanging out on campus together. Saturday night was a massive stage show featuring all of the generations of Inc performing within their groups, then sharing the stage for a giant game of stage freeze tag. Then late Saturday night was another massive group party into the morning. We grabbed brunch Sunday, then parted ways...

I should have had more fun in college. I have no idea what I was thinking, but I've been trying to make up for it for the last few years. I think this weekend got me very caught up.

I also forget how the basic ideas of stage improv apply so well to life in general. Be as perceptive as possible, accepting and adding to what is already there; act on what you feel is right, and trust completely in those decisions; make your partner look better than yourself by contributing more than taking (but trust they'll do the same). I could go on, but I won't... it was just good to have a big dose of that this weekend.

Last night, I went over to the current Inc house for fake-Seder. We sang the prayers in barbershop quartet style, figured out that the bread is unleavened becuase Jesus hadn't risen yet, and pondered why the Jews can't just let it go... the whole slavery thing was, like, 6,000 years ago by now, right? (Actually, it was a very fun way to learn the culture, and no one was offended nor took offense).

Yesterday I also received confirmation about dad's engagement via a mass-email.

That rush of improv energy and philosophy came at a good time.

epilogue (1:43am) : it looks like dad's also going to sell the house. Have you ever seen our house? Its been in magazines. Its unlike anything anywhere else in suburbia. Started as nothing and through 37 years of sweat equity it became one of the warmest, most beautiful places on earth, and I've been around. This just hurts. Anyone have $350k I can borrow? I'll pay it back at some point before I'm dead. I hope.

4/11/06 - 10:21pm EDT (one for Bill G)
Mr. Gould was larger than life, with a molecular ego. The kind of guy who set people on fire with his laughter, held a room's attention with his wisdom, and had the lead voice in the caravan of praise eminating out from the sanctuary every Sunday morning. By far one of my favorite people from the old Mt. Oak days, and my friendship with his family has endured despite whataver directions people went from there.

As Will said to me tonight on the phone, "I may have been fit to shine his shoes, but I'll never come close to filling 'em."

Will once told me his dad used to hum this to him as a lullaby... which doesn't surprise me in the least.

Kasima is back in the US by way of a few weeks exploring Laos on rented "lady bikes" (150cc auto-clutch Chinese Honda Wave knockoff) with old and new friends... after having spent 6 months prior in Thailand as a monk... "I'm unplugging" was the synopsis of the conversation. While not strange at all to hear that from Kasima... it definitely isn't something you'd except had you seen him two years ago. But its clearly a more healthy option than "I'm drastically increasing my bandwidth."

Simplicity allows better reception to the more subtle intricacies of joy. Its also easier in the long run. I've often heard people twist that around to imply that un-plugging, or at least attempting to maintain that mental state while still operating in the system, is actually just laziness. That occasionally pops up in the back of my head as well. But I think that's just a defensive response... we're almost conditioned to fear simplicity... to instead seek comfort in being a number, in following the routine, in asking people around us what we should be doing.

And no one ever rode a motorcycle through Laos doing that.

I've been a little more upset lately at the acquisition of the house. This particular one, sure, but also the purchase in general. Had I not done that, I'd still be renting, yes, but I'd have far more mobility than I do now. There were quite a few trips I wanted to take, some with no set plan and the potential for outright relocation and a new beginning.

I have no real career mobility right now, much less a career path. I'm soon going to be starting my third year on what was supposed to be a stop-gap kind of thing. I think my generation is the first where the concept of a career is much more a punch line than anything else, but I specifically have never had one clear idea of what I wanted to do. From elementary school into college, teachers would tell me that I had to pick something, that I was juggling too many things; implying that if I would just pick something, I'd excel at it and make them all proud. And now I work in a motorcycle shop.

And I have damn good taste in music.

Changes are inevitable, just uncharted. And with a more simple approach, it doesn't matter that much. There will always be a hammock. Unplugging doesn't necessarily take becoming a monk or drinking yourself under the table with cute French Canadians in Laos (but it doesn' hurt). But it does often put you at ideological odds with much of what surrounds you, including your own preconditioning. Though, as Kasima and I sat outside drinking coffee and smoking Japanese cigarettes, watching hundreds of white collar government contractor types bombard the chain restaurants, waiting 20 minutes or so to hear their order number called out on a tinny loudspeaker so they could wolf down an $8 sandwich and get back to work... that's not necessarily a bad thing.

Today at the gas pump, an older guy in a beat up pick up truck glanced over at the Vespa. "What kind of mileage?"

"Around 90."

"How much did this fill-up cost?"

"$4 and change... should be good for about 175 miles."

"Heh... well it'll just take you forever to get there, right?"

"Not really, she does 60mph wide open."

"Well... damn.... I need one of them."

(nodding) "...everyone does." He laughed, then let out a heavy sigh. His pump read $40 and was still going.

320 miles in her first week. Not too shabby. New music on your
right. We'll give you the business. Word-

(ringdingdingding)
Been a while. Shortly after New Orleans, I headed up for a fantastic weekend in Minneapolis. Spent time with Sara's friends, as well as catching up with my newly-befriended cousin and his girlfriend in their favorite punk rock tiki bar. I love Minneapolis. It may very well be the perfect city except for a lack of mountains nearby.

Things are on a pretty good groove right now (which based on recent events means something awful is about to happen, I'm sure), but for the time being, its good stuff.

Got me a new vehicle today. Meet Stella... which is bolt for bolt a Vespa PX150 but with an improved motor, suspension, and brakes, built in India and sold by a very cool company in Chicago. 55+ mph, 90mpg, nothing to insure, and damn fun.







Its the most fun thing I've ever ridden. In one day, I've managed to rack up 90 miles (and even one speeding ticket - though it was thankfully a warning. After being a hardass about going 52 in a 30, the cop then smiled and started asking me questions about the scoot.)



Children smile. Old people wave. Cops wag their tails. I can't stop giggling. Yes, this thing induces man-giggle. What's not to love?

Next step, getting Sara her Hello Kitty helmet.

(if I ever cease to love)



I have more pictures, but this one of two eight year olds reveling in their caught (and kindly donated) beads in a street full of people really says it all.

Forget Anderson Cooper crying, "phantom buses" or Chocolate City. Forget the ridiculous statements by Nagin, the governor, and chief of police (plus every mindless newsreader who repeated the claim) that armed street gangs were "raping babies" in the Superdome... forget that in the worst of moments drama and theatrics won out over truth and reason... we're past that. Things aren't great, but things certainly aren't what many of us wished to be true because of the great television it makes.

Mardi Gras is in full effect, all three of them. Three? Well, there's the frat-party titties-and-beer of Bourbon Street (which is actually the smallest and most insignificant part of Mardi Gras - mostly tourists and the uninformed), there's the grand pagentry of a string of parades put on across the city by the various Krewes, featuring music, elaborate floats, beads, and the uncomfortably frank symbolism of the city's rich and influential standing in over-the-top costumes with masked faces, throwing useless tr