Tag: travel

life is too good to know what to do? has this happened before?

Last night:

Kamui: The guide claims Kamui is one of the best ninja movies ever made. If the guide, instead, claimed it was one of the most hilarious, it would have been right. So bad it was good, though we all could have done with less of the endless CG ocean and more with the goofy CG chop socky. Also, there is no conceivable reason for there to be that many CG animals in a live-action film. None. Especially in regards to the sharks.

Breathless: Domestic violence. More domestic violence. Horrible fathers. Blood. Violence. Blood. I should have remembered what it was about instead of thinking I was in for a ninja movie double-bill and skipped on the ticket and just gone home.

–::–

So Tony and I have been considering a weekend trip this October for our six month anniversary, which practically falls on Hallowe’en. We’re juggling options back and forth the idea of either attending SteamCon or flying out to Philly for the weekend of Kyle and Trillian’s nuptial party-thing. (Third so-far-facetious option, to hell with everyone, we’re going to Vegas to watch some naughty Cirque Du Soliex and go on the outdoor rollercoaster.) So far, however, we’ve been caught in a loop of pros and cons for each plan.

It goes a little something like this:

  • SteamCon, which is local, will be stuffed with some of my favourite people, some I never get to see, some I’ve never had a chance to meet, in a setting that shows off just how completely great they truly are. There’s a market full of costume, too, just in time for Hallowe’en, and an art show starring Myke & Beth, and Molly. It is, however, essentially sold out, which makes it a tricky fish to fry. Also, though it will be full of zer pretty, yeas, and I would like to think of Steampunk as an Art Movement more than anything else, it’s essentially people getting together because they adorn themselves with little bits of clock, which I cannot help but feel is somehow akin to a preppy convention, (insert joke about Republican party here), or a giant goth picnic, where the only qualification required is that you wear black.
  • Philadelphia, on the other hand, is not only home to Kyle “freaking” Cassidy and Trillian “freaking” Stars-Cassidy, (and J.R. “365” Blackwell, whose birthday it is today, everyone go give her some warm wishes), it is also somewhere I’ve never been, which makes it intriguing, even though I could not for great heaps of money tell you where it is on a map. However, given that flights to Philly, though they just dropped in price, are still 7-8 hours (with layover included) each way, and that on top of my 8 hours of bus-ride to and from Seattle, it seems like it would be a ludicrous amount of travel to simply attend a house party, no matter how incredible the attendees, and then come right back. Also, we’ve no idea where to stay.

    Me, I feel evenly about both options, though I am beginning to appreciate more and more the third, least realistic option, in which we run away together just us and the world, and spend a glitzy weekend in the falsest city this side of Dubai.

    • give me a sentence fragment, and I’ll give you what I’m thinking

    He dances for me as I leave, every time, out next to the bus as I sit inside, glued to the window, helpless but to smile. I breathe on the glass, trapped in my seat, and smear cartoon hearts in the resulting childish fog. I ADORE YOU, block letters, mirror formed, blowing kisses off my fingers, then holding my hands to my heart, messy with roughly mimed song lyrics. Bang, bang, my baby shot me dead. He runs alongside as the bus pulls out, skipping, swinging around if he can to stand on a street light like he’s singing in the rain, while I wave an invisible hanky, eyes locked on each other until we are defeated by the bus turning away.

    We are reduced to texting then, once our line of sight is broken, my travel undeniable fact, snippets of poetry 160 characters long. I type awkwardly, all clumsy thumbs, until my cellular gives out by Bellingham, (Bellingham being north enough to be Canada according to the phone company). You are the answer to Samson’s riddle, I carefully type, arduously, letter by slow letter, the sweetness built inside my chest that coats my ribs in honey.

    as if defined only by absence

    Again, the I5 has been reduced to one lane. Traffic is dismal, almost at a standstill. My bus crawls down the freeway like a wounded animal. The driver pressing brakes that sound like whimpering, the engine growling into motion like soft, tired determination, frustration gritted teeth against a broken bone. An hour late leaving the station, another hour lost to this lag, I do not get home until four in the morning, my bag a part of me, my clothes glued on. I tear into my bed, shedding my day like worn through skin, but cannot find my sleep. The bed is too still, too empty. There are no wheels underneath, no swaying highway lines. My pillows are too many. I am a ghost.

    I’m missed Pandora Radio ::so much::

    Currently I’m in Seattle, tapping away in our new Capital Hill apartment while a nice university student scrubs out the kitchen cupboards for me so I can finally start unpacking. The last few days have been a tangled, righteous haze of putting things into boxes, putting boxes into boxes, sorting boxes, stacking boxes, boxes, boxes, boxes. Tony had barely made a dent in the work by the time I arrived on Friday night, so it was a swoop in and dash rescue, all hauling things around and making space for the hired Saturday movers, (who were accidentally paid twice), working hard until I couldn’t anymore then getting up and doing it all over again. Taking time to just sit for awhile feels like a gift. Yesterday should have been my first day to rest, but there was painting to arrange and cleaning and furniture and figuring out what boxes go where and what’s in them and boxes, boxes, boxes.

    (And as I type this, he’s finished.)

    Not to say we haven’t been having fun. Other things have been happening, lovely brief respites of love: Willow had us over for a social Sunday morning of waffles at her place with some friends a couple blocks away, and Rafael and Michelle came over yesterday to help me fetch a free Craigslist Queen mattress from up the street, followed by Alex, fresh off the plane from SF, who brought his second Tactical Corset prototype for us to play with, (which fit a charm, let me tell you), and we all went for a nice dinner at the Blue Bistro and a chummy midnight tour of Hackerbot.

    Today we’re back to boxes. Tony is working from home, which is nice, and tonight, after errands and chores and we’ve exhausted our usefulness, we’re going to an Emilie Simon concert. Tomorrow we fly for SF.

    I’m alive!

    I picked up my passport today. The pretty young man behind the counter had a chocolate coin festively tied around his neck with shining pink-yellow ribbon. When I asked about it, he explained he’d won an award in the office today, then slyly showed me a glimpse of a rather official looking document that stated OFFICE CLOWN. "That’s a good thing to win for," I said. "The best," he replied, "sign here." And that was it. Everything’s done. I can now legally leave the country.

    Current travel dates

    Vancouver to Calgary, June 19th – Calgary to Vancouver, June 22st

  • photograph Gavin and Rikki’s most official wedding yet

    Vancouver to Seattle, June 26th

  • pack, teasingly berate Tony for not
  • possibly move house (unlikely, see above note)
  • visit hackerbot labs w. Willow

    Seattle to San Fransisco, July 1st – San Fransisco to Seattle, July 6th

  • attend PubSquat ’09
  • visit…
  • friends .. like you?
  • NoiseBridge (shake fist at those attending Tor Camp in Seattle)
  • The Long Now Foundation
  • Paxton Gate
  • Musee Mechanique
  • ??? (suggestions welcome)

    • Seattle to Vancouver, July 6/7th