March 21st: rainy bends and the Ninth Configuration
[ posted by mcdeviltoast ]
Day 186
The turned cold and damp again. My heater was wonked so I kept drinking tea to stay warm. I spent the first part of the day listening to the Bubbles in the Think Tank audio stream from Cincinnati. Very odd to listen to a midnight radio show at 1pm, half a globe away, hear my friends' voices broadcast. Globalization is such a headscrew sometimes. I got a shoutout from JF, though more of a good-humored roast: "....I did 'Summer Nights' karaoke with stupid McDeviltoast..."
I then chatted online with Montana, watched videos of people hurting themselves. I turned on "The Ninth Configuration" which was a very odd and engrossing film, with hilarious dialogue: "I'm afraid the end of the world has come for the bag of Fritos in my pocket." "What if God is just an all-powerful, all-knowing foot? Can you prove there's a Foot?" "God should either shit or get off the pot. There's a long line of diuretic gods waiting their turn." It's written and directed by William Peter Blatty and is a "theoretic thriller" in comedy's clothing, taking place at an asylum for deranged Vietnam vets. I need to watch it again.
When night fell, I rode out to Dongzhou, for human company more than nourishment, since I had already had a bried repast at the dining hall. When I arrived they were still engaged in the battle of who could be the biggest dining martyr ("Oh, I don't care where we eat, you decide.") so I, the least hungry one declared Muslim noodles to be the evening's feature. I wasn't in the best mood from riding in cold and rain, but I managed not to take it out on anyone. What good is it being angry at the weather? It doesn't affect the outcome whatsoever, and no one can predict exactly what it will do.
Jeni asked me what was wrong at dinner and I told her it was barometric bends, something I hadn't really realized until I said it aloud. Just knowing a symptomis physical and not mental is enough to change one's mood. ("Of course you're angry, Mr. Phelps. You have three broken ribs." "You mean I'm anot a rageaholic nutball?")
Afterwards we hung out in Heather's room, had a nightcap, some baked goods and ice cream (comfort foods to be sure). We listened to The Beach soundtrack which always conjures vivid memories of Moab: the sunny days where clouds looked painted on a window pane, driving along the winding river road to Castle Valley, hiking in Arches, looking up at the stars by myself outside of a party smiling and taking mental snapshots, all the faces and accompanying laughter of my extended desert family, the scent of sage, Bill Viavant telling stories, the way the red cliffsides gleam like a penny in the blazing sunset, the vastness of sky, the quiet, the blanketing peace that fills my heart to bursting. I can't wait to be there again even if it's only for an all-too-brief two weeks.
I rode home with a buoyant heart and a flood of images before my eyes. I pecked away at my computer nostalgic and sighing until I folded myself into a blanket cocoon, shut my eyes and let the slideshow take over.
The turned cold and damp again. My heater was wonked so I kept drinking tea to stay warm. I spent the first part of the day listening to the Bubbles in the Think Tank audio stream from Cincinnati. Very odd to listen to a midnight radio show at 1pm, half a globe away, hear my friends' voices broadcast. Globalization is such a headscrew sometimes. I got a shoutout from JF, though more of a good-humored roast: "....I did 'Summer Nights' karaoke with stupid McDeviltoast..."
I then chatted online with Montana, watched videos of people hurting themselves. I turned on "The Ninth Configuration" which was a very odd and engrossing film, with hilarious dialogue: "I'm afraid the end of the world has come for the bag of Fritos in my pocket." "What if God is just an all-powerful, all-knowing foot? Can you prove there's a Foot?" "God should either shit or get off the pot. There's a long line of diuretic gods waiting their turn." It's written and directed by William Peter Blatty and is a "theoretic thriller" in comedy's clothing, taking place at an asylum for deranged Vietnam vets. I need to watch it again.
When night fell, I rode out to Dongzhou, for human company more than nourishment, since I had already had a bried repast at the dining hall. When I arrived they were still engaged in the battle of who could be the biggest dining martyr ("Oh, I don't care where we eat, you decide.") so I, the least hungry one declared Muslim noodles to be the evening's feature. I wasn't in the best mood from riding in cold and rain, but I managed not to take it out on anyone. What good is it being angry at the weather? It doesn't affect the outcome whatsoever, and no one can predict exactly what it will do.
Jeni asked me what was wrong at dinner and I told her it was barometric bends, something I hadn't really realized until I said it aloud. Just knowing a symptomis physical and not mental is enough to change one's mood. ("Of course you're angry, Mr. Phelps. You have three broken ribs." "You mean I'm anot a rageaholic nutball?")
Afterwards we hung out in Heather's room, had a nightcap, some baked goods and ice cream (comfort foods to be sure). We listened to The Beach soundtrack which always conjures vivid memories of Moab: the sunny days where clouds looked painted on a window pane, driving along the winding river road to Castle Valley, hiking in Arches, looking up at the stars by myself outside of a party smiling and taking mental snapshots, all the faces and accompanying laughter of my extended desert family, the scent of sage, Bill Viavant telling stories, the way the red cliffsides gleam like a penny in the blazing sunset, the vastness of sky, the quiet, the blanketing peace that fills my heart to bursting. I can't wait to be there again even if it's only for an all-too-brief two weeks.
I rode home with a buoyant heart and a flood of images before my eyes. I pecked away at my computer nostalgic and sighing until I folded myself into a blanket cocoon, shut my eyes and let the slideshow take over.
---
[ posted by mcdeviltoast @ 3/21/2005 08:07:00 PM ]
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The dumbtronica act Montana & McDeviltoast, along with their friends, keep each other updated on their activities. Much fun having by all, and Pockys fear for their lives!