ID

oh... Tehachapi!

2010-12-28T01:46:00.000-05:00

tahachapi, a new dance

2010-12-08T10:51:00.001-05:00

my promo...

2010-06-05T18:45:00.002-04:00

Traveling across the USA

2009-08-12T13:54:00.002-04:00

Wow. That is the single most boring title I could have thought of for a blog-post. Oh my. I haven't been writing. I have been videoing. I haven't been editing the videos. I have been taking photos. I haven't been uploading them. Basically I am not sharing my life with anyone but my dog... and the people who happened to be around me in the moment. This is going to change, I think, maybe, perhaps, just for now.

I left NYC on June 1 to camp across the US. Since June 2008 I have crossed the country... 4.5 times. The entire time I was in a Dodge Ram conversion van. This time I decided to cross, or the world decided for me because I only had my, in my, Chevy S10 pick-up. I decided to play with that sentence, does it make sense to you at all?

Anyways, where was I? The truck? The crossing? Oh yes, the difference was that I tent-camped this time. And oddly, of the fourteen days I was camping eleven of them rained, the days rained, the nights too. I slept in States that I have never slept in, Indiana, Missouri, Kansas, yep. I saw things that I had never seen before; Zion, Bryce, North Rim of the Grand Canyon, Jewish campers. I felt things that I had never felt before; the 128 degrees of Death Valley and the loss of my keys while on a two mile hike, thus making it a seven mile hike.

I like traveling alone... with my dog, Isadora. I like having the choice to be silent or social. I like going to sleep and waking up with the light. I love the fresh air of the outdoors. I like exploring new places. I miss this as I write about it. I have been in California for almost a month and I camp almost every weekend, but this is of-course very different than LIVING IT. Although, just as when I returned to NYC after my initial trips across the US I continued to feel as though I was on my "trip". NYC was just another part of this whole experience, this is how I feel now, except more like I am on vacation. It is beautiful here.

Sometimes I miss NY, a little. I'll be back there in October, so it's not something that I really have to miss a lot or for too long because it is right there for me. Going back. What else is there? I know I have many choices and could go any where really. But, the city

Dance and Clutter and Talk and Bathroom and Dog

2009-06-09T15:42:00.000-04:00

back in ny

2009-05-24T14:35:00.005-04:00

In New York now...
It still feels like part of the road-trip.

I'm reading about writing a book. Language will never totally express my experiences, but hopefully others will identify with my stories and perhaps be inspired in one way... or another, whatever that means.

Dogs

2009-03-18T20:39:00.001-04:00

California (Fall 2008)

2009-03-18T20:36:00.001-04:00

Photos... January 2009

2009-02-27T16:43:00.003-05:00

The prep for going across the country... again. Back to NYC.

2009-02-27T16:25:00.004-05:00

San Luis Obispo, CA
1.18.2009

…I don’t want to leave.

But, I do.

But, I don’t.

But… I’m not leaving.

This must mean that I don’t want to leave right?

It started with having so much to do that packing was just taking longer. Now all of the tasks that I was planning on doing a month ago I am finally doing… now. I was “supposed” to leave 7 days ago. The days are just flying by and I am just doing a lot and organizing and exercising and going on walks and brief beach visits, but my g-o-d, when am I going to leave?

I am going over choreography and making work, ideas. Very splotchy. It’s weird. My mind is racing. I am tired. I have a lot to do. I have been procrastinating. This has made me ultra-late. It’s weird. I need some space. I am freaking out. Leave lady, leave. I feel like a ghost here. I generally do feel ghostly. Not to solidly linked to the earth. What am I talking about? I’m tired, tired. Hot, hot. Sleep someday.

Forgot to post this...

2009-02-20T20:57:00.002-05:00

http://www.newtimesslo.com/art/827/travels-with-isadora/

An article in the New Times of San Luis Obispo, CA by Ashley Schwellenbach from... August 2008!

Zis Landmass Zat Loov

2009-02-15T17:24:00.001-05:00

Baywood, CA

Baywood, CA

Montaña de Oro, CA (Spooner's Cove)

Bishop's Peak, San Luis Obispo, CA

Morro Bay (Morro Rock), CA

San Luis Obispo, CA
1.4.2009

Wow, I can’t believe I have not written. Life really does fly by. I have been the laziest son well… daughter of a bitch. (That sounds bad... sorry mom.) I mean I’ve been doing a lot… a lot of hanging out. A lot of exercising and be in my optimum dancer body, sans studio and indoor rehearsals... A lot of buying things that I don’t need, then going through my storage unit and keeping everything. I am trying to get rid of some nick-knacks and sentimentalities, but it’s not working. I look at the things I own and think… “Someday, when I have a house, I will put this in it somewhere and use it.” I don’t want to bring anything back to NY because my roommate will just throw it away. I can’t trust him around objects. But I can’t keep all of my things in a vault.

Everything has been in storage for almost four years. That’s a long time to be separated from a life that was not quite right--without a thorough visitation. Graduate school was such a dream. Things were set-up and people just did a lot of thinking and made art and worked on papers. It was really hard, I don’t want to make it sound simple or easy… I honestly thought it would lead me to something, like a job. I’m still trying to understand what I gained from my experience there, besides debt. I know. I remember now. One of my crucial decisions in going to school there was because it was close to my grandparents.
...
...

I keep asking myself what’s wrong with me? The past 8 months on the road those questions surface… what’s wrong with me? For many years it is easy to blame others for personal or professional misfires, but when one spends so much time alone that question is both surprising and inevitable amidst the bliss of such a trip. The travel. The life. The past 8 months have been the best of my life, which states much. I have traveled in Nepal and hiked in the Himalayas. I have spent three-months living in London and a month in Vienna at a fantastic dance festival. And many other events which could lead to a full anthology of Berkeley, Olympia, Seattle, Portland, Columbus, San Luis Obispo and now New York/Brooklyn/Dominicahassidica.

The past months brought me something that I have been missing my whole life, a true connection with this landmass. I was able to see such amazing natural beauty, ponder the people of this land, spend time with Isadora, go wherever I wanted when I wanted, and figure my artistic body and expand my choreographic voice. The independence was exhilarating. In NY I am depressed roughly fifty-probably-sixty percent of the time, while traveling, toward the end, when I was used to seeing new things all the time and could anticipate my encounters, then my depression entered the van. That’s when I stopped blaming anyone else but myself. The depression changed into a puzzle. What did I do? How could I change it? Could I change anything? Do I care? I like the way I am, why would I want to change? I am still pondering these things and wondering if the energy I put into thinking about other people is a personal barrier. Or is it just the way I look? I’ve wondered that too. I’m not pretty, I’m not ugly; although, I know can be beautiful in the right light. My body is not great. Perhaps I’m just so average

wow

mid-sentence I fell asleep for 45 minutes. Not very interested in non-existent issues. Many other things to think about, or just sleep. Sleeping is an entirely acceptable place to go when pondering one’s own looks.

Onward and outward

Morro Bay (Morro Rock), CA

Avila Beach, CA

San Luis Obispo, CA... Sunrise... with Isadora

Digest America: Possibility and Immediacy.

2009-01-17T20:51:00.000-05:00

Point Magu, California
12.19.2008
It’s the last morning, the sun is rising, the ocean is tiding, and I am drinking coffee. Isadora is outside for her usual morning alone time. Roaming the area next to the van… with exactly a 20-foot radius. I’ve figured out many rigging systems in the past 8 months. One of them is how to attach the leash to the passenger-side armrest and string it out the side door so that Isadora can have her way with the nature surrounding the van and not get too tied and tangled in things. Then I can open the side door to check on the little bugger and usually she is digging in the dirt, laying in the dirt, sniffing the dirt, something with dirt, it seems to be her favorite subject at present. This is not favorable for me as her hair is getting longer and longer. The snow at Joshua Tree did a good job on it the other day though. Now I can see her fine and very soft white hair at the very pronunciation of dreadlocks. It’s cute so I’m letting it go—for a couple days.

...insert personal tangent here... buy the book...

I’m just digesting the last few days. I love America. I am not ready to stop this trip. Once again it is unfinished. Even those tough times in Texas trying to find camping spots will be remembered with an odd smile. The ranger just drove by. This is the first time I’ve been relieved to have a ranger around. I’m just north of Los Angeles and the park feels more like a resting point than a staying and experiencing. The sun is rising over the mountain, the leaves of the twisted California oak trees are shadowed on the grass and the sun is now streaming into the cool van. When I let Isadora out earlier I noticed a layer of frost. It was cold last night. The moon woke me up. Bright through the back window, above my head, I thought that I had forgotten to close the window shade, it was shining through the shade.

Last night was odd. I was supposed to drive to San Luis Obispo in one-fail swoop from San Diego. There were too many cars on the road in LA, too many traffic-jams and accidents that I ended up on the 1. Stop and go because of the lights from Long Beach, through Santa Monica, Malibu, and into Ventura. I was driving for over five hours and exhausted. Pulled into the first campground and circled it. I am one of two campers. It’s a Thursday night in winter, what else can I say? The thing is I walked back to the gate to pay the twenty dollars and I brought my phone thinking I would call my mom and let her know I wasn't going to be in SLO. The phone showed 2 or 3 bars but fuck, it just wouldn’t go through. I tried over and over I walked precariously to the edge of the park near the hi-way and 4 bars, goddamn it wouldn’t go through. I texted, that didn’t go through, shit; it was infuriating. So, this morning I hope that my mom is not worried that I died on the freeway and that she remembers how many pockets there are and that I just needed to sleep after LA. I fell asleep at 9:15 watching Lonesome Dove, again, for the third round.

Well, that’s it. I’ve gotta pee. I want to finish my cold coffee and take a walk on the Pacific. Life in SLO for the next couple of weeks and then back on the road, back to NYC in the truck, a whole new thing, and New York after nine months, oh my.

Back at the Beginning...

2009-01-17T20:38:00.000-05:00

North of LA (thank god), Ventura area, off the 1… Point Magu, California
12.18.2008

Too much. Just too much. Cars, people, driving, commands, expectations, concentration, etc. Tired of stuff. Realizing things. I’m glad I still come to realizations about life. I just hope they are not like the God phantom. Filling a vacancy and justifying my lifestyle to myself inadvertently. I would hate to be tricking myself into not feeling pain. Wait… I am definitely not doing that. I feel the pain, oh yeah.

So perhaps I am coming to these realizations as the natural progression of life, as life unfolds itself to me day after day. I will not write what they are. Writing down these things is trite, I’d rather just show through the stories and the people I outline how my days unravel, twist, decay, and return again to another morning.

It’s hard to know where to start with these things. From what I’ve gathered the subways in NY have cleaned up a lot since the 80s, even since the 90s, but that doesn’t make them any less of a burden. They eat up time. Like the coal minors of the 20th century, we are buried under ground for much of the day only to poke out like guinea pigs grabbing at our meals and dogging cars. Amidst this odd underworld I rediscovered John Steinbeck. I was yearning to read a book from my homeland of California. Some author who understood the true beauty of the west and I knew Steinbeck would fulfill my desires. It was January 2008 that I read Travels with Charley and I knew, without a doubt, that I needed to do that. I wanted to get a dog anyways so that was set… then how do I get a vehicle and what’s the fucking point of leaving my NY life for a life of a daily setting up and taking down?

I began my search for the vehicle and the dog simultaneously. It felt a little odd. To be looking for such life-changers together and knowing that I was the one who would be corrupting my current lifestyle. On top of this big decision… I told no one for three months. The type of life I had, I didn’t want something to fail, I think it was basically out of fear that I told no one, besides I didn’t exactly know what the trip was for, how I would do it, would dance be involved?

Yeah, up.keep.

2009-01-17T20:34:00.000-05:00

Kim’s House, San Diego, California
12.18.2008

Uploading, downloading, sideloading, and the diagonal. Somehow I designated tonight… midnight as my blog arrangement evening. Perhaps because I have on-line access, I am present on the interwebs. Almost to my current destination point of San Luis Obispo California (hometown, everyone has one.) I stopped off in San Diego post Joshua Tree and a very snowy and rain filled day. Thus it is still.

I Love Nature.

2009-01-04T16:47:00.000-05:00

Joshua Tree, California
12.17.08

I could hear the tapping on the roof of the van in the very early morning. Quite and noticeable metallic tickity-tacks of the frozen water against the surface of the van. I woke up fully by six am (which to me was seven am the night before because of the time-change from Arizona, driving and time-changes is another tale I must return to.) The ground was covered with dusty blazing white snow, as were the large surrounding rock formations, and of-course the odd palm-tree cactus structure of the Joshua tree.

The previous day I had driven around the National park. Seen its offerings. Like most/all of the National Parks that I have been to thus far it was magnificent. The two truly impressive things about Joshua Tree were… the intriguing and alien Joshua tree (duh) and the boulders (yeah!) These large piles of rock turned me into an avid rock climber… in my mind. In my brain I was scaling the boulders. In reality I was driving and searching for the camping spot for the night. At the information center the docent, who had lived a little too much in her youth, the one who you thought would be easy to talk to and relaxed, but was actually a little reserved and uncomfortable, had recommended the two spots farthest from where you were standing at that moment. That meant ninety minutes more of driving. Okay. I got to see a lot of the park… twice, as it turns out, but I’ll get to that. So, I finally settled at Ryan’s Campground. I was the only camper at this site. (Ryan and Joshua, ex-boyfriends, hum, ponder the loss... or gain for that matter.)

Isadora and I went for a short hike up to the abandoned ranch house. Now because of vandals and time only a few walls and the foundation exist; either way it was a good place for some photographs with my blank-screened camera. (The camera did something that I called “broke” back in New Mexico, another story.) I danced against the rocks for a while. Bundled up in layers, the cold and breeze was chilling. The dance was relaxing and strengthening.

Because of the snow that night I could not take the highway north of the park through the mountain pass, yeah. I danced in the snow. That was fun. The sound reminded me of the sounds my feet made sifting the fine-grained White Sands or on the beach at the Gulf. So I did the ninety minutes through the park again, (I couldn't exit the north, the way I intended because of the mountainous icy roads) this time it took closer to one hundred eighty minutes. Driving slowly, slowly, slithering through the snow and came upon a snow-plow truck. Drove behind them for a while. Had to wait for a couple of cars to get towed out near the south entrance and I was one of five vehicles let in or out of the park that morning… everyone else was in for the night… by 10am. On reflection, even in the moment, I knew that staying another night would be a-okay, but I was anxious to get to San Diego.

White Sands and film

2008-12-22T14:01:00.000-05:00

White Sands, New Mexico
12.13.2008

This is about the fifth time that I drove around for an hour or two searching for a campground that may or may not exist and that may or may not be open for the winter.

I got to the White Sands National Park just in time for a fantastic sunset and with the complete assumption that there would be a simple campground. No. None. I think there are hike-in camps, but again, like back in Texas at the Enchanted Rock (that I was so excited to camp at and had pulled up right at twilight as well) there was no campground. The nearest place was twenty miles back east from where I came. Annoying. The GPS got confused and sent me through some massive dirt roads. Straight into an unmarked dead-end. I had to drive back out of that rocky mess and onto the main road to follow the little brown signs to the Oliver Lee New Mexico State Campground… it was dark by this time. Pitch, New Mexico, desert dark.

Prior to this search for sleep I actually did go into the white sands. Deep in. Sand everywhere. It’s the Sahara. It’s the Gobi. It’s the Kalahari. At least according to the movies. A number of films are shot out there and based… not there. (There was a film being shot there when I entered the park… something with Clooney and based… in the middle-east, not the southwest.) It’s the perfect location, the light is fantastic and the scenery is clean and magnificent. For the actors the sand in the eyes either adds to the character or makes the day impossible. The wind blows the fine light grains horizontal.

It is disorienting because there are no trails, no paths, so with the turbulent wind (that could hold the weight of a standing body) there is no way to find your way back. I enjoyed the textured surface. It was the first hike I’ve ever taken barefoot.

Cave Dweller for a day

2008-12-22T13:08:00.000-05:00

Ummm, State Park near Carlsbad Caverns, New Mexico
12.12.08

I was just thinking about all the things I have to write about and then got distracted by the sunset over the river and mountains. Now it’s just sunset and the moon, the moonlight sonata, my favorite. I’m going to open itunes and see if I have it… the moon is full tonight. Nope. I erased most things in an attempt to acquire more space. It is still impossible for me to have more than 1.5G of space available, it sucks. Thus no moonlight… just 80s music. Weird.

Isadora is enraptured by something outside the van. I think it’s the lights of the cars on the other side of the river.

The caves, the caves, yes. I went inside the biggest caves I’ve ever seen. I want to share them with everyone. If I was really rich I would jet fly my friends out to go on tours and see them. I’ve never seen such intimate and old structures. Structures untouched by sunlight. The sound of the surrounding drip, drip, drip brought life to the otherwise completely dead underground. I loved it and feared it.

I’m glad to be traveling in winter, although it can be eerie. There are less people everywhere. It was as though I had this huge underground to myself and I could discover it on my own.

Final Texas.

2008-12-18T03:31:00.000-05:00

Guadalupe Mountains, Texas… V
12.11.2008

Still in Texas. It’s an easy place to stay. Somehow. The moon is out bright and the wind is gusting through these mountains with unexpected moments of force. It’s cold. I wonder what I’ll do in the truck. I’m taking my Chevy S10 pick-up back to NYC and I haven’t decided how I’ll travel yet. It’s cheaper to camp, but it’s winter. I’m concerned. I don’t want to think about that now.

If someone offered me a steak right now I’d eat it. That’s what Texas does to a person… it homogenizes you’all. You start doing what other people do. Herding cattle and killing ‘em and talkin’ like that and wearn’ cowboy boots and bein’ nice but a little suspicious of everyone around you. Texas.

Rio Grande (Big Bend)

Chisos Mountains (Big Bend)

Guadalupe Mountains

Just another day, really, sort-of, for most people.

2008-12-18T03:08:00.000-05:00

Same Place
12.9.2008

It’s fine. I’m in a fine mood. I just want to get going. The computer was on so I thought I’d give it a go. Today would be a good day for dance, but like the other places in Texas and the south (except for Alabama) I’m feeling very resistant. So, I write. The fog is out this morning. I am procrastinating taking a shower. Lately the public shower thing has got me a bit. It's just got me. I suppose I'm more resistant to those as well. I’ve gotta get the day going… just another day. Driving to Big Bend today. A little nervous about the location, there’s nothing I can really do about it now, it’s where I’m destined.

Because there were no grocers between Llano and Big Bend I created a cake with frosting on top of a cream-cheese danish

Yeah, I hate Liars.

2008-12-18T02:55:00.000-05:00

TEXAS IV (Llano River, except I haven’t seen a river, oh yeah I did.)
12.8.2008

Today is fine except I don’t want to talk to anyone. I wonder if that means it’s fine. I feel this way more often than not. I just don’t want anyone around me. I see them as a bother of my time and energy. And for that, I am punished by my feelings of extreme aloneness on the road. Though, I often wish I was even more alone. Aloneness is fine; it’s the depression and self-pity that get to me. The mistrust of humanity also gets to me. Especially when I see the rangers and the ranger golf-carts riding by. It gets under my skin and crawls out in a itchy rash. It’s the liars and the cheats that get to me because they have created that feeling, they have created the rangers. Why would someone lie? I know that might sound like too simple a question because the reasons are infinite. But, again it is one of those questions where the answer also as simple as the question. They want something. They think the only way to get what they want is to lie. That’s dumb. When did that myth start? Me me me. When did humans get sooooo that way? What happened to us? Sometimes people help each other with dreams, but often the results are for a selfish end.

…

Setting aside the blackberry again. Trying to remind myself that what I do is what I do and what happens in New York is what’s happening there. Trying to remind myself that it’s okay not to have a career. That it’s okay to just like nature and not people. (I went on to take a walk to a river. Get in it. Take some pictures. Look at armadillos and wild turkeys and deer. Then I gave Isadora a much needed bath which she is presently undoing as she is digging in the dry rocky dirt.)

NOLA

2008-12-18T01:47:00.000-05:00

New Orleans, LA
12.5.2008

Still tired from the Lonesome Dove fiasco and then last night I stayed at this guy Jason/Captain Peppito’s house with Joe/endless joe watching youtube videos until three in the morning. I tried to sleep in. I’m at a campground and it’s okay. I’m going to stay a second night, a rare luxury, except I’m going back into town (NOLA) and coming back out here again. Or I could just sit in my stool of self-pity for the rest of the day. Naw, I’ll go back into town and check things out.

It took me a few hours into the night to realize that the age gap of five years was significant enough to place me in an “older” category. So that’s me, some older unsuccessful artist wandering around. Maybe I’ll just keep house in the van and wander for another couple years until this feeling of “needing to succeed” passes me by. I am hating that feeling. If I was a success (with money, fame, and men) would I still be dealing with this petty pecking feeling? This total inadequacy, hello depression, hi ashley I like your hair. No you don’t your just saying that. Your right, your hair fucking sucks and you should die.

(I'm fine now... I happened to be severely pmsing while in New Orleans, or perhaps it was the de-grading stench of a city that is lost to itself and the nature that humans have created to destroy humanity.)

Lonesome Dove rules my life.

2008-12-15T12:21:00.000-05:00

Gulf, Alabama
12.4.2008
Tired. Rainy. Stayed up way too late last night watching Lonesome Dove. Wow, what an epic. Four parts. When I started into it I just thought it was a movie, oh no. It was a 1980s mini-series. It was a good travel video. As usual the female characters lacked. The whore and the homesteader, oh yeah and the one who left her husband.

Well, again I am in a rush to get out of here, go take a shower and head on the road to New Orleans, LA. I feel like I should take a nap… naps are an impossibility on such a trip. Sleeping is a night activity, except when interrupted by a single longwinded bird.

Rushed on a trip to nowhere.

2008-12-15T12:15:00.000-05:00

St. Joseph, LA
12.1.2008

I have to go. I have to take a shower and start driving. I feel rushed as I sit here by the Mississippi and listen to NPR. I always always feel rushed. Even without a deadline I create a reason for things to be complete.

Currently I feel unwanted, scarce, and an end being near. These feeling have been waving at me the last two days. This is how I know my period is due. I have to drive. I have to go. Now it’s not about seeing things it’s about getting to a place and then leaving to get back. This trip has changed and it is cold. I have to go.

The South and thoughts about objects and men.

2008-12-06T11:32:00.000-05:00

TEXAS III, Daingerfield to Louisiana.
11.29.2008

Thanksgiving came and went. I drank the rest of the “Old Faithful” whiskey and watched most of Lawrence of Arabia. I gave thanks for a lot and thought about how sad, demeaning, and odd it is that Americans have to be reminded to thank people. How they have to have an excuse of a holiday to give thanks. I talked with more than one friend about how uncomfortable they were with their family and family dynamics and how they don’t want to ever do thanksgiving again as they have in the past. Control issues, trust, and lack of emotional support all were topics of conversation. I did cry though. I cried quite unexpectedly while listening to a story on NPR. Sometimes NPR makes me feel things. A woman was giving thanks to all of the people who helped her as her parents were in a car accident where her father died. From the police officer who couldn’t officially tell her that her father was gone, but made sure that she knew, to the nurses who helped her mother to walk again. It was very touching.

I was in Daingerfield, Texas. In each state I have noticed that my desire for objects shifts. While in Idaho I wanted leaves. While in Colorado I wanted current gloves and a keen watch. While in New Mexico I wanted hand crafted clay, jewelry, and rocks. While in Texas I decided I wanted red cowboy boots. I’m not much of a cowgirl and I don’t really have the physique to pull off that cool boot-wearing thing, but the desire is there. Now I am in Louisiana. It’s my first time. It’s my first night and I am scared. I think my desire will be to survive with a few photos.

I am scared because now I’m really heading into the south. I suppose I’m in it. Everyone around me talks in all sortsa wais. The accents are unreal. I’m super glad they exist. My roommate in New York is from Houston and he doesn’t have he southern drawl. I think he told me once that it just changes when he is away; that when he is in Texas the accent snaps back. I’ve been trying to extinguish my California, yeah, thingy. It’s not working. I see myself on tape and I’m right back to the Pacific.

I started to write about my southern fear and then got distracted. Well, it didn’t help that as soon as I crossed the border into Louisiana I did one of those yield/merge things, but this time it was a little different. There were lights going in front of me and behind me, but no one was stopping. I thought, “Okay, I guess people in the south don’t stop when cops have their lights going.” Wrong. One of the cops pulled right up behind me lights going and sirens. I was on the phone with my step-mother and totally confused by the situation... why was I singled out? The tall lanky light-haired and red skinned cop jumped out of the car came right up to me shouting, “You pull over when you see lights! This is a funeral procession!” Oopse. I think he saw from my expression that I didn’t know what the hell was going on. So I just said, “Sorry, I didn’t know” as he was walking back to his car and then sped off.

Also between Texas and here I have run into some of the worst drivers on my entire trip. Always in a hurry. Always wanting to pass. Mostly trucks, not cargo-work trucks; shiny, sexy, masculine, dick-trucks. I just put my rear-view mirror in night vision so that their tailgating doesn’t infuriate me and I take puffs from the clove. Men can be such pigs (so can women, but I feel like complaining about men… I feel like I have to qualify everything… like… oh, don’t worry little baby men, I know women can be totally assholes also.) Men have a terrible tendency not look outside of their world, they live in a box, not a glass one, each man lives in a little tunnel and although he has an external extremity on his own goddamn body he doesn’t actually look outside of his world. If he sees another world by accident he thinks he could do it better. Sometimes the man digs a tunnel to that other world and tries to change it into his own.

Meddling, meddling, meddling. Men are little rats, meddling. To me it is insane or at the very least a brain defect to think that one person can do something “better” than the person next to them. This brain defect seems to be running the humanity and social-political reality at present. Can't we just not know... and that's okay... goddamnit. Medicine has gone far, but why is that “better”? We can go into outer-space, and why is this “better”? We can drive around on roads cut into the earth and see land that these roads access, is this “better” than a long walk? Meddling, meddling, meddling. I think some men are sexy, but most men never allow themselves to be sensual. Even though women like to act squeamish most men get grossed out by things a lot quicker, remember that women deal with blood every month, for years. I have a lot of fury towards men in regards to the way the world is now. For the fact that in the most equally paid place in the nation women still make $.88 to every $1.00 her male counterpart makes. That’s truly fucked up. What makes me even more angry is that many women younger than me don’t realize that they are being treated unequally daily, how can they be so ignorant? Why can’t they see that they are constantly being put in their underclass status through ads, commercials, television, film, and general media? I think there is a generation soon that will overcome this fucked-up class struggle and I hope I’m alive to witness equality.

I wonder what it’s like to be a man. More pressure? No. More expectations? Probably. More success? Definitely. I also wonder what it is like for a man to realize that women are still treated truly unequally in this culture. Does it feel good? Does it make you feel strong? Does it make you feel sorry? Does it make you want to fuck? Isn’t that what society tells us you want all the time? Sex. Does penetrating something make you feel powerful? Does it make you feel strong? Does it make you feel wanted and embraced? How do you think it makes a woman feel? Do you feel vulnerable? Do you feel passionate? Do you understand lust?

I hope that the south turns out to be like men. In the media (and on the road in their dick-trucks) they are portrayed as whiney dominating asshole with only an end on their mind. In real-life they are way more vulnerable, kind, and love to be helpful and share their knowledge of their world. (See I'm not a total man-hating bitch.)

TEXAS DOWNER that goes... Everywhere. Too much information.

2008-12-06T10:48:00.000-05:00

TEXAS II
11-26-08

New York is hard and it’s always there. I woke up thinking about it. Here I am in the middle of rural Texas and I wake up with anxieties about New York. I checked my blackberry and looked at the emails about shows; who got what and when. I can’t help thinking that my name should be there. But then I look to my right and out the Ram’s side window at the distant sunrise of yellows, whites, purples, and blues and remember that I am doing things a little differently. I took my show on the road. I decided to see how various environments would affect my work and the challenge of editing and writing are thrown in the mix. As a result of this 9 month sojourn I may have missed a season or two. I’m holding onto everything by a string, or more like a piece of dyed purple yarn. I can stay in the city for another year and keep applying for things, but my anxiety this morning said… apply with what? I’m showing at Judson in February, but it makes me unfcomfortable to rely on a wip as my application piece for next season. Beyond that… what am I showing?

I have reached passed ID and into a new piece, I think I’m going to call it iloveamerica-aton, because at this point I have traveled the US in a one ton vehicle and I love it. I’m thinking of using the tools from the scary body to represent the environment and how I have to adjust to the conditions around me. Then I’m also thinking about showing a video because that seems to clarify everything, but do I need to clarify anything? My other thought is to just dance around. No words, no props, just my movement vocabulary, kinesthetic sensibility, and some music. I have many doubts at this point, about everything. And yet… here I am.

It’s Thanksgiving tomorrow and I will be somewhere in northeastern Texas. I keep hoping my doubts will dissipate. I thought that as I got older perhaps I would get a few things that I had dreamed of as a youth and have something to be proud of. Life. I wonder why I keep trying so hard. I wonder why I think I can still be successful. I wonder about the car accident. I wonder about the way I was raised. I wonder about my medications, “causes you to think about suicide a lot.” I’m thinking about failure and the seeping away of my youth and my hopes and dreams. It’s hard to watch them crumble and to feel the affect on my person. I don’t want to become apathetic. I feel it though. In getting to know myself better I have come to know how others see me more. I never liked to raise my hand in classes and I never liked to erase misspellings. Erasing took to much time. I wrote over the words. I never liked to memorize things for tests, I knew it was pointless and I would forget what wars were fought in the 1500s in eastern Europe (see I just made that up.) A pivotal point in my struggle for popularity was in third grade when I was crowned Mar de Gras queen of the class. I was terrified by the recognition, I hid in the bathroom and passed the crown over to my friend Brandi.

When I was at Reed College and my Humanities teacher wanted me to get “assessed” when I went home for Christmas Break, upon reflection... this was my first year of College and the teacher should have never asked for such a task in the first place (and my guardians should never have agreed to do it.) At the time I was lost in a love struggle between my boyfriend in California and my new love in Portland. I was quite confused by my emotional state and chemistry was a real challenge. So I go to this very old-school dark-wood corporate office in a part of San Luis that I don't remember. The lady I meet is so nice. I mean sweetly nice. Nice in that way that I feel I must dumb down what I am saying because she is speaking so kindly and simply. So the tests start. The questions were very easy, but I didn’t want to make her feel bad so I acted like I was struggling a bit with the answers. This is where I realized later that I had a low IQ… not from the subsequent numbers but the goddamn fact that I did not know I was taking an IQ test. This all added to my feelings of inadequacy. I had made adjustments in my personality and answers so that the other person was comfortable instead of focusing on myself, fuck that. I left Reed for my high-school boyfriend then I left my high-school boyfriend for dance.

Yesterday while I was staying at the Canyon a coyote came around at sunset. Isadora and I went for a little hike up one of the canyon wall and there it was. I tried to take some photos but nothing came out. I had never been that close to a coyote. Then the next morning it came right around the side of the van (photo), I started to feel like Kevin Costner in Dances with Wolves except Dances with Coyotes doesn’t have the same ring.

I spent last night brushing out these incessant burs from Isadora’s fur. There must have been nearly fifty, it took some time. It was my fault. I took her off the trails. As I was taking out the burs I was getting pricked left and right. While I was taking her off the trail and towards the creek I realized that would be a great place to dance. Recently I have stopped calling it “rehearsal” and started to call it just a dance. I’m naming after contact improvisation. In contact after you dance with someone you talk about the “dance” you had together that day. For me it is the same, my contact with nature or my environment. Speaking of which, I need to get out there.

Intelligent Life on...?

2008-12-04T13:28:00.001-05:00

TEXAS
11-25-08

I drove on hi40 from Santa Rosa New Mexico to the cut-off for Texas Canyon State Park in Amarillo. That highway is the new route 66. But you can drive the real route 66 if you want, I didn’t. I’ve done it before and it’s fine. This time I’m traveling with something else on my mind. Guys. Not really. More thoughts on dance, editing my footage, and my dog. She has things hidden in her hair that would take hours to untangle. I’m afraid I’m not doing enough for her and then I think about how much I actually do take her for walks. It’s okay. She has been better on the leash now… what about the snapping and barkingeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee? Oopse. I was reaching over to pet her with my hand still on the keyboard.

The first place I stopped in Texas was a gas station where gas was $1.59. That’s the cheapest I’ve seen in years. It’s in Texas. It added to my disgust of this country’s current government. I passed through a town called “Bushland”. Weird, I know. So, although I am glad for the cheap gas it definitely displayed the inequity from state to state. In the beginning of this trip, in May, on the east coast gas was nearly $5.00 per gallon. Why isn’t someone in the government shouting out about this? It is so obvious illegal… somehow. I just wish we weren’t all so reliant on gas and other natural resources, but some things are necessary for survival, but why? Who really needs to be here? Sure, yeah, it’s interesting that there is “intelligent life on earth.” I don’t think intelligence means making things. It is not intelligent to create a bomb that can blow up a city. And, I certainly don’t think it is intelligent to use it. Why would it be intelligent to destroy ones own species? I know people want to show dominance and they want to be listened to. Anyways, destruction of the planet by draining resources and trashing it is not my idea of an intelligent species. Americans are mildly trying through recycling programs and using cars less often, but from what I understand China and India are in a destructive pattern with the earth so that they can sustain a status as world powers. What people will do to achieve “power” or to be listened to is astounding. To put the planet at risk and humanity all together to an end just for some extra recognition, that’s definitely not intelligent.

I’m really tired. We went from Mountain Time to Central time. I stayed up late and woke up early to a whiney puppy. She has started a whiney-in-the-morning thing and now she is sleeping. I want to sleep. I am thinking about staying in the canyon another night. I just need to be still. I have been moving, moving, moving. I’ve been rushing, rushing, rushing to get to the south. Well, I’m fucking here. The gas station was funny. People talked with their southern accents. I thought that had nearly died out in Texas, but no, it’s here. And each little southern accent was different. I wanted them to talk with me more, then I realized I had an accent to them, a Hollywood accent, the California drawl. I’ve been trying to get rid of it over the past two years and make my voice a little sharper, less chill. At this “Loves” gas station they had movies for sale, movies are my weakness. I can go into a big-box store and buy over $100 worth of movies in less than fifteen minutes. When I have electricity at a site I watch a movie or two a night. I can never remember actors names, directors, or even some movie titles, but I know my favorite movies and I know them well. So I bought a couple movies. One of them I purchased because it starred Daniel-Day Lewis and because I am in Texas, There Will Be Blood, a perfect buy for a gas station (although it’s based in California… which I didn’t catch onto until the end of the flick.) The movie is somehow inspiring and sickening at the same time and it left questions unanswered. There was a moment where I thought the priest was schizophrenic until I realized that he had a twin brother. The rhythm of the movie is slow, quick, slow, slow, quick, quick, slow, and it sort of goes like that. The music played a huge part in the drama of the picture. We could just be looking at a canyon wall and instead it became a looming monolith because of the sound. There were some drums that drove the force of the fire over the drill. I suppose I look at the rhythm and sound in a film because of my relationship with choreography and dance. The acting was very demanding. There were a lot of shots without words so the actors had to tell the story with their expression and their emotions went hot and cold. For me it was a good reminder of what the oil industry and Texas are proud of, rugged money.

(Pictures wouldn't upload... and they will... eventually!!!)

Money... tourista... home.

2008-12-03T23:32:00.000-05:00

along the Rio Grande
11.22.08

Ha. I made it out of the Taos night alive, almost. Or, yeah. I’m alive. I’m so tired. I am exhausted. I spent money today. I have been really conservative with my fundage on this leg of the trip. I haven’t been buying gifts for people or extra items and then today happened. I went to the Pueblo which is I suppose the reason the town of Taos exists. It’s the Native American dwelling that was built nearly one thousand years ago, some claim longer, much longer. The whole history was explained to me yesterday, “these Indians traded with those Indians traded with those Indians traded with the Spanish traded with the Europeans.” It went something like that, but the Pueblo is like (as someone else said today) “the original condos”. They are three floors high and match beautifully with the surrounding mountains and stunning sunsets. Something else I found out is that this land belonged to the forest service and the Indians bought it back or were granted it back in 1970, I also found out the president who granted them this, Nixon.

I had planned to go in and look at some old architecture. Try three hours later and over $200 down I was ready for some serious coffee and to figure out where I was going to sleep tonight. I did not entirely realize that people lived in Pueblo still and that there were venders, but not the typical commercial types (although there was one, there's always one.) The one man Tony was so kind and very hard of hearing his pottery was so beautiful, the colors and the craft of using the horsehairs to leave random bleeding black marks on the clay was compelling. And Patricia whose son Mike I met in passing made the ring I am wearing right now. Patricia was convinced that Mike and I have a future together, I'm not opposed to the idea, I'll wear the ring as an extention to my heart. I also bought a number of the sage bundles for friends, a whistle of clear sounds, and a peace pipe. I enjoyed all of the conversations that I had with people today and again… I don’t meet a lot of Native Americans, and they don’t meet a lot of travelers like me so it was an agreeable mix. Sleep. Oh yes, I am at a small state park, again the only inhabitant, on the Rio Grande.

Taos, NM

2008-12-01T10:27:00.000-05:00

11.21.2008

I feel weird. No really. It’s weird. I was really sick for a day in Boulder. One day. Completely incapacitated. Now I’m just feeling weird in the cold Taos night. It’s supposed to get down to 14 degrees. Water freezes at 32. My sleeping bag is a 40 degree bag. I’m in trouble for tonight. My propane went out. Gone. I called the office where I am staying (because I am staying in an RV park, no state parks nearby.) The office was closed and no one was around. I called a few gas stations and nothing, no propane. This town closes down at 5pm sharp. I even saw that the coffee shop closed at 2. What’s wrong with the world? (You don’t have to answer that.) So in a propane emergency… Well, I suppose I could drive to Santa Fe. I wouldn’t do that though. I paid thirty bucks to be here, so I’m here. Thirty bucks! I wanted to do some writing (ta-da) and some video editing (na-da) and that costs me thirty bucks in the freezing cold with no tea and not even the comfort of hot coffee in the morning. At least there are showers. Thirty bucks!

The guy who checked me in picked up on the Travels with Charley theme right away, but what I neglected to tell him was the brain injury and dance rehearsal part of the whole bit. I also didn’t tell him how long this venture is. People take it in different ways. In a way they don’t realize that I’ve seen them all before. I’ve stayed in so many places, from the fancy RV parks and KOAs to the State Park pit toilet and no showers. And I’ve seen all the docents and all the campers, but I know that none of them have really seen someone like me. I’m not being egotistical, or maybe it feels alright to be singled out. If I had it my way I would be in a group of three or four people traveling. Alone is becoming excruciating and exhausting. So what’s different about me? I’m alone. I’m female. I’m working. I’m rehearsing, writing, photographing, and videoing. I have epilepsy. I’m traveling for… nine months.

I took this trip to see the country that I live in. To see the land that was fought over and won and fought and won and fought again. To view the beauty of the plains, the heat of the badlands, and the generosity of the mountains. I am so lucky to have seen such things. I knew America had many faces. Now, if I could survive tonight that would be fantastic.

(Photos aren't uploading... and they are brilliant... damn... I'll try again later. xoxo)

Colorado is a lot and it took a lot to be there.

2008-12-01T09:35:00.000-05:00

Boulder, CO
11.16.08

I keep trying to catch up on my writing. But, something happens. I am so busy driving and taking care of daily road tasks… like driving... like driving to beat out the snow storms… I don’t have the time (or make the time) to write out what is happening. And believe me, so much has happened in this leg of the trip.

It’s been nearly a month back on the road and it only feels like a week. I had an excellent time on the West Coast. Truly beautiful. Now, inland, I feel a little more complicated, but I have moved quickly here and done lots of driving. More later. 1:07am, have to sleep.

driving.

driving.

driving.

driving.

driving.

(There are more photos... won't upload! Will try again later... arg.)

Gay Men Rule (my life in Seattle!)

2008-11-30T21:08:00.000-05:00

Seattle
11.08-11.11.2008

Thank God for Jeffrey. I stayed with a friend from undergraduate school at Cornish College of the Arts in Seattle. I went to sleep giggling on his luxurious fold-out couch and awoke with a smile on my face. He made me sing. I sing in front of no-one. I felt more comfortable around this old friend than I do alone. I never sing. He brought forth the humor in my life. And we could quickly balance it off with serious notions about futures or life choices, but wowowow. Thank you Jeffrey for your generosity!

This was also the first time really being back to Seattle since I graduated back in 2001. I had returned here and there for some legal reasons around the accident, but never to look around the city. Never to see Cornish again. To see that old building again. So much happened for me there, physically and emotionally. That place was my whole world for nearly three years. Very different from graduate school, Cornish was a conservatory and the focus was on technique and dance skills as well as kinesiology. The curriculum was very defined and structured and I adhered to it all, almost. I took more choreography. Any show I could do I did. (In those two ways it was the same as graduate school as well as the following way...) I always had a difficult time seeing the bigger picture. I kept thinking that Cornish was the bigger picture and I kept feeling too old, oh my. After the accident everything changed, inevitably, obviously, look at what I’m doing now… direct result.

Seattle was like Portland, memories. It ended as I was leaving town with a great sushi lunch with my friend of 11 years Guy. Guy is from that mossy past. The past in Olympia when I attended Evergreen and studied philosophy and then I didn’t and then… Well, Guy is from that time and he made it out good and so did I, thank God. We ate at one of those sushi places where the sushi is on a conveyer and it just goes around and you pick up what looks good, it was totally awesome. I was in rad delicious-land and it was amazing to be with Guy. I only wish he and I could have spent more time together. I met him in a place I had never been before, but heard the name a gazillion times, Kirkland.

The Seattle Market

Teddy's Birthday Party... not him... the other Teddy.

Wade (with a Jeffrey close-up)

Wade, Jeffrey, and Isadora

There is something in the water.

2008-11-30T20:57:00.000-05:00

11.06.2008

Aberdeen.
Washington holds something amazing for me. It’s my past. It’s got some moss growing and it’s got a lot of shadowed walkways. It still is beautiful here. It smells great, it always did. Always so clean. Perhaps my past has now been washed away thanks to those Pacific Northwest rains.

The entire way between Portland and Seattle it rained. The raining puts a damper on the dancing. So I dance in the van. That’s right. I had a massive dancing session on the Washington coast, right up against the ocean, oh, I may have some footage of some of that dance, that would be rad. It was an exercise in how much I could stretch the van.

I stopped in Aberdeen. I had to. I had never been there. Neither have most people. Aberdeen has always been an elusive mystery to me. Two of my favorite artists are from there. Most people know the first, Kurt Cobain. And less people than I thought know the second, Trisha Brown. Perhaps because I had artists around when I was growing up I had heard the name Trisha Brown here and there. But, the fact that people just haven’t heard of her blows me away, but then again there are many many many choreographers and dancers that people have never heard of.

So, in Aberdeen I went to the grocery store. It was time for the bi-or-tri-weekly re-stalk. Holy-shit were the people nice. I was dressed how I normally am, a little odd and a little disheveled, and no-one batted an eye. I didn’t feel any judgment from the locals; this is almost never the case. Usually there is a slanted eye my way or a “who is she and what is she doing here?” blatant stare, but rarely is there stillness, confidence, and the calm feeling of a small town going about their business on a very rainy day, a small town without fear or need for judgment. I took Isadora for a walk in the rain and made myself a cup of coffee in the parking lot and was on my way.

Portland, OR

2008-11-30T19:59:00.000-05:00

David at the local Value Village.

Reed College... my daily walk from the dorms to class.

Portland
10.30-11.05.2008

The six days I spent in Portland, Oregon rolled by sweetly. The autumn leaves almost completely shifted. Meetings with friends made the days pass so quickly. One of my oldest friends was Reed College. A fourteen-year friendship. We even lived together for a year. It was the first of the five undergraduate schools I went to. Sometimes I wish it was the only school I attended (five seems abnormally excessive.) It was a fantastic school. The academic expectations, intellectual challenges, and strong bonds can only form at such a place. The place provided a freedom of ideas and expression with a foot jammed in the door of history. It was my first time returning to Reed since I left it and it was fantastic.

The school showed me the same calm grey days that I remembered as an impressionable and strong-willed, yet insecure, young woman. The place showed me directed, interested, and unique students. It was a good visit back in time and a great reminder of where I’ve been and who I was.

Another highlight was the chance to take a company class with the Portland based dance company BodyVox. Thanks to my friend Jonathan I had the opportunity to take class with them and it was just fun (easygoing, nice studio, athletic dancing.) I so rarely take anything other than ballet or doing my own work it was nice to break some of my boundaries and try on someone else’s body for a change.

Another perk to my Portland trip was David’s bread; well David’s just cooking! It’s pleasing to be a guest in someone’s home and then for that person to consistently bake and cook. It was lots of fun to eat! Isadora liked it there too.

And lastly was to see my great friend Sarah again. Sarah and I have known each other for over twelve years. We worked together at a consignment store in San Luis Obispo when we were 19 and 20 years old. To see her again is like going directly back to that time. She looks the same. An individual goes through much as a young adult and every moment is so full of pressure, possibility, and investigation. The people we meet at that age create unique and lasting impressions. Will life keep going like that? At 44 will I look back at the people I knew at 32 and think about how precious they are because I was so young and impressionable? But… I’m not young? I’ve struggled with that question since I was 22 and turned to dance. I thought I was too old. And ever since then I’ve thought I was old. I hope it will start to slow down for me. I do not want to keep thinking I am old and then be 85 and say, “wait… I’m young!”

Sarah and I.

Isadora with one of Sarah's kitties.

Isadora loved taking naps on the red-sneakered kitty pillow.

Identity (in Oregon)

2008-11-20T12:29:00.000-05:00

Oregon Coast, OR
October 27, 2008

This is all so simple. I like being on the road. I like the change and the possibility and the meetings and the goodbyes. It’s both easy and hard, and to be expected. All in the everyday change. I do have to mention that today was quite a day of driving and a day like this makes me tired; it makes my joints ache.

Something interesting about the road… the dry and cracking hands. Almost immediately the crevasses in my fingertips began. I’m not sure what it is and why it happens, but I’ve see my hands age about ten years when I’m on the road. As soon as I land the dirt clears out and the hands return to their interior life.

I have some odd things happening with my identity. I know more about myself in various situations. Then I cannot categorize myself. I don’t think I am a hippie. I’m not really one of those rv campers who puts plaques with my last name on it. I might be a bohemian, but I don’t really know what that means. I know categories don’t matter and I really don’t categorize other people, but I wonder, how do people see me? I don’t know if I will ever know such a shallow thing.

So, I finally extricated myself from San Luis Obispo. My car was at Ottis Autobody for 4 weeks. They were nice, but don't go there if you are in a hurry or rely on a single car. I’ve never heard of a car being in the shop for so long. I kept saying goodbye to people and hello again. The last week I was there I hid. I really was sick of the hello’s and goodbyes. The hometown “hello’s” can become so drunkenly trite. Now I’m on the road again and it feels like home. It is breath. I can’t really believe how comfortable this lifestyle is for me. Weird.

Hearst Castle... pool... me!

2008-11-06T13:18:00.000-05:00

October 5, 2008

It has always been a dream of mine to be a guest at the Hearst Castle in San Simeon; to roam the grounds and not have to be so careful about walking on the little burgundy carpet or inside the partitions. Well, amen and hallelujah, thanks to Karen I had the chance to splash in the outdoor pool, change in the dressing rooms, and I touched a hand-chiseled marble column with both hands before Karen and my mom simultaneously said... "Stop!"

This must be the reason I've been in SLO for over a month. No? Oh, right. Remember the dent in the front right bumper? The local shop is having a hard time finding the part. So hard that I am beginning to believe that they lied to me initially about locating it... As restless as I am and as ready as I am to continue my trip... San Luis Obispo is not so bad, especially when you are taking a dip in Mr. Hearst's pool.

Arrival in SLO, CA

2008-11-06T12:42:00.000-05:00

Arriving in San Luis Obispo, CA.... August 2008

I think Isadora feels comfortable here... and with her new haircut.

With friends at the famous Madonna Inn after the lecture I gave at the SLO Library. Pie and cake is a great way to celebrate.

Puppy in the pool at the annual Templeton dog pool day!

ID...iloveamerica...video!

2008-11-03T13:27:00.000-05:00

Trees... the biggest in the... world?

2008-11-03T13:19:00.000-05:00

Kings Canyon and The Sequoia National Forest, CA
August 16, 2008

http://www.newtimesslo.com/art/827/travels-with-isadora/

2008-11-01T15:40:00.000-04:00

http://www.newtimesslo.com/art/827/travels-with-isadora/

Article about me and Isadora in the SLO New TImes!
Late August 2008.

There is so much more.

2008-11-01T14:09:00.000-04:00

Yosemite, California
Tuesday August 12, 2008

Until this three-month sojourn across America I did not recognize what a truly laborious effort it is to start a campfire. Obtaining the wood, weather permitting, having some kindling or paper or something to get the thing going so it will get hot enough to start the whole campfire part. By the time everything is going it’s an hour later you are tired, very dirty (and of-course there will be no showers at this campsite scenario), and your mid-back hurts from the ordeal, oh yeah, and you also can’t breath or see because of all of the smoke inhalation. The second (and last) campfire I made was in Vermont on the Grand Isle and it was an extraordinary fire. I roasted marshmallows and had a fantastic time just keeping the bugs away with the heat. I’m not much of the campfire/marshmallow type of gale but I thought I’d give it a shot and it was worth the personal wear. So why haven’t I had a fire since? Should I start a campfire here in Yosemite as homage to the fire that shut this place down two weeks ago? Because I’m now in California perhaps the campfire thing will come a lot easier.

The thing is this trip has not really been about the camping. It’s not like a vacation. It’s the way I have chosen to live for three months*. It’s an experiment and an experience in art making. It has been about the dancing. I don’t know why I don’t write about this aspect more since it consumes much of my thought and experience. Yes, I dance. I am dancing. I rehearse where I land. I am rounding out the last week on the three-month cross-continental rehearsal and performance experiment and the whole experience is such a jumble in my mind. Like the lyric from The Weavers, “All the people I’ve met and places I’ve been. Singing, ‘So long it’s been good to know you’…etc.” But, I could keep going for another three-months. It doesn’t feel like the end of something. As cliché as this is, it feels like a beginning. I have discovered that I am irrevocably two things: a night owl and a traveler. You would think that dance and me would fit perfectly. Performing in the evenings and touring, but life hasn’t been so simple as to offer me a career in the thing I love. I’ve had to traverse some complex emotional terrain to wonder again, “Am I forcing my way into a field needlessly?” I could be married with kids and everything, I mean why did I choose to forgo those basic human interests in light of something else that I thought I could add to. I thought I could add something unique and interesting to the field of dance and instead I have found caverns of self-doubt and pity matched with the idea that money will never be in my life. I wonder now if I didn’t owe so much in student loans if I would go back to school for something else and do what so many other dancers have done… retire. But the idea of returning to school is absurd with how much I owe. I could never go back even if I really wanted to. And... why would I go to another field when there really is so much more to be explored here?

*I wrote this before I decided to continue the adventure... thus making it a 8 month sojurn.

Rye Patch Reservoir

2008-10-20T16:19:00.000-04:00

Rye Patch Reservoir, Nevada

August 11, 2008

Pleasant surprise after a day of hellish driving through Idaho and Nevada. Barren and grotesque. The land is boring and long. It is the place that you just want to sing through and not break down or run out of gas because there is nothing! A state of shock and disbelief beholds me as I see the mirage of water and a poetic sunset, no it's really... it's really there and only ten dollars!

*note... I was on what is known as the "Loneliest Road in America"

Craters of the Moon on the Earth!

2008-10-18T22:30:00.001-04:00

August 11, 2008

Craters of the Moon, Idaho

Brilliant campsite and…

Do you know what a Teton is?

2008-10-14T19:27:00.000-04:00

I love Isadora... no matter what!

Grand Teton Nation Park, Wyoming
August 9, 2008

Yes. Majestic, beautiful, magnanimous, campground “full”, oh no, another campground “full”, and so I backtrack away from the Tetons, then I find a spot and it’s really only 4pm. Isadora and I walk to a nearby lake-- Oh, I don’t want to forget this…

The young man who finally helped me get this site was missing his left arm from the elbow down. He came to my site later because there was some rotting food that some campers left. Nothing like the prospect of sleeping next to rotting food that if went untouched I would have awoke next to a grumbling bear. Again I had one of my significant conversations of the last couple months. It ended with us talking a bit about the scary body. For some reason… through all of my scary body research and study I focused on the unobstructed body being blocked or deterred. I asked this young ranger what he thought of this idea, changing the way someone moves. I don’t think he understood what I was talking about. I think I gave him my card. I remember he had an interesting name and he was very cute. When I found out he was in his fifth and final year of college I realized that he was TOO YOUNG! No more younger men, ever. Done with the younger man. I’ve had my heart broken twice (nearly thrice) by younger men. No more! But, he did give me a pleasant site. I sat outside that night and watched the stars. So clear, the generic and honest peaceful nights sky.

Old Faithful: All in the name

2008-10-02T14:24:00.000-04:00

Yellowstone, Wyoming
The beginning of August, 2008

Old-Faithful was too faithful.
After the overpass from Montana into Wyoming Yellowstone was actually a bit of a letdown. It wasn’t what I was anticipating, at all. Such a grandiose name, so renowned, the first declared National Forest. I suppose I have just seen so much already and The Badlands sort-of destroyed any other contending National Forest. I can’t remember where I stayed the first night. Oh yeah, Mammoth. It was nice. There was a very colorful rainbow that waved goodnight against the clouded searing-pink sunset.

In the morning I went to Boiling River, which is apparently a local’s hangout, I felt lucky and warm and clean. (Showers are elusive when camping.) I was walking Isadora around the Mammoth campsite last night and a young couple stopped me to ask the type of dog. They are looking into dogs. She is a bronze sculpture artist and he is a cabinetmaker. They are very attractive and for a moment I wish I were them… or at least her. Working in a field that’s not dance, something more calm and methodical, structured and historical. And married. They had a friend there too. She wasn’t interested in Isadora, or me, or our conversation. She just observed. She felt like judgment. She felt harnessed and constrained. And then she said the oddest thing, “I imagine this is what it was like to be a cowboy.” Oh, I just figured it out… she must have been stoned. That’s it. Her apprehension was perhaps some paranoia. Moving on, the couple told me about Boiling River. It’s just up the road where the hot springs and the regular river converge. So, at that spot you can determine how hot or cold you want to dip. It was magnificent. Then I went to Norris geysers and walked all around. It was hot up and down. The geysers bubbled up and boiled at varying rates and I wondered how people originally traversed this landscape. Perhaps some sort-of stilt system. It was perfect to photograph and for me it had been the quintessential landscape of Yellowstone, somehow barren, drying, hot, and dead. Killed by the traffic and human interaction with nature on a superficial boardwalk kind of way.

Going with the theme I decided to see Old-Faithful. I had heard the word referenced to plenty so it was time to see the actual place. The parking lot is set up so that two lanes drive in. I was in the left lane. The guy in the right lane thought he was on a two-lane road so he turned left into my passenger side. I just saw him veering in to my lane and honk and crash and then… halt. Silence. Isadora was thrown onto the passenger side floor. I just start cursing. The things that came out of my mouth… I hated that man and I hated the situation. Why me? Why now? Ouch, my neck. The left side of my neck starts to hurt. His wife hands me a fifty because it would make them feel better. Why me? I was going to sell the car as soon as I get to San Luis Obispo. Now this. For what? For him not paying attention to the road. Too many distractions? I’m still angry about it. It still hurts and the next day I bought some alcohol.

I don’t drink. I can’t drink. I suppose I just wanted to feel a little normal. Like what a healthy person would do in my situation. A healthy person would go buy a drink, right?

After my geyser of ungodly wordage I was nervously down to business with insurance companies and shit like that. I hate that goddamn crap. That is the worst thing in the world, the fucking insurance hounds. I was afraid to call my insurance agent… even the accident was %150 not my fault. I am afraid of that system. I hate dealing with and paying that system and not getting the return.

The campsite was posted at “full”. I went up to the window and told him my situation and in telling my situation I couldn’t help but cry. He was extremely helpful and kind. He also showed me a glimpse into a way of life. South Dakota keeps coming up in my trip. His nametag had his name and “South Dakota” below it. I asked him if he was from South Dakota, and this would make sense since he was being so kind to me. But, he said he wasn’t. He said that South Dakota is the most lenient on car registration and other stuff. He told me he lived out of his RV with his wife in paradise. They work wherever needs staff for the season. I am impressed by him and this and wonder if I could lead such a life.

Isadora and I go to the lake. Yellowstone Lake is right next to the campground. We walk and I feel my spine, check in with my alignment. She runs into the water and then sits peacefully. I actually never saw Old-Faithful. I just stood in the parking lot and hashed some senseless shit out and then left. It was a two-hour ordeal that left me drained and afraid. I hate dumb men.

The Fox Creek Foxtrot

2008-09-26T03:24:00.000-04:00

Fox Creek Campground, Wyoming
8.7.2008

Just outside of Yellowstone. Today was filled with awe and a conflicted whoa! Isadora and I drove, well, she doesn’t drive; she now is big enough to jump into the passenger’s seat and watch the scenery, so I suppose she is my distinguished co-pilot. The overpass from southern Montana to northwestern Wyoming is astounding at 10,000 feet high Isadora had her first walk in the snow. It was a needed respite from the heat of the summer. The natural magnificence viewed from far above. I had to stop every 100 feet to catch a new angle of some striking mountain or vivid lake.

Then we wound up in a campsite just outside of the renowned campground, Yellowstone. I of-course thought I was in Yellowstone, but I thought it was odd how few people inhabited this great site. It gave me a lot of freedom. In the morning I found a spot and rehearsed ID without any real interruptions… although the mosquitoes were relentless. I was spraying “OFF” while I was running the piece. I have chosen to return to the movement I had before this trip. I want to see how it has changed, how I have changed. It will be reflected in my choices. I am also working on the sound. It seemed like such a chore, but when I get going I really enjoy the little rewards that sound design gives me. It gives me many ahah moments and sometimes as I work on the sound new ideas for choreography surface.

I have not mentioned dance much lately. I’ve been doing it. I think about it constantly. I have been exercising and trying to stay in shape. The most challenging experience I have had with rehearsing and running the dance is the elements! The weather! It rains or it’s 95 degrees out. It’s been a wonder to find a space and a time with good conditions to rehearse. When I do… I grab hold tight.

One night in Montana... writing about Deadwood, South Dakota

2008-09-15T19:58:00.000-04:00

Deadwood, South Dakota

Lori & father Stan

Stan's House

I'm in... Hardin?, Montana
August 6, 2008

So much has happened in the last week I’ve thought a lot about how to write it out. How to explain whose who and what’s what, but tonight I will just write out the feelings I am left with. I am in awe at the kindness and openness of others.

I went to Deadwood South Dakota because it has history with Bill Hickock and Calamity Jane. The town has been around for a while, one of those mythic western towns with outlaws and do-gooders alike. It was known for mining gold. That gets a town in trouble. Gold mining brought everyone around who wanted to strike at rich, subsequently Deadwood is now just a crappy gambling town where not a single of the historical downtown buildings stands; they even moved the goddamn cemetery. So I went up to the once removed cemetery to check out the graves of some famous western figures. It was so hot and muggy. I repeat it was so hot that my skin was melting off in the sunlight. I was not going to leave the puppy in the car, so I brought her up towards the gate and—holy shit—it cost money to get into the goddamn cemetery. Okay, it was just a dollar and then I see the sign for no dogs. I’m just like, “come on give us some room to breath in this touristy gambling hole.” So the lady lets me tie Isadora up by the booth and I still have to go back to the hot van to get some money, one dollar.

I walk up. I see some graves. I walk around. I see the town from above. I walk down past the bikers and past the tourist bus to the barking dog. She is getting more adamant about what she wants. I love that dog. I discipline her about the barking with a big… “NO!” And she stops. And she starts again. “No Isadora. No Bark.” She stops. She starts.

I start talking with the woman in the booth about Deadwood and where I could stay the night. It’s complicated since there is a bike rally, so all the motorcyclists take up the camping spots like they take up the roads. Sturgis. Sturgis is one town east and this bike rally has been happening for the past 68 years. Over 500,000 people go to it every year. The locals leave. They rent their houses out to bikers for the week. I think it was the Hells Angels who have their own property there so they have their own campsite. It’s a weeklong event that actually lasts about two. So, I’m not sure what to do. She offers me to stay on her property. It’s so hot that I can’t think about much so I just think it’s nice that someone offered me a place to park… maybe I’ll check it out later…

Later becomes sooner. I drive up a small mountain and a semi-busy road and pass the property three times before calling her again and getting better directions. Cute house. Really cute, very 1950. That’s her father’s house; it’s his property. Lori lives in the house next to it, or houses next to it. What’s inside her house is like what is outside… stuff. Lori is a collector. She is really good at it. She has everything from little keepsakes and period tokens, like salt and pepper shakers from the 1980s to costume jewelry from the 1960s, she has 80 pairs of jeans and photographs everywhere. It is comfortable because she is comfortable, she has made this place her personal shrine, she knows who she is and she went with it. She collects. Albeit she is trying to organize this gargantuan collection and gave a few boxes to her sister last week. Here’s the thing: she has all of her house items plus four shacks on the property filled with things as well. Okay, so it’s a bit much for one person, but if she finds comfort in it and has space for it, I think it is kind of nice.

Stanly is totally different. His house is completely organized with a reign of 1950s/1970s décor. It is also very comfortable. These people are comfortable and confident. They have lived in this area all of their lives. Worked here. Had kids here, have grandkids and great-grandchildren. Plus, they were open to having a traveler come and stay with them. This was the most kindness I had seen on my entire trip.

Lori and I stayed up until 4 am talking about family and life. In the morning we were having coffee in her dim, comfortable, and cluttered living-room when her father came in. We chatted for a bit. Then he stated with finality, “Scooter is gone.” Lori and I looked at each other in disbelief. I had just met his dog the day before. It was a small light brown Pomeranian, I think. I knew he was old and weary of puppy Isadora, but death? Isadora sniffed at the little cogger dog and went straight for his food and treats.

I felt so bad. Here I came into their lives the night before Stanley’s long-time companion of fourteen years died. I felt so sad. I thought about the day that Isadora will go. We love our animals and get so attached. That morning Stan had brought Scooter to the vet because he was having trouble breathing. The vet told him it was time. Stan knew the time was coming so it wasn’t a complete shock, sad nonetheless. He dug a hole on the hill above the house and filled it up.

They invited me to stay a second night. I said, “yes, definitely.”

So, later that day we went to a locals spot called Spearfish Canyon and it was beautiful. Lori and Stan showed me all around this spot that they have known all their lives. Then… we went to Sturgis. It was Saturday night. Lori’s son and daughter-in-law actually live in Sturgis. All I can write now... motorcycles, motorcycles, mechanical bull, energy drink, angry fat drunk girl, naked bartenders, tips, motorcycles, sleep, breakfast, drive, now.

Montana Road

Skyped: ID, America and Scary Bodies (Interview for dance-tech.net)

2008-09-05T19:18:00.000-04:00

Find more videos like this on dance-tech.net

The Badlands... home sweet home?

2008-08-13T16:22:00.001-04:00

Sage Creek in The Badlands, South Dakota

This place eats me up. I am consumed and subsumed by its tentacles and tendrils. It fills me up with the breath that I have missed the last eight months. The empty order and nature rested gives me a hope. I want to be in this hope longer. I want to be here longer. I want to live in The Badlands. I want to know everything about this area; the history, people and nature. Unfortunately I know my mind would forget such simplicities quickly. What my mind will never forget about Sage Creek were the bison. The American Buffalo herd walking through the primitive campsite at 7am. There were about six other campers besides me. They get out of their tents and I out of my van to see the herd trailing through our night dwelling. These six-foot high creatures are majestic and complicated. They are caked with dirt and mud and they look tough weathered and wise. Their eyes are so large. The eyes can see all the way around the body. They know we are there. The thing is… this is their land. This is how they roam. We roam in smaller herds and with a random order adjusted to our minds interest. They roam as one.

The Badlands= heated reflections.

2008-08-13T16:10:00.001-04:00

Interior, South Dakota

It seems like I’m always trying to figure things out. It seems like I never figure things out. I just look at things, wonder about them, and then, I forget. I come to realizations and then I forget what I have realized. Ten years ago I knew so much. The head injury pocketed my 20s. Spent so much time trying to figure out what was wrong and how to sedate the symptoms of the crash. The medications now are so strong that I placed the last two days into one day. Again, and I don’t know how many times I have mentioned this, I can’t believe I am alone on this trip. And right now, I can’t believe I am in the feared Badlands by myself.

Murdo... will you marry me?

2008-08-11T15:28:00.000-04:00

Murdo, South Dakota

Murdo. Murdo… Murdo. The van had real problems. I drove about an hour and stopped at the rest stop only to see more radiator fluid pouring out. I thought, “It’s okay. I bought some fluid back in Champlain so I’ll just fill it up again.”

Thus, I continued my conversation with some owners of a cute miniature schnauzer. We talked dog. It is always a joy to be around other dog lovers, especially attractive ones. The man reminds me of Quentin Tarantino. If I was to actually meet Tarantino in a rest-stop I would be speechless and inside seething with hope that he would be intrigued by me for some reason and decide to set me in a movie and then collaborate with me on a film and then marry me and move to a ranch on the California coast where all of our fantastic friends can come visit and drink wine. If I was to meet Tarantino there I’m sure I would have to pee, but it’s a dream… so, in my dream I would also drink wine with our rad friends… I like dreaming. I liked wine so much. I’m glad I had a lot of it before I could have none of it. It was nice to be reminded of dreams and admiration and the goofy-sexy cinematic world.

The humidity was eating my pours as I attempted to open the large black plastic container of witches brew. I looked down into the radiator basin next to the window washing fluid as the engine's heat was blowing my bristly hair and I heard the voice of a man. It was a guy in his mid-fifties with long hair and wearing tivas. He said to me, “aren’t you supposed to mix that with water?”
I said, “yeah, yeah, usually.”
He stated, “that’s what I was told.”
I asked, “by who?”
“I think my mechanic.”
I was curious about his source because Tom had told me to use 100% coolant. I had never used 100%. I used to have a 1965 Plymouth Valient station wagon that leaked radiator fluid every time I drove the damn thing. So part of driving that car was putting coolant in. I had it while I live in Washington and California I mostly used straight water. I had no fear for it to freeze up.

To be continued… the Murdo Ford shop and staying the night in a car dealership.

On the American Creek with Tom's Ford

2008-08-06T12:14:00.000-04:00

?, South Dakota
July 28, 2008

Matthew Barney. Yes, that’s his name. Why couldn’t I remember it this morning? I’m in “I don’t know where” South Dakota. From the signs I am staying along the American River. I am also along the trail of Lewis and Clark, that’s neat… even though I know little to nothing about them and probably never will put the time into memorizing their work. Their pathway was not captured in my memory and I am fond of the explorer, but their adventure is emotionally complicated for me. They took slaves. They were going through Indian terrain. It’s all a little odd and not something to be super celebrated. It’s something to say “neat for those guys” and move on.

I stopped along route 90 for gas and noticed, as my fellow travelers pointed out also that, my coolant was leaking like a miniature electric green waterfall. So, Anita the gas station attendant with the stringy brown hair called to Tom's, he said he would look at it. I went to Tom's Ford dealership, although my vehicle is a Dodge. We talked, he helped me. Some people were just leaving the office when I came into the small car dealership. Yesterday I was thinking about how I haven’t had a truly meaningful conversation with someone for a while, well, at that dealership in “I don’t know where” with Tom, I came close.

Tonight I sat outside on the grass and overlooked the American Creek (I thinks it's the Missouri River actually), although it looks more like a large slow-flowing river (yeah), and I thought about what Tom and I talked about. He recently sold his Harley. He was about to give it to a dedicated employee almost two years ago when the boy unexpectedly died. He drowned in the river. He was 32 and left behind a little girl. As Tom told me the story of how the boy died, of how he and his cousins were “wizzing” off the boat, how it was night, how they were drinking, how one pushed the other for fun, how the boy hit is head and then went over into 20 feet of water unconscious, how they thought it was only 10 feet, Tom’s eyes welled up with tears. He has been in car sales since he was 19, now 55, divorced, kids, short, chubby fingers, large glasses straight from 1985 and a hat that sat on the top of his head. He excused himself at one point and I heard the echo of hacking from the bathroom. I wonder if he is all right. He is really nice. Truly a nice person, it was somehow refreshing, but when I reflect on my adventures so far most people have been very kind, even the cops in Ohio. Tom told me about the new house that he bought from an older couple, it has a few acres and grass that he can look out on. The place he had before looked out on the river. He didn’t want to keep it. Every time he looked out he thought of the boy.

As I sat tonight looking at the stars and the river I thought again of my father. It’s always something new. Now that I am 32 I can finally see what people had been talking about for years… he died young. I continuously thought of him as an accomplished adult, which he was, a professor, a gallery owner, an artist, but he was also very young. I wondered again tonight about the weaving. Who was he making it for? It must have been special since he used the imported wool. My grandmother just told me that the wool was not lambs wool, that it was goat...? She also expressed her suspicion toward my mother. That somehow my mother knew it was contaminated and that is why she and I did not get anthrax. She is a pained woman.

It’s getting late and I have done nothing much. At sunset I thought Isadora was hyperventilating and I had the AC going and she was sprawled on my lap for close to an hour. She was just breathing heavy. These fury creatures confuse me sometimes. I thought of her dying and got sad and just held her in my lap and felt helpless.

It is humid here. This state has eyes. I feel like I am being looked at from all sides. It is very different from Maine or Vermont. Tom told me not to go into the Badlands he said there were Intoxicated Indians there. How can someone from who lives here be afraid? I am perplexed by the Badlands. He is not the first to warn me against going in there. What happens there? Another note, I am very satisfied by the South Dakota public radio right now, they are playing Brian Eno’s Music for Airports and thank God. After a day of switching between five bad channels it’s nice to get NPR and even nicer to have some ambience. I usually listen to this record while I am waiting at the airport.

It's on the border... into... South Dakota...

2008-08-06T11:32:00.000-04:00

Garretson, South Dakota
July 27, 2008

Here now. Thunder and rain last night. Headache this morning, gone now. Two cups of coffee and a motrin. This place is very lush and very rocky. There is a train that runs right by this campground. Rain, thunder, lightning, and train, equals, headache. There is a mythology about this place. About a place 100 feet from where I am now. The mythology is this. Jesse James was on the run and jumped over the waterfall and hid in a nearby cave. That is what I have gathered from speaking to the 7 and 8 year old girls last night who were building a sand castle out of clay, seaweed, and rocks. Perhaps I will find out more on my way out. Right now on NPR they are playing Prairie Home Companion again and Garrison Kieler is telling the story again about the man whose mother grew up in Lake Wobegone and she never told him the story of his grandfather who had lost his leg in a horse riding accident and had a prosthetic made out of the horse’s legs; one human leg and one horses leg with a hoof on the end. It makes me think of the artist who makes high-budget art films. I am forgetting his name right now. I’ve said it a million times. I forget it now. Why do I forget so many things so much of the time? It is a wonder that I can get through things on my own. I’ve gotta go.

One conversation in all of Iowa

2008-08-06T11:07:00.000-04:00

Lima, Ohio
more… later.

Evanston, Illinois
lots more… later.

Rockford, Iowa
July 26, 2008

I managed to speak to only one person in Iowa. As I pulled into the campsite, which was housed along a river and in the center of town, I decided it was time to take little Isadora for a walk. There was a ferocious little bark to our right and the smallest dog was acting incredibly threatening. It’s always those little buggers. Isadora’s personality is displayed significantly in such situations. She either doges toward the dog in curiosity and playful interest or just sits on the ground and looks at the dog. This time she sat down and this made the undersized white well-cut dog look even more insane as he barked without purpose. The owner came up and told Max to stop, Isadora went to the owner for some pets, for she loves people and she attempts to get the most out of their resources. The owner was probably in his sixties and the wife still seated by the trailer was uninterested in conversation, I’m guessing she was not a dog lover. So we chatted for a moment. I did not realize that would be my only conversation in the state of Iowa. But, you know what… I actually loved Iowa. It broke my expectations. I saw forests and I saw nature preserves and I saw fields of corn and fields of produce that feed this nation and it was beautiful.

Back in Ohio... July 13, 2008

2008-08-04T12:59:00.000-04:00

Talking on skype the night of Northern Rejection with my friend in Toronto. Perhaps I did look a bit off...

Ashtabula, Ohio
It rained a lot on that long drive through NY and PA and into Ohio. I reached my destination of Ashtabula. In this small campground I found solace. I found empathy, ears, and care. I find that from much of Ohio. I lived in Columbus for three years and I learned a lot about the Ohioan just as I learned a lot about dance/technology/litigation/medications/choreography/friendship. The three years began in a place of hell and ended in heaven. What made it heaven?

The kind Ohioan was best embodied by the owners of the small campground in Ashtabula. First, it was the cheapest place that I had stayed at $12 per night with electric hook-ups and showers. Second, the owner heard me mention my computer and offered the spot next to the house so that I could pick-up their internet. That was fantastic after a day of Northern rejection. It rained so hard. Isadora just sat outside in the rain. I love that dog. She is very independent and stubborn, at the same time she always needs to know where I am and is contented to the point of exultant when I return from somewhere. I am pleased to wake up in the morning to her little whines and barks to go outside, then I get up to let her out… but what she seems to really want is lots of petting not the outdoors.

I settled in for the night. Turned on the computer and again checked my rotting accounts.

ACCESS DENIED - July 12, 2008

2008-07-30T00:23:00.001-04:00

Do I look so dangerous, so suspicious?

The Falls before the fall back.

I was going to Canada to visit a friend in Toronto and then camp the northern part of the Great Lakes and re-enter in Michigan. I told the customs office at the Canadian border in Niagara Falls my plans and they didn’t like it, my sound… my look… my van… my dog… my face… and had me pull off to the side to this special area for other suspicious looking folks. The Latinos and Indians, not kidding. Canada. Dude. I don’t want to live in your country, don’t be so egotistical you dorky bastards.

So, I had the chance to interact with four young and healthy looking boys who assessed me, asking themselves, “who is she and what does she really want with my country…?” Hummmm. Okay, the problem was that I was too honest and unguarded. It’s Canada—I thought the words “approachability” and “encouragement” were couched in the national song—then I remembered that a big chunk of the country still speaks French. I told them that I was going to visit a friend, that I was traveling for the summer, and that I am an artist… a choreographer to be specific. I stumbled over my words and was a little unnerved by the entire situation. There is one more slice to this story of dismissal by The North; I have been driving with expired temporary registration. I have become a ruffian, a thug, a hooligan, driving from state to state with expired Wisconsin plates from when I purchased the van in May. The registration topic is a United States concern and something I thought I would have big issues with returning to the US—not leaving—although I never ruled out the possibility of an evening behind bars at the border.

Canada didn’t care about the registration. I told them way too much about what I was doing. They searched my vehicle. They asked me if I was carrying any guns or knives, twice. They had me wait around while they held onto my passport and the title to my vehicle. It was all really surreal. I had done nothing wrong. They were treating me as though I had. They were treating me like a criminal. They were treating me like I was hiding something from them, when really I had just told them absolutely everything and was ready to say more. They asked for more; they wanted to see a bank statement.

I was directed by the tan awkward officer who I imagined in another life could have been my boyfriend because in this life he chose the wrong profession for love. If the question was ever posed to me, “Would you like to go out with # 157329 (none of them had nametags only numbers… weird, I know)?” I would say, “ No. Double no. The mentality of the customs officers is rooted in fear tactics and attempted manipulations, I would rather date a politician for that kind of entertainment.” He directed me around the corner to the ATM near the restrooms so I could get some Canadian dollars and show him the receipt to prove that I have money in my account. Sure, no problem… waiting for the ATM. Punch in $60 Canadian dollars… declined. Receipt… $0 in my account. Oopse, they won’t like that very much… I go back to the officers. I actually think it’s kind of ironic that I don’t have any money in my account at this very moment, a time when proof of money seems so necessary. I have $80 cash and an American Express card, so I figure I will be okay for a few days. The odd thing was that I used the card the night before for a camping spot and I also used it that day at the Niagara Falls gift store to buy my friends in Toronto and in Vermont cheesy thank you gifts. $0. Shit, but funny.

The tan awkward cutie starts giving me some lines about how certain officers ask for certain things and that he was asking for my financial state and I didn’t deliver. They don’t let people into Canada who have $0 in their account. I tell him I have money. He’s already set to send me back. I get angry. I now know the gawky hottie with good teeth based everything on how I look, it was probably the fresh mohawk, so I raise my voice… “I could write you a check for $2000 right now but I’m not going to tell you my personal financial situation or show you my statements, that’s my personal business.” He says, “Officers look at different things when assessing who should pass.” I say, “Got it.” I am so angry. When I get like this I sometimes can’t hold it in, so I just shut my mouth and smile. Opposite reaction to the officer at Heathrow a year ago. He told me I could only have one bag after I had already passed through security once. I told him he was being an asshole. They apprehended my passport as well as my mothers’ and made us wait until we nearly missed our connecting flight. I had to apologize to the officer in order to get my passport back, and so I did.

Not wanting to repeat that scenario I tell the officers that I have a blog and that I’m going to write about how cute the Canadian customs officers are and how healthy they all look especially their dental hygiene; I don’t know if they get it. Their privileged health-care system.

I didn’t want to go into my personal finances because that would lead me back to Seattle. Back to the day of the car accident and acquiring epilepsy and medications and doctors and lawsuits and brain-stuff and discrimination and seizures and making the decision between medications for life or surgery. I went back there anyways—especially on the drive over the bridge and into America again. I was happy to be home although I never really left. I was right over there next to the ATM machine. I was right there trying not to worry about my dog in the hot car. I was right there hoping to see another America, a piece of land that I had never been to. I was hoping to visit a friend.

I don’t know why, but in my little mind, which gets confused frequently I thought that he still might let me through. He met me around the back of the building with my passport and a piece of paper stating something about my rapid departure from Canada and that I was denied access to the country. I felt like such a criminal. And yet… why? I didn’t do anything wrong. It was all so sad. I felt so bad. I drove this camper faster than ever out of New York through Pennsylvania and into Ohio, going 70mph all the way.

I checked my bank statement that night in Ashtabula, Ohio and I had $977. So where did $0 come from? Why did I allow myself to be ridiculed and scrutinized by the well-manicured "officers"? The only thing I can figure is that I had to go to Ohio to work some things out with my grandmother. Then I had to go to Chicago to work some things out with my uncle. I couldn’t discover those pieces to myself driving north of the Great Lakes in a country that bases who it lets in on looks and transparent finances.

July 13, 2008

2008-07-13T10:09:00.000-04:00

It's extrodinarily relaxing to just wake up and hop on-line. I love the web. The connections the information the emails, photos, videos, news, hotdamn... there truly should be a global wifi system. My personal displacement comes with the fact that I would be here... in virtual dot land more than in physical motion land with a truly world-wide-web. For instance currently I am in Ashtabula Ohio, the campsite has good wifi, so what did I do last night? After I checked all of my rotting accouts and talked to a couple people on skype... I... watched the final episods of The Bachelorette until 3:15am. This is not camping. This is some strange land where I want to find out who she chooses, and I can, so I do.

My heart in Vermont

2008-07-06T15:04:00.000-04:00

I can't write much...

Limited time...

Internet on the road...

When I left New Hampshire (take-two, stayed in the White Mountains) and scaled the side of the Connecticut River where the road threaded through the states. Balancing between Vermont and New Hampshire I felt the full hearted and hi-way-deep breath relief when the Hamp (take-two) was behind me and I saw the rolling hills, free front yards, wild-flowers, full and vehement beauty that Vermont demands. No advertisements along the road, the limited signs and courteous drivers have made this state such a pleasure thus far.

Now I am off to the Islands. Lake Champy.

Thanks to my dear friend I had the opportunity to work in a dance studio in Middlebury and it was luxurious. Like that shower I took after three days without... the three days is a proud experience and the shower is all sparkling, transformed, and a little familiar, like it's time to get to know the space even more, even better, without holding back.

The dogs playing like there is no tomorrow... yesterday July 5, 2008.

Camping and Choreography... hummmm....

2008-06-29T16:19:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I’m in another coffee shop strapped on-line. Trying as I might to upload a video to youtube, oh lord. I am also trying to load some photos onto the blog and send an email with photos, so now I am resorting to writing this blog on my word program with the hopes that I can load it up today, now. Puppy is in the van, don’t want her to wait too long for my techno-masturbatory desires to be satiated, but this addiction is overwhelming. After all the videoing, editing, struggles with electricity, plugs are so important in my life, as is water… so important in fact that I paid $10 more at a campsite last night just to have those comforts.

Last night I stayed in the Camden State Park… oh yeah… I’m in Maine now. It has also taken me over. I am deep in it now, scaling the coast, now close to Acadia, my Jewel of the Nile in Maine. So, I’ve stayed in Saco and Wiscasset and Camden, rain, rain, rain, and some fog.

The video loaded, stoked. The young people across from me are talking about the political candidates. It’s interesting because I truly thought the youth of America was wide-eyed for the optimism of Obama, but not so true. Some are voicing their uncertainty. He is a politician a person who puts on a public face and image just like most. My question--why not voice the truth? Why are people so afraid of truth… we don’t know the future of America. Things are so uncertain right now. We can see the world shrinking, communication growing, and speed, speed, speed, and growth, growth, growth… but, no politician can make promises. A promise is never a result. To want and to desire and to drive for an outcome is all anyone can promise, the result is often awkwardly aside the initial vision. A promise to be a vehicle for the will of the people should be the true job of a president, right? Well, what is our will? Best for friends, family, and neighbors, that means everyone, for me this means health. My vote is based on desire for health-care to change in America because it does not work. The system is completely broken and needs to be dug up for a new foundation. The greed needs to be extricated from the greedy and something needs to break through their thick minds of clay and rock that they have enough money from selling insurance or pharmaceuticals that they can move… on.

NPAC 2008

2008-06-29T15:14:00.000-04:00

I wanted to do a little write up about the National Performing Arts Convention in Denver from June 10-15.

It was rad.

I suppose I have an affinity for certain things and "conventions" is definitely not one of them. I love people who think for themselves, who take chances, laugh, look dumb but are really smart, history, politics, and art... all art. The thing that made this convention so spectacular was the national community of performing arts supporters who came together for a weekend. Artists, managers, directors, and spectators, it was an exciting whoopla of activity and passion for the tiny nitch of the performing arts in America.

Here are some photos I took.

A big thank you to Dance/USA and Dance/NYC for the Access Dance Scholarship, it was a fantastic experience.

ummmmm.... New Ham

2008-06-23T17:06:00.000-04:00

I'm somewhere between Greenfield State Park and Hampton Beach, I'm past Manchester.

I stopped at a random animal hospital and I must have seemed a bit off and a little frantic. I love Isadora. The puppy had to get her 4th set of shots at 4 months old and the vet insisted that I give her rabbies.

She is sleeping right next to me in this large Internet coffee shop located in a non-descript mall area. It's been raining for two days, craziness for camping... lot's of mud, dirt, and reading... and organizing. This is fine. A piece of this trip was to organize my chaotic life-style into a 19 foot van, so it is.

Somewhere in New Hampshire. This state has not impressed me as much as some others. For instance I almost stayed in Massachusettes. That was a great state. I'm giving NH a few more days and going to the 18 mile coast to see what it's got before I head to Maine.

I'll be trying to edit my rehearsal footage for a awesome dance video soon! When I can get a campsite with some hookups.

My First Time Hitting a Golf Ball!!!! Thank you Jaclyn, Bill, and Arline, in Clinton, Mass!!!!!! (Isadora is quite thankful as well!)

A hike in Needham, Mass. Thank you Anna and Jerry and Karen!!!!!!

xoxo

I Like Rhode Island, well the one island I'm on

2008-06-08T21:02:00.000-04:00

I am having a deep introduction into the world of the blackberry textmessaging thingy and it is taking my total concentration. My groin was tense as I wrote that period over and over using the augmented "alt" key that seems to do everything. This is an entirely different animal than a computer... duh, but I fear for my generation that this is the future of the computer. No! I love the 17 inch screen and multiple browsers and uploads and download, searching and then re-serarching. I love my computer, don't you? The communication and the feelings of accomplishment after sitting behing a computer all day are heroic, they are. Then the reality sets in that your efforts are housed on a database- crash. I keep missing those periods, damn "alt" key.

This is no longer a trip across the country, it has become a lifestyle and a lifestyle change. One where I sort-of cook and I am way more organized. Will I ever be an adult? I think I am one of those wonderous wackos who never quite reaches adulthood. My peers, my contemporaries, all pairing off and having the joyful adventures of producing fruit from their loins whilst I choose to take three months on a tour of the self across this great nation. As the gas prices sour and it is becoming clear that the one to be elected will unfortunately be based on the backing of big-business (I might be a bit of a fatalist when it comes to politics, but the last two "elections" were so rigged it's hard to believe that anyone could actually be elected in this country.). So, as I see this nation at the brink of its decline I decide to celebrate its beauty. There is something very special about the rebellious nature and the founding of the land as we know it, not something so special about slavery or the treatment of the natives by the spaniards (mexico) and the whites. More about these racial divides and historical relationships later... inevitably... as I am currently reading "uncle tom's cabin".

I have spent about an hour on this thing and I have no idea how much I have typed or if I can upload a fabulous photo. I am hunched over this thing like a pre-teen playing the latest video game. I actually had some fabulous things to write about RI and some anctidotes about Conn. Once my fingers stop hurting I'll re-connect (period)

xoxo

Note: I could not upload/download/reload/interload/intraload this blog or the photo on the day it was written. So, I am currently at the National Performing Arts Conference in Denver at a computer bar. It's been 5 days since I wrote the above and I am realizing I need to practice more on that device! More about Denver, Isadora, the Performing Arts, and people soon.

Road Trip.... ahhhhh! (video)

2008-06-04T13:20:00.000-04:00

I made this video for my AsertyDances youtube channel:
http://www.youtube.com/user/AsertyDances

My dance company youtube channel for The Contemporary Dance Core:
http://www.youtube.com/user/DanceCorporation

My website!!! Yay!
http://www.dancecore.org/

Brooklyn is dragging me around...

2008-06-02T11:08:00.001-04:00

This is the way things go.
I'm wrapping my world up in Brooklyn and it has taken an entire extra week.
So, what do I do?
Play with my hair... a lot.
In honor of the whole--living out of a van for three months with a puppy thingy--I must get dreads.
I hate my hair. I want to cut it, so why not royally screw with it before I do the bi-annual buzz?
Dreads, then some sort-of mohawk thingy then I'll be ready to chop it all back.

On to dance:
The body has changed.
Besides playing with the hair... lots of video editing, website design stuff, and trying to eat right... whatever that means...
I haven't been dancing the last week. Pedestrian life is really fun it's so much easier, or simpler or something. Sometimes when your dream is just your own, and it's been your own vision for so long with no backing it can be nice to forget about it for a while.

And then... I really do miss rehearsal space. I don't miss the pressure to go to ballet. I miss feeling fit. I don't miss trying to be on time for things. Today I gave myself class in the living-room, most dancers know exactly what I am talking about and have done this since they were 3. I have found it odd that I have completely forgotten how I used to start the piece ID. The last time I performed it I started one way, but I remember within the last two months of rehearsals completely changing my mind. Now I just can't remember if I actually decided laughing hysterically was a good way to start... or dropping a row of white rubber gloves was it... or a combination of both... or neither. Thank hell I have the videos from my rehearsals and I can judge my opinions again and again.

Opening Trip Synopsis (5.14-5.22.2008)

2008-05-29T09:53:00.000-04:00

I'm in NYC wrapping things up and ready to go, mostly. Sort of.

I was more ready two weeks ago when I had a tease. Now the nerves and honesty of this three month trip are an encompassed reality.

I flew to Wisconsin and drove back to NY. The tease. I camped, stayed with family, and stayed with friends. The next three months I will be moving solo and meeting other travelers... I think...

On my first night with the vehicle, a dodge-ram 1994 Pleasure-Way, I camped in Northern Wisconsin... in the rain, and it was fantastic. A picture of what I awoke to...

Here is Harrisburg...

...state capital.

And... Puppy... Isadora. Puppy packing... puppy version of packing... sleeping to conserve the energy to poop more.

xoxo
Dance in all conceivable places.

ps. the van and the road.

ID

2008-05-07T13:08:00.000-04:00

This blog is to track and document the next three months. (6.2008-9-2008)

I am a choreographer and dancer who is taking a trip across the country.

My company, The Contemporary Dance Core (TCDC) is based in NYC and that's where I live, but this summer it is time to get out and drive around in my Pleasure Way! Yes.

I am currently creating the program for this trip... the program... yes... I am performing along the way. I will be stopping randomly, setting up a site for performance, warming up, putting on the costume, and video-tapping the piece titled ID. Sometimes the audience will be the trees or water, sometimes the audience will be my fellow campers.

I will be posting the progress of this trip and piece through this blog site and through vlogging on my youtube site http://www.youtube.com/user/AsertyDances
and I will cross-post onto this site as well.
More soon.
xoxo