Congratulations Makko and Kathryn

Last night, I attended the first wedding out of an anticipated many for my "kindergarten crew" friends. Makko and Kathryn were married in Tubac, forty minutes south of Tucson, in a beautiful, traditional, ceremony. There were about 200 guests in attendance, including yours truly. We started off with the reception at the chapel of Tubac Resort, then headed over the clubhouse for cocktail hour (club soda hour for me) and dinner.

First of all, the food was fucking fabulous. I enjoyed the cheeses at cocktail hour and two slices of wedding cake ( I had to try both kinds! C'man!) despite the massive stomach pains that were accompanied by the indulgence. Going to weddings as a college kid is kinda like Sunday dinner at my parent's house with more small talk and high heels. I always get my fill of the multi-coursed meals, enjoying the respite from the simple fare that I make for myself at home. Also, the parents of the couple (in this case, Kathryn's) spent a pretty penny for each plate, so it would be somewhat of an asshole move to simply have nibbled on the dinner.

(For the record, I had the salmon, and if I could high-five my December-Self for the selection, I would.)

The wedding service was a traditional Catholic mass, complete with call and responses from the priest (no hay, ho's, unfortunately) and hand signals. No matter what, I always feel like an actor on opening night who's script was missing a page at Catholic mass. I have a general idea of what to do and say from a loose upbringing in the Lutheran church (see watered down, rogue Catholics) but still manage to not know anything-about-anything that is going on around me. Likewise, I find some of the ceremonial performances carried out by the priests in Catholic Mass downright hilarious. Yesterday, for example, before Kat and Makko gave one another their rings, the priest took a baby rattle (Okay, it looked like it) and flung water on the rings a few times. My first thought was, "What the hell is he doing?!" and then almost immediately after, "No one said anything about a holy supersoaker". Which, of course, ensued inappropriate giggles and an obligatory, self-imposed mental time-out to get myself together.

ANYWAY. It really was beautiful in the chapel. It was a small, latin-crossed adobe style room with Southwest welded like fixtures, small clerestory windows and limited seating. The ceremonial processions, as well as the ceremony, were perfect for Kat and Makko. They are both very kind, down to earth people who grew in Tucson and who are "traditional" in the sense that they both have very supportive, large families who are rallied behind their relationship and seem to delight in their happiness as partners. The traditional ceremony was a great way for them to share the ceremony with everyone in a manner that was relatable.

That said, as much as I love weddings, I am not sure I could ever have a traditional wedding myself. First, I think I might giggle too much with the gendered and sappy language of the wedding vows that are the modus operandi of Christian-based weddings. (That's not even considering what would happen AFTER if the priest gave my wedding ring a holy shower. ) Second, it would not be an honest representation of myself or my partner to have a wedding with religious overtones. I completely respect the decision of many to get married in a church. For me, it would be an appropriation of ceremonial activities that I do not really relate to in my daily life. If there is anything I would want from a wedding, it would be an honest representation, celebration and sharing of my relationship as it exists on the regular. I'm sure I will have a father-daughter dance, for example, but my dad and I will probably be more likely to dance to mystikal than Celine Dion. (And if anyone tries to sneak in the Electric Slide to the playlist, I'm pulling the plug on the whole deal. I will probably have a bouncer on hand for this task alone.)

Last night was a great deal of fun for me, if only because I got to see two people who genuinely love each other, in what appears to be the purest sense, tell their loved ones that they plan to stay that way. No matter how you experience your own relationships, that basic tenet of human connection is palatable. If there is anything that moved me yesterday, it was simply seeing the way Kat and Makko looked stole glances all night when they thought no one was looking.

In many ways, though, the night was very emotionally and mentally exhausting. I am entering the fifth month of ascetic sobriety, and last night was probably the greatest challenge that I have had to my new lifestyle. Compounding the very presence of alcohol as a challenge was almost 20 of my very good friends and their families slamming drinks on the regular, not really providing much conversation that could distract me enough to not notice their single-minded pursuit of the evening. I tend very much to shy away from small talk if I can avoid it and my tolerance for socially acceptable integration at events like weddings is fairly low. I can manage, but it takes a lot of energy to maintain the calm. Throw in toasts, open bars, loud music... it's pretty much a sure set-up for a relapse. But, as the hours fell away, it got easier. Three club sodas and a diet coke later, I was able to take a deep breath and realize that like climbing a hill on the bike, the beginnings of a challenging situation are often mentally the toughest part.

As the night wore on, I realized that I did not want to stay overnight in Tubac and I came to the realization that I almost certainly could not stay the night and maintain a level head. I thought of my bike, my coffee pot, my cat and my dark and quiet room. Once you stop drinking and going out, it's amazing how even the sheer noise of being around a lot of drunk people is overwhelming. Around mid-night, as people were after-partying in one of the hotel rooms, the need to sleep in my own bed, drink my own coffee and ride my bike before noon became too much to handle. I said goodbye to a select few around 12:20 am, dipped out into the silent, cool evening, and headed back to Tucson. I felt sad and relieved. And so proud that I did not make the choice to drink.

My life is very different now and routines are the metronome's tick that keeps my days in sync. I rely on waking up early, pedaling my bike and spending time with myself in the morning to set the tone for the waking hours. I am in a calm and comfortable place in this new direction and lifestyle, and it has been hard ebbing away from the patterns, scenes and routines that used to throw the wrench in my emotional spokes. Last night, I felt outside of the energy and conversation that my old friends were experiencing. And that's a hard thing to experience. However, the self that woke up at six-thirty this morning is calm and relieved that I didn't stick around. I am okay not being in the center of the action socially. I don't go out much and I don't miss it. I wake up almost everyday with a calm heart, mind and body.

And that makes it all worthwhile.

p=mv

Never underestimate the power of momentum. Or physics, for that matter.

I speak of this, of course, in metaphorical matters because brevity is not my strong point, and if I were to take on the perks of momentum in the physical sense (say, pedaling through the trough of a downhill to make rolling up the next climb easier) we'd be here all day extolling what should be fairly obvious.

But when it comes to momentum in my daily routine, sometimes the benefits are not so obvious and I have to remind myself. Or subtly not remind myself of anything and just let it happen. Usually momentum is already there, it takes your own ill-advised interference to slow it down or throw it off track.

I am coming out of this weekend with a great deal of momentum, even though it could be very easy not to. I made a lot of mistakes (noob amateur mistakes, in the bike racing** arena) and hit some barriers (not literally, thank god). However, as my favorite fortune cookie of late states, "Nothing is a waste of time if you use it wisely". And for all my mix-ups, I earned a great deal of learned experience. I can't say that I will "never" do something again, but certainly, I will be a great deal more conscious to arrive early to events, have a spare car key, etc. S'all part of the process.

Possibly the greatest achievement and point of pride for myself that came out of this weekend was the up-close-and-personal engagement I had with my spontaneous self. That is, the person that rides, speaks, hurdles, laughs or stands up for myself in a moment where anticipated response is impossible. My proudest moments from racing this weekend came in the situations where I was obligated to act without thought. I surprised myself and gained a great deal of confidence in my ability to encounter unanticipated adversity with creative and effective solutions. That part of me that policed my actions for so long for fear of embarrassing myself was silenced into submission by confidence that was gained each time I both acted and recognized performative problem-solving and hard-working capabilities.

So, as I woke up today, the first day of spring break, with nearly 13 hours of logged restorative sleep under my wing, I felt well. After a wonderful morning coffee conversation with my mom to start off the day, followed by a great interaction with my psychiatrist, lunch at home and the breeze blowing through my windows, I am feeling the collective momentum of a weekend of welcomed experience and riding the lightning of initiative I feel in my re-charged batteries.

It, my friends, is one of the greatest feelings alive.

**The race I speak of was the Tucson Bicycle Classic, a three-day stage race held every year in beautiful Sahuarita and Green Valley, Arizona.

Foundations

Things I learned at Hillsboro bike race this weekend:

-Never rely on a hotel to have decent breakfast or coffee. Or have it at all, for that matter. Pack for the worst case scenario- ie: world is in flames. Bagels, medium roast, rice milk, natural peanut butter and jelly.

-Always take your own pillow. No pillow is like your own. No matter how much you drool on the hotel provided padding.

-Crying from exhaustion is okay, after you cross the finish line, at the end of a nine mile climb.

-Sometimes you're going to ride alone. Sometimes you're going to ride the whole race alone.

-Buy rain jacket- immediately.

-60 miles is too far on two bottles. Pack for worst case scenario: ie: riding bike race alone, in headwind, rain, mountains.

-New Mexico is beautiful. I kinda-sorta hate their bike races.

-It's going to take a while to learn how to time-trial. And experience.

- My UA teammates are amazing and fun.

-Despite a long, sad, hard day, I still want to ride my bike. And that's pretty cool.

Franz Fanon

It's very hard to read post-colonial theoretical discourse when the Author's name invokes Rage Against the Machine lyrics. I'm trying to close-read and all I keep hearing is:

"So I grip the canon like Fanon and pass the shells to my classmates... Aw, power to the people!"

I wonder how many people who listen to Rage actually know who Fanon is?

Interesting

Dem lawmaker: Congress could pass health reform if men were 'sent home' -

And as you can imagine, the comment section of the blog is full of manly support for this sentiment.

It's Fri-day... and We Ain't Got Shit to Do

Afternoon breakfast: post-work out, post therapy:

Bananas Foster Bagel with Blueberries and Walnuts

1 sprouted-wheat sesame bagel, grilled with Earth Balance

1 Banana and 3 Walnuts, sauteed in 1 tbsp. honey, Earth Balance*

Handful blueberries, sauteed in remaining butter/honey*

Neko Case- Middle Cyclone Album***

*Fruit strategically placed on bagel halves for a well-presented, slightly messy, mouth-watering madness prior to devouring.

***Necessary soundtrack for full Bananas Foster bagel experience

UHHMMMMM! Nummers Nananers.

Due to the nutty weather and a late start on the morning, I headed to the new Rec center at the U of A to exercise prior to my counseling appointment. The U recently unveiled the new Rec Center expansion wing- which is a little mind-blowing considering the University cannot even pay its professors right now. ANYWAY, I was excited to get a glimpse at the new building and space. (There are a lot of theoretical criticisms on the concept of gyms that some feminist on my shoulder tries to whisper in my ear, but if I am to be completely honest, I love going to the these big modern sweat boxes.)

Particularly, I love new, modern gyms that have millions of ways to get my sweat and hard(body)on. And that being the case, the New Rec is a total boner-fest for the exercise nut in me. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows, multi-levels packed with weights, mats, state-of-the art machines and great space organization are all part of the experience. Most of the cardio machines even have personal TVs installed! And although I don't really get down with television during my sweatfest and prefer to listen to my i-pod, the option is pretty rad. There is also climbing walls and rocks for bouldering outside, and many other rooms/neat facilities I did not see in my brief time there.

I have avoided exercising on campus for the last 5 years, but the attractiveness of the new rec almost makes the visual rape I endure under the gaze of my peers worth it. I may have to reconsider driving 15 min. to LA Fitnesse for the new guy...

More sad news from Haiti: heard on radio reports this morning that lack of law enforcement is creating even more opportunities for violence against women. Rapes are being reported at a high number, particularly in Cite Soleil, where armed men are terrorizing displaced people still waiting on aid and supplies. Cannot imagine the panic and fear women in Haiti must be enduring. I am sure there will be discussions about the developing violence against women in Haiti tonight at V. Monologues rehearsal. Eve Ensler will know what to do- or at the very least, have something to say. I am so thankful to have the opportunity to discuss current issues amongst a group of women who are knowledgeable and care.

It Rained All Night. More to Come.

It's been a while since I've chosen to express my written word electronically. Sure, every now and then I post a cheeky picture or a few terse statements, but for the most part I have chosen to keep my abstractions, daily musings and larger philosophical inquires confined to paper. I don't know why and I do know why. A lot of it has to do with time and convenience- I am often on the computer with a limited amount of time and attention. I don't want to cheapen the thoughts I have by writing out a few sentences and aborting and in the first trimester to make it to class or take a shower or hop on the bicycle. Or trying to eek out a complicated thread of inquiry in a few trite and pregnant sentences that ultimately end up cheapening the amount of thought I have given to certain subjects.

Most of the time, I feel a certain self-consciousness and skepticism about publishing my ideas on the internet because of their accessibility. I like to think that I write for myself. And I know that when I write on this page, someone will ultimately read what I have to say.

If I follow this unto its conclusion, though, I realize that the only difference between writing on a page and writing on the computer is the immediacy and guarantee that a second party will read what I have to say. Ultimately, in a small part of my being, I hope that someone will read the volume of "journals" ( hate the term- "ohhh... it my jouuuurrrnallll".. but you get what I mean). I mean, shit, by the end of my days, whenever that may be, I will be certain to have a small library. I think every person who writes, even the most private of us who swear to its personal content, hope and know that someone will read what they have recorded at some point. It's a mortality complex- a way to immortalize the things you have encountered, conjured, spilled, expunged.

So, you know, electronic or not, it really is not all that different. I do feel more connected to a pen and paper than a keyboard, though. There's no backspace in manual writing (and fuck you, I don't have an eraser- never write in pencil. Messy buggers).

I've been having trouble sleeping lately, the past week and a half to be exact. It seems I wake up every couple of hours and look at the clock only to find that time has slowed down even more and I still have hours until the auto-brew on my coffee pot clicks on. Psychologists and sleep experts say that one should use their bed only for naps, sleep and sex, but that poses a problem for someone like me who lives in a one-bedroom house and has very limited seating. I like reading and writing in bed. I suppose I could get a cot and make a mock bed in my living room- but that just seems like an inefficient use of the limited space I have- not to mention neurotic. There is the possibility that I am drinking too much caffeine, coffee, in the morning. I have felt slightly off from drinking too much in the morning- acidic stomach, heady, etc. But it's so good! And I love the routine. I just started using the auto-brew-alarm on my coffee pot. It's the only alarm clock that I have found that actually gets me out of bed. Go figure. I just need to find one that will pull me shots of espresso and sit on my nightstand... or squeeze me fresh oj... or have sex with me. (Don't think Tim would like that...)

The most plausible explanation for my shitty-wake-sleep state is the inconsistency of my sleep schedule. Workin' on it.

Ah, Haiti. Disaster. Death. Devastation. Poverty. The other day I was at the gym and an image flashed on the screen of riots in the streets over supplies and relief goods. It was violent, scary. The desperation was tangible. It made me nauseous and sad and panicky to even watch the footage- I admit that I had to look away. I feel so conflicted about the whole thing- the news coverage, the calls for relief and money and help, the attention. I truly believe that it is up to the rest of the world to help one another when disaster strikes- and I know that it takes money and supplies and energy to help and rebuild. But I cannot help but see the hypocrisy in the Mediocracy and the Government.

I mean, western capitalism (Neoliberalism) and American foreign policy is largely responsible for the pre-quake state of the Haitian nation. The poverty and lack of infrastructure that existed before the quake facilitated the magnitude of disaster caused by the quake. Of course 70,000+ people died- most of them live in houses made from refuse. Many never had running water, sanitation, health care or food to begin with. Worst of all, Haitian immigrants are one of the most, if not the most, rejected of attempted immigrants into the United States. Prior to the quake, Haitian immigrants were denied access to the US because of the "threat" of aids. Infected or not.

So now this disaster strikes and everyone, the government notwithstanding, is up in arms about relief efforts and helping these people?

....Hypocritical? Little bit? Throw money at them.. as long as they stay OVER THERE. Huh. It just seems that if we have a responsibility to our neighboring nations, it shouldn't take a disaster of this magnitude to garner the attention and aid necessary for these people to live. Especially if our foreign policy is to blame for the squalor in the first place.

All ethics aside, though, I do have to admit that I am impressed with the amount of response that has been generated by non-profits and the government. Hypocritical or not, money and supplies are what is going to help the survivors OVER THERE and for most of us, money is all we can afford to give to the relief effort. I wonder if transportation to US hospitals for the moderately-to-severely wounded is happening? Or how much that would help?

I feel different- I am different. I have changed a lot in the last six months. In two days I will celebrate three months of sobriety, three plus months of committed therapy, three plus months of a new direction in my life. And not just a new physical direction. In fact, I am in the place I started... call it full circle. Zero degrees. I am no longer in flight. I am sitting. Looking around. Not interpreting, analyzing. My heart is beating and for the first time, possibly in my life, it is not struggling. I am gaining confidence. My tides are not extreme. I have love and I can give it. I am only slightly afraid. I am content. I feel centered. Comfortable to explore new things because I know that the things that matter- a safe space, friends, family, my lover, are with me. I am not seeking to be great at something, something, something. I am studying what I love, writing about what I know, creating and writing about what I know and what I love. Not trying to be anything but me. Not trying to "figure anything out" or "working on myself". Just livin', man.

Kitters and I have been spending a lot of time together. We communicate with one another via eye contact, gestures. She responds to my voice and seems to know when I am around or not- even if she cannot see me. Anyone who says animals do not have a soul.. or compares animal intelligence to human intelligence could not have possibly cohabitated with an animal.

Had my first real illustration class yesterday with D. Christiana- I am inspired by his enthusiasm and honesty toward his student's creations. Nearly every class, I record a truism or two in my sketchbook that escapes his wise mouth and sheds some light on creating and the creation process. Christiana seems to take a more organic approach to illustration and teaching- that is, fostering the ideas and skills we already possess and proselytizing modes of teasing out our creativity. A loosening of our censorship and linear thinking. I am looking forward to evolving in my own artistic processes! I can see the improvement, already.

A short note on the sunflowers: Three plants, each taller than 3 feet, with numerous flowers, buds, beginnings. I planted these during my lowest point in September- seeds in leftover fast-food styrofoam cups. Now they are so big, I have to prop up the shoots and stems with sturdy branches or the weight of the flowers will topple them over. How's that for growth?

Hmmm. Lastly, I love Neko Case. No seriously, I love her. And her music. Thanks, Neko.