part 1a – since my last (real) update, I’ve been to:
san franciso, santa cruz, san diego, santa barbara, monterey, san simeon, tijuana, vancouver, vancouver again, not vancouver tonight, new york, oahu, hilo, san antonio, austin, edinburgh, london, falmouth (and stonehenge!), the DMT moon, and probably others I’ve forgotten.
part 1b – since my last (real) update, I’ve been up to:
working a lot. continuation of the working hard. that’s going wellish. I keep seeing light at the end of the tunnel. it keeps getting closer. but I keep not being there. as such, I keep working.
I’ve spun a lot of fire, taken something resembling a hiatus from photography, reuptaken photography, gotten frostbite (in los angeles, in july), met the coolest people who do the coolest stuff from all over the (above parts of the) world.
unfortunately, the "he met the girl" thing didn’t work out and I’m now single. submit your cv and application here
part 2 – the tale of my recent travels in the british isles
the impetus behind my voyage across the pond to the archipelago with no name was uberpoi.
uberpoi was a poi intensive gathering/workshop/convention/party in edinburgh. an impressive percentage of the poi’s poi of the entire world was in the hizouse. on top of my time in edinburgh revolving around uberpoi, I stuck around for the subsequent though unrelated campout firespin gathering in falmouth. and the time in between – including a bit of time in london.
the journey starts with a boundless protracted dilatory prolix non stop flight from los angeles to london. felt like the longest flight to which I’ve ever been a party. interestingly, the sun was going down when I left LA. the sun was also going down when I arrived in london. my instructions, upon landing in the land of the setting sun, are to call to find out where I’m going to be living for the next bunch of days. I have no idea where or with whom or how I’m to get there.
I arrive and call. the guy, who is not the guy in whose flat I’m staying, tells me to hop on a bus and go to a nearby bus/train station. I feel like I’m going to a rave and this is the first map point. along the way, I find las-vegas-carpet plaid seats on the bus, a cool newspaper and the first of many impressive bits of architecture.
I mistakently thought I was to be picked up at said station. to identify myself, I wandered about with my plaid hat and cool fiery newspaper headline prominently displayed. the first of MANY pairs of drunk guys staggering with arms thrown round each others’ necks in displays of camaraderie and balance accost me and accuse me of being a pinko subway bomber sympathizer. I mean, why else would I display a newspaper with a photo of fire and a headline about children causing too much arson? for the first, but far from last time this trip, I excused myself by saying "I’m not from this country." instead of being picked up, I called and got new directions to the second map point.
I’m on the new bus, following directions, walking and dragging my bag. quite a bit of time passes in this fashion before despair sets in. I stop to ask directions of the patron of a bakery who, thankfully, knows where I’m going. he tells me, in his mostly intelligible brogue + indian accent that I’m way off the mark. like way way. I hail a cab in defeat.
I arrive where I’m aiming round about midnight. I read the intercom thingy - the names for which I’m searching ain’t there. after some deliberation about the rudeness of rousting strangers at this hour, I pressed a random button, they let me in without any sort of plausible explanation. I did manage to squeeze in that I’m not from this country, however. I went up to the flat that I guessed was my peeps and knocked. and again. and again. and they let me in! they didn’t know to whom I’d spoken via intercom, but it wasn’t anybody in this flat. I was just in time to meet the folks and have supper. it was at this time that I started pushing tiger balm for people’s nipples. the tiger balm was the gig through which I rocked the complete congregation’s collective casbah (dude – that interest, which teaa and I started is up to 75 people!).
my ankle, which is mildly sprained and more than mildly frostbitten, is beginning to concern me. but I ain't got time to bleed... before everybody else wakes up, I limp out to get croissants, pains au chocolat, and a coffee maker to replace the lamentable shot-size coffee maker with which they were trying to make coffee for a kitchenfull of caffeine-a-holics. and take some pictures of my new digs.
technically, that last picture is when I was out shopping for croissants, not my residence. but it’s totally haggis (even if you don’t read my links, read this one if you’re unfamiliar with haggis).
upon my return, the girl with whom I’m staying, who happens to be a nurse, volunteers to check out the scary ankle. while trying to not sound too alarmed, she scurries me to the doctor…
an interesting note regarding the second picture is that that’s my face and that’s my leg and that my leg was, indeed, attached to my body during this photo.
the third photo gives you an idea just how red my foot is. the doctor bic’d a line around the infection and bid me come back if it doesn’t retreat. the weird speed bump in my foot illustrates how swollen it is. I depressed my puffy ankle and left that crazy indentation. all this led me to ruminate on how grateful I am for modern medicine. were it not for the antibiotics the nice doctor gave me, likely I’d have had to choose between dying and amputation somewhere south of my knee. which led me to visualize biting a bullet while this heretofore nice scottish doctor cries freedom and lops off my second favorite foot.
after breakfast, we head over to meet up with other people. we’re intercepted by other people in our uberpoi crew before we reach our destination. this town is crawling with us! we hang out for a bit and then head out to a nice park for a largeish group spin. in the park, I’m flabbergasted not just by the level of poi expertise, but the quantity of poi expertise. the least skilled spinners would have been a top flight rock stars at poi gatherings to which I’m accustomed. on the other hand, the predominant uk style is closer akin to juggling than dance. on the other hand, I've been told that my style is closer akin to drunk than dance.
from the meadow, some folks are off to pub, but new best friend drew and prior friends nick and andrea are off to find indian take-away. we walk and walk and walk some more. after getting crappy directions from loads of drunk people, we finally settle on nepalese sit-down dinner. walking over the next day or two, I found indian take-away about 90 seconds from where we started, but in the opposite direction from the unfortunate direction we chose. none of us are from that country.
the last picture above is what you get when you dine with the sorts of people with whom I
there’s some after dinner chilling and talking and spinning and hangings out. around 2am, I meander back to my own flat. people are still up, but leaving and/or going to sleep. a fine end to day two.
tomorrow commences the uberpoi workshops.