Ended: 5:45pm - Wednesday, August 19th
Oh yeah, I forgot: There is no beginning.
Also: There is no end.
I've been trying to text my editor for the past couple of hours to let him know that my assignments are going to be getting to him in the afternoon once I have wifi access. Because this train is on the move (and my wonky service), I haven't been able to grab a signal long enough to have any texts actually go through.
I hardly ever drink coffee and I just had a cup.
Here are the few times I've had coffee:
One time, after an awesome all-night Dangerville rehearsal / bender, Mchll asked if I wanted coffee. Having had a full night of fun and shenanigans with a full day of future hijinks ahead of us (and being a fan of little rituals like hangover coffee and going outside to smoke), I took her up on it.
It was delicious and the perfect thing after such a night!
When I've visited New Orleans (after never having visited - I've been there twice in the last year, and am on a train headed there), I always stop by the famous place that serves beignets. It's the oldest coffeeshop in the U.S. I can't have their beignets without their signature cafe au lait.
One night when Remainders and Galapagos were in town for the New Orleans Improv Festival, i couldn't get to sleep. So, I went on an all night journey just walking across New Orleans.
I passed countless abandoned warehouses and so many places of emptiness, where weeds had overtaken and grown around whatever was left behind.
I actually ended my dusk to dawn walkabout at that coffeeshop and had beignets and cafe au lait. I probably should've started there.
That whole next day, by happenstance, I ended up walking all over New Orleans again. Instead of the warehouse district just west of the French Quarter, I kept walking from the French Quarter to Uptown, basically the neighborhoods that used to be Juvenile's stomping grounds.
((((CALLIOPE))))
The last time I had coffee was at Cozy's New York (can't remember which exact area, but it wasn't as far south as the lower east side, but it was definitely south of Chelsea). Without a place to stay on my final night in New York, I knew I was going to be up all night and that I had some writing due in the morning, I ordered some chicken rice soup and coffee.
The soup was excellent (apparently, it's what Cozy's is known for) and I managed to neuter the coffee enough with sugar and cream to make it palatable.
Wait!
There was one other time I drank coffee ... a couple of months ago, i went over to Jhn's place to record some songs. Seamus was there, too. We spent all night working with Jhn's mini-studio. We only really worked on one song, and it's a song that is incomplete to this day.
Anyway, we woke up and slogged through the morning.
Ncl, Jhn's then-wife, was nice enough to run to McDonald's to pick up some egg mcmuffins and coffee. I'm not the biggest fan of how McDonald's does business, but their breakfast was hard to turn away. Also, Ncl had worked at McDonald's since age 14 and at one time was a higher up there. So, I think she still had hookups there.
Anyway, everyone was kind of joking about how I took my coffee - with sugar and a ridiculous amount of cream, until it was almost tan.
This morning, Mtch and Ambr bought me coffee and we spent a couple of hours talking.
Mtch and Ambr are from Winona, Minnesota, They're actually originally from South Dakota. They're into bikes, too!
I initially met them at Union Station in Chicago.
I had inadvertently written down the wrong time for what was supposed to be Monday's departure from Chicago. I thought the train left at 8:30pm. It actually left at 8pm.
Coming from dinner with Fzzy, Erca, and Rbcca, I knew I was cutting it short (I arrived at the Amtrak ticket counter at about 8:15pm).
As the ticket agent informed me that the train had left at 8pm toward New Orleans, just as it does every night (because I regularly keep up on Amtrak's regular departures from Chicago), a couple showed up behind me and the male said, "Yeah, we're in the same boat."
As we walked away from the ticket counter, we chatted briefly.
I didn't actually get their names until this morning, but a day and a half earlier:
Guy who I would come to know as Mitch: "Do you have a place to stay?"
Me: "Yeah, I think so." (In reality, things were kind of up on the air - I had no guaranteed place to stay, but I had feeling things would work out ... they did) You?"
"Yeah, we drove from Minnesota, so I think we're going to crash in our van."
They had tattoos and were kind of tan and were in surplus store-like attire, while carrying bags and had gigantic olive green canvas backpacks. They totally seemed punk rock (they are!) and they actually looked like they were from New Orleans - there are a lot of kids and folks that have that kind of hard-scrabble / communal living look.
We were heading out of Union Station in different directions.
"I guess we'll see you tomorrow," Mtch
(I just got a text from my editor! One of my texts got through - hours after my initial try. We're in Jackson, Mississippi about an hour late. I wonder if this station will have wifi - the one in Champaign, IL did. Also, since I'm updating in real time, I'm listening to the three Andrew Jackson Jihad CDs I was able to upload before leaving Phoenix, Candy Cigarettes and Cap Guns, Issue Problems, and Only God Can Judge Me.)
I kind of cut getting to the train station short on Monday night, too.
(Actually, I think I'm gonna head out to hang out with the smokers and stretch my legs. I'm not getting a wifi signal at all here.)
(I got to talk to a gentleman from Chicago. Draped in the requisite Cubs jersey, he mentioned that Jackson, MS was hot. To me, it was pretty nice. It's about early to mid 90s with a good dose of humidity. Chicago weather, though, had been really wonderful over the past week. I don't think it even broke 90 degrees.)
I had to make the decision to grab one last bite to eat in Chicago or head to the train.
Since I had just copped a jug of water and some trail mix (how did M&Ms end up in trail mix?), I figured I'd be okay. Also, the prospect of getting left behind again and further shortening my time in New Orleans wasn't something I wanted to risk.
Getting on board was really easy - almost too easy. In conversation with Mtch and Ambr, we talked about how someone could totally sneak on and ride the rails for free. I'd imagine that one would have to be somewhat familiar with how things work, though, and would have had to have ridden Amtrak before.
I plopped myself down in the nearest seat I could find.
Riding coach on Amtrak is way better than coach on Greyhound or on an airplane (except for maybe jetBlue!). There's plenty of leg room and the seats seemed designed to actually seat people comfortably.
(Oh yeah ... at some point, once I settled in, I dug into the trail mix I bought. I got one last fist full and I noticed that the Mexican dude from across the aisle was eyeing my bag of trail mix as I put it away. I then pledged not to eat any more trail mix until I could share it with whoever might be around.
Actually, a mini-vow I've made to myself on my travels -- though, not always adhering to it -- is to only eat with other people whenever I need to eat. It always seems much more enjoyable and, in some ways, healthier to do so.
(Also, food is for sharing!)
I am a fan of rituals, big and small. From the church services to the little quirky things we share with our friends, all of these little rituals we take part in are important because we make them important - even if we don't really actively think of them as important at all.
Michael Jordan, when he would shoot a free throw, would dribble the ball 2 or 3 times (usually twice), spin the ball into shooting position in his hands (his right hand as his main source of power and the left as a quick and dirty alignment helper), and he'd slightly dip his body into a briefly cocked position by bending at his knees and let the free throw fly, his right hand following through.
(My Feral Kin's The Blackened Flat Tax is so fucking good! If you don't have it, please head to The Trunk Space and pick it up.)
I was such a huge Jordan fan that I would shoot my free throws the same way, though with much less accuracy. (I meant to visit the Jordan statue in front of the United Center, but just never got around to it.)
I remember one time when I was coaching openings and I was trying to convey the importance of investing in them. Openings in improv, especially organic openings, are prone to falter if there's not absolute commitment to them. One person being half-assed about an opening is almost as bad as a whole group of people being half-assed. You can almost see the one half-assed person being a drain and sucking up the energy of the group and the performance with their lack of commitment.
(Merely replicating theatre? Merely replicating what's been laid out before rather than exploring what could be possible beyond what has been? Sorry - this is a note to myself.)
To stress the importance of investing and committing, I brought up the analogy of rituals. The actual actions and things within a ritual, the components, might not have any actual meaning themselves, but taken as a whole and imbued with what we put into them - that's where their meaning is, um, meaningful and touches us deeper than that which is everyday or profane.
One person claimed that they weren't into rituals of any kind - that they didn't believe in any kind of spiritual rituals and that they couldn't find any meaning in them, and thus, my example was unhelpful.
First off, I kind of failed to articulate that I didn't mean just spiritual or religious rituals, but rituals of all scopes - the big ones to the little ones we share with friends. Geez, we even each have our own rituals when it comes to greeting one another or kissing someone we're into.
Secondly, with that in mind, I know that the person had their own rituals of those stripes.
Rituals from across the spectrum, I think, exist to help us navigate the world around us. To have some kind of meeting place (not necessarily a physical one) when two or more people / entities encounter each other and interact - a way to be in communion with people and things beyond ourselves.
If we're in our own little hollow world, what have we gained?
I think that's one of the things I love about improvisation and theatre (not that they're opposed - each, at their best, embody and encompass each other). Within the performance, there's a relationship between those who are creating, what they're creating,and between what's been created and what will be created.
The performance itself is interacting -- affecting and being affected -- by the space its being created in, the energy of that space, the audience, and the energy that they have.
It's all of these galaxies overlapping each other, eating each other, being consumed, being churned up, being settled down, countless undulating waves of creation being broadcast from infinite satellites in a palace of mirrors, nothing and everything at once.
("I can sense a spirit of a soft spell delivered on a silver tongue/
help me forward to your hungry ghost that caters to your human needs/
on my knees I exchange my soul for some gold and your ribs of wicker/
you will forget my taste from when you wake in your bed of fire/
And I will carve it from the ivory in my heart and make a sexual display of recurring dreams I had thrice/
Children, make your way into the wilderness I crave, the coming of the days when your sins won't save you/
Dark world, grazing in your god's land/
purpose far from nooks and holes in the white sands/
Dark world, grazing in your god's land/
purpose far from nooks and holes in the white sands/
Take your cousin Flan and call him Isaac with your blood and myrrh/"
- "Soft Spell" by My Feral Kin)
Um, to sum up, everything has meaning ... even that which is intended to not have a specific meaning or any meaning at all becomes contextualized and birthed into meaning.
So, when I woke up this morning after about six hours of sleep, (I was up until 3am writing ... I even started to do an audio journal until the batteries in my microcassette recorder died.), I decided to head to the lounge / dining car to do a last bit of editing my pieces and just in case one of the upcoming stops was at a station that had wifi.
("You are an integral part of your community!" - "Total Winner" by Treasure Mammal)
There, I ran into Mtch and Ambr.
Ambr, though we hadn't actually introduced each other and gotten each other's name, invited me over to sit with them.
We spent time catching up on the past 36 hours.
I apologized for not being able to get them a place to crash in Chicago.
They said not to sweat it. They had planned to crash in their van, but they spent that night bar hopping around Chicago and, in their drunken state, ended up dropping over $100 on a hotel room.
Mtch is a musician and is part of the small punk / bike / DIY community in Winona and the surrounding areas.
Ambr is in the military and, despite her young age (they're both probably in their mid 20s), seems on track to become a sergeant. A few days ago, she had just finished two weeks of training in Salt Lake City.
They've been together for about 4 years and married for the last 2 and a half. They met in Sioux City and moved to Winona together, just as most people there are prone to do after high school.
They totally bike and have actually brought their bikes with them to bike around New Orleans. I tell them about my first trip to New Orleans, and how me and my friend Vdn (who I'm visiting - her and her husband, Wl, who were a part of the art scene in Phoenix, especially via The Paper Heart (RIP)) biked all around NOLA, and how it was one of the best ways to see the city. The traffic outside of the downtown area is so light, you can bike around with minimal fear of being hit by cars.
I talk about how I've been biking around Phoenix for about a year and how it's the complete opposite of New Orleans.
Mtch remarks that Phoenix is probably filled with a lot of older people in cars that don't really look out for bicyclists. I confirm that, but also make a point to note that Phoenix, over the past 5 - 10 years has gotten younger.
Whereas a lot of people used to grow up in Phoenix and then fly away elsewhere, young folks are now sticking around, seeing that so much stuff is going on that they can be a part of, or at least, that can keep them entertained occasionally. Also, plenty of young people are moving here for neat jobs and the lower cost of living (relative to bigger cities, even if we're like number 5).
We talked about the indie music / punk / DIY / bike scenes in Phoenix, Winona, Chicago, and Salt Lake City.
("I'm trying to be brave 'cause when I'm brave, other people feel brave ..." - "Caving In" by Kimya Dawson
Another reason to make strong choices and commit to what's going on, openings included - on stage, what we do has the potential to inspire others and embolden the group and propel everyone beyond what they thought they were capable of.)
They've never been to New Orleans and I'm trying my best to remember cool things that I've been able to see there, and to pass them on. I tell them about the buskers and the Plan B bike co-op (in the same warehouse as the Iron Rail independent book and music store), which they're totally into.
I tell them about the Trunk Space and how it's become an amazing center for so much creativity and amazing music, whether local or folks touring from out of town.
Mtch takes down their information - in the future, he wants to tour the country.
I mention how the last time I was in New Orleans last November that I ran into some people at a book fair in the French Quarter that looked familiar. I would often go up to them and this was a typical exchange:
"Are you a musician or are you a performer?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever performed in Phoenix?"
"Yes."
"Have you performed at the Trunk Space?"
"Yes!"
I'm about to offer them some trail mix when they excuse themselves to go put in some orders for food.
When they come back to the booth, Mtch offers me a cup of coffee.
Though I don't usually drink their coffee, I can't see myself declining their kindness.
I offer up my trail mix and Mtch asks if I mind if he snags mostly M&Ms.
I tell him that I don't mind at all ...
"How did M&Ms become part of trail mix?"
"I know!" Mtch replies.
(SO!
I just went over to a couple of ladies in one of the other booths, Beth and Caitlyn (I won't find this out for a few minutes).
We've been stopped, blocking a street in, I think, Mississippi, for quite a while. We're only 10 minutes away from the station according to Tony, a frequent rail rider, who'll come over in a few minutes.
I ask them if they heard any kind of announcement explaining what the hold up was.
There hasn't been any announcement, but apparently someone in the final car has passed away.
There's a coroner back there taking pictures and the police are interviewing people and taking down names and contact numbers. I guess, though, the person might have died of natural causes, since they're not sure, they have to treat it like a possible crime.
If I hadn't been up here, writing all this, I would totally be in the final car.
After a few minutes of talking -- the ladies are traveling across the country on Amtrak, and I briefly mention how that was my initial idea for August -- we exchange names just as Tony drops by.
Beth has an olive complexion, brown hair, and has a nice smile. She's dressed in a brown shirt and jeans.
Caitlyn is blonde, has here long hair pulled back into a pony tail. She's dressed in a red, scoop neck dressy, blouse thing and wearing shorts. She's kind of pale but has rosy cheeks.
Tony is in his 40s, his head topped with gray and white hair, and is kind of tall and gangly.
Beth and Caitlyn are from Portland. I ask them if they know Ben Barnett of Kind of Like Spitting. They reply with Andy and Frank (?) Barnett of the band Sexy Pants.
I let them know that I don't know them, but I now want to hear music from a band called Sexy Pants.
I ask them if they're annoyed by all the people who've been moving to Portland, and mention how there must be a Little Phoenix there from all of our contributions.
Though the girls are natives of the northwest, they're not from Portland originally. Caitlyn thinks it's cool that so many people are moving there (she's noticed the influx) as long as they're contributing and being positive. She has noticed that some of the Portland natives seem a little irked.
Tony travels exclusively on train and has been Amtraking it since the 80s when they actually served homemade food in the dining car.
We're 20 minutes away from Hammond, Lousiana.)
Mtch, Ambr, and I talk about the food in New Orleans.
I tell them how amazing it is, but can't think of specific places or addresses to send them to.
I do tell them about Kung Pao Po' Boy in Uptown, near the La Nuit Theater (that's merely a nickname).
They serve amazing po' boys (their shrimp po' boy is ridiculously piled on with shrimp - like more will fall out of the sandwich than you're typically served at Red Lobster), but they also have chinese food, chicken, and pork chops.
It's like Chino Bandito's, except incidentally mixed up rather than intentionally.
Ambr mentions that she used to work for an awesome bakery - until they fired her over some bullshit.
I'm reminded of Ian, and tell them about how he often brings baked goods and fun stuff from the kosher bakery that he works at, to Trunk Space for everyone to have.
We talk about how awesome it is to share food that might otherwise be thrown away.
("People are wasteful - they waste all the food" - "People" by Andrew Jackson Jihad)
Ambr pulls out a chunk of cheese out of a Trader Joe's bag. They ask if they have a knife on me.
I mention that I gave one of mine to my friend, Mchll, and unpacked the other one since I was flying.
The extra attention that my beard gets (and I mention the middle eastern man in Bryant Park who thought I was Egyptian - remember that?).
"Could also be that you're wearing something that says 'bomb squad' on it?" opines Ambr.
(I packed my old faithful gray hoodie for this trip, but to lighten the load, I asked Bll to take it home.
Grg Ind, world traveler, recommended taking a power strip on my train trip (he actually recommends it for traveling in general, noting that, often, hotels and hostels don't have all that many accessible eletrical outlets) and a blanket to hide the mining of energy from those that might care.
I didn't really want to get a blanket, so a couple days before I was to leave Chicago, I started keeping my eye out for hoodies, which could do the same job.
An hour and a half before my train left, I stepped into Land of the Lost, which is a thrift store about 500 yards away from the place that Mchl was subletting, and that I was now locking up before I left - the last out-of-towner to be there.
I looked around and, other than some sweet but overpriced baseball jerseys (including one that had "Let's Ball!" across the chest), I didn't find anything.
I decided to give one last look-see and then I found it!
A black, zip up hoodie with a graphic on the left side of the chest that said "Bomb Squad - City of Gotham Police Department."
The Dark Knight was shot in Chicago and I secretly hoped that the hoodie is one of those items that was made up for cast and crew members. (Also, way to keep a secret hope secret!).
I bought it up and have been rocking it, as temperature dictates, ever since.)
Mtch asks for his satchel, which is right next to me, and going through its contents, finds a knife. He starts divvying up the cheese to share.
"'Yeah," Mtch starts, "we actually brought a bunch of knives. We were told that we would need them."
"Before we got a hotel room, we were planning on just camping out," Ambr explained.
I mentioned Vdn's friend Jssca.
(We're passing through Kenna, LA - I saw some Mardi Gras trailer-floats that were sitting on someone's property!)
Jssca, actually lived in Phoenix for a time. She lived at either The Firehouse or ThoughtCrime (back when it existed, and wasn't squeezed out by fancy developers), which is how Vdn knew her.
Just walking through Vdn's neighborhood, just southeast of the French Quarter, in the Ninth Ward, we stumbled into her unplanned.
We had had plans to walk over to the gay country club that had an awesome swimming pool. It's where Wl and Vdn were hanging out pretty frequently to escape the swampy heat.
We invited Jssca, but she wanted to drop off her bike first.
Since we would all be together, she also wanted to drop off her gun - she had totally been packing heat!
It's pretty understandable - some of the neighborhoods can seem pretty scary. Outside of downtown and the French Quarter, not much is well lit (other than some of the residents - HEY OH!). Also, post-Katrina conditions had led to a rise in robberies and other violent crimes - crimes that were already prevalent in the Crescent City.
Mtch and Ambr asked me how things looked post-Katrina.
I replied that the French Quarter, being elevated, escaped too much damage and what damage there was had been fixed and restored.
In Downtown, businesses were slowly starting to come back and there were quite a few, from restaurants to banks, whose signage mentioned that they were coming back.
Outside of the Quarter and Downtown, though, I mentioned that those places that took the hardest hits, especially in the Lower Ninth, shamefully, didn't look like there was much progress.
FEMA trailers still were around and houses and businesses still were mostly abandoned.
On the other side of town, whole projects had been abandoned.
I believe that I walked through the Calliope Projects, which was like a ghost town ...
They just let me get back into the last car of the train where my stuff was. While I was writing in the dining car, they had cleared it out and once I headed back, they decided not to let anyone in there until we were getting close to New Orleans.
I can see the Superdome slinking by.
Mtch & Ambr, and I have exchanged information, and I hope to get to hang out with them and see the sights with them!
"It's all of these galaxies overlapping each other, eating each other, being consumed, being churned up, being settled down, countless undulating waves of creation being broadcast from infinite satellites in a palace of mirrors, nothing and everything at once."
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