Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Lately in Virginia (Why I Haven't Been Blogging)


Thank you to all of those who have been worried about me while not blogging. I know that I have told many of you that if I stopped blogging I was probably dead. But a lot has been going on with this move, and I haven't been able to get a free moment. Right now is not a free moment.


I have started work as the publications coordinator at the American Shakespeare Center in Staunton, Virginia. I work with designers and printers and Shakespeareans to get the print publications to where we need them to be for the theater. The theater is the beautiful Blackfriars Playhouse. It's a recreation of Shakespeare's only indoor theater, and I've always loved the way productions are handled here. The lights never go out, so the actors can see you as well as you can see them. It creates a dynamic, interactive experience. I've been working on the Myspace page and would love for all of you to be my friend there or to suggest anything. I don't really Myspace very often, so that part is a bit of a learning process for me. For example, I have been trying to figure out how to make the blue bg on the top menu transparent, but it won't work.

I've been working on the Poetry Library of Virginia, too. I have a lot of books in it so far, and I've been working on the website. We've already booked out first readers, who will be Mike Young and Jack Christian; I think I might read that night, as well.

I am also still writing a great deal on a freelance basis for webecoist.com. It's good green-minded work, so I like that.

I still haven't made any friends here, but everyone's friendly. Drinking tea and working, giong to little used bookshops and reading. I saw Quantum of Solace at midnight, and I liked it very much. Miss my peeps in California.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Broken Redneck Pride

In a cute town, on a cute street, is a cute tea shop with cute benches outside. My girlfriend owns it. Once a month, she thought it would be fun to have a metal-themed Monday night, "Brewtalitea." Last night was "Brewtalitea."

For some reason, the state of Virginia makes you babysit people who are drinking on patios. That duty fell on me. I went out and watched them drink. Some people talked to me, some people argued with me about California, and some people just looked at me.

Metal Monday was really fun. The bands who played were Rebirthing Candace and Iodic. They were good, and everyone was happy. There was one fat guy in an orange shirt, who seemed to be a little too into the music, but other than that, "Brewtalitea" seemed to be a success.

When the second band stopped, people started leaving, and some gathered outside to finish their beers. I went back out into the cold Autumn air of Virginia to babysit them as the drank.

The fat guy in the orange shirt, Matt, yelled a lot. Neighbors peeked out their windows. He screamed "fuck you" at them" Fat Matt had a very offensive mouth. But I'm not a bouncer, so I didn't say anything. I just waited for everyone to leave the patio.

More people left, but fat redneck Matt stayed with his big, hideous mouth. Then, for no apparent reason, he reached down, picked up one of the benches, and threw it over.

Incredulous, I approached, "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Hey I don't mean no disrespect."

"You've been raising your voice, and now you're breaking things; you're disrespecting the establishment; you're disrespecting our neighbors."

One of his friends stepped close to me while White Trash Matt picked up the bench. He said,
"We don't mean no disrespect!"

I asked him not to raise his voice at me.

Fat Matt must have misheard me and turned around, yelling "You BETTER not raise your voice at me. Fuck YOU!"

Softly, I said, "You need to get out of here."

Unctuous Matt said something about respect and put his hand out to shake mine. I told him he should take his respect and his hand and please leave. Then he said if he ever saw me, he would kill me. I started laughing because I laugh when idiots say idiotic things. That freaked him the hell out. He started screaming and yelling, calling me a fagot and saying he would stick his dick in my ass.

Pungent Matt went to the parking area behind the shop. His friends stayed out front in their car. There were no more people on the patio, so I went inside. Moments later, a woman came in and said that a fat, disgusting-looking slob wearing an orange shirt was in back screaming offensive things. One minute later, one of the band members came in and said that a greasy man wearing an orange shirt broke two windows.

I felt like it was my fault. But what should I have done? I didn't curse, and I didn't raise my voice at the pathetic man. I didn't mean to break his pride, and I didn't mean to mess up his night. But you can't just come to the Darjeeling Cafe and and start breaking shit and expect me to just stand there and not say anything.

I've been feeling guilty about it, like it was my fault, but I think someone like redneck Matt would have broken something eventually anyway. People like him need to be loud and destructive in order to get noticed and feel good about themselves. I kind of feel sorry for him. Kinda. But he was bent on breaking something. If not the bench or the windows, something; if not last night, some night.

Last night was the last Metal Monday Brewtalitea at the Darjeeling Cafe. That's too bad, but necessary. It only takes one redneck to ruin a night.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Staunton, VA

The Virginia Adventure Begins

Whew!
As election night rounded 8PM PST, I cheered because Virginia went Blue. The race was called shortly thereafter.
McCain supporters booed and shouted things that were probably offensive, but I couldn't understand them. Palin looked teary-eyed, but still soulless.

Then Barack Obama accepted. Goosebumps raised on my skin. I don't always realize when I am witnessing something that history will remember. It's hard to tell right away when the world changes. This time I saw it fairly quickly, and that's a great feeling.

I took a picture of myself the next day. I had a stye in my eye, and I thought it looked gross.

Two days later, I got on a plane and moved to Virginia.
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I've only been here one full day. So far everyone's really nice to me.
My girlfriend owns a teashop called Darjeeling Cafe, and I can sit here and work and look at the ancient cemetery across the street and listen to the occasional bells from the churches. The Darjeeling Cafe is on West Beverly St., which is the main thoroughfare in Staunton.
Today there was a veterans' parade on West Beverly. Vehicles and people dressed in all sorts of military gear from different eras. Boyscouts and Girlscouts and Cubscouts and Brownies all marched in the parade, too.

There were bands and things like that. Patriotic songs.

There was also a veterans' MC.
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This new adventure. It's bound to be interesting. I am looking forward to seeing what this blog will turn into.

Monday, November 3, 2008

Some Political Shit for Politics Day if Anyone still Cares


I have been trying to write a post, to write anything, but all I can think about is the political race.

If proposition 8 passes, a great deal of my faith in America and California will be lost forever.
I can't believe it's even on the ballot. Human beings have guaranteed equal rights in this country. Anything that threatens that is a hideous travesty of what we claim to still care about. I don't hate religion, but I will start if religious zealots win here.

And how many times do we have to vote down propositions about parental consent for abortions? Every two years, the religious freaks in our midst roll out another proposition about it. But here's the thing: Children need more protection from their parents--not more parental protection. There are a lot more bad parents than bad children. Parents can force their kids to go to their church, they can force them to go to the school they choose, and they can even force them to wear whatever shoes they want, but parents cannot and should never be permitted to have control over a child's body. Any ballot proposition that gives parents legal rights over their children's bodies is akin to legalizing molestation. It's disgusting. We don't let Christian scientists let their kids die because they don't believe in doctors, and Pentacostals like Sarah Palin might think the Holy Spirit will heal her when she's sick, but we won't let her keep Trig from getting the care he needs. Crazy ass parents don't get to harm their children and hide behind religion. Someone should write a proposition that forbids this proposition from ever seeing the light of day again.

The animal rights proposition on the California ballot is a no-brainer. If you insist on eating animals, you should also insist that their lives aren't horrific. Farms have become synonymous with animal cruelty. Just because you eat them does not mean they should be tortured. They say factory farming is important to our economy, and although I disagree, should not they be held to similar standards as other factories at least? I don't think this proposition comes anywhere close to what it needs to be, but it's a good start, and if California can set a nation-wide trend of humane killing conditions, that'd be pretty OK.

I voted a couple weeks ago. I voted for Obama. I think that the next two years will be very hard ones because the economy is seriously in the shit, and artists are often the first to die. Student loans and all of that fun stuff are about to really do a number on me, and there's just not much out there for a wordsmith with too much integrity write forclosure notices. I've also decided to balk the bosom of academia for at least two years if not more. There are just too many sycophants sliming around the halls, and I don't think I have it in me just yet to stomach them. Maybe in two years. And maybe in two years Obama will have gotten us out of this mess.

When the wars start ending, soldiers will be entering colleges. I think that's a very good thing.

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Georgia the French Bulldog

This is a picture of one of the French Bulldogs I'm dog-sitting in southern California. Her name is Georgia, and she's quite old. But she's still cute.

She was born in a litter of just one, which is weird, and she had lots of medical difficulties the whole time she was a puppy. She's stayed rather small; you can that my shoe in the background is almost as big as she is. Now she's ten or so, and Frenchies only live to 11 or 12.

Georgia loves people but hates other dogs. Even Ruby, the dog she lives with, her half-sister, has to be kept out of eyesight of Georgia, or she'll go crazy. Georgia's pretty tough.