Wednesday, October 24, 2012

This strange, surreal limbo I'm living in continued this past weekend. Is limbo the right word? I don't think I'm really between one place and another place, but I am sort of in no place in that I am in a place of no ground, in that most things that happen lately can't possibly be real, except they are, like this run on sentence, which cannot be written by someone who teaches writing in the academy, which is what I like to call the university, because it sounds more elite, as if the university needed to sound more elite, as if we're not already criticized enough for being elitist, and I know you know what I mean, you know?


1. The weirdness that is the collection of garbage that accumulates on my street. Like everyone owns enough couches in this poor neighborhood of mine that they can just throw away one couch per person per week every week ever. And also, a ship. Among other things. And the boys next door draw graffiti in the dirt on my rear windshield when I leave my car in the same spot for too long, but because I see them every day, they're smart enough to not take their art to the next, more permanent level. What good boys.


2. The weirdness of Bar Sinister with N. Hours of hair and make up and chains and clothing that is tight and black and not acceptable in a certain kind of public. And that's all before even leaving the house. A bar turned goth club on Saturday nights, complete with an S&M showroom upstairs. Hollywood. Which is pretty much where I live, only here, a few miles east, we call it "Silver Lake." A night that ended after the sun came up [though not first without a stop at a hotel that I don't completely recall] and that required a morning of hang over soup for brunch and some weird ocean water plasma miracle hippie california witchcraft glass capsule and a bottle of $10 freshly squeezed green stuff.

3. The weirdness of going to the house of a retired couple who I met on an airplane between my two homes [CO --> CA]. The best kind of weirdness. When you realize that you made a connection simply by being the ridiculous person you are. Roberta & Ben invited me to their house in the suburbs of Los Angeles for what turned out to be their family Thanksgiving dinner since they're all going out of town for real Thanksgiving. I sat in a room full of loving strangers who wanted to know everything about my life, wanted to fix me up with the various sons of their various friends, and I felt totally at home, but like an uncanny home, but not like an uncanny home since this wasn't at all unsettling or pejoratively fantastic. It was peaceful. And filled with hummingbirds. Hundreds of them. And home cooked food. And a small backyard paradise complete with persimmons, which I tired for the first time ever [and LOVED] and tortoises.
Two inch high fence protecting tortoise eggs.
The welcome sign Roberta made just for me, because she is the most adorable.
The voting duck on the dinner table to remind us all to vote.

4. The weirdness, or rather, the privilege of being able to work as a tutor at 826Echo Park. Outside of which there is a curb where the following stencil reminds me to always check every available outdoor surface in case there might be some great art there I would otherwise miss.

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