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Nature vs. Nature

Winters in LA unravel in a surprised flux.  Big gray rain comes in windy, sharp flashes for an evening or a day, then the sun swoops up from the dregs and speaks its power for hours- till the sky dries from white to blue.  The other day, I came home from dinner to find a single layer of hail waiting for me atop of all raised surfaces- the hood of my neighbor’s tan SUV carpeted in cold, irregular pearls.  Made me think of January 12th, 2001, my 13th birthday & the day of my Bar Mitzvah, when it hailed like I hadn’t seen here before or since.  I remember the news reports that afternoon- camera crews at my middle school filming tiny, slumped, smiling attempts at hailmen, then filming dudes in the surrounding suburbs on snowboards getting yanked down the street by pick-up trucks from the end of a rope.
I wanted to believe it was a sign, an omen- my world telling of the heavy elements around me and above me coming to a strange fruition- but what isn’t nowadays?  I expect frogs next, just like in Magnolia.
Just like I expect edgy, caffeine addicted crows to start crowding trees and telephone wires outside of cafes until they just HAVE to have a sip.  Just like I expect the seasons to flip and mix like four eggs in a hamster ball.  Because, now, I don’t need any symbol-savvy atmospheric conditions.
The war is weird enough as it is.

Humidity and fire

Fire hooping, originally uploaded by ducksRfriends.

Hanging out with fire spinners has taught me interesting things about how weather affects their performance. I would think a humid day would be better- more moisture in the air, the fire would be less likely to catch their clothing. But apparently that’s not really the way of it. When it is humid, the fire stays closer to the source, so their props get hotter and the flame itself is more static. Instead of burning up and out, it stays on the torch, and is more likely to catch, or at least, more difficult to handle. It makes perfect sense, but I never would have thought of it. New things learned every day.

Sweet Peas

Its finally summer and the East Coast is melting. It threatens rain but only drizzles for a short time and the clouds leave the city muggy. This is weather for beaches and sprinklers and sunblock. Not riding to work, trying to look professional. Is there such a thing as a professional tank-top? I need to get to work at my sewing machine because I have plenty of fabric and the shabby chic look seems to be in. Walks to lunch are sticky and unpleasant, office days seem longer and longer and longer and coffee doesn’t quite pack the punch it seemed to when the breeze was cool on my face.

Hollyweird Babylon

Something isn’t right here.  A lot of somethings aren’t.  A lot of somethings go against everything and, thus, we have a lot of work to do.

There is a production going on in Los Angeles.  A movie is being discussed and planned. Timid money stirs in accounts held by rich strangers with stranger motives, trying to weasel itself inside the heart of a digital diamond. I see the shit, but not the story. I feel the strange money sitting in my wallet that will soon become coffee, snacks, pens, and hard drives reaching out to more significant moments- to all the wandering people who have come here following the scent of an ideal, but finding only themselves in an edgy city that’s utterly packed, utterly cramped, with piled concrete, selfish real estate, and firm belief. I’ve seen them pace the dirty, overwrought streets in cars and on foot, which are as crowded as the rooms here feel. But we are here to entertain, not to pity. I feel the money, I hear about the budget, the thousands marching towards the screen and away from everything else, the back scratching backstabbers that keep The Industry alive, the glitter coated shit river flowing, and just want to burn or steal it all. I want to shut it all down and force them to listen to me and realize that I’m right, that time and money should be invested in therapy and exploration, not fetish and masturbation. I am among those blind & compromising hopefuls perpetuating the problem, yet hoping to make it turn on itself.

The problem lies in the aims and ends- too little, too limp. The problem lies between how to respect free will and how to impose my own. The problem lies on its side, covered during the day under new ‘For Lease’ and ‘For Rent’ signs on top of oily sleeping bags and jackets. The problem is of our hands and in our hands. The problem is as much of who we are as the resolution, so here’s to the evolution of our intellects/conflicts, which will grow if I want them to enough.

Happy May

May Day in NJ, originally uploaded by ducksRfriends.

Its warming up here in Philly. Soon everyone will be heat-crazed, but for now its still enjoyable. Playing on swings makes every day just a little bit better.