The Law of Motion

Someone linked me to this music video on Facebook, and it left me jaw-dropped with astonishment. I guess...it's Swedish? Or something? Or it's what happens when you shoot a music video starring your seventh-grade Glee Club?

Also: space. No lie.

Spring approaches, bringing with it the breath of new life and a world ripe with budding possibilities. Your Man Out West finds himself poised on the brink of yet another major change in life circumstances, as I begin my search for a job to earn my keep once I have finished my work at the Pacific Center and earned my degree. While I have plenty of experience searching for jobs of one kind or another, this is a very different experience, in that I am not just looking for a way to earn money while I move to the next step of my life (though that is, at least in part, what I'm actually doing), but am actually seeking to build myself a career.

I'll be turning 30 in about a year and a half, and I'm beginning to think about what the rest of my life should look like. I love my work as a therapist, and though I don't have much experience yet, what I've had has been so rewarding that I can barely conceive of doing any other kind of work. However, I've got a long way to go before I can prove myself as a clinician and earn the right to practice independently, and until I can get my license and put that ",MFT" after my name, I'll have to look for whatever niche I can fill. It will have to be a very specific niche, in that it must be fillable by someone with no post-graduate experience, and almost no experience working with children, groups, couples, or families, who has never worked in an in-patient setting or with the severely disabled, and who can't even apply for an intern number until October. And even putting all that aside, in this job market, the fact that I'll soon have a Master's Degree doesn't mean what it once did. I'm almost done with school, but even with that behind me, I'm really just getting started.

So that's one aspect of novelty that this spring has brought. Another was the opportunity to see one of my favorite bands, The Decemberists, at the Fox Theater here in Oakland. It was an amazing show, replete with acoustic complexity and dazzling light effects. The first half of the show was an hour-long set of songs from the new Decemberists album The Hazards of Love, played straight through without pause or addressing the audience. The experience was amazing; one song after the next, each one new to me, each using a different arrangement of instruments including organ, harpsichord, glockenspiel, accordion, and zither, not to mention guitars both acoustic and electric, base both hand-held and upright, and a wicked amplified mandolin. For one song, five of the seven band members took up drum sets, creating a pounding percussive frenzy that filled the hall.

After an hour of non-stop music (through which, we later learned, frontman Colin Meloy had apparently been bleeding on himself) the band broke for about twenty minutes, then came back and engaged with the audience in a slightly less intense manner. Meloy joked and praised the new Fox Theater, introduced the band and talked about the songs they were about to play. They moved into a series of songs from previous albums, most of which I knew, and Meloy encouraged the audience to sing along. At one point, he taught the audience the chorus, and silenced the band to let the audience provide the vocals. The band eventually left the stage, but returned for an encore, and during the final song, several of the band members came out into the audience to perform a dramatic reenactment of the Tragedy of the Donner Party.

Those of my readers interested in recreating the aural experience of the concert for themselves can check out the downloadable bootlegs, and I highly recommend that you do. Nothing can capture the actual feeling of standing in the crowd while the Decemberists filled the space with sounds, but at least you can catch some of Meloy's banter and hear their rendering of the songs from Hazards of Love.

I left the concert hall thoroughly satisfied, and then two days later found myself on a bus bound for L.A., to visit a friend of mine who is currently making his home there. I took the bus with the intention of using public transportation to get around the city, and save the trouble and expense of bringing a car, but L.A. is not kind to those who wish to go from one place to another. Despite the continual inconvenience heaped on us by a bus system that continually ran behind schedule, stopped running early, or didn't go where we needed it to go, we managed to sample a good deal of Los Angeles's offerings, from the historic movie palaces downtown to the glitz of Hollywood Boulevard, ate at several impressive restaurants, and saw a couple of movies. I hope to return to the city again before too long, hopefully with better transportation this time, and see a little bit more of the area.

So, now I'm back and rested from the weekend, returning to the job search and preparing to finish up with my time at the Pacific Center. The next step is still unclear at this point, but no matter where I go next, I'm glad I've had the chance to enjoy the unique pleasures of the West Coast. I may return to the Midwest eventually (likely to be killed by a surprise inland hurricane, as they've been fond of having lately) but I fear I'll be spoiled forever by the ready availability of concerts and landmarks that the San Francisco/Los Angeles area boasts.

Those of you unfamiliar with webcomics (so, y'know, everyone except me, right?) will likely not be aware of a man by the name of D.J. Coffman, who is, among other things, the creator of webcomic Yirmumah. I admit, as webcomics go, I've never been much of a fan of this one, but Mr. Coffman decided some time ago to implement an interesting experiment in interactive webcomic design: send him two dollars, and he'll draw anything you want.

Well, I couldn't just let an offer like that go. I could have requested all sorts of interesting things, most of them probably involving superheroes (or myself in a superhero costume), but I decided to go a different direction with it; I thought I would request a drawing that I would give as a gift, to someone I knew would greatly appreciate the image.

I made the request sometime last fall, submitted my $2 via Paypal, and waited. I continued to wait, and eventually forgot all about it, assuming that my $2 had gone the way of all flesh. I would have been more upset, but I can spare $2 without serious injury, and eventually the opportunity to give the gift came and went. That, I supposed, was that.

But the other day I got an e-mail from one D.J. Coffman (by this time, I had totally forgotten about the request, and couldn't remember where I knew the name D.J. Coffman from) containing my requested drawing and a heartfelt apology for the delay. I was touched; he could have easily kept my $2 and saved the ink, but he is clearly a man dedicated to his (rather unusual) craft.

So, since it no longer makes sense as a gift, I present to the world at large, my very own $2 commission:



Not a bad picture, for $2, I'd say. If I could draw that well I'd probably charge more for my pictures.

For those interested, here is a link to the picture online. I'm absurdly pleased by the fact that someone in the comments praises my choice of request. The gift may never reach its intended recipient, but at least it's made someone happy.

Enjoy!

It's been an interesting past week here in Out West land, so I thought I'd share a few tidbits of activity with my dearest readers.

The week before last marked the arrival of the long-anticipated Watchmen movie, which I saw at a midnight showing with the husband of a co-worker. Though he had not read the comic, and I had (surprise surprise), we both agreed that the film fell far short of what it could have been. Director Zack Snyder is nowhere near experienced enough to effectively pull off a story with as much subtlety and complexity as the original Watchmen comic, and substituted graphic violence and a piercingly inappropriate soundtrack for what he couldn't manage. (My apologies to anyone whose aesthetic sensitivities are offended by the use of words like "subtlety" and "complexity" in this context.) Frustratingly, the film fails both to be the profound moral examination that Moore's original work is intended to be, and to be an enjoyable mindless funhouse ride the way some similar failures have managed to be; Watchmen is simply too grim and too gory to be fun, and too absurd to be taken seriously. The visuals attempt to be lush, but, in most instances, simply end up looking fake and stagey; the performances attempt to be charmingly pulpy, but the halfhearted delivery of the cast's B-list actors robs Moore's dialogue of its original understated charm. Overall, the biggest compliment I can pay the film is that, like the Dark Knight (and believe me, any comparison between this film and the Dark Knight is both a high compliment to Watchmen and verging on an insult to Dark Knight), it's the beginning of a new trend towards making superhero/comic book films that are intended for adults, and not children. Snyder's style is more suited to childishness, but there is reason to hope that better, more restrained directors will get a chance to make comic book movies worth seeing, in the near future.

The weekend after that, I got the chance to hang out with some friends of mine from oft-remembered Carbondale, who were in San Francisco to visit family. The weather, which had been abominably rainy and cold for the last few weeks, managed to clear up long enough for them to enjoy their visit, and I joined them and their little boy (my godson!) for a couple of jaunts around the area, including an afternoon in Golden Gate Park, and a visit to the Japanese Tea Garden therein. A few days later I introduced one of my friends to The Trappist, a fantastic specialty beer bar here in Oakland. We sampled a variety of excellent brews, and I got to expand my burgeoning beer education a good bit. Drinking good beer is an expensive venture, but a richly rewarding one when done correctly.

After my friends departed, I expected my social activity would dwindle back to its usual near-extinction, but I was wrong; I was invited to a karaoke gettogether at The Mint with several of my compatriots from the Pacific Center. We sang, drank and laughed for several hours, and I acquitted myself nicely with my performances on Subterranean Homesick Blues and Seven Nation Army, but I struggled with a duet on God Only Knows, and that signaled my steady descent into sucking as I was totally unable to find my key on My Old School or Stuck In The Middle With You. Next time I will have to be more careful about picking songs I'm actually prepared to sing, not just songs I know the words to.

The karaoke outing ended as our party dispersed to various locales for supper, but I was invited to join one of my coworkers and her girlfriend for a quick dinner before they attended a birthday party for their friend. I was informed that this party would be zombie-themed, and that the attendees would be dressed in "zombie drag". Now, my feelings on the zombie issue are a matter of public record; I've long been known for my firm anti-zombie stance. I make no apologies for this; I'm a tolerant man in most regards, ready to embrace and celebrate all manner of human diversity, but I simply draw the line when it comes to the carnivorous shambling dead. However, being as how it was quite generous of my hosts to invite me to this gathering, and quite generous of the birthday girl to accept my presence despite not previously being acquainted with me, I thought this would be a good opportunity to put aside my habitual hatreds and enter into a new relationship with the state of zombie-dom.

I did my best to make myself up in a fitting zombie style, as the following photographic evidence will prove:




Once I was properly decomposed, we set out for neighborhood nightlife spot The Zeitgeist, a rough-and-tumble pub with a sprawling beer garden that was packed to the gills with diverse recreationalists, including a fair number of zombies to round out our party. Despite the rapidly dropping temperature (I hadn't dressed in anticipation of being out that late), our undead congregation managed to enjoy ourselves thoroughly. We mumbled and groaned to the rough tune of Happy Birthday and ate brains (cleverly disguised as a tasty cake), and I spent most of the evening discussing science fiction movies with a couple of Russians. I also got a tipoff from a very nice evolutionary biologist about a regular Dungeons and Dragons game taking place in Berkeley, to which I might be invited. It would be a welcome fix to my RPG-deprived system, I must admit.

It was an exciting evening, and as I lurched home and curled up in a seat on the BART, it took me a minute to figure out why I was getting such strange looks. Fortunately, a nice hot shower restored my vitality and my usual healthy complexion, and the remainder of my weekend has been entirely uneventful. But I'll keep my singing voice in practice and my dice warmed up, in case more karaoke, D&D, or zombie raids should occur.

Hope all of my dear readers have been enjoying the good life, or at least a good undeath, and just so there isn't any confusion about my allegiances, I should clearly state that if any zombies among my audience wish to drop by my apartment for a few friendly drinks and some chuckles, I'll happily put a neat hole right in the base of their skulls and set them on fire.

I hate zombies.

I Am A: Neutral Good Elf Bard (4th Level)


Ability Scores:

Strength-13

Dexterity-12

Constitution-14

Intelligence-14

Wisdom-14

Charisma-12


Alignment:
Neutral Good A neutral good character does the best that a good person can do. He is devoted to helping others. He works with kings and magistrates but does not feel beholden to them. Neutral good is the best alignment you can be because it means doing what is good without bias for or against order. However, neutral good can be a dangerous alignment because it advances mediocrity by limiting the actions of the truly capable.


Race:
Elves are known for their poetry, song, and magical arts, but when danger threatens they show great skill with weapons and strategy. Elves can live to be over 700 years old and, by human standards, are slow to make friends and enemies, and even slower to forget them. Elves are slim and stand 4.5 to 5.5 feet tall. They have no facial or body hair, prefer comfortable clothes, and possess unearthly grace. Many others races find them hauntingly beautiful.


Class:
Bards often serve as negotiators, messengers, scouts, and spies. They love to accompany heroes (and villains) to witness heroic (or villainous) deeds firsthand, since a bard who can tell a story from personal experience earns renown among his fellows. A bard casts arcane spells without any advance preparation, much like a sorcerer. Bards also share some specialized skills with rogues, and their knowledge of item lore is nearly unmatched. A high Charisma score allows a bard to cast high-level spells.


Find out What Kind of Dungeons and Dragons Character Would You Be?, courtesy of Easydamus (e-mail)



(Actually, with those ability scores I'd be a pretty crappy bard.)

So, a brief lesson on how to turn an unpleasant experience into a wonderful one:

On occasion, my school hosts "Saturday Seminars", which are just what they sound like; for a few hours on Saturday, a guest lecturer speaks on a psychological topic to a group of students. The seminars are free and frequently concern things of interest to me, but I rarely attend them, due to a dislike of both getting up before 10 AM on a Saturday and of leaving my apartment. But I've been chiding myself lately for not getting out more, and especially for not taking advantage of the many opportunities for professional networking and development that this area offers someone in my field, so I decided to attend the next Saturday Seminar, which was to be on Control-Mastery Theory, something I'm interested in learning more about.

Knowing myself, I knew that I would not want to get up early enough to ride my bicycle to downtown Berkeley, so to ensure that I got enough sleep I went to bed at a reasonable hour and decided to take one of my sleeping pills to knock me out. The pills are low-dose Trazodone, an antidepressant which was discontinued due to its strong sedative effects. I'd been taking it to help with sleep for some time, but had discontinued using it lately due to improvement in my sleep habits. The last time I tried to use it, it ended up keeping me up all night instead of putting me down, which may be due to a need for the chemicals to build up in the bloodstream before they become effective. In any case, I decided to try again last night, to see if the sleepless night had been a fluke.

At about 2 AM, not having slept at all, I decided it hadn't been a fluke. By that point, there wasn't any way of getting the chemicals out of my blood, and I didn't want to attend a lecture after a night with no sleep, so I only saw one other option: taking another pill and hoping the effect would be strong enough to knock me out. This is the sort of plan that makes sense to a half-drugged person at 2 AM.

It worked, mostly; I did get some sleep, though of a rather disjointed and non-refreshing nature. But I was able to pull myself out of bed at the appointed hour in the morning, and I got ready to leave in plenty of time, though I noticed in the mirror that my eyes were sunken and puffy as if I'd gone without sleep entirely. No time to worry about that, though, I had to get to the school in time for the beginning of the lecture.

Once I got there, though, I was confused, since the room that usually hosts the seminars was being used for an entirely different class. Without anyone handy to ask, I went to the computer lab to check my e-mail, to see if I had gotten the room wrong. When I looked up the message announcing the seminar, I looked at the date--and realized it had been sent last week, which meant the Saturday in question had been a week before. I'd already missed the seminar entirely.

I couldn't help but laugh, even though the combination of pills and empty stomach was beginning to make me nauseous. Frustrated, disappointed and feeling sick, I left the school and considered going back home to get some more sleep. But the day was sunny and beginning to warm up, and it had been a while since I'd been on that side of town with nothing to do, and so I decided to take a walk to clear out the mingled fumes of Trazodone and frustration from my groggy brain. No destination in mind, just a walk through the upper part of the UC Berkeley campus, where it verges on the Berkeley hills.

I walked along the street where the law building, my old workplace, still stood, and by the yard where the tree-sitters had occupied the old oaks to protest the expansion of the sports stadium. Then I turned uphill, hiking up towards Lawrence Berkeley Laboratory, which sits at the top of the hill overlooking the city. After a short walk up the winding road, I came to a bend edged by a crash barrier, and past the barrier the hill dropped sharply. Curious to see the view, I crossed the road and stepped over the barrier to look down the hill.

Ah, dear readers, if I'd had a camera, the view I could have shown you.

To my left, the Berkeley hills, with their proud coniferous forests, surrounding me with the sweet musk of pine. To my right, the sprawl of Berkeley, and beyond it Oakland, with its stubby towers of concrete and glass. The rising fog blanketed it all, and in the fog the two landscapes seemed to merge and bleed together, treetops becoming rooftops as if each had grown intertwined out of the earth. And far behind it all, capped by mist and reflected sunlight, the bay, with vibrant San Francisco invisible in the vapor beyond. It was breathtaking.

Looking down at it all, I was taken with the notion to call my sister, who I knew would appreciate such a scene. I did, and we talked at length as I hiked up the nearby ecology trail into the woods, finding an isolated balcony ledge from which one could look directly down into the stadium, where a team of lacrosse players were practicing. My sister and I traded stories of frustrations and enjoyed commiserating, and I slipped into "therapist mode" for a bit and offered my reframes and advice. She counseled me as well, until she had to leave to join the rest of my family to make candy. I couldn't decide whether I wished they were here with me, or I were there with them.

I walked back to my bicycle, the temperature ideal, the air clean and invigorating, and felt good about the entire affair. Perhaps it was some lingering antidepressant effect of the pills, but my mind felt clear and my outlook was bright. I headed back into Berkeley and decided to treat myself to continue the enjoyment, so I stopped and got a delicious burger at local eatery Au Coquelet, then dropped by my favorite Berkeley spot, Comic Relief, for a bit of basking in my favorite medium. When I tired of that I returned home and wrote this, wanting to share a little of my pleasure with my dear readers. I still missed the seminar, I'm still tired, and I spent money I didn't really have to spend on that burger, which is not the sort of food I should be eating anyway, but honestly, who cares. The sun is bright and warm, the hills are there, the trees are there, and there are people who love me in the world.

I'll give up a little sleep now and then to remind myself of these things.

Enjoy yourselves, dear readers.

Hard to believe it's actually been a year since I posted my first post of 2008, predicting that 2008 would be an interesting year. Well, it seems I was right; 2008 was a year of many firsts, for me and a great many other people. Just off the top of my head, things that 2008 saw:

The United States of America elected its first African-American president, a historic event which may have serious repercussions, both positive and negative, over the next decade;

I got engaged, then broke off my engagement, an experience from which I'm still reeling;

I started seeing clients as a full-fledged therapist-in-training for the first time, and, in so doing, discovered that I am clearly pursuing the right career track--the thrill of being genuinely helpful to people, and doing something I seem to be really good at, has been entirely unmatched in my lifetime;

I began living by myself in a strange place, without roommates or a fiancee, for the first time since I moved away from home;

My darling sister got married to her delightful husband, and I got to take part in the ceremony, after getting myself ordained (online, of course) as a minister;

A close friend of mine got a film accepted into the Slamdance film festival, marking the first time one of his works has gotten the public recognition it so richly deserves;

And--for better or for worse--I finally took the plunge and went into debt, taking out tens of thousands worth of student loans to live on while I finish up my degree and prepare to begin working directly towards my Marriage and Family Therapist license. The economy being what it is, we'll see how that pans out.

I was fortunate to have the chance to spend the holiday season with my family in southern Illinois, enjoying their warmth and hospitality while I spent money I didn't have on some last-minute Christmas gifts. I got to spend two weeks there, which was wonderful, and left me a little confused and disoriented when I finally came back to California and had to remember what I was doing out here in the first place.

To my surprise, I actually remembered to bring my camera along this time when I left; to no one's surprise, I managed to forget to actually take any pictures with it almost the entire time I was there. The only pictures I managed to get were on the last day, just before I left for the airport, and only some of my family was around.

As such, the only people present in these pictures are my parents, myself, and my littlest sister. You'll just have to pretend that my other sister, my brother, and all of my wonderful friends are gathered in the background somewhere.




Once more, with feeling:




Dear readers, I hope that the holidays have left you refreshed and well-loved, and that the coming year will be one of joy and bounty for all of you. Frankly, after 2008, I could do with a year that was a little more boring.

Best wishes.

It is with great sadness, and many other emotions, that I post the following news: Katrabbit and I have ended our engagement.

As much of a shock as the engagement itself may have been to some, I can only imagine this news, unexpected as it is, comes as an even greater one. I feel incredibly sorry to have let everyone down in this way--most of all, I'm sorry to have let Katrabbit herself down, because I know that she always believed in us as a couple and saw a bright future ahead for us. I've broken my promises to her, and to myself, and to a great many other people, and I can only say that I'm sorry, and I wish it could be different.

"But why?" is a reasonable question to ask under the circumstances, and there's no real easy answer to that; in short, I don't feel that I'm ready, emotionally, to deal with the demands of a serious, committed relationship. I realize that this doesn't say anything particularly flattering about me, and I accept that judgment. In terms of maturity I feel that I'm still on the level of a child, and I can't handle the responsibility of an adult relationship. Perhaps that is something I'll learn in time. But for right now, I feel that the best thing to do is to back off, put some distance between Katrabbit and I and give myself a chance to grow up a bit, while giving Katrabbit a chance to find someone who is ready and able to give her the love and support she needs and deserves.

I could go on and on about my feelings, my regrets, my grief, and the whole story leading up to this point, but I'll spare you, and myself. Suffice to say that this is a hard time for us both, and if there are any among you readers who wish to offer comfort, I ask that you offer it to Katrabbit, because she has had her whole world pulled out from under her, and she needs to know that she's not alone. As for myself, I have my wonderful friends and family to stand by me, and I know that this time of grief will pass eventually.

Again, dear ones, accept my apologies for having led you astray, and I hope that the next time I post it will be with happier news. Till then, all.

In the category of "jokes nobody but me would find funny", I submit to you this recording, of legendary comic book author Warren Ellis doing his impression of even-more-legendary comic book author Alan Moore.

http://odeo.com/episodes/22120004-Warren-Ellis-on-Alan-Moore-mp3-audio-mpeg-Object

Not everybody wants a magic cave...

I've never used this blog to put forward any particular political views, though my association with the Pacific Center probably makes it clear which direction my politics lean in.

However, I've just watched the acceptance speech of our new President, Barack Obama, and both Katrabbit and I agreed: we are two cynical people, who put little faith in any elected official, but both of us are filled with hope for the future of America when we listen to this man. His speech was fantastic in all the ways that the great speeches of American history have been: topical and yet timeless, poetically encapsulating the past while looking towards the future. He managed to include a great many people in his address, as well: various races, gay and straight, disabled and not disabled, as well as directly reaching out to those people who did not vote for him, and to people listening to the results all over the world. Interestingly, he praised the Republican party and its origins as a party directed towards protecting the rights of the American people, an ideal that he considers just as valid now as it was then. And he spoke of a woman in Atlanta, Georgia, who voted today by touch-screen, despite being 106 years old. He spoke of the changes she had seen during her lifetime, through women's suffrage and the civil rights movement, the Great Depression and World War II, the advent of the internet and the explosion of technology. He spoke of the changes the upcoming generations will witness in this country over the next hundred years.

I'm not easily moved by the focus-group-tested words of professional liars. But even I can't help getting misty-eyed when I hear Obama humbly and graciously reach out to the people of the United States and ask them to help him work to repair the wounds our nation has suffered and work towards a brighter future.

Today, the United States has turned a page in its history, electing the first non-Caucasian President ever. Tomorrow we begin a new era of possibility in a country that for too long has seemed incapable of moving forward.

As an American, I barely feel capable of maintaining a sense of hopefulness. But I'm ready to believe that Barack Obama is the president who can finally change that.

We can't begin to guess what is going to happen next. For the first time in a long time, I'm looking forward to tomorrow.

So, as some of you readers may already be aware, my darling sister recently got married, to her long-time sweetheart, in a ceremony taking place at the Carbondale Unitarian Fellowship in my hometown of Carbondale, Illinois. Katrabbit and I flew back to Illinois to attend, which comprised the first opportunity I've had to see my hometown, friends and family in about six months--the longest period I've spent away from home my entire life.

Needless to say, it was a happy reunion, and it was wonderful to see my loved ones again. Katrabbit and I arrived late Thursday night and drove from the airport in St. Louis to her house in Murphysboro accompanied by a cousin of mine, with whom I hadn't spoken in several years. She was delightful to get reacquainted with, and we swapped memories and life stories on the drive. The next day, I headed over to my parents' house to embrace them all and find out what was needed for the wedding preparations. In the process, I managed to secure a birthday cake for myself from my dad (who had a little trouble with the recipe instructions, probably because I was standing nearby "helping" the whole time).

That evening, I met some of Katrabbit's relatives who happened to be in town at the time, and after introducing myself all around I headed to the bachelor party for my soon-to-be-brother-in-law (most hyphens ever!), and enjoyed an evening of eating and drinking. Katrabbit dropped by my sister's bachelorette party, as did I, to greet a number of my female friends.

The next morning was the wedding rehearsal, and as an official officiant (being officially ordained as a minister in the Universal Life Church just a few weeks earlier) I needed to learn my part. It was an elaborate ceremony, structured around a Wiccan handfasting, and I and the groom's elder sister were doing the speechifying. Ultimately, I did relatively little, allowing the groom's sister to take charge of breaking up the spoken parts and lay out what each one of us would do. When the rehearsal was over, my main concern was making sure I didn't screw up the hand-binding, since the cord had to be draped over their hands in a very specific fashion. As it turned out, this was not the only thing I should have been worried about.

I went home and showered, got dressed and went back to the Fellowship to help set up the tables in preparation for the reception after the event. Katrabbit went to her parents' place for help baking the loaves of bread that they were contributing to the post-wedding festivities. Once the tables were arranged (painstakingly), the kitchen prepared, the directional altars set up, and the huge coolers full of high-quality beer safely stowed, I went to pick up Katrabbit and the bread. When I got back, the guests were arriving and I went to take my place in the wedding party.

The ceremony kicked off with the introductory music and we made our way down the aisle, to the front of the sanctuary. I started to read my part, switching off with my partner in crime, only to realize that the jug of water and bowl of bread on the main altar, which were important fixtures of the ritual, had not been filled. My mind was blank--it was all I could do to not burst out laughing, especially when I heard the groom chuckling--but fortunately the groom's sister grabbed the jug and bowl while I was reading and handed them off to someone near the stage to fill in the kitchen and return to us. By the time we got to the part of the ceremony where they were required, they were properly established. Whew.

I read the small bit that I had written myself, along with an untitled poem by Tanith Lee. I found that particular poem highly apropos--after spending hours searching through online databases of poetry which yielded many fascinating pieces but almost none appropriate for the event--since the name the couple would both be taking after the marriage is Rose. It will be odd to think of my own sister, whose name I have always shared, as a Rose now. I suppose their children will all be little Roses as well. Hmm.

Anyway, I read my bit, and I'm proud to say I managed to not break down crying. I came close, but I held it together.

So the ceremony was finished, I managed to screw up the hand-binding as I had feared but nobody seemed to care (so far as I could tell), and the newly married couple was celebrated late into the night. I played my part in those festivities as well; I borrowed a friend's twelve-string guitar and performed the song that my sister had requested I contribute: Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots.

Hey, don't ask me. I just do what I'm told.

Eventually, Katrabbit and I returned to her place, exhausted, and got up late the next morning, with the plan that we would join my family for a birthday dinner. However, my parents' household was overrun with leftover food from the reception, so we opted to let them work on the leftovers for a while and instead joined Katrabbit's family for a trip to visit her grandmother in Golconda, Illinois. It was a fun trip and I got to meet even more of her family, including not just her grandmother (who was a hoot) but also several of her aunts, uncles and cousins. One, a boy not more than eleven, informed that if I was to join their family, I would need to learn sports.

No one told me this before I made my choice. I consider this a dirty trick.

After we got back from Golconda, we met up with several of our friends at Katrabbits house, and for the third night in a row I partied until the wee hours of the morning. It was an intense evening, fraught with many emotions and a good deal of closeness, which I hardly realized I had been missing so powerfully until I tasted it again. There was little sleep that night, but much love was shared.

Eventually Katrabbit and I dragged ourselves out of bed to meet up with my family for that birthday lunch, which ended up being a rather small affair since the new bride and groom were enjoying their alone time and my brother was busy with school. After a quick meal, an exchange of gifts and a bit of my father's questionable cake (which turned out to be quite tasty, despite it all), Katrabbit and I hurried to finish our packing so we could make it to our flight on time. Thankfully, we had left ourselves sufficient leeway in terms of travel time, so we got to the airport without too much distress.

The flight back was thoroughly unpleasant, as we were both sleep-deprived and had taken seats in front of a woman and her two children, who continually shrieked, complained, and kicked our seats until they departed in Salt Lake City. Rarely have two travelers been so thankful to see the Oakland airport. We made our weary way home to our apartment and crumbled into bed.

Since then, little of note has occurred; I've heard tell that the happy couple has continued on largely as before, slightly richer from wedding presents and glad that the event is finally behind them. My mother is now bothering me for plans for my own wedding, which is requiring some thought. Thankfully, we have a year to prepare before we try to pull it off, so hopefully we'll get it all put together in time.

Katrabbit has taken up working part-time at the cafe run by our landlady downstairs in our apartment building, and has shown all the qualities of an excellent manager. I've continued enjoying my laziness, reaping the benefits of government-funded unemployment. I'm still looking for part-time work, but that is proving to be harder than I would have expected; apparently the call for part-time workers is (understandably) less than that for full-time, so I'm not getting the responses I would have hoped my resume would have provoked. Ah, well, either way we survive, so I'm not going to stress about it just yet.

The holiday season fast approaches us; Halloween is nearly upon us, and swift after that comes Thanksgiving and Christmas (for those inclined towards such holidays). Come Christmastime I'll be returning to Carbondale once again, which I look forward to ardently.

In the meantime, I'll continue to work on growing as a burgeoning therapist, feeling out my role at the Pacific Center and seeking to apply some of the principles I'm learning in class. I've been developing greater confidence in myself along those lines lately; we'll see how that confidence bears up when I've been doing this for more than a few months and actually have some real experience under my belt.

Hope your Halloween is a pleasantly haunted one, dear readers, and that your holiday season is filled with joy. I'll be sure to keep you informed if things decide to happen.

(Note: I wish I had pictures of the wedding to share here, but I foolishly left my camera at home--I'm not actually very good at this whole "recording events" thing, it appears. Well, perhaps they'll start a website of their own with images I can link you to. If not, take my word for it: it was beautiful.)

Just a few quick notes to fill in what the Katrabbit and I have been up to in the past month, and all the firsts we've managed to survive thus far:

I saw my first clients at the Pacific Center. Confidentiality (and prudence--after all, potential clients could theoretically read this blog) prevents my saying more, but I'm excited to begin putting into practice all the theory and training I've undergone thus far. The rest of this year will be an unprecedented opportunity to test my limits and abilities in the field I've chosen...

Katrabbit and I attended a reunion concert for classic punk thrash band The Force, at legendary Bay Area club The Gilman. It was an interesting show, with a medley of punk/thrash acts, and though that style of music is not particularly my bag (baby), I enjoyed myself. One act of note was Das Kapital, a punk band of Chicago origin. We chatted with the lead singer after his set, and he revealed that he's passed through Carbondale numerous times, and remembered with particular fondness his shows at Lost Cross (side note: how cool is it that Lost Cross has its own entry in Urban Dictionary?) and PK's. However, the clear highlight of the evening was Katrabbit getting to meet members of one of her favorite bands, AFI. She even got to take pictures with the bassist, Hunter (which I would post here, except she still has my camera.)

Katrabbit and I also agreed to volunteer for the Macy's Passport fashion show, supposedly the only fashion show of note that takes place in San Francisco. Not normally my kind of thing, but it's an AIDS fundraiser, which gives it a connection to the Pacific Center, and I thought Katrabbit might be interested. The evening didn't turn out like I expected; we didn't get to sit in on the fashion show, and mostly ended up schlepping free flip-flops to the half-wasted debutantes and assorted hoi-polloi that drifted around after the show, but we received some rather nice parting gifts for our trouble, including Calvin Klein duffel bags and free samples of Obsession perfume. Not a bad haul, all things considered.

Other than that, little to relate; I've successfully negotiated increasing my student loan amount, so Katrabbit and I will be able to continue living and eating food in the manner to which we've become accustomed, and I'll worry about paying all the money back once I'm out of school and (theoretically) able to get a decent-paying job. For now I'll just focus on making it through my practicum and learning as much as I can about the therapy racket.

As ever, dear readers, my thoughts are with you (when I can spare any). Be kind to yourselves, all.

It's been a big week here at Law of Motion, Inc. (where Katrabbit and I make our beds). I started the training for my practicum this week (elephantine readers may recall that I'll be a trainee at the Pacific Center), and have been gradually introduced to the duties and responsibilities that I will be taking on as I start down the path of actually seeing clients in therapy. It is, needless to say, a big job, and I have doubts and fears aplenty regarding my capacity.

Further complicating matters is the fact that my employer, UC Berkeley School of Law, has determined that they will not be able to accommodate the time off that my practicum would require me to take, and I have been given the option of either continuing in my position, or continuing my practicum--but not both. For obvious reasons, I've chosen the practicum, as the development of myself as a therapist was my whole reason for coming out to this area in the first place, and while the job has been generally very good to me, I simply can't forsake my greater purpose in the pursuit of simple, momentary financial security. What's more, my experience in the training so far has made it clear to me that holding a full-time job of any kind during the practicum would be nigh-impossible; even if I could find an employer who would allow me flexible enough hours of employment, the thought of having to divide my attention between the practicum requirements, the job, and my schoolwork leaves me dizzy with apprehension. A part-time job is probably as much as I can handle at this point, if not more, and what the financial consequences of working less would be, I couldn't rightly say at this point.

But I post today not to whine publicly about my stresses and financial concerns, but rather to celebrate a great joy: this week has also delivered unto Katrabbit our first child. Our first hairy, carnivorous child.




He came to us through the Hopalong Animal Rescue Center, which finds homes for abandoned animals through the various pet shops and services in the area. We'd been looking for several weeks, and though several animals had appealed to us, we hadn't decided to take the plunge until just this week.

He was named "Silvio" when we found him at Your Basic Bird in Berkeley, one of Hopalong's partner stores. We've chosen to name him Carmine "The Roman" Falcone, a name which may sound familiar to some readers. We chose this name because it met our three major criteria:

1. It was Italian, in keeping with the resonance of "Silvio",

2. It was a name from either mythology or comic books (surprisingly, a requirement Katrabbit laid down, not me), and

3. It was a name appropriate to a cat which, in Katrabbits words, was extremely "chill".

After some initial trepidation when we first brought him to the apartment, he quickly warmed up to his surroundings and our company, and has been completely inseparable from us whenever we're home.




Here we seem him helping me study. This "perching on a shoulder" thing seems to be a favorite of his; he's actually doing it while I type this post. He was bought from a store full of birds; perhaps he was raised to believe he is a parrot.

I'll keep you updated with adorable stories and photos as he creates them. In the meantime, we're just glad to have someone so cute to talk to, and to wake us up as we try to sleep. We love it so much, we may buy him a nice summer home, in our freezer.

Seriously, he's quite a joy. It's the first cat I've ever owned myself, so I look forward to a long association. Fortunately, he looks like his mother (though his attitude is all me).

Yay first baby! Fuzzy or no, he's ours and we love him.

Warning: This entire post may contain spoilers for The Dark Knight

Last weekend, I took a few days off of work to go down to Phoenix to visit my good friend there. He's preparing to leave Phoenix and move to L.A., which will be quite a switch, I imagine, so we wanted to take advantage of what remained of his time in Arizona and check out some of the sights and attractions that we didn't have time for the last time I visited. This we accomplished quite handily; we drove out into the desert to visit Gammon's Gulch, an "old west" movie set where parts of my friend's most recent film "One-Half World" (which I would link to, but I can't seem to find the website, if it exists) were shot. We also stopped by historic Tombstone, which was appallingly tacky and touristy, and enjoyed both the lovely desert vistas and any number of Phoenix eateries.

But none of those things were really the reason I went down there. The real reason I went down there was to see The Dark Knight.

Why travel so far just to see a movie? Well, this particular friend and I have a long history of interest in Batman films; in 1989, when Tim Burton brought out his original Batman, it started off my interest in the character (believe it or not, at that time I had never paid much attention to Batman outside of occasional cartoons) which helped feed my growing fascination with comic books in general--and for more information about the character I turned this particular friend, who was, at the time, more an expert on the subject than I. We both pored over the film and the related merchandise, and were even more excited when the sequel, Batman Returns, was released, painting an even darker and more characterologically twisted picture of Gotham and its inhabitants.

(As we all know, after that, no more Batman films were released. None.)

So it seemed entirely appropriate that when Christopher Nolan released his follow-up to the highly decent (if deeply flawed) retelling of Batman's origin, Batman Begins, he and I should hook up once more to re-experience the new iteration of the concept, and recapture some of the excitement we felt back in 1989 when Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson first made their indelible marks on the characters. We were already excited to see Dark Knight, as the hype had been strong and preliminary reviews good, and we knew that Heath Ledger's farewell performance was supposed to be the actor's greatest work.

Now, normally I wouldn't devote an entire blog post just to discussing a particular movie like this. But when I finally saw the Dark Knight, even after all the raised expectations and hype, I knew that I had to put my impressions down so that I could add my voice to the cacophony of discussion that was sure to follow.

So, first off: The Dark Knight is, hands down, the best superhero film ever made. Admittedly, that's not a hard field to stand out in, but even speaking as someone with strong nostalgic ties to films like the 1989 Batman and the original Superman, and with a powerful fannish attraction to flawed superhero films like Spider-Man and X-Men 2, there's no denying that Dark Knight surpasses all of them in terms of style, filmmaking expertise, and the tightness of the storytelling. Nolan is a filmmakr whose work has been steadily improving, and with the Dark Knight he clearly shows that he has the talent and the self-restraint to be a fully excellent director.

Not that the Dark Knight isn't without flaws. Nolan has his characteristic moments of too much dialogue, and as the Katrabbit pointed out upon her first viewing, movie tries to occupy a more "realistic" space than previous Batman films, but that realism breaks down in the face of certain scenes, such as the horrific injuries Harvey Dent sustains, or Batman being able to catch a falling Joker with a grapple line without either having the grapple-gun ripped from his hand or pulling the Joker's leg clean off.

But if you're able to put aside these inconsistencies--and happily I am--the movie is so deliciously well-crafted that watching feels like candy in the mouth. The exploration of the ways in which Batman changes his city simply by his presence there, the focus on the supporting characters of the Batman mythos and their very human struggles, the wonderful use of the coin motif as it shapes the development of the Harvey Dent character, and, of course, the absolutely terrifying portrayal of the Joker by a maniacally talented Heath Ledger (God damn but I'm sorry he's dead; I would have loved to see where he went after this), all serve to lend the film a gut-wrenching veritas that keeps you hooked from the opening moment to the closing credits.

This film is, if I might craft a somewhat visceral analogy, like being kicked repeatedly in the balls, but in a good way. (My female readers will just have to use their imaginations.) In many ways it is less a Batman film and more a thriller/cop drama, that happens to have Batman in it. But Batman is not superfluous to the plot--he's an integral piece of the scene, but only a piece, and the police officers, crooks, bystanders and supporting cast all fit neatly into the picture in a way that makes each of them vital without overshadowing the major players. Not that anyone could fully overshadow the Joker--Ledger portrays him as so gleefully sadistic, and yet somehow sympathetically pseudo-insightful, that you can't help but cringe each time he appears--and at the same time, you want to hear what he has to say, in that lilting, off-kilter cadence that moves from singsong to furiously roaring without warning.

The real surprise treat of the film is Harvey Dent, however. Aaron Eckhart is not an actor with whom I have a great deal of familiarity, but he seems well-chosen for the role, and though he over-emotes at times he serves to fully draw the audience in to sympathy with his crusading District Attorney, who sees his entire morality crumble around him with a simple twist of fate--like a coin toss. And the coin which keeps appearing throughout the story, and which finally serves as the character's core symbol after his transformation, is a brilliant device in the way it structures and foreshadows the character's journey. As much as I loved Ledger's Joker, Eckhart's Dent is almost equally engaging--and even after seeing the film three times, I still get a rise in my gorge when I first see the deformations that push him from Dent into Two-Face territory.

In short, Dark Knight is a genuine tour-de-force that, I sincerely hope, will reinvent the superhero genre in film and serve to shape (just as Burton's 1989 Batman did) the character as he is portrayed in all media. Batman fans could use a little more Dark Knight in their Recommended Daily Allowance, and even non-Batman-fans should check the film out, just to see how evocative the character and setting can be when handled right.

Quick, readers! To the Bat-Theatre!

It's been a good while since aught was heard out of me around these parts, but this time it was not by my choice: I've been engaged in moving from my little bedroom in a shared house to a one-bedroom apartment which I share with my beloved Katrabbit. For the first time since I moved out of the college dorms, I'm living in an entirely shared space, and this time I've chosen my roommate quite carefully. The Katrabbit and I are taking one first, big step towards our new life together, and, as they say, the first step is a doozy.

The whole story is somewhat interesting, actually. A few months back, Katrabbit and I began discussing the possibility of having her move out here to California permanently, but we were somewhat undecided on the date. August was our first suggestion, but I had my doubts, since that was when I knew I'd be starting my practicum and would likely be reducing my hours at work, meaning a decrease in my free time, income, and general energy levels. We also talked about the possibility of making the move in October, after my sister's wedding, and of waiting until Christmas, so that we wouldn't have to fly the two of us back and forth to Carbondale so many times.

But all of this talk became just so much noise, as we prepared for Katrabbit's trip here to visit me at the beginning of July, and considered the possibility of finding a place sooner rather than later. Just before she left to join me here, we hit upon a prospect of getting a lovely two-bedroom apartment on the same day that we viewed it, and I excitedly went to talk to the landlord while Katrabbit packed her things with an eye towards a permanent relocation instead of a week-long visit. Unfortunately, the prospect turned out to be a dud, as the landlord refused to return my calls or make any kind of a commitment, and it was already too late for Katrabbit to change her plans. So out to California she flew, both of us unsure whether she would be staying or going back.

Due to a massive failure of scheduling acumen on my part, the first weekend she was out here happened to be a weekend I was in class, so while I studied infant attachment theories, Katrabbit hit the pavement to seek out lodgings and interview with prospective landlords. Saturday evening, she told me she had a good line on a place that was available immediately, provided we liked the look of it; it was a little more expensive than we'd hoped to go, but it came furnished and the wireless was free, and we were in enough of a hurry to eschew choosiness. Sunday morning Katrabbit went for a viewing, and at lunch came to meet me and told me it met her qualifications. Though I had not yet seen it, I took her at her word and wrote a check for the deposit. Just like that, we had a place to live. The new address: 509 40th Street #22, Oakland, CA 94609.

That first night, we began the process of moving my gear out of my room and into the new place, and I got my first look at it. The building is old, in the good sense of that word, with plenty of character and style. The apartment itself is surprisingly spacious, with a good-sized bedroom that fits both of our computers as well as a full-size bed, a living room with a wide-open center and a large, comfortable couch, and a kitchen and bathroom that are both cozy but still capable of holding two people without being cramped.

The whole next week was spent transporting my good over in dribs and drabs, and shopping for necessaries at various Bay Area outlets. We made a fair number of trips to the grocery stores, Walgreens, and Ikea, picking up a few items and then running back to get a few other things we forgot. It was, in a word, exhausting, but Friday was highly refreshing, as Katrabbit and I took a day off to go into San Francisco to enjoy the holiday at Dolores Park with a classmate of mine. We ate well, enjoyed the sunny but cool weather, and eventually wandered back into Oakland to settle in. We were undecided on which would be the best spot for viewing fireworks, so we opted to head up to the roof of the building to see if that would serve as a vantage point; as it turned out, the roof wasn't accessible, but from the fire escape we could see no fewer than three different fireworks displays: one over Oakland city center, one over the Bay Bridge, and one over the Berkeley Marina. We were at a good distance from each of them, with plenty of obstacles in the way, and the low-lying fog hid a good bit of the action, but even so we were pleasantly surrounded by spectacle, and we laughed and drank cheap champagne as the colored sparks fizzled and burst at every horizon.

The rest of the weekend was less relaxing, as we continued our efforts to finish outfitting the new space. One obstacle that we hadn't counted on was our inability to gain access to the internet; first the activation of our account was inexplicably delayed, then the account was inaccessible because the login information our landlady gave us was incorrect. We fretted and fumed for several days, frustrated and going through terrible internet withdrawal (particularly Katrabbit, who was cooped up in the house by herself most of the day while I was at work, and badly in need of distraction), but with repeated attempts and numerous trials and errors, we were finally able to secure the proper logon info and got connected. Never have two people reacted so joyfully to the simple loading of a homepage.

The last few days have been more relaxed, as we are largely set up, lacking only some bookshelves and a few other accessories (Katrabbit, who is an absolute wizard in the kitchen, has been improvising brilliantly despite our general dearth of proper culinary equipment, so I hope to expand her arsenal fittingly before too long). Money is a bit tight after paying both the deposit, the first month's rent, and my last month's rent on my old place, and Katrabbit and I are both perpetually worn out from stress and fitful sleeping on a new bed, but despite it all my joy at having accomplished this much is simply too much to contain. I hadn't dared dream of all the benefits that having a "wife" in one's home could possibly bring, but even the simple pleasures of having a dinner prepared for me when I return home from work, or being able to share chores with someone, are like dreams come true.

As, indeed, is this entire situation. I remember once, as a young boy (probably ten or eleven), considering the likelihood that I would someday, like my own father, marry and raise my own children, and be an adult rather than a child. The thought was simply inconceivable at the time; I struggled to imagine the situation but couldn't see any way that it was possible. The child that I was couldn't imagine it, because he couldn't have done it; that child could not have done the things I have done, could not have traveled west or gone to Europe on his own, could not have left his home to get a job and an education and a place to live in California. In that same way, the person I was a month--even two weeks--ago could not move into an apartment with his fiancee, could not be a husband or father, could not raise his own family. To do those things, that man needed to change, to grow, to become someone and something different.

And that's who I am now, as I write this. Not the person I was before, but an entirely new one, who has capabilities and capacities that his previous self could barely consider, as flight is beyond the imaginings of the crawling caterpillar. The king, as they say, is dead. Long live the king.

Enough weighty considerations, though. Time for some visual aids. Care to see the place I'm waxing so melodramatic about? Now, thanks to the wonders of photons and optic nerves, you can!




The building, viewed from the north. Note the cool friezework along the tops and above the windows.




The building viewed from the east. The sun is setting behind it, hence the slight washout. But, again, you can see the general panache that the whole structure boasts.




On the right is our landlady Ruth, on the left her assistant. This cafe occupies the lowest floor of the building (we're on the second); according to Ruth, opening the cafe was her dream ten years ago when she first bought the property, but numerous delays and obstacles prevented her from actually accomplishing her goal until just this week. We're not complaining; she gave us free samples of the goodies she'll be selling there to test them out, and we were happy to receive them.




Our yellow door, at the end of the hall. That sounds like it should be a song..."our yellow dooooooor....at the end of the hallllllll..."




The bedroom, with Katrabbit dutifully plugging away at our precious new intertube. We still haven't gotten everything put away, but we've got space enough to store it all and her computer as well, once it arrives.




The living room, complete with couch and, to my amazement, tiny television that actually picks up channels. It's been years since I've had a television that one could actually watch television on; I've only used mine for DVDs and the like. I turned it on, flipped through the channels, remembered why I haven't bothered with a television in years, and turned it back off. It'll be obsolete in eight months anyway, and frankly I'm not too concerned.

Unfortunately, the kitchen and bathroom are a little too small to photograph properly, so you'll have to take my word that they exist. We're currently waging war with a small army of ants (well, the ants are small, the army's actually pretty sizable) in the kitchen, but having dealt with such incursions before at my other place, I come well armed for the fray. These insects will think twice before going after my foodstuffs again.

So, that's the latest. I hope to be in more regular contact from here on out, but I'll be starting my training for my practicum next month (!) and I don't know how exactly that's going to affect me. My guess: complete and utter exhaustion. I'm probably really lucky that Katrabbit is here now to take care of me through this, as I might well end up incapable of taking care of myself.

But there's no denying that it's going to be one major change right after another. Remember at the beginning of the year, when I predicted 2008 was going to be interesting? Maybe next time you'll listen to me. Of course, next time I'll have no more idea what I'm going on about than I did then, but we'll handily disregard that for the moment.

Hope this month has been a favorable one for you, dear readers, and that next month will be the same. I won't notice either way; I'll be too busy adapting to rapidly changing circumstances and basking in the embrace of my new, beautiful roomie. If you're looking for me, start looking there.

My best, dear ones, and my continuing gratitude. Catch up with you when the fates allow it.

Well, nearly two months since the last post; that may be some kind of record. Not much has happened to me lately, though I did spend a few days in Phoenix visiting a friend over Memorial Day weekend, which was a good time. Mostly I'm looking forward to things happening in the future: the Katrabbit will be coming to visit for a week at the end of June, and then I'll start my training for my practicum in August, and then my sister will be getting married in October, and hopefully Katrabbit will be moving up here to California to live with me (yay!) soon after that. So the next year is going to be extremely eventful (remember when I said 2008 was going to be a hell of a year? Do I lie?).

However, right now I write to give a shameless plug to a worthy cause: my sister's cabaret group, Cabaret Decadance, has finally released their long-awaited (by me, anyway) first album, which can be purchased for cash money right here. (That link also contains a lengthy blurb which I will reproduce in part here for those of you so benighted that you have not yet been witness to the splendor that is Cabaret Decadance.)

"This vampy, campy collection of songs moves through moods and genres like a cabaret dancer trying on pumps at a shoe sale. For all its stylistic promiscuity, it always remains true to its risqué roots in cabaret and burlesque. The album opens with the rushing sounds of a city street and the dreamy, dark meanderings of a saxophone. This haunting and candid torch song sung by Ginger Snap looks in on a day in the life of a “Lady of the Night.” Next Clare de Lune turns a traditional children’s verse into an adults-only cautionary tale of ingénues, fallen angels, and wicked strangers in “Never Talk to Strangers. The third song is “Cheatin’” a funky defense of a woman’s right to flirt. Well, Ginger may be talking about a bit more than flirting; but still, she ain’t cheatin’!



Clare de Lune explores the deep significance of a proper gentleman’s cane in “Walking Stick.” The result is either a teasing burlesque romp or a Freudian nightmare, depending on your perspective. The mood then turns slow, seductive, and fatally irresistible as Ginger sings “Dangerous.” Be careful or you’ll fall prey to her charms! If you do, don’t worry. The hard-hitting blues number “The Bare Essentials” follows, and Ginger lets us in on the secret of what it takes to make a lady smile. In “Topper,” Clare de Lune has some titillating stories for lovers of all persuasions and dares her audience to “top” her wild tales. On the next track Ginger Snap sings: “Can it be that you were never warned, this Rose has thorns,” in this lively cha-cha-cha about a beautiful heartbreaker. Up next is the swinging hot number “Girls from Harlem,” an ode to those beautiful uptown girls. In this upbeat tune Ginger gives us a heads-up that: “if you don’t know how to dance, you better walk right out that door.”



A cool walking bass is the lead-in to “Gigolo,” a song about a character who looks smooth, but may be a bit of a little boy lost. Meet us at the “Speakeasy,” that’s up next. We’ll be honky-tonking in this prohibition era tune about the real old-school gangsters, and molls, and bathtub gin. Then Clare de Lune is at her ribald best singing “I Want It Both Ways”—an upbeat polka about the joys of having it all. But getting what you want is not always that easy. In the snappy, swinging ”Pretty Please” Ginger lets a wandering lover know that he’ll have to ask real nice to get back in her good graces. Clare de Lune cracks the whip in “Discipline,” a funny and frantic circus polka. She points out the many ways men can go astray, but assures us that: “it can work out with a little discipline!” The album concludes with “That’s as Far as I Go.” This old-fashioned waltz features both Clare de Lune and Ginger Snap who are joined by Mortimer Bustos and Patrick Rollinson of Bourbon Knights fame, for a boozy sing-along where the beer hall girls tell us just how far they will go. Once they reach their limit… well, that’s the end of the show!"

Needless to say, I'm a big fan, and I've already ordered my copy, so I encourage all of you lovely readers out there in Reader-Land to swing by the site and pick up a copy, or just grab an Mp3 or two ("Mp3 or two"...that sounds wrong, somehow) from Amazon to try it on for size. You won't be disappointed.

Talk to you again soon, dearest ones!

Well, in all the excitement of making my last post, I completely forgot to actually post a description of the many other wonderful things that happened while I was in southern Illinois. To be fair, getting engaged tends to eclipse some things. But you, my readers, deserve better, and let it never be said I didn't occasionally fail to completely disappoint.

(Actually, while that may be true, maybe it's better if that actually is never said, because the syntax and structure of that sentence is just terrible.)

Anyway.

So, after being met at the airport by a somewhat flustered Katrabbit (her phone had suddenly died on the way to picking me up, so our original plan of having me call her to let her know where to come get me had an unexpected wrinkle), we returned to her place and spent a pleasant night before getting up the next day to have Easter dinner at her parents' house. This was my first chance to meet her sister Jill and Jill's daughter Sophie, both of whom were delightful. I got to hide eggs for the children to find, and played with all three children on the living room floor until it was time to eat. The spread was incredible, far more food than even the nine adults and three children could eat, and I got so stuffed I was actually unable to finish a helping of cheesecake, which is nearly unheard of for me. Katrabbit's sister Jessica gave me a bar of her homemade soap, and we lazed around, full and contented, until it was time to go to my parents' house for egg-coloring.

There, Katrabbit got to meet my brother Tim for the first time, and we colored eggs and sang songs and generally comported ourselves in the manner common to my family until it got late. Katrabbit headed back to her own place while I stayed at my parents' and prepared to get up for Easter festivities the next morning. Because my brother had to work, we did our Easter activities fairly early, so we got up and raided our Easter baskets (even at 27 years old, I still look forward to the treats the Easter Bunny brings me), then had our traditional egg hunt, organized by my father, who somehow manages to get better at hiding eggs each year. My brother left for work, my family went to church, and I laid down to get another two hours of sleep, before we started working on getting food ready for the big Easter gathering my parents were hosting that afternoon. I made deviled eggs (I don't like to brag, but I make a pretty mean deviled egg) and we had delicious focaccia bread from Katrabbit's oven, and when everyone came over the spread was once again pretty impressive. We ate and chatted, and I introduced Katrabbit to everyone (though this was before the engagement, so our official status was still vague at this point). I took a picture of the partygoers, which I post here for your edification.




I'm not going to try to name everyone (because I'd probably get some of the names wrong, because I'm like that) but astute and sharp-eyed readers (and those who were at the party) will recognize my family, as well as Katrabbit, surrounded by a number of our family friends (and if you look closely, you can even spot the elusive Maggi, who generally avoids being photographed--I consider this a rare opportunity to document that she actually exists, and is not a vampire).

After that weekend, the week itself was a mixture of relaxing around Katrabbit's house (prompted somewhat by poor K.R. picking up some kind of plague, which thankfully I never caught myself, but which kept her out of commission for several days) and running around visiting with friends. We planned on heading out to Katrabbit's grandmother's house down in Pope County, but her illness prevented that from ever coming about; still, I got to see most of my close friends in the area, and even got to run a brief D&D game, which I had been missing terribly since my move. Friday night was a hoot, as Katrabbit and I were joined by my sister Bridget at a karaoke bar, where I got good and lubricated before regaling (well, maybe just galing) the crowd with renditions of "Werewolves of London" and "The Joker". Katrabbit did "I love Rock and Roll", and Bridget broke her karaoke cherry with the same song that broke mine: Joplin's "Take Another Piece Of My Heart". Other songs were performed as well, but by that point most of the evening was reduced to a blur; I had an excellent time, and I remember returning home to Katrabbit's place and listening to the B-52's "Love Shack", which we had planned on doing as a duet but had been prevented by the closing of the bar.

With Friday done, that weekend we headed first to my parents' house for a big family dinner (featuring my mother's exquisite corned beef, as well as her equally fantastic French silk pie) which happened to be the site for my proposal. I'll leave the story of the proposal itself untold, to preserve something of its mystery, but rest assured it was a moment I expect to remember. My family was wonderfully supportive, and accepted Katrabbit into their midst with warm welcomes, which I greatly appreciated. I bestowed upon my beloved Katrabbit the ring that I had had designed for her by a smith out in Berkeley, and while I unfortunately neglected to get any pictures of it, I can assure you that it's a sight to behold. Hopefully I'll have pictures to show you all before too long.

The next day, we got up early enough (though just barely) to make it to a service at the Unitarian Fellowship of Carbondale, where my godson Brenden Douglas Gallegly was having his dedication ceremony. I spoke a few words, as did my sister, and I took an opportunity during the service to announce my engagement to the gathering. I suspect that this will guarantee that the news will reach every corner of the town before too long, if it hasn't already.

After a farewell lunch, Katrabbit took me back to the airport in St. Louis that afternoon, where we had a tearful parting. I know it's a terrible cliche, but it is amazingly hard to leave the one you love behind to fly back to a place where you have few friends and little family; it's equally hard, or harder, to be the one left behind. But plans are in the works now that may, conceivably, eliminate that necessity; I don't want to get ahead of myself, but stay tuned for developments.

Unfortunately, I don't have any plans to return to my hometown again until my sister's wedding in October, but Katrabbit will be coming out to see me in early July, and there's always the possibility of an impromptu trip made at the last minute, should an opportunity arise. In the meantime, I'll console myself with the loveliness of the Bay Area and the knowledge that my Katrabbit will always be there when I need her, no matter the distance that separates us.

May you, dear readers, always know that there is someone there for you when you are in need. For now, I close, with the promise that I will be here to entertain you again, once something interesting happens. (And if nothing interesting happens, I'll make something up.) Until then, dear ones.

(This post is a copy of the text of a mass e-mail that I recently sent out to everyone in my address book. If you didn't receive it, and you feel that you should have, please let me know, and I'll add your e-mail address to my address book. Further: I've just been informed that I included the wrong date in my original message; it should have read March 29, 2008, not May 29. Uh...oops.)

By this time, some of you will already have heard this news. Others may not have heard, but have had some inkling that news of this sort was on the way; still others will not have had any idea that this was in the works, and to them I suspect it will come as something of a shock. But, be that as it may, the facts stand, and are entirely true, to the best of my knowledge.

The story, in its most brief and proper form, is as follows:

On Saturday, March 29, 2008, I, Jason Michael Shepherd, 27, currently of Oakland, California, became engaged to Susan Katheryn Harrocks, 25, currently of Murphysboro, Illinois.

And there you have it.

Now, many of you--particularly those of you who haven't heard from me in some time--will probably find that this announcement raises a few pressing questions. For instance: who the hell is Susan Harrocks, and why is Jason planning to marry her? When is this theoretical "wedding" supposed to take place, and where? Who's going to pay for all this? Is Jason really getting married--I mean, REALLY? THAT Jason? REALLY???

First of all: yes, THIS Jason, yes, REALLY. Second: I realize that this may be, to put it mildly, unexpected. To be honest, I hadn't been planning on getting either engaged or married any time soon, or, at least, I didn't have any specific plans up until a few months ago. But sometimes things have a way of running off with you, I guess, and in this instance the "thing" is Susie (as she prefers to be called), and the "you" is...uh...me. My heart, perhaps. That part of me which makes decisions that affect my future. That part of me which, for the first time in quite a while, knows what it wants in this world, and is willing to do whatever it takes to get it. Susie has that part, now. She is what I want, most of all things in this world. And the future I make now is no longer for myself, but for us, together.

I know there are still a great many questions I haven't answered (if, indeed, I've actually answered any) but those answers, I hope and expect, will come with time. In practical terms, this "wedding" I speak so abstractly of can't reasonably take place before I graduate, in August 2009, so it will therefore have to take place some time after. This gives us about a year and a half to plan, during which time most (if not all--or some, if not most) of the details will work themselves out somehow. Rest assured that details will be forthcoming.

In the meantime, I expect that some of you may want to contact me, with questions or congratulations (or expressions of disbelief or accusations of madness--note that I carefully avoided sending this message out on April 1st, though I easily could have, and wouldn't that have been a grand joke?) and I welcome this, but I caution that I have relatively little time to spend on the phone lately (which is why I made this announcement in this manner, rather than trying to call everyone, and I hope that no one feels slighted in this regard--it was simply a practical necessity). As such, I'll do my best to respond to any calls or messages in a timely manner, but I unfortunately can't promise too much in that regard. The best (if somewhat impersonal) way to contact me remains simply to e-mail me, and as time wears on I'll do my best to call or visit anyone who lets me know they would like me to do so.

(On the other hand, if anyone cares to lavish me with extravagant gifts--such as a pony--please feel free to drop them off at my home in Oakland at any time of the day or night. We must be accommodating, now, mustn't we.)

Finally, I hope this news finds everyone well, and that my joy at making this announcement might be shared in some small part by those receiving it. The fact is that I would never have reached this point in my life without the contributions made by each and every one of you to my own continued well-being, and I owe you all a vast debt of gratitude that my thanks is entirely insufficient to repay. Indeed, though I may sadly never be able to pay back what I owe all those who have helped and guided me throughout my life up to this point, at the least I can offer as reassurance the knowledge that your kindness and love will be carried through into the relationship I am about to embark upon, and that it will live on in perpetuity through the love that I will share with my own budding family. Thank you all, so much. I am happier now than I have ever been before, and the future laid out before my eyes is one of incomparable beauty. Like the man said, that is all ye know on Earth, and all ye need to know.

I can live with that.

Take care, all of you, my dearest ones. There's a great deal to look forward to, and I can't wait to share it with everyone. You'll be hearing from me soon, as events develop.

Until then, I remain,

Forever,

Jason Shepherd

(Click on the pictures below to see the whole image--for some reason they don't show up in their entirety in the thumbnails.)

So, to keep a promise that I made many, many months ago, I finally got off my duff (now that the weather is finally nice enough, and it's light out in the evenings) and took a brief tour around Berkeley, to photograph some of the major landmarks that define my current living environment. Well, some are landmarks; others are just funny things I thought I'd take pictures of. Which is which? You decide! (Actually, I'll probably just tell you. I know, I never let you have any fun at all. Suck it up.)

Let's start out with what is hands down the most important feature of Berkeley's many cultural and artistic offerings:




(Oh, come on, like you didn't see that one coming.) Yes, it's Comic Relief, Berkeley's #1 spot for graphical literature of all stripes, and (obviously) my favorite spot outside of my bedroom. Seriously, it's a great store by any measure, on par with Boston's Million Year Picnic.

Conveniently located just a doorway or two down from Comic Relief is one of Berkeley's other really cool features:




Yes, it's The Other Change of Hobbit, perhaps the world's most famous science-fiction bookstore (which is kind of like being the world's most talented gum-chewer, or something, but still). I don't spend nearly as much time in there as I ought, but with Comic Relief just two doors down, frankly it's hard for me to remember that there are other stores.

Now, moving from Shattuck Avenue eastwards to the picturesque campus of UC Berkeley, my workplace and, actually, kind of a cool place to be, as these following pictures will hopefully show.




Here we see the terrifying edifice of Berkeley's (massive, fearsome) Valley Life Sciences building. Pictures do not necessarily do justice to just how big and frightening this building is--it was the largest single-subject academic building in the US, until Harvard built a bigger one (screw you, East Coast). Note the bovine skulls adorning the tops of the columns. Can you imagine going into this building every day of your undergraduate career? Like entering some kind of ancient Temple of Anubis, going to have your soul judged for the afterlife. Brrr.

Speaking of hugeness, check out another of UC Berkeley's larger-than-life offerings:




It's Doe Memorial Library, a gigantic airplane hangar of a building that houses a fraction of UC Berkeley's literary holdings. But don't let the size of the building fool you--the collection itself is far, far larger (!). Where is the rest of it housed? In the unimaginably vast Main Stacks, which are located under the ground (beneath my feet as I stood to take this picture, in fact), and which occupy a space equivalent to about three football fields (!!). I hear they lose at least three freshman a year to the packs of starving wild dogs that roam those lightless halls.

Moving from big to tall, take a look here at a landmark that can be seen from just about anywhere in town:







Sather Tower, otherwise known as The Campanile. It's something like the third tallest free-standing belltower in the world (after the one in the Plaza San Marco in Venice, which I posted pictures of here on this very blog, once upon a time), with a 61-bell carillon that plays concerts three times a day. You can go up to the tower, but I haven't done it yet, mainly because I don't want to go by myself and each time I've had the chance to take someone, it hasn't happened for some reason. But I'll get up there, have no fear. Just look at it--how could you not want to go up there? Also, due to its incredibly sturdy construction, it's rumored to be the most earthquake-resistant building on campus. Wouldn't think it to look at it, would you?

On the steps leading to the Campanile, facing east, you get this lovely view:




What makes this view so nice? Well (since, you know, you asked) it's the fact that the view itself is a nationally protected landmark--it's illegal to build any structure that would obscure this particular sightline. I find that pretty damn cool. That water in the background is, of course, San Francisco Bay, and if you squint you can see the Golden Gate Bridge smack in the middle of it.

WARNING: IF YOU GET THE FOLLOWING JOKE, IT MEANS YOU ARE A NERD--




Like a phoenix from the ashes, the Jean Gray Hargrove Music Library will rise again!




Enough fun stuff, let's take a look at where the work gets done--specifically my workplace, Boalt Hall. Well, technically I don't work in this building, exactly; I work in the North Addition, which is...uh...an addition, slightly to the North. Guess they ran out of interesting names after Campanile. Anyway, it's not a bad place to work, and this cool plaza-type area is right out front, so I don't complain. (Not where anyone can hear me, anyway.)







One more major landmark of campus: here we see Sproul Plaza, home of the Free Speech Movement of the 1960's. In 1964 ten thousand protesters crammed themselves into this space to protest the arrest of more than seven hundred students who had occupied the campus administrative building (the largest mass arrest in California history). The second picture is a closeup of Sather Gate, which was once the southernmost edge of campus (obviously it has spread out a bit since then). Through the gate is Sather Bridge, which crosses Strawberry Creek, the lovely little creek that runs through most of campus.

Finally, we close with some shots of another notorious Berkeley spot:




Telegraph Avenue, where there are things. Many of them. Seriously, there's a lot of stuff on this street, including (on the weekends) the booths of local artists and vendors, as you can barely see here. Handmade jewelry and other pieces of art can be picked up for ridiculously low prices, and any number of noteworthy characters can be spotted roaming around (I could have posted a pic of the guy who always wears a pink tutu, but I thought that might be disrespectful).




The same street, facing the other direction.

And, to close, I'll leave you with this:




Yes, that's actually the name of the restaurant.

No, I haven't eaten there.

I honestly don't have the nerve.

Stay beautiful, dear ones.