More on Thailand, but from Laos...

Okay, I'm in Luang Prabang, Laos, now, but I need to go back a bit and fill in some blanks. Chiang Mai is a wonderful city, pretty laid back, plenty of comforts but also lots for the do-it-yourselfer.

I met my friend Jeremy's cousin Josh, who has been living there for 2 1/2 years, and speaks excellent Thai, a strange and difficult language. Joshua is a vegetarian, and took me to a great restaurant that serves fresh, healthy foods. Then he took me to the mountain overlooking the city on his motorbike, where we hiked along a trail to a lovely waterfall. Then back into town for more food and a casual tennis practice. I haven't played in years, but my serve is still pretty good. My aim, however, has much to account for. That evening, we went to a Thai club which I have sworn to keep secret, because Josh doesn't want it becoming touristy, and we know how much influence this blog has.

Thanks, Josh, for your excellent hospitality, warmth, and generosity.

The next evening, I met my tour group: Rich and Carol from California; John from Colorado; Lori, a friend of John's in Colorado, but now living in Sudan working for the US government; Jonathan from Seattle; and Bob, my roommate, from New York. We have a lovely Thai dinner, then gather in the morning for a busride north, to Chiang Khong, on the bank of the Mekong, across the river from Laos.

We stayed at a beautiful guesthouse, The Boathouse, overlooking the river, and in the morning, we boarded a longboat and crossed into the Lao People's Democratic Republic.

Lots of bumpy, dusty, highway-still-under-construction later, we arrive in Luang Nam Tha, where we get just enough food and rest to prepare us for a 7 hour trek (!) through rather intense hills, and dinner, sleep, and a 58 km bike ride (!) of which I completed about 45. There was one section of about 13 km that was almost constant ascent, for which Lori and I gratefully made use of our vehicle support. At the top of the climb, we got back on the bikes for a lovely downhill and flat approach into our next city, (which I'll have to get the name of at a later time, since my memory is unable to grasp at the moment.)

Next day, another hard trek, this one about 9 km, through the hills and 5 Akha villages. The Akha are the native hill dwellers of this land, and have managed to maintain much of their village lifestyle, despite many changes in the country and economy over the years. We stayed overnight in one village, in an ecolodge built in the Lao style, on stilts and rattan roofed. We were fed dinner and entertained by villagers with music, dance, and laolao, the homemade rice whiskey they brew. Not bad, but man was I sick the next day of travel.

Now I am in Luang Prabang, the "Jewel of Indochina", basking in the comforts of our swanky hotel, in a former Royal Palace. It is named for a statue of the buddha which was presented to the city as a gift. It is said to have been cast in Sri Lanka in the 1st century AD. Today, we saw the Prabang when we visited the National Museum, and climbed to a beautiful stupa built high on a rock in the center of the city with astounding views of the mountains and rivers which surround us. My appetite has returned, and my sense of humor, too.

Thank you, Luang Prabang.

ThaiThaiLandLand

I've spent the last 24+ hours in constant air-travel or airport confinement. I'm finally in Chiang Mai, Thailand, but not much to report yet. I pretty much slept all day. I've made my first purchase (water and batteries, mostly to get smaller bills) at a 7-11. Took a long walk around the moat that surrounds the old city. Many smells to consider. Buddhist temples and spirit houses adorn the city streets. I look forward to more earnest exploration. Also, I need to learn how to use my new digital camera. Is there some reason the alkaline AA batteries that came with it ran out of juice within minutes of me turning it on for the first time to check out the features? Here's hoping they were bum batteries, and not that I will only get 4 minutes and 37 seconds of use out of each pair I buy.

Second Life Explorations...

A few weeks ago, I got an email from my ex-bf Matt, who moved to Japan to teach english 6 years ago. I had shown him some drawings I'd finished and he told me I should try to sell some art in Second Life. I had not heard of Second Life. Was it a gallery? Some hep Tokyo Pop Art store? I Googled it, went to the website, and discovered what thousands of curious World Citizens are discovering.

I downloaded the software, opened it up, clicked "connect" and I was born. Again. But with a lot more control this time.

It looks like a game. I'm sort of a cartoony looking character, called an avatar, that represents me in the world. I have a name: Ko Kalok. I can walk around with the arrow keys on my keyboard. I can see other people's avatars, whose names float over their heads. I can chat with them by typing and reading messages. When I type on my computer, my avatar types in the air, signaling that I am about to say something to anyone watching.

I was led through a series of sign-led tutorials on how to edit my avatar's appearance, my profile, how to move around, interact with objects in world, and how to fly. I can fly! As I explore, using a search window, a map, and the power to teleport, I discover that everything in Second Life is built by users. Premium members have the ability to own land and can build on it, using Second Life's own tools and scripting language, conduct business, create spectacles. It is presently about the size of the city of Boston, with over 250,000 active profiles, and 10-15,000 users online at any given time.

Since those first tentative hours, I have climbed a pyramid, on whose summit I met a man with a '69 Mustang. He offered me a ride and when I climbed in, he flew that car into the virtual sky and I was strangely exhilerated. It lasted but a few minutes, but it was my most romantic date in years. And I'm pretty sure the guy was straight. I have visited a secret underwater labratory, being constructed by some guy who seems to enjoy inviting me to see his latest creation any time he sees me online. I have attended classes on Hero Mythology and Wicca 101.

I have found an art gallery (3rd floor, Kiva Island Art Gallery and Library, y'all) whose curator liked my work and gave me wall space to hang as much as I care to for free! He even took the time to show me how to create a canvas on a wall, import my art as a texture, and set a price and limit what a buyer can do with it. I sold a drawing for $150! (er, that's Linden dollars, the currency in Second Life. The present exchange rate is around $257 Linden dollars/per $1 US.)

I'm not recommending Second Life to people with a full and gratifying first life. I realize every minute I'm in there, I'm not here, feeding or clothing destitute humanity, re-planting rainforests, or spaying a pet. But somehow, I find myself in the privileged position of living in a relatively safe sector of the planet with a computer, a cable internet connection, and occassional free time. I'm having a wonderful time watching what we do when we are offered the opportunity to build a new world.

The House on the Corner

This house doesn't live here anymore.

It was built in the late 1800s, and sat on the corner next to my apartment building (which you can see to the right) in the early part of the twentieth century. It burned to the ground, by arson, sometime in the 1960s.

Not visible in this photo, directly behind my apartment building, is this home's carriage house, which still exists and is now owned by me. I've been told by the city that it shouldn't exist. According to building codes, when a structure is destroyed or demolished, its outbuildings must also be removed. I'm not sure exactly why that didn't happen in this case, but I'm glad it didn't.

I got this photo from city hall, while doing some research on my building's history. I'm glad someone was paying attention. I've lived here 10 years, and this is the first time I've seen an image of the home that used to live on the corner.

gorgeous synchronicity....

I've read recently that synchronicity is the world asking you to pay attention. Or some aspect of yourself asking you to pay attention. I've looked for meanings in them, but there don't seem to be any, beyond "isn't it cool what life can do?"

So last month, my checkbook didn't balance. It was exactly $292 different than my bank statement. I had an odd sense of familiarity with the number, as if it were a number that had popped up more than once in my bookkeeping over the years, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I went through all the numbers again, and couldn't locate the culprit. I was getting frustrated, so I put it away, hoping I'd figure it out this month.

This month, of course, the glitch was still there, but I had an idea. I divided $292 by 2 and got $146. AHA! $146 is the monthly amount I pay on a long-term debt, and that explained the familiarity, as I have made an occassional double payment over the years. I scoured the previous month's register, and sure enough, there was an extra entry in my checkbook for the payment, and I'd accidentally checked them both without noticing.

But there was only 1 extra payment. How was this possible? I was still $146 off! I went over it and over it in my head and decided I had to re-do all the math for the month and see where it went awry. I found it almost by chance. It wasn't an addition problem so much as a copying error. There, near the end of the month, I had a line item that was $16.22, but in the totals column, where I do the math, I had misprinted it as 162.22.

The difference is $146.00!

I'm not sure why, but this weird little coincidence makes my heart beat quickly and excites me. If it is the world: "Hello!" If it is my subconscious: "Hello!" If it is some gorgeous choreography, conspired by the two of you: "Hello! Hello!"

In any case:

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Lamont Speaks:

So, way back in the 20th Century, I was laid up for about a year with a serious case of bicepital tendonitis in which I felt like doing very little. I wouldn't work, I rarely played. I went to the doctor, I went to therapy (physical and psychological), I went to movies, and I started drawing.

Luckily, the tendonitis was in my right arm, and I am left-handed, so drawing was something I found I could do fairly comfortably. I had drawn a lot as a kid, especially in jr. high and high school, but it hadn't been a priority for me for some time. At first, I was daunted by the size and space of a blank page. It seemed too big. Too much potential. My drawings in school had mainly been in the margins of textbooks during lectures. I had recently seen a painting by a friend of a Mayan stelae, with it's glyphs laid out in an organic grid, and the answer seemed clear.

I drew a tiny frame in the lower right hand corner of a blank page in a notebook. I think I might have drawn a little circle in it. There was room for little else. Then I drew 3 more boxes around the edges of the first and I filled them in. It took me a few days, but I filled the page with little squares, a tiny illustration inhabiting each one. Oh yeah. Lamont. Basically, on just about every page I drew, there'd be moments when a spontaneous drawing wasn't happening, so I had a few stock images: a circle, a cube, a UFO, a little alien guy, that I'd draw to sort of get the juices flowing. The little alien guy was almost a little puppet: a tube with a head on top with a couple of eyes, like a stick figure with a little meat on it's bone. Every time I drew this little guy, the name "Lamont" would pop into my head. Like from out of nowhere. I told a friend this story and she just stated the obvious: "Oh, yeah. That's that little guy's name. That's Lamont."

As I continued drawing, a story emerged: Lamont was a Transdimensional Systems Analyst, a meme-being from out-of-time-and-space. The squares i was drawing were a graphic datastream he recieved and sort of channeled out through my hand for observation, analysis, and system enhancement. A couple of years later, I had filled my first sketchbook, sold my first drawings, published a couple of zines, and was wined and dines by the rich and famous.

So that's the origin of Lamont. His story is ongoing, and the drawings keep coming. More on this, I'm sure.

Hedwing Stirs the Passions - Recommitment to Self/in/World

I saw Hedwig and the Angry Inch live recently here in Kansas City, performed by a local group, and though it was rough, (and I am certain it almost always is), it touched me deeper than any live theater I've seen in many years.

Now, just to start off, I am queer. And really, I mention that to set you up with an "oh, he's gay and loves theater" assumption which I will now quash by saying I generally despise live theater. I loved it as a closeted youth, I must say. My family attended live musical theater all during my younger days. Our parents took us to see The King and I, the Sound of Music, Chicago (this in New York on Broadway in 1976), Finigan's Rainbow, Oliver, Guys and Dolls (these last two I also played oboe in the orchestra for when my high school performed them). We saw many plays, too, and I loved to be transported into the stories, forget myself for a while, stare at others performing.

Then in 1984 / 85, while I was attending my freshman year of college in England at Richmond College in Surrey, my mother took me to a string of theater which ended the magic it had cast for me earlier. Mousetrap, and Little Shop of Horrors, were probably the last two theater experiences I actually enjoyed, but Pump Boys and Dinettes, and finally Cats put the lid on the coffin. I was disillussioned, somehow. Suddenly, everything I saw was revealed as trite, manipulative, overplayed, and annoying.

I'll go see an occassional show, if my curiosity is piqued, mainly out of hope that I'll see something good or great or entertaining. And I am occassionally granted the experience.

"Thanatos", at least one of the original productions, I remember seeing it in a groundfloor loft-type room, not a theater at all, back in 1992 or 93 maybe. I enjoyed the story, the writing. The acting was pretty good. The environment was cool.

"Valley of the Dolls". I have a thing for Late Night Theater here in Kansas City. I love the idea. I love the deconstructionist, chaotic, fun-loving attitude that they fill their shows with. But I'm almost always left wishing they'd get a little more serious about it, push it, make it great. I shouldn't complain. We're blessed to have them in our city. The original run of Valley of the Dolls, I think I saw it at the Unicorn back in the late nineties, was, in my opinion, their finest hour. I keep going to see them hoping for that moment again.

So, a few years ago, when Hedwig and the Angry Inch came to town, I saw it and thought it was interesting. I have a memory of Jon Piggy Cupit doing bits from the show as Hedwig after the regular performance, but I'm not really clear how it played out. Anyway, a little later, the film came out, and I noticed the actor who played Hedwig was also the director and writer and had started the whole phenomenon and this was his directorial debut. And it was VERY GOOD. A GREAT film, with great structure, great writing, great music. A few moments that are confusing, but I was very touched.

So, I made a plan to see it live again, just to see. And I did, a couple of years ago, at the Off Broadway Theater, where it seemed to have originated, being perfectly aligned with the old Spirit Festival grounds where Tommy Gnosis might have played when Hedwig opens the rear exit of the theater to blinding light and deafening rock. It was a moment of theater that brought it all back, the idea that theater could be transporting, could rise above it's own theatricality and move something deep inside me. I was thrilled. And this kid, this wonder of a boy who played Hedwig, a kid with a face and a body and a voice and timing, and Holy Shit! Hedwig Lives!

So I bought the DVD, and it's got a great documentary about the building of the show, from Drag Club experiments to Off-Off-Broadway phenomenon to Sundance Film Festival. It filled in all the blanks and left me happy to know the process, the long hard road it took to move my spirit after years of feeling manipulated but unmoved by the theater.

So thank you Hedwig. For reminding me what it feels like.

Ray LaMontagne in my heart...

I've been listening to kexp.org, a Seattle, WA public radio station that gets me through my workday and has rekindled a passion for music I thought I'd lost. Over the last few years, since I discovered their stream, they have introduced me to bands like The Shins, Grandaddy, A. C. Newman, Muse, The Fiery Furnaces, Modest Mouse, the Decembrists, Neko Case, and The Postal Service.

Last week, I bought Trouble, the debut cd by Ray Lamontagne, who I've been hearing for several months on the kexp stream. It's nothing like the indie poprock I've been happily munching on lately. The first time I heard Ray, I thought "what's this doing on KEXP?" It sounded like Tracy Chapman, Jimmy Scott, Joan Armatrading; some mid-sixties folk blues artist with a smoky, androgynous voice, a simple song structure, and some archetypal, unspeakable quality that hit me in the heart. Of course I answered the question immediately: KEXP isn't married to anything but finding great music and sharing it with us!

Listening to Ray's album several times through in my Chrysler Town & Country Minivan this weekend, I have fallen in love and had my heart broken with some regularity. An experiment I try sometimes works particularly well with Ray's music: pretend God is singing this song to me.

Chills, tears, awe, and empathy. Ray LaMontagne, and the inspiring tale of his introduction to his talent, has brought me a range of wonder that doesn't regularly register on my emotional scale. I am grateful. Standout tracks: Trouble. Shelter. Hold You in my Arms. Jolene. Hannah.

A few years ago, I think I might have thought this music was boring. But right here, right now, it seems to be just what I need.

Points or Reference OIKOS

I have some property. A three-story brick Kansas City six-pack, built in 1911, and presently consisting of 4 single-bedroom apartments and one 2-bed/2-bath penthouse. There is a basement with storage units for each apartment and a coin-operated laundry washer and dryer. Behind the building, and the real reason I bought the place, is a late 19th century carriage barn, built for a home which no longer exists, it is now part of my property. The carriage barn is 2-story brick construction, with a steep roof that was originally slate, and which I'd like to replace with slate. It's expensive stuff, but I think it is the right material.

I moved into the apartment building as a tenant in 1995, wishing to live closer to the location where I was hoping JAVAGAIA would re-open. Well, of course the coffeehouse didn't re-open, but I found a good apartment, which led to my job at City Garden and The Bluebird Cafe. In 1996, I was endowed with the balance of the trust my grandparents, Bess and Joe, set up for my education. There was enough for a down payment on the building when my landlord decided to move with his family to Arizona in 1997. I saw it as a good investment, and I haven't paid rent since I bought the place.

I bought the property for $93,000, and I have put close to $125K into the property since I bought it. It keeps paying for itself, through rental income, and I keep moving toward my vision of a holistic preservation of affordable rental housing in urban Kansas City. I have great tenants who play along admirably. Thanks to everyone helping make this possible.

This year has been great for the carriage barn. Last summer, several codes violations inspired my bank to make funds available for much needed exterior work: the whole face of the building was re-tuckpointed, doorways and windows were reframed, the roofline was repaired, and the old slate roof was removed for repairs and given a layer of ice and rain shield, which has given me a season of protection until I can get the next phase financed. Next up: new slate roof, gutter, doors, and windows. Then interior work can begin: plumbing, electrical, insulation of exterior walls and ceiling, surfaces. Roughing in a kitchen and bath. HVAC. As soon as this work is done I can move into the carriage barn and recieve rent on the penthouse where I am presently living. If all goes as planned, I should have a new house to live in (albeit an ongoing construction project) paid for by the rental units before me.

This is sort of a boring entry, but it is a piece of the puzzle.

Welcome to the World

Greetings World Citizen!

Thank you for trying bushbabybushbaby.

It is Saturday morning, which means: Mexican Breakfast at YJ's.

Eggs: Your way. I tend to have them over medium most of the time. Black beans, a little spicy. Fresh Pico de Gallo (chopped onion, tomato, and cilantro) a corncake, avocado, farmers' cheese and sour cream, some tortillas.

I make little burritos, making certain that all ingredients can be savored in each bite. Anyone watching me make my little burrito would consider me a mad genius or an anal obsessive compulsive. I doubt the two are mutually exclusive. Before rolling, I like to liberally sprinkle some salsa on there, maybe Cholula, Tabasco, or some savory equivelent.

YJ's is located near downtown Kansas City, MO, USA, on 17th Street in the crossroads between Baltimore and Wyandotte. It is one of the finest 3rd World Snack Bars in the 1st World.

Mexican Breakfast is only offered on Saturdays between 9 am and 1:30 pm. YJ's menu is a calendar, with set lunches and dinners 7 days a week. (For instance, I also enjoy the Mayan Tostadas on Monday nights, and the Vegetarian Lasagna on Wednesday nights. I recently tried the Saturday Catfish feast dinner, and it is great too, but not quite as vegetarian as I like to eat.)

More on YJ's in upcoming entries, I'm sure. For now: BREAKFAST!