Of Offices and the Veldt

All dreams begin in a sort of psychic confinement, as if context is lost and you’re reborn of circumstances you cannot explain.

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Incog-recognito

I tell people that I have my name taped atop my bathroom mirror so that I can introduce myself in the morning.

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Stained glass and a pickup truck

My wife has a real talent with stained glass. Yesterday, here in town, they held an Art in the Park event, where a number of artists set up booths, and she put out her stained glass frames, which did very well, catching the afternoon light.

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Meeting Our Doppelgangers

I took the Muni train to the ferry building one evening this week, to catch my boat home. We had the usual assortment of passengers, teenage students in too-tight or baggy clothes, straining to be as different from their parents as possible, a couple homeless people, unshaven, unkempt and often odoriferous, tattered clothes and conversing with the ghosts of friends, anxious tourist families with well-scrubbed children, sometimes tempted to stray about the car and explore signage until a parent calls “stay close!”, and commuters such as myself, black, Asian, Hispanic and white, all headed there, not here.

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No, no, I insist, after you

The building I work in has several entryways, both for the general public and for employees, who have access via badges. This confuses enough of the public that the employee entryway gets clogged occasionally with the badgeless and befuddled. (Ain’t this a free country? Why can’t I use any door I want?)

This morning, as a stylish young woman (bobbed hair died black, a sort of office presentable gothic look with two-tone black and blue cats-eye glasses) (bear in mind, I’m color blind, so they may actually have been aquamarine and charcoal or some such) arrived about the same time I did, and after we pointed the unwashed citizenry toward the much larger front entryway with “PUBLIC ACCESS” painted in bold white letters on the glass doors, she held our door open for me.

This momentarily discombobulated me.

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One Bright Shining Moment

We’ve seen a lot of documentaries so far this year; such as
The Yes Men, Outfoxed, Bush’s Brain, You Can’t Be Neutral on a Moving Train,
American Blackout, and This Film Is Not Yet Rated.

A good documentary gives me something not commonly known, so I didn’t care for
Shirley Chisholm ’72: Unbought & Unbossed, and I thoroughly enjoyed
One Bright Shining Moment about the McGovern usurpation of the Democratic machine in 1972.

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Steve McQueen, Achieving What Others Attempt

Bullitt was on TV last night.

Once again I was so drawn in to Steve McQueen‘s role that I forgot I was watching an acting performance. The word natural gets overused, but McQueen so becomes the character that you can forget you are watching fiction and get completely involved in the story.

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So What Happened on I35W?

The Startribune has posted an interview with a woman, from her hospital bed, who went down with the bridge.

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I35W bridge in Minneapolis

When I first learned of the 135W bridge collapse in Minneapolis, I was stunned. It so defies my concept of the place.

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Barry Bonds as the painted bird

I turned on the Giants game last night and was amused, mildly surprised, and bemused by the thunderous boos Barry Bonds received at Dodger stadium. I heard later that it got vicious in parts of the stands, with at least one fight breaking out.

Which surprised me a bit because the Dodgers fans I’ve known have always made such a point of how laidback they are, as if the root word of fan were not fanatic.

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