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On the Banks of Rivers Past: the Windiad no. 6

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The Ghosts of the Past
The reason Odysseus knew so much about Helios’s cattle and Charybdis and Scylla was because he consulted with Tiresias. Tiresias was a blind prophet who was consulted by everyone. At one point he dressed in drag for 7 years. Basically, he was a unique character. He gave Odysseus a lot of advice on how to get home. He also gave him fashion and skin care tips because the sea salt air was murder on the complexion.

Tiresias also happened to be dead and lived in Hades. So after sailing to the River Acheron which bordered the underworld, and making all manner of sacrifices, Odysseus was allowed to contact the dead.

Not only did he meet Tiresias, he also ran into his late mother, some old friends from school, and numerous other people he knew who had died during the Trojan War. He was able to reach closure on his past and so it was a fruitful detour. Although, while he was busy with his reunions, his men were a little freaked out, shivering in the bone-chilling creepiness of the underworld.

erika and keanThen and Now
If there’s a town that represents my past (but not the underworld!), it’s Eugene. I’ve already reached closure on many levels. Many of my friends have moved north to Portland, just up the highway. I still keep in touch with a handful of very special people, but the rest I’ve long fallen out of touch with.

Eugene is where I lived for a decade, performed modern dance, played guitar like every other guy, and held court at one of the oldest natural foods stores in the US. I biked everywhere, year-round, didn’t wear a watch, didn’t have a cell phone, always had fruit and bread in my bag (usually challah), a nalgene bottle of water, and a notebook.

I had a Mohawk ponytail that I tied back, wore sunglasses, a pair of shorts, and a tank top. My wallet was a tacky retro brown velcro thing that never had more than $20 in it. And that was it. It was a simpler life.

I ate only organic food, usually bought in bulk, assiduously avoided sugar, rarely drank alcohol or coffee, consumed gallons of green and herb teas, sometimes baked my own bread, grew my own fruit, vegetables, and herbs.

Now I wear a tie to work, have several watches, have a cell phone, a mobile phone and a keitai (that’s 3 handsets for 3 countries), buy sports drinks from vending machines, use hair wax. I usually carry around a digital camera, an ipod, and probably an implanted tracking device that I don’t know about.

My wallet now bulges with point cards, a commuter pass, lots of cash like everyone else in Japan, an immigration card that I must carry at all times, all encased in a nice leather wallet that I was shamed into buying many years ago. Life is a little less simpler now.

family portrait

Sometimes, I wonder how I lived in Eugene for so long. Passing through there this time around, it felt like an unfamiliar place. Many of my favorite restaurants are gone. And I’m out of touch with most of the people that I knew. By my last year in Eugene, I knew just about everyone. Biking around town, I’d be greeted by soccer moms, street musicians, skater punks, police officers, and homeless artists. Now I feel like any other tourist.

The city has become a little more gentrified, a little more suburban. In the six years I’ve been away, there have been all sorts of new construction. My favorite is the gleaming public library. When I lived there, Time magazine called Eugene the anarchist capital of the US, because of the high density of activists, protesters and hippies, some of whom professed to be anarcho-syndicalists. I have a feeling this title has passed onto another city.

What made Eugene unique for me was the thriving dance scene. In terms of quality of dancers, the number of dance companies, the varieties of dance, and the frequency of performances, as well as the opportunities to join in, it surpassed Seattle and was comparable to San Francisco, in my opinion.

Eugene has a number of, who I consider, high priestesses of dance.  And these are some of the people who I’m most in touch with.  They are fabulously creative and charismatic.  I met two of them while in Eugene.

margo and child

There’s the incomparable, innovative Margo. Her choreography resonated deeply with audiences, her movements rooted in emotional authenticity. And she’s always been able to attract a devoted fan base.

And I also met with the magnetic Nanci, whose choreography was imbued with a sense of soaring and expansive space often with a political message.

father and daughter

Tiresias
If there’s a Tiresias on this trip, that would have to be Mike. He’s not blind, nor particularly prophetic. Nor have I ever seen him in a skirt. He does, however, offer a kind of support that could be mistaken for advice. But it’s nothing so pretentious. He’s always been a great friend. And people seek him out for something that could be called guidance, but it’s nothing so presumptuous. He’s just a sincerely, good guy who people trust. The kind of friend you would go to Hades for, just to have a chat and a few laughs.

Eating Lotus in California: The Windiad no. 2

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The Lotus Eaters
Early in Odysseus’s voyage, his ships anchored among the Lotus Eaters. They were a friendly, easy-going people, who fed the tired travelers tasty lotus. There was lotus tempura, lotus meatballs, lotus dip, lotus frappucinos, and best of all, lotus tiramisu. Even the women were clothed only in skimpy lotus bikinis.

Eating all this lotus made the men not care about anything. Many of them fell asleep and stayed asleep. Some of them were just spaced out and spent their time lighting lotus incense, doodling, and eating lotus chips and lotus brownies. Fortunately, Odysseus wasn’t a big fan of lotus since he was forced to eat the canned stuff in pre-school, so he stayed awake. Once he figured out what was happening, he woke the men who were wakeable and left that decadent land.

horseback

Space
I’m back in the land of shopping carts the size of small boats, gallon jugs of juice, thick fluffy q-tips, cheap fruit, bulk buying, second refrigerators, decaf (!), honey, organic food, doggy bags, creamy sweet soy milk, Mexican beers for $1.25 each, outdoor barbecues, turkey jerky,

Three-car garages, SUVs, car trunks stuffed with expensive speakers blaring out into the wide empty streets, cars being washed on driveways filled with autos for each family member, free street parking, expansive parking lots, clearly marked streets, pedestrian right-of-way,

swimming pools, tennis and basketball courts in every neighborhood, sunglasses, baseball caps, sweats, minimal make-up, sun-damaged skin, non-smokers,

walk-in closets, media rooms, vaulted ceilings, master bedrooms, hired gardeners, termites and dry rot,

and space. Lots and lots of space. In the clear blue skies, the supermarket aisles, the loose pants, the unused sidewalks, the sparkling ocean to my left, the prickly hills of oak and manzanita to my right. Room to breathe, room to walk around without having to worry about bumping into people. Space and room and breath.

Greeting Strangers
It’s great to have T here with me because she’s always noticing things I’ve taken for granted. For instance, she pointed out that there was no short size for drinks at cafes. The smallest is tall. And a small drink here at a restaurant would be considered a medium or large in Japan or Europe. Or the way restaurant servers and store clerks casually chat with customers.

Then there are the myriad of things about California or West Coast culture that makes me feel more at ease. Like I can wear sunglasses without people suspiciously looking at me as if I could be a gangster. Here, everyone wears sunglasses.

And on the drive from the airport to my parents’ place I observed a total of 5 men wearing tank tops, my upper body attire of choice. Here, the men wear loose pants, a t-shirt, a baseball cap, sneakers, and are good to go. No $50 haircuts, designer t-shirts referencing rural Americana, and pointy alligator-skin shoes. I’m not putting the alligator-skin crowd down. I just don’t relate to that. Of course, many young men here wear $200 sneakers. And I don’t get that either.

On the walk down to the neighborhood tennis courts, we passed by a total of two people on the sidewalk. They, strangers both, smiled and said hi. I forgot about this ritual, of greeting strangers on the street. But it made me happy to be back home.

I’m happy to eat lotus again. For a while anyway.

industrialia

The Fourth: A Few Thoughts on Being American

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For the 6th year in a row, I’ve spent the Fourth of July, America’s Independence Day, outside the US. As you can imagine, it’s uneventful outside the 50 states. I almost forgot about it today until someone at work reminded me. I immediately went into an impromptu, semi-sarcastic, quasi-nostalgic, rendition of the “Star-Spangled Banner”. As usual I forgot a few lines and mangled some others, and even slipped in a little “O Canada” in there just for fun. It wasn’t pretty, but I did my patriotic duty.

Picnics, Fireworks and Perfect Weather
The Fourth is one of the best holidays in the US. It’s never been about patriotism for most of the people I know. It’s a day off work to get out and have a barbecue, drink some beer and hang out with friends and family somewhere outdoors. At night, there’s fireworks. I don’t remember a rainy Fourth of July, ever. The weather has always been perfect. And everyone is chilled out, happy to be relaxing with people they like.

Some of my July Fourth memories include:
• Climbing Cucamonga Peak that overlooks the Los Angeles basin and watching over 50 fireworks shows going off simultaneously, like tiny distant supernovas.
• Hanging out with friends at a Eugene Emeralds game (a minor league baseball team). I think there were a dozen home runs during that game. And then lying on the outfield watching the fireworks.
• Looking forward to my allergies magically disappearing. My theory is that all the fireworks burns off the pollen in the air.
• Picnics, picnics everywhere. On beaches, along rivers, in backyards, in the forest. And always some live music.

Views of America
For every year I’ve spent away from the US, I’ve grown to appreciate a little more of some of the good things about America, and being American. This has been no easy task mind you. I’ve spent most of my life critical about my country. Still am, actually. But being away, in the rest of the world, I’ve developed a wider perspective. Okay it’s not really the whole rest of the world. It’s some parts of Western Europe, East Asia and Southeast Asia. And these are some of my observations of the good things about America.

America is More Evolved in Terms of Race Relations
For all the terrible racism that exists in the US, it’s a lot worse elsewhere. America has evolved to the point where if you have racist views, you are roundly criticized if you voice them. A popular sports radio personality, for example, was recently fired because he said some ignorant things on air. Elsewhere, people just shrug their shoulders and wonder what’s the big deal. In the US, there’s heated debate and discussion at the very least.

I experienced more racist comments directed at me on the streets of England in two years than I have in all my life in the US. It was unbelievable. In fact, what would be considered highly offensive racist and sexist comments in the US, are casually spoken on TV, by politicians, and in the newspapers. There was virtually no awareness of or debate about the institutional barriers to opportunities for women or people of color. This was remarkable especially in academia.

American Cultural Influence Extends Beyond Starbucks
People outside the US separate the US government and the American people. The government is roundly ridiculed, but the culture and people are admired. Rap, movies, TV shows, books, academic journals, dance, basketball, the anti-smoking movement. I hadn’t realized the extent of the spread of American culture beyond the platitudes of fast food and malls. It’s genuinely admired by most people I’ve talked to on the street.

America Accepts Everyone
I took for granted that almost anyone can come to the US and get citizenship eventually. This is just not the case elsewhere. Most countries make it very very difficult to impossible to naturalize.

America is the Most Diverse Country on Earth
It’s no contest. Growing up in California especially, the most diverse State in the Union, I was surrounded by people from all corners of the world. Even in the middle parts of the country, it’s a myth that there are only white people there. It’s just not true.

The US is the European Union Evolved
I find it increasingly useful to think of the US as a continent, rather than a country. Geographically and population-wise, it’s comparable to Europe. Just like you wouldn’t generalize Scots and Greeks, French and Germans, or even Catalonians and Basque within Spain, you wouldn’t generalize between New Yorkers and Californians, or even Los Angelenos and San Franciscans within California. Heck, there are huge cultural differences even between cities separated by a highway.

There are Few Places Freer
Liberties have been badly eroded in the US over the past decade by the Bush Administration and by increasing corporatization of the mass media. But the press is largely unfettered. And joining the political process is much easier than in France, where all the political elites graduate from one university, or in Japan, where the one party system rotates power among a handful of families.

America is far from perfect. However, most of the destructive, negative tendencies are magnified because of it’s continental size. The same destructive, negative tendencies exist in most countries but on a smaller, less-scrutinized scale. That continental size could contribute to a powerful positive global influence. Let’s hope that happens during the next presidency.

In the meantime, I close with THE best version of the “Star-Spangled Banner”. Formerly, it was Marvin Gaye, singing a transcendent version back in the 70’s. Now, it’s this version, of his daughter Nona Gaye harmonizing with him on that version.

The Unobstructed View

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Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at PhotobucketFor the last three months my apartment building had been encased in an exoskeleton of a gauzy white screen covering scaffolding. Just weeks after we moved in, we were informed that the building would undergo renovations. The building really needed it. There was chipping paint covered in a fine layer of city grime. The concrete balcony floor was exposed. But it was a bummer to have our 8th floor view obstructed so soon after we moved in, especially during the balmy autumn season.

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