pleased precariously

Sat through a pretty decent movie last night. Scarlett Johansson was as luminous as always. What is it about her that makes her so compelling? Every time she came on the screen I had to remember to breathe. Also more impressed with Topher Grace the more I see of him.

Another movie with a substantial helping of Iron and Wine and The Shins in the soundtrack, which should make them even more popular. Deservedly so, of course, and I’m happy for them. I just wish it didn’t mean having to get up at 10am on a sunday to buy tickets to their next shows the second they go on sale.

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At home now, listening to the song Sam played at Slim’s last month. He said he’d written it for a film, but they’d decided not to use it. At least, I think it’s the same song. To those that were at the show, does it sound like it? Going through a forgetful phase again and don’t trust my memory (The song is The Trapeze Swinger, if you’re curious).

On the way home I sat through an entire green light. No one behind me. I just didn’t notice the light had changed. Head is so, so foggy today. It started last night while we were talking — all the closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose. I said I was tired (and I was), but it was something more. The claritin from yesterday’s dustbowl-like apartment cleaning had finally worn off.

I cooked omelettes for brunch today. Spinach, mushrooms, orange bell pepper, and cheese. All organic. Just like the ones we made in Hawaii.

Hawaii.

Memories of my 4 days there are already fading, but they’re coloring everything I now experience. My time there brought back memories of a time even further in the past. The first thing I noticed after leaving the terminal was that it smelled familiar. The way we left the windows open and the ceiling fan running all night long, and the way the wind sounded as it rustled tree branches and palm fronds as I was waking up in the morning, and the way the humid breeze felt on my skin. So many little things, all familiar and welcoming. I felt at home and completely relaxed within minutes of arriving. Even the torrential downpour that welcomed me to the island and soaked us in the 30 feet from grocery store to truck was comforting.

I turned my laptop on two or three times while I was there, and sat in front of a computer for maybe 30 minutes total. First time in a long time I’ve gone without a computer for so long. It felt great.

Hiked up to Manoa Falls where we took the only photographic evidence of my trip on my phone’s camera.

Me:

Her:

Hiked back down the muddy trail, wiped off my feet, and then we went to a led intermediate series class. The smallest yoga class I’ve been to (6 people, including myself.) Also the first time I’ve been to a class where mats were arranged in a circle with each of us facing inward. Also one of the more advanced classes I’ve been to - I think there were 5 poses where I could get into the full posture unaided. All the rest required modification/props. Many I had never done before. I think 3 of the 6 people practicing were also teachers. Practiced the primary series twice (or was it 3 times?) on the floor of your father’s dining room salsa dancing room. The same room in which the day before he’d shown us some new steps he and a friend had worked out.

Passed a couple of hours walking along Kailua beach, one of the most picturesque beaches I’ve ever seen. And you grew up with it as your back yard. So jealous.

Spent a day driving around Oahu. Up to the north shore. We ate enormous balls of shaved ice with ice cream. We saw sea turtles at a shore break just off the Kam highway, then stopped at Waimea bay beach park for a few minutes, then over to Shark’s Cove and walked out on the sharp lava rocks to near where the waves were crashing and throwing spray into the air. We saw a crab in a tide pool before the powerful waves scared you and we walked back in. We drove up a little further along the shore and got out at Ehukai Beach park and walked along the beach, from Pipeline, past Sunset, all the way to Rocky Point, looking for surfers (we only saw one, unfortunately. the surf was not cooperating with our travel plans.) We sat on some rocks and you napped. Then back down along the eastern shore, past the sugar mill ruins, past innumerable beautiful beaches and astonishing mountains. Past sandy beach at dusk, where we saw quite a few surfers, and around the south-eastern tip and back home in time for dinner.

I missed my flight back due to traffic and a missed freeway exit, which was infuriating in the extreme (when dealing with the people behind the ATA counter), but which quickly became wonderful when it hit me that “not getting back to sf” also meant “getting to stay in Hawaii an extra day”.

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I want to be back there. Back in the sun and warmth, back in the freezing water at alo moana beach park. Back hanging out with all the nice people we saw while I was there. Sometime soon I hope.

At the same time it’s good to be home. The rocket series, Moki’s and Maggie Mudd’s, Oliver’s 30th birthday surprise party, Chow, bad movies, chocolate, freezing apartments, a cozy kitty, Peet’s, and sleeping late.

(Leila, hamming it up at Moki’s)

Sorry I’ve been so out of blog-space lately. Between the time in Hawaii that was much better spent away from a computer and my head space lately (which is more focused on experiencing rather than reporting, it seems), there hasn’t really been much to say. And I’m loathe to start in on the “i had eggs for breakfast and a good cup of coffee” posts again. As Murakami says (in the wonderful book I’m reading at the moment), “As with marathon runs and lengths of toilet paper, there had to be standards to measure up to.”

after all that build up, I called Roberto. And he hung up on me.

Doesn’t anyone love me? I think I’ll go cry now.

Kirsten was telling us the physiological reason that “think happy thoughts” is more than just an old adage. The fact that reinforcing certain neural pathways leads to those being preferred over less traveled paths, so people that spend all their time thinking happy thoughts have an easier time of it. This is also one of the reasons chronically depressed people have such a hard time getting happy. The brain gets into a habit, and it’s hard to shake it.

Savonn told me yesterday that Jeff and I were doing synchronized sun salutations in class the other night. He was right next to me, but I didn’t even notice that we were in sync. I thought of making a comment about the menstrual cycles of women in close proximity to one another, or about how clocks hanging on the same wall eventually synchronize the swings of their pendulums.

Drove through the mission to get my lunch today on autopilot. Realized where I was at around 25th street. Just after I passed a car covered in Legos. Drove past your house and back the 6 blocks to 20th street. Seems driving routes mimic neural pathways.

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Woke up this morning to the shattering of that blissful illusion: that “someday we will all die” doesn’t actually means “someday I will die.” Not sure what happened in my sleep to push that to the forefront, but it wasn’t a pleasant way to wake up. The all too familiar draining feeling in my shoulders and cheeks and forehead, the feeling of blood retreating.

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There are two images that stick with me these days. I think about them all the time.

One is a dream I had recently.

The other is a passage from Winterson, probably from this book. Amusing aside: I went to amazon.com to find that book url, and this book was on the top of the page, under “Featured Recommendations.”

Anyway, about the Winterson passage. There is a town where every word that is uttered takes on a physical form and floats up into the sky, where it sticks to other words and coats the underside of the clouds, painting the sky like a coal town. The more emotional the utterance, the larger the physical manifestation. This pollution is not just ugly but also dangerous: A pair of lovers quickly smother themselves when they forget to leave a window open to let their cries of passion escape. There are people in this town whose job it is to climb into balloons and float up into the clouds and scrub them clean.

I desperately want to see the latter image actualized in some form.. painting, drawings, or film. When I think about what I’d want to see, I see London as it was in Mary Poppins - just the tops of the buildings visible. I see the armies of chimney sweeps, their faces black not with soot but with speech, rising up from the city in the baskets of their balloons as great plumes of words are carried aloft alongside the smoke from the city’s furnaces and fireplaces.

Alex and I played a game of Stratego on Chris Yeh’s 15+ year game before dinner on New Year’s eve, as the storm quietly (but quickly) deposited 6 or so inches of new snow on everything in the Sierra.