Minneapolis to Denver
Flight to Denver took off about an hour late, not likely to make the flight to San Francisco. As a consolation, the airline has given us free television to watch while we’re in the air- I’m taking the opportunity, as I don’t usually watch teevee. Watching the Rachel Maddow show, which I can’t believe I’ve never watched before. She’s a delight.
I’m hoping that Rubin can meet me at the airport, if I end up having to take a later flight into San Francisco. I think the plan was to BART, but maybe we’ll end up driving instead. Our flight is likely full of Minnesotans, who are watching the Vikings/Packers game, and occasionally cheering in unison. It reminds me of walking down Istanbul streets at night, and hearing cheers come from various buildings, all the soccer fans cheering for Dolmabaçe or their home team. I’m cheering for ACORN on the Rachel Maddow show. I think if we win (that is, the Vikings and the liberals) it’ll make up for the fact that the flight was so late. I bet the airline is crossing their fingers for a Viking victory.
I’m sitting next to a lovely couple from Iowa/Denver. My luck for flight companions has not let up, if my luck for flight timings has. The woman is an intelligent sort of lady, reminds me of Mom, kind and friendly. We talked at length about the power of the human brain- she was reading a book about a neuroscientist who’d had some sort of brain injury that meant that she’d lost use of her left hemisphere and discovered that she’d lost her Ego (in the good way) in the process- found a great, easily tapped peace within herself. I told her about Jane McGonigal’s concussion and the amazing game she’d designed to help herself heal in the most productive way possible. She’d gone back to get her masters in Seminary at the age of 33, and was a lovely, open-minded sort of woman. I wish I’d been brave enough to ask for her name and address, so I could send her a postcard. I’d have liked to strike up an acquaintance with her.
Read Dad “Istanbul 19 August 1999” and he said it was lovely, great compliment from a man who is fairly difficult to please, artistically. Mom and Ariana really loved it, and after the good performance at Balls Cabaret a week ago, I feel good about the poem. I might expand it, to tell the story of my mother and father, and the story of my uncle and his now ex-wife.
Denver to San Francisco
I’m sitting next to the window again, much to my delight. I prefer window seats, because I’m afraid of takeoffs and landings- it’s a little like my fear of heights, which causes me to climb all sorts of tall things. I’m on the left side of the plane this time, next to a pair of sisters, whose mother is across the aisle from them. The younger girl is next to me, and likely watching television her mother would disapprove of, given her careful glances across the aisle from time to time.
MTV and VH1 aren’t especially child-friendly, but I’m not about to say anything, because I don’t think that it’s wrong to know about those sorts of things (gay porn industry?), but I’m also aware of the fact that it’s not my decision what someone else’s child sees on teevee, and it’s definitely not my place to tell someone else’s child what they can/should and cannot/should not do. The girl seemed super excited to see the chest shaving of the man, and the episode didn’t seem to actually show any of the worrisome aspects so much as hint at them so heavily they couldn’t possibly be misinterpreted. It’s funny, because I think at that age I was pretty oblivious to televised sexuality. Maybe there wasn’t as much of it?
I’ve been reading a book of retold fairytales, given to my for my birthday by Rhe. These are definitely not children’s stories, with sexuality and drug use and abuse and all sorts of things playing heavy roles in the re-tellings. The stories are lush and poetic, and sometimes a bit overwhelming with how hard they are. Red Ridinghood has been sexually abused by her step-father, another story I can’t place is about heroin abuse and lesbian relationships: this is a book that I’m finding I must put down in order to be able to deal with the thoughts and emotions within them.
This is going to be good for my finishing the poem I was working on last. This trip to California is like my fear of heights, or takeoffs and landings- I am afraid of the unfamiliar, afraid to leave my home, and so it’s a compulsion to me. All of this is so good for me, this compulsion is the best sort of thing. Let me be scared of everything, so I will want to do it all.