Reality Doesn’t Impress Me – A New Road
A lot of times we lose ourselves on the road only to rediscover the new self that the road has helped us become.
“I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.”
~Anais Nin
I leave for New Orleans, LA at 5:30am. First by car to the bus station. Then a bus to the airport. Then to IAD then to New Orleans.
I can never really sleep before the night I embark upon another shift – another jaunt where I throw what I have over my shoulder and take to the road. The world is brimming with enegy, my mind dances on the edge of things and keeps me from pause.
Vagabonding is a thrilling, arduous, and exhilarating experience in the density of life. Having to live each moment from a place of mindfulness –of the self, of the world, of the lack of distinction between the two– otherwise you fall out of place and are swept away.
The act of moving places renews my creativity. Maybe it’s the surge of endorphins from approaching the unknown or the thrill of doing what so few people are willing to or maybe I just need to be in motion through the world.
Time to move through the world again.
The Death of a Suitcase
Alas 6 months into my vagabonding trip my trusty Jaguar rolling garment bag has met it’s end.
It has seen over 19 cities and town in the U.S. in just the last 6 months not counting numerous layovers on buses, planes and trains. It has crossed the U.S. coast to coast 5 times logging around 20,000 miles of travel on top of intermittent use in prior years on various dance weekends.
While it has weathered the road well it just hasn’t stood the test of continuous abuse that long term travel puts on objects. I mean the bag is probably older than I am considering it was borrowed from my parents. The fabric is starting to tear and is worn in a number of places, zippers don’t close, and the final straw was the handle snapping my last night in New York City.
Since then I’ve carried the 40+ pounds to Seattle and now down to San Francisco and it’s time for a new bag. I’ve settled on this bag by Victorinox. The 22″ E-Motion 4.0 Trek Pack Plus recommended by world travelers like Tim Ferriss for it’s durability, functionality and ability to be carried on planes. It can be wheeled around, converted into a backpack or split into a regular pack and a daypack.
Not only is this bag exceptional but it will force me to downsize more. This is not only the death of a suitcase but the death of excess. I will be moving from many items that I don’t necessarily need to only those things that are truly necessary.
I will be undertaking the 100 items challenge. The goal to cut down all of my possessions to 100 things or less if I’m not already there. If I’m already there I’ll let you know but I’m not certain I am.
If I were just a vagabond I think this would be easier. I would afford myself only the simplest of clothing but being a lindy hop instructor I do on occasion need a few items of formal wear. Add to that the three pairs of shoes I carry for dancing (Keds, Florsheim dress shoes, and tap shoes) and the weight of being a dance instructor adds up quickly.
So as both a birthday present to myself and from my parents I’m buying it. If you feel like chipping in I’ll do my best to visit you in my travels and if you want I’ll give you a half hour private lesson in Lindy Hop no charge except for your donation.
Minneapolis, MN – Lost and Found (5/4)
Yesterday somebody asked me how I defined home. What did I think of in terms of home.
There are the simple silly answers. Home is where the heart is. Home is where my suitcase is. Home is with my friends.
None of these truly capture the essence of a home. Really I haven’t had a home since the fateful night I was kicked out of Canada. It’s hard to think of those times because they are so far away now. I am separated by a gulf of whiskey, women, shoes, miles and miles.
Each day I wake up somewhere.
Each day I go to sleep somewhere.
I have woken up feeling at home, feeling welcomed and loved among friends. But it is not my home.
I don’t when or if I’m going to settle down. When I think about what I want or when this is going to end all I can imagine is having someone to share this with. It’s not a road that ends.
I have no home. The concept is gone from me until I make a new one.
——
Tonight I go to sleep in Minneapolis, MN after dancing all weekend at Midwest Lindyfest. The event has been amazing. There are many people I’ve known for a few years here. They are warm and welcoming, friends and acquaintances.
I came from San Francisco, CA. I spent almost three weeks there. I miss the quiet of Rye & Carla’s condo and the presence of Moo and Sabbi. They are warm and generous, honest and reliable. They tempt me with California sun and cuddly cats. Yet it was time to continue.
[quote from Song of the Open Road about leaving when it just gets comfortable]
Tuesday I fly to Atlanta. I don’t know what to expect when I get there. As temporary as things are, as fluid and shifting, things have changed there and I wonder how the dynamic will go when I arrive. I’ll be staying at Jo’s, across from Gina’s. Jo will be gone till Thursday – chasing marbles.
——-
One of my favorite moments this weekend was the few moments I got to talk to Falty. He hit the road once when he came back from Sweden. Skipping city to city in the U.S. till he ended up in Seattle. He talked about the loneliness and the feeling of being lost.
It feels like the moment you find yourself you are lost all over again. You look down at the water flowing around you and realize that it isn’t the same water that was there when you last looked.
I have found a lot of peace on this road. I have found myself in a way that I never would have found with someone in the quiet bustle of domestic life. Yet each moment I am born anew into the moment and when I grasp at the moment to find myself I have only found something which has just slipped away.
Get lost. Get found. Rinse. Repeat.
You find yourself only to discover it is a mirror among millions.
Today I’m lost. Tomorrow I’m found.
5 Months on the Road
We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next, to find ourselves.
I have been on the road for over 5 months. I’ve visited 14 cities in that time and will be revisiting a few more in the next month.
There is a lot to traveling and when it began I didn’t really know where it was going or where I was going. Not just in an uncertain sense of what city I would visit next but where I was going in my life. I wanted to lose myself.
I was just starting to deal with the loss of my best friend / girl friend from almost a year prior, I had a lot of emotional baggage tying me down to bad habits in life; with people, with money, with myself and my health.
In these five months I have built a blog on Lifestyle Design and started working on networking and writing for it seriously. I have taken control of my finances and paid down a good chunk of credit card debt that I accumulated last year. I have helped spread the love of dance and the passion for life that it has given me. I have undertaken a serious learning project to create an online business within three months. I have spent many great nights with friends, many days alone in cafes, many hours on planes, buses and trains.
Most importantly I remember going to bed one night after teaching in Cleveland, OH with Joanna and feeling supremely at peace. It was definitely not like that not so long ago.
I woke up at some point about a year ago and I was exceptionally unhappy. I was working long hours and making decent money, traveling to dance a lot on weekends, and neglecting the most important person who I shared my life with. I was drinking too often. I was running from my life. I knew I needed to change things.
It’s almost been a year and change has come.
I have changed and my world has changed. I have found myself.
I am willing to take risks and dive into my days to make them meaningful to me. I am finding a new joy in working, in teaching, in writing. I want to share my passion for life as art, to create my life deliberately and reflectively.
I want to spread the art of living. Through dance. Through words. Through friends. Through sharing time. Through sharing space.
Today I am alive. Tomorrow I will be somewhere else but I’ll have a passion, a purpose, dreams and values that I hold to, that guide my decisions.
Frankie Manning – The Passing of a Great Ambassador
This morning one of my heroes died. He was 94 years old.
Many of my readers know him and for those who don’t his name is Frankie Manning. He was born May 26, 1914 and passed away today, April 27th, 2009.
For many of us in the Lindy Hop community it has been a day of sadness for the loss of one of our elders. Too many of our old timers are gone from us and today we lost one of our most famous, we lost our Ambassador.
In the hours following his death thousands of lindy hoppers around the globe poured onto social networking sites, texted, and left numerous messages of love and thanks for Frankie. There were many postings of clips of Frankie, photos of Frankie and memories of Frankie.
The first time I met Frankie was at Beantown 2002. I had been dancing less than a year and I remember the vibrancy with which he greeted the room and every dancer there. Most of it though is blurry in my memories.
My next encounter with Frankie is almost comical to me. I was sitting on the sidelines at ALHC two years ago (2007) next to Dawn Hampton and him. They were eating chicken wings from what I can remember and as they finished their food I offered to take their empty boxes to the trash as I was throwing away my own garbage. Frankie would have none of it. He waved me off and made his own to the trash can. He was a strong man even in his 90s with so much character. Dawn smiled and let me take her boxes.
Most recently I saw Frankie in Berkeley, CA in February. He was glorious, shooting of jokes and going back and forth with Manu while he recounted stories and talked about various video clips. During his Q&A I asked him what he would like to see in the community now and his answer was basically this, “to carry on, to keep on dancing cause that is what keeps him going.”
Now that has passed away I see the community pulling together to carry on, to keep on dancing. In less than a month we celebrate Frankie 95, the celebration of his 95th birthday. While I don’t know how the event will change in light of his passing it will still be a great celebration of the life of one our great Lindy Hop heroes.
With that I leave you with these short words and footage of Frankie singing along to “You Make Me Feel So Young.”
He lived to 94 years 11 months and 1 day young.
Let us hope that each of us can take that youth into every day of our lives whether we are 18 or 25 or 40 or 94.
Live each day like it is your last.
If you don’t wake up smiling that famous Frankie smile maybe it’s time for a change.
San Mateo, CA – Dead Laptop & Sunny California (4/8)
So my laptop’s hard drive died at approximately 4am the morning of the 2nd of April and for that reason, on top of teaching this past weekend and exhausting myself the prior weekend at Boston Tea Party, I’ve not been capable of getting more Vagabond Cafe posts up.
So, I’ll attempt to start anew from here and then tackle the backlog.
I flew in to San Francisco yesterday from Cleveland, OH with a layover in Charlotte, NC. Now why exactly I flew south a few hundred miles to then cross the country I can’t explain but that’s the way airlines work.
The upside, Charlotte’s airport is now one of my favorites. The majority of the terminals are open and airy with moving walkways lined with plants and windows. The shops are unobtrusive, coffee readily available, and WiFi for free (a disappointment when you don’t have a working laptop).
Most of my flights these days have been a couple hours at most since I’ve basically hopped across the country but North Carolina to California is a coast-to-coast long haul. Five hours in air plus taxi time and I wanted to stretch out down the aisle after about an hour or two.
Another hour in and the parents of the two year old behind me were readily becoming my least favorite people. The child was fine. He was quiet, occasionally whacked the back of the seat but more often than not just had a little wander up or down the aisle. The parents… well I’ll say they were a bit more wearing.
Upside to my flight: extra seat to myself. Downside: only one meal on a five hour flight when I usually eat every two or three hours.
I touched down in San Francisco about twenty minutes late, snagged my suitcase (which is in dire need of replacing), and caught the Bart. As an annoyance to get to the Caltrain from SFO you need to go north on the Bart then back one stop on a different line to Milbrae. If you miss the Caltrain I hope you enjoy waiting.
Lucky for once, I managed to walk off the Bart an directly onto the Caltrain. I pulled out my phone to update my ride that I made the train and low-and-behold: battery dead. Last thing Rye knew, I was at Milbrae waiting for the train.
So while I traveled south on the train, Rye drove north to pick me up at Milbrae. Passing each other in the night, I disembarked at Redwood and not seeing his car walked to the dance venue – luggage in tow. It’s only about an eight minute walk, so I didn’t mind. Thankfully we got a hold of Rye before he camped out for me somewhere I wasn’t going to be. Problem? Not so much.
I hung out at the dance until it closed down then headed back to Carla & Rye’s to crash. I settled in on their incredibly comfy guest bed (memory foam is my friend) with David Sedaris’s memoir Naked and promptly passed out.
Montreal, QC – Food Binds Us Together (3/18 – 3/20)
I wrote about my first night in Montreal with a good bit of nostalgia. I remember so much about my life there when things had been left untouched by Immigration Canada but life is no longer so simple.
I live on the road. I am a vagabond artist.
Yet coming home to Montreal was really coming home even though I lost the home I had left my heart in.
One of the things that is always special to me, particularly in Montreal, is the sharing of food. Dinner or any other meal in the States often gets brushed over as just another chore to keep going in life. From the first bite of curry Tuesday night to the exorbitant spread of breakfast Sunday morning each meal is a communal act. Each meal showed me that while so much has changed being with my friends has not. I was not a stranger at our table.
Wednesday
I arrived at Caffe Mariani in the late morning. I used to work here, pressing sandwiches, serving espresso and sweeping the floors. Now it’s back to sitting at the tables, with the occasional fist-bump with Max (one of the owners), laptop out and working away for hours. A panani, cup of coffee (endless), latte and slice of gourmet pizza later, oh and six hours as well, and I had accomplished the majority of what I needed to.
When the chef greets you when you come in, leaves once his shift is done, and then comes back later and says “you’re still here?”, you know you’ve been at a café for a little too long.
I packed up my laptop and met up with Christina to sit at Cat’s Corner while she taught. It’s always great to see my old home away from home in Montreal. Cat’s Corners community is exceptionally vibrant with many individuals putting a lot of volunteer time and effort into the business to maintain what grew from a one-man business into a full time two-room studio. It is the third place for many people, not work, not home, but another safe comfortable place.
After Christina finished teaching we went to Euro-Deli for spinach calzones and I helped Pat and Chris plan a class they will be teaching out in the West Island. I am a solid fan of regular calzones and this one was quite good even before they drenched it in meat sauce.
Les Bobards was our next stop. Really I was going because I wanted to see people and not to necessarily dance so much. The last time I had been at Les Bobards was particularly disappointing (the band was shit). They were better this time, still a little square and replicated from recordings but better. If only the floor could have gotten softer and the ventilation actually manageable.
Thursday
I woke early (by vagabond standards) and worked out a little before heading off for breakfast with Dominique. It is always nice to reconnect with people who I’ve been friends with for a long time even if I don’t get to see them often.
We met at Aux Dernier Humains off of St.-Denis south of Jean-Talon, a little café with a delicious breakfast menu. I ordered an omelette with brie, spinach and onion accompanied with a side of potatos and bread. Dominique also ordered an omelette and a few bites into hers she realized she had mine and I hers. With a quick switch we were back to order, chaos averted.
We traded stories of where we’d been recently, she had also been traveling through Europe recently, and it was nice to hear her plans for future travels. It’s nice to chat with someone who understands the life of a traveler without having to explain it, even if it isn’t on the road without a house to go back to.
As her and I wrapped up our brunch I got a phone call from Alana (who I was supposed to meet for dinner but had inadvertently double booked on). She was a bit stressed out and rather than put our dinner off I headed down to NDG to her apartment for early drinks and sushi.
We sat in her living room and chatted for most of the afternoon. Finished a bottle of wine, went out to pick up sushi across the street along with another bottle of wine and some ice cream for me. By the time I had to teach at Cat’s Corner I think I was about a bottle and a half in (rosé not red thankfully) and slightly buzzed.
I caught a quick Metro ride up to Cat’s Corner on St. Laurent (I had missed the bus by a maximum of 3 minutes) and strolled in about five minutes before I was supposed to teach. Way to go me.
The group I taught is a practice troupe directed by my friends Alain and Marie. We started by playing a hide-and-seek game where everyone starts touching you, then as you count to 10 they run and hide. You then have to call them out from their hiding spot by name (great way to learn names by the way). During the game you can close your eyes and recount to 10 and they have to rush back out, touch you and rehide. I thought it was quite fun and I managed to get all but one of the students.
You also cannot move from where you are standing when you are looking for them. An added challenge.
I prepped a short bit with Marie while Alain took over. Then taught the Slim & Slam inspired chunky swing out focusing on loose and relaxed body movement. It’s quite comical at points where I get them to embody muppets in their motions. It is one of my favorite classes to teach. By the end of the class they were swinging out down the line more clearly and you could feel there was more energy. They finished their practice running the routine they had been working on.
Friday
Old Port day.
Alana picked me up at Caffé Mariani where I was doing a little internet work (since Chris doesn’t have WiFi yet) and we headed down to Old Montreal to walk around.
It’s been a while since I’ve been in the Old Port and it’s no where near as cozy in the cold months as it is in summer. The little alley streets are abandoned where in the summer they are filled with a variety of artists and vendors. The wind whips off the river and we definitely avoided the waterfront for that specific reason.
Our first attempt for brunch was an Alana favorite, Jardin Nelson. However, being a garden restaurant it was still closed. Yet I had to get a picture since it was obviously named after me.
Instead we ended up at a creperie where the service took a good hour to get us our table d’hote (never expect blazing fast service at a real restaurant in Montreal). Our soup came quickly to start us off alongside our drinks yet the waitress never returned to fill our water glasses. Disappointing slightly. Also, it was amazing how much the waitresses voice carried through the restaurant, it was that low, full Quebecois voice. Quite remarkable.
We then wandered through Marché Bonsecours, full of hand crafted art and a nice looking art cafe, before taking the Mini back to NDG for a latté at Shaika (an old haunt for me).
To wrap up my excellent streak of meals with friends I had a dinner plan organized with a number of old friends from Cat’s Corner and Swing Connexion who I used to dance with, teach with, or compete with. Eric & Caro, Syl & Adrian, Alain & Jenn, and Marie-Joseé
We were all to meet at Cafe Republic. Once I had exited the Metro and made it to St. Laurent I called Syl to ask where it was and as I was on the phone asking where it was a guy passing me overheard and told me to follow him. He was going there for dinner and would be happy to show me. It is great when people give you a moment of help, even for something so simple.
I have to say service on this Friday was particularly poor. I had ordered a rack of lamb rare and it came out nearly well. Although the waitress took it back and I had a new one cooked for me, it was a hassle to have to wait an extra ten minutes or fifteen minutes while everyone else quickly finished off their meal. On top of that, to flag the waitress for a desert menu, water, or even the cheques I had to get her attention each time. There was rarely a time when she visited the table of her own accord.
Despite the poor service, the friends made up for it. It was as if nothing had changed since I had left and it was dinner as normal. Conversation roamed from the newest indie band favorites touring through Montreal (thanks Adrian) to baby talk (half of my friends in Montreal are pregnant) to dancing. It’s nice to not feel like a stranger when you come home, even if it isn’t really your home anymore.
We grabbed our coats, tipped lightly, and headed out for Cat’s down the street.
Alain Fragman DJed the first set. I got to participate in a global shim-sham for Frankie at Cat’s Corner and a picture wishing him love from Montreal. It’s the third one I think I’ve been in so far.
Eric DJed the first half of the second set and I took over to finish out the night. I do enjoy DJing and I don’t do it too often, I’m more occupied with dancing and teaching these days, but I’m getting back into it.
Look for me behind the booth a bit more often.
Seattle, WA – How To Roll In (2/15)
I caught a flight into Seattle on Sunday the 15th of February. I have heard a lot about Virgin America and their branding has been exceptional to promote a different way to fly. A way to fly that is fun and enjoyable again, an experience that is special. They do this by promoting that they have power on flights as well as integrated media centers in all of the seats and even WiFi.
All the branding and promotion is great until you get on the plane and realize that power is only available in First class or Business class, that the WiFi is $7 to access, and that the integrated media centers are handicapped entertainment centers with mostly pay-per-view options. I personally would prefer my ticket to cost an extra $15-20 to have free WiFi and premium media access. Otherwise I most likely won’t fork out the 7$ for WiFi on a flight and most definitely will not pay up to $10 just to watch a movie on my flight.
Slight rant out of the way.
My sister and Drew picked me up from the airport and we headed to the U District for dinner at Cedar’s. An indian restaurant with proper chai (as my sister calls it) in an endless cup. I think I would go just for the endless cup of chai, not to mention the cute waitress who kept making eyes. On top of those two things the food was delicious and as any good indian food should be: filling.
Dropped my things at their apartment on Capitol Hill and we all walked down to the Century Ballroom on Pine and Broadway. It was the end of the Seattle Balboa Festival and I happened to be in town for an amazing four-piece band on its last night. They continued their walk and I headed upstairs, paid the $18 cover (well worth it), and settled in to watch for a moment. Friends who I’ve known for years meandered in and I got many an excellent dance to the killer All-Star Band.
The dance wrapped up and we headed downstairs to Oddfellows, a relatively new gastro-pub in the same building, for a drink and some food. A couple beers later and the bar was closing up at 2am and I had been chatting with Kelly and Brien for a while. Kelly and I decided it was time to go get some Dicks. Dicks is a Capitol Hill standard for those after-bar cravings of greasy food. Sadly, they close right when the bars do, at 2am. So we missed our window of dirty food. Instead we hit QFC for pre-packaged sandwiches and chips and headed up to Kelly’s apartment around the corner.
It’s been a while since Kelly and I have hung out and as we munched our slightly stale sandwiches she kept wine flowing until we had finished a bottle and a half of wine and we realized it was six in the morning. At this point I was nearly a whole bottle of wine and two beers in on about three hours of sleep after a day of travel. In no shape to walk fifteen minutes uphill for the first time in the wee hours of the morning to my sisters apartment, I shot her a quick text and Kelly and I passed out.
That is the way to roll into a city. Exceptional dinner with family, a cute waitress to pour me tea, an amazing band and dancing, and then conversation and wine with an old friends that lasts until the sun comes up.
It’s how we should all be greeted when we get to a city.
Buy Carl a Cup of Coffee
That’s right. I’m asking if you’re up for buying me a cup of coffee as I travel.
Life on the road is just as often hard and lonely as it is wonderful and full of friends.
If you enjoy reading about my travels and want to show your support tag this PayPal link (or the cup of coffee to the right) and drop in a couple dollars.
I don’t have a regular job and yet am making my traveling work to my benefit by teaching as I go along. If you know I’m coming to your scene you can help put the word out for privates or help me organize a workshop class or two.
Montreal, QC – Coming Home Homeless (4/17)
This post is out of order, but it is current, I’ll probably start doing this in an attempt to 
keep up with my travels while recalling where I’ve been before.
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time— , Little Gidding
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I have been expelled from a country, slept in a 6′x10′ room on an air mattress, and lived out of a suitcase but I have never felt homeless until I came home.
Just thinking about coming home to Montreal has caused me to well up with emotion and tears, actually doing it has left me empty (in a state of shock).
I took the train up from Albany today; eight hours from Albany to Montreal, a three and a half hour drive (four if the border is slow). I realized the dedication it would take to get on that train and ride it all the way to NYC and back for only a short visit (that ride is more like 12 hours).
I used to live in Montreal. My life was here. I had friends, family, love, two cats. Then it was taken away. I sank. But a part of me stayed here, resided in the upstairs with the two cats and the cups of tea. It stayed after all I thought I wanted here was gone. It stayed until someone else moved in and I became unwelcome. Suddenly my heart no longer has a home.
I closed the door to the apartment and put my boots on in the stairwell. Chris had already gone to bed, work woke her early. I stepped outside. Snow congealed into dirty patches of ice lingered along the edges. Montreal’s stereotypical curved 2nd floor walkup stairs brought me to rue St. Phillipe.
I walked along the street, boots thudding away through my heels, past the snow removal sign (mardi et jeudi) to rue Notre-Dame. I have walked this street before. Not so long ago yet separated by a series of shattered lives.
I passed the dingy pizza shop at the corner of St. Marguerite opposite the greasy dejeuner where an omelette comes with a slice of american slapped to it. The old IGA storefront, still empty. The Cremerie adjoining Caffe Mariani where I used to spend days sipping on espresso and eating gourmet pizza until they had me making my own drinks and serving customers. The patio where I sat in the sun when I came home for the first time almost a year ago. All that light and no sight. The park where we watched the pigeons chase each other in heat. And then I was there at the corner.
I passed it and stood in front of the studio. Too dark to see the emptiness inside.
Back to the corner and down my street. No car in the back lot. Then I could see the lights on where my things still are. I passed them, they weren’t mine anymore. And I was there. The door where my keys would no longer fit. A T.V. is on and a light in the entryway and kitchen, that much I can tell just from knowing it. But that’s it. I walk past and then turn around. Across the street. I lean against the snow removal sign, tip my hat down and let memories fill me.
It is late spring, Adrian and Sylwia join us for brunch in the garden. There is mango and cheese and crepes and powdered sugar. The apple tree is shedding its blossoms.
It is sunday. There is the blue teapot amongst aluminum trays of chicken curry, shrimp dumplings and peanut sauce. It is a lazy day inside.
I am cold and sick. It is late and we’ve been driving into the night. I am shivering and pale. There is a hot bath already waiting for me. It is home.
There is a ring of silver wire with a purple stone beaded onto it.
San Francisco, CA – The Last Week (2/9 – 2/15)
When I showed up in San Francisco it was beautiful, the dreamy California weather that the movies show. The start of my second week shattered that pristine movie facade and it would decide to rain the moment I made a move to step outside. Without fail.
So, instead of fighting it I occupied myself with other matters. Writing, playing Rock Band on Manu’s amazing drum kit, catching up on T.V. shows and helping Manu hack his iPhone and newly acquired AppleTV. XBMC and Boxee are such great extensions of hardware like the AppleTV and XBox that it is disappointing of hardware creators how much disdain they show for people who just want to be able to do with their hardware what they want to without restriction once they’ve purchased it.
Wednesday I went out to Cat’s Corner, a dance held at the Savanna Jazz Club with a live band. I used to work for Cat’s Corner in Montreal so it was nice to see its sister venue in San Francisco. The venue reminded me of Swing 46 in NYC but less Broadway dinner establishment. It had a gritty dark edge to it, a bar worn from thousands of patrons, and signed photos of various musicians who had performed there scattered on the walls. The band was middling. Not particularly good but with the occasional tune that swung decently.
Thursday I made my way down to the Presidio to hangout with Erin, a friend from Detroit who had moved up from LA to San Francisco recently. She works at Starbucks and totally rocked my Starbucks experience with a triple soy latté on the house. When she finished her shift we wandered over to a small sushi restaurant nearby.
I’ve been meeting so many people lately who are going through large transitional states in their life. Learning to forge our own path in life rather than affixing ourselves to a path laid out for us or that so many others follow is a challenge for all of us. Erin and I talked about this for a while and how in the past year or two we’ve both been through a lot of large changes in our lives and that the coming time is still a liminal state. We’re on the threshold of a scary new part of our lives.
We hopped the bus back to her apartment and relaxed with the Big Lebowski till the 9:20 Special later that evening. Marty Klempner was in town teaching as part of the Frankie Manning weekend that was upcoming and he was spinning tunes for the first half of the night. Unlike my prior evening at the 9:20 I really enjoyed the music, lots of Fats Waller.
Friday I had a private to teach in Berkeley so I hopped the BART out of the city and arrived to meet Brian in downtown Berkeley. We drove over to a friends place and worked on solo jazz movement for a while. We broke down the shim sham and cleaned up the various motions and I showed him some stylistic variations that he could incorporate into his solo dance.
We grabbed food at Smart Alec’s, a local eatery that students frequent, and when I ordered a smoothie the girl behind the counter looked at me like I was crazy since it was apparently too cold outside to order an iced beverage. Then headed over to the ____ to watch Manu interview Frankie as part of the weekend.
Frankie Manning is celebrating his 95th birthday this coming May and over a thousand attendees are celebrating in New York City for a week thanks to the wonderful organization of so many people, yet there will be over a thousand attendees. There is no way anyone is going to get a few minutes of Frankie’s time to answer a question. That was one of the best things about the Frankie weekend in San Francisco. I sat ten feet from Frankie and got to ask him a question which her answered. Hearing his stories is always enchanting and it’s been since Lindyfest ‘08 that I saw him last. It was spectacular to have that interaction with the father of the dance I love so much.
After the interview Frankie retired to a back room and Lavay Smith and the Skillet Lickers played the dance. Well, they played eventually. It took over an hour for the chairs to get put away, the band to get setup, the sound checks and everything complete. Really poorly organized. As for the music itself the songs were patently long, we determined an average of eight minutes per tune, with each of the musicians taking extended solos without much consideration for the dancers.
I would say I’ve been spoiled with bands like the Cangelosi Cards and the Boilermakers who love to play for dancers and understand the dynamic of the room but I shouldn’t feel spoiled. That should be the standard. If you hire a band to play a dance, they should be good enough to know the room, to know the audience, even if you have to explain it to them.
Saturday I went out for lunch with Manu and Karen to Pacific Catch, a little galley restaurant, only a few blocks from the Starbucks where Erin works. With an asian and mexican mixed menu, I chose a wasabi rice bowl with Ahi Tuna. Exceptionally fresh and seared, the tuna was exactly what I craved, and the wasabi had a nice kick. I’m going to mention once again Manu’s exceptional generosity throughout my stay, taking me out for lunch on this occasion as well as others.
I swung by and gave Erin a hug on my way back to the car, thankful I did since we didn’t get to meet up again later.
That night was the Shiny Stockings Ball out in Oakland. Held in a large ballroom with a full big band orchestra and many of the attendees dressed up it was a true Saturday night dance. The band had that nice full sound that only an orchestra can have with a smoother feel that you might hear in later Count Basie, less hot jazz and more swing jazz. We had a shim sham with Frankie to celebrate him, a trend that is sweeping across the globe with communities filming their shim shams and posting them for all to see.
My favorite part of the night was near the end as people wrapped up Bromley and I had an impromptu tap off. Trading steps and trying to one up each other with high flying steps or tight rhythms. I’ve got more practicing to do but I held my own even though his rhythms were far tighter and clean than mine. Next time Gadget! Next time!
Vagabonding: Getting Back
We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next, to find ourselves. We travel to open our hearts and eyes and learn more about the world than our newspapers will accommodate. We travel to bring what little we can, in our ignorance and knowledge, to those parts of the globe whose riches are differently dispersed. And we travel, in essence, to become young fools again–to slow time down and get taken in, and fall in love once more.
Pico Iyer, Why We Travel
People often ask why I have taken up the itinerant lifestyle, why I’ve forsaken a house and gone to living out of a suitcase.
There are the obvious reasons. I lost my job right before all hell broke loose on Wall Street, New York City was vastly more expensive than I could afford while looking for work, I had recently become single again, and there was nothing material tying me to anywhere.
The subtler reasons had to do with myself. Those of you who have known me for a while know that the fall of 2007 brought with it a life altering experience. I was expelled from the place I called home, the people I loved, and the life I had been used to living. In the span of eight months I gave up on a life that I had always dreamed of in Montreal, with a woman I loved and a community that cared for me.
I had fought long and hard to go back home but when the time came that I was allowed to return, I had already given up on the dream.
I lost myself.
I stayed in New York. Buried myself in work, dance, staying out too late and having too much to drink. When work disappeared (money along with it) and relationships came to their close, circumstances made it clear that it was better for me to leave.
I had been reading the Four Hour Workweek as well as a variety of blogs on lifestyle design and all things pointed to leaving behind a conventional life.
This experience, this vagabonding, is my pilgrimage. A journey to feel whole again and comfortable as who I am. A journey to awaken an entrepreneurial spirit and to see the world with new eyes. To become a young fool once again.
San Francisco, CA – The Coffee Mission, Morning Yoga, and Washboard Trains (2/2-2/3)
Monday – Coffee in the Mission and then they took my money
I began by cycling down into the Mission District. The Mission was traditionally a latin american neighborhood which has been influxed with hipsters, young professionals and students. It has a lively nightlife and artistic community being dubbed as the New Bohemia in 1995 by the San Francisco Chronicle.
I started off at Ritual Coffee Roasters. It’s on Valencia between 21st and 22nd in the Mission (there is a second elsewhere in the city and one in Napa). The atmosphere is relatively minimalistic and the coffee roasting process happens right before you. There are bags of green coffee in the back while employees pour beans into the machines to roast.
Watching the process happen and knowing that the cup of coffee you are enjoying was probably roasted the day you ordered it or the day before at most is exhilarating. There is a directness to the experience of the product, an authenticity you don’t receive even when it is freshly ground.
The staff was exceptionally friendly, and I chatted for a while with one barista who recommended a clover drip of Ethiopian origin and the Sweet Tooth single origin espresso which they were premiering from Brasil. He recommended a local yoga class that he taught on Tuesday and Thursdays a bit farther down in the Mission. I took his card and seated myself to do some work.
The only downside to Ritual, they have no outlets for their customers. So while they provide excellent coffee and free WiFi when your battery is out of energy, that’s it. You’re done. It encourages turnover but definitely discouraged me from returning to spend a lot of time there. I work in four or five hour blocks of time at cafes and being unable to plugin seriously shortens my uptime.
Once my battery had run its course I cycled over to Philz Coffee which is on the corner of 24th and Folsom, also in the Mission. They are known for the One Cup at a Time motto where each cup is prepared individually (at high end cafes this is fast becoming the norm).
I picked up a Yerba Matte Latte (one of my new beverages of choice when I’m working) and settled down. For a popular and established cafe Philz maintained a recently put together atmosphere with an assortment of tables, chairs and couches amongst various plants and adornments. The wifi was solid and power outlets available. Done and done.
Work passed by, I had a poker game to go to down in SoMa at Manu’s. I showed up a touch late (as is my habit) and somehow managed to be the first person anyways. The game was $5 in and while I normally take my parents money at poker, I didn’t even manage to make the third round. Consolation prize, hanging out on the couch and then playing Jungle Speed as more and more players were knocked out. Jungle Speed should be for money, that’d be my kind of game.
Tuesday – Yoga with Men and Redwood City
One the advice of my friendly barista at Ritual, I set out for morning yoga down on 20th St. I didn’t know what to expect, and I’m particularly choosy about my yoga instructors for a few reasons, and arrived just as people were filing into the class. It was all men (rare in my experience of yoga) and I believed I had been invited more on the assumption that I was an attractive young man than for any other reason. The class went well, being traditional Vinyasa with some balances and strength training near the end of the class.
I haven’t regularly practiced yoga since I lived in Montreal and I miss the calm I find after savasana (corpse pose). It is a centering practice that I should pursue more actively and I have this notion in the back of my mind to go to Sedona, AZ and study. Follow in footsteps.
After yoga I stopped at another cafe on Valencia for a quick coffee, journaled for a moment, then headed back to Michael’s to clean up (he was my 2nd host). With a quick turnaround at Michael’s, I headed back out to catch the Bart down to San Mateo to meet up with Carla and Rye.
One thing about San Francisco public transportation, they need a unified system. There is the Bart (Bay Area Rapid Transit) which is basically a subway system, the Muni system which is streetcars and buses, the CalTrain which is a commuter rail, and then most likely a few more in the East Bay which I didn’t have the misfortune to need. None of these systems run on the same cards or fares and it was grating to have to switch between them.
So, while waiting for the next Caltrain (that I had just missed cause I had to buy a different ticket) at the Bart station I pulled out my washboard and practiced some rhythms I had been working on.
I love playing the washboard, although I occasionally find it hard to learn new things without having other musicians to jam with. It is an instrument I can bring anywhere and has brought me a variety of social encounters I would not otherwise have had. It’s a magnet for questions and comments and sitting at the station waiting for Carla and Rye to pick me up I struck up a conversation with a girl sitting next to me. We chatted for a short time about my travels and what she did in the city.
My travels have really begun to break me out of my shell socially, I am able to start conversations with perfect strangers without that incredible discomfort I used to feel. It’s one of the bigger challenges I’ve had in my life and it’s slowly dissolving the more I travel and want to learn about all the people I meet along the way.
Once picked up, we stopped for food in Burlingame and talked for a while. It’s interesting to hear what people think about my current vagabonding, how I’m funding it, why I’m doing it, and what plans I have for the time ahead of me. My latest project Slacker Reform is one of the ways I plan to give back to the world and to help others.
We hung out at their place for a while and they have two adorable cats, one who is 20 lbs and bigger than some dogs I have met. I miss being around cats especially ones that will drape themselves on you as if you were public property.
Carla runs a weekly venue down in Redwood City and I had heard good things about it, that and I wanted to get some dancing on.
Redwood City Swing is held in a ballroom outside of downtown Redwood City. It is a large space with good acoustics and a nice floor. We put together a little jam number using the California routine to showcase for the beginner class. For the entire night I could barely sit down out a song and everyone was incredibly welcoming.
By the end of the night I was wiped. Thankfully they had an incredibly comfortable bed all ready for me. Foam mattress pads and pillows are something I will invest in if I someday decide to settle down.
Vagabonding – Going It Alone
…you should always be ready to go it alone…
Rolf Potts, Vagabonding
Since I left my stationary life behind in November, then flying to Atlanta, GA in December I have been around close friends — that is until I decided to go somewhere I had never been before without a Lindy Hop event to buffer me.
I flew to San Francisco because the flight was cheaper than other places I was hoping to see and I’ve never spent time in California. I had a number of contacts here, people I knew more as acquaintances than as close friends, and they have been gracious and generous. Manu, Shannon, Carla, Michael – some of them people I met for the first time when I put my stuff down in their home have been wonderful and hospitable.
Having been around very close friends for nearly two months without interruption it was when that immediacy disappeared that loneliness hit me.
I didn’t expect loneliness to come on as hard as it did.
Chris Guillebeau just recently wrote about loneliness on the road. He has been traveling a lot longer than I have and his words help me weigh loneliness in a different way.
My thinking is, if I never experience it, I’m probably living a safe, comfortable life.
Vagabonding is an act of pilgrimage.
I am on the road to excise the parts of myself which stand in my way. To come to terms with myself on the edges. To do the things that scare me. To grow in spirit and character.
As these words from Michael Crichton go: “stripped of your ordinary surroundings, your friends, your daily routines, your refrigerator full of your clothes, you are forced into direct experience. Such direct experience inveitably makes you aware of who it is that is having the experience. That’s not always comfortable, but it is always invigorating.”
I am not in a foreign country where the culture clashes against my very person or the world around me is alien, yet I am still stripped of my ordinary life. I have not the friends I know with me or the places that make me comfortable.
It forces me to enjoy the simple pleasures that I can find. Walking streets and neighborhoods I have never seen. Sitting on a picnic table with a cup of coffee. Practicing calligraphy. Chatting with strangers at coffee shops, bus stations, and airports.
I am in practice a very socially connected person.
I talk to a number of friends all across the country throughout the day. I keep up with my e-mail, social networking sites, blogs, text messages and phone calls. Yet I am at the same—a solitary person. I need time on my own to recharge. I have spent days living in NYC where I did not talk to or message a single person.
