8 de Agosto, 2007
Nez Crashes YearlyKos Pt. 1
AND SO IT WAS DECIDED, and really, I decided at the moment, in the moment, while Kid Oakland--a cat I never met or read before--spoke to me one evening and jumped down right in the middle of a beer I was sipping with his generous offer, and it was at that moment decided that I was going to YearlyKos 2007.
Something nobody really expected, least of all me. In fact, the last time I heard of the YK convention, it was when the whole riproaring debacle over Clinton's pic with a bunch of bloggers--who were all pink of dermis--in the midst of Harlem ignited the blogosphere. I wasn't too excited by the convention at that point, nor was I really too excited about all the anger and threadwar over there being no brown folks. It's funny. In actual time, it's not that long ago. But in terms of how much I've traveled certain thoughts and lessons and blogs and growth in myself (at least to my mind!) it seems so long ago. I can't even put a definitive line down about where I've come or how I've changed. But that just seems so long ago when I think of my feelings and thoughts in so many areas.
Anyway, I didn't really have a good reason to turn down such an offer, this spin of the karmic wheel, this pathway to...? It seemed like it could be a lot of fun, if nothing else. And who knows about these other people. Maybe some would be as cool as myself. Now that would be downright dangerous.
But despite the moment-distillingness of the whole thing, and going to have "fun," I decided to shoot a documentary with which I would explore certain questions. I wasn't sure what they would be right away. One, I gleaned from the interview on OpenLeft. "Is there a point in trying to bridge these two worlds" or something like that, we talked about at some point.
So as I went, and for a few reasons, I ended up keeping questions alive like "what is the point of this?" and "is good being done in some noticeable way" (and maybe "good" is nothing more than progress toward good), and "given the cost, what is being produced or created?", as well as "what's going on with race in this mix?" Because that's still something I'm not done learning about. There's a lot going on out there...in here. That's what I write on, that's part of my journey, and hey--coincidentally, that's part of what made a reaction like The Chicago Voices project a reality.
I didn't have the answers to these questions. Not even as they apply to myself. I didn't set out to "answer" them, and I didn't really think them out. Perhaps they were half sketched. Enough wire in the gossamer to guide a pan or a tilt at the proper time; to choose a moment when to yank a finger, to pull a trigger, to roll the tape. But no more. Some aspects of a creative work require methodical notation and planning, and some are best left to impulse. Mastering your craft is all about knowing which is which. Or as I was saying to someone in the car as we went to pick up José's crutches (in his email he called them "crunches" which I think was great) a good documentary tells itself. You can sort through the footage later. For now, just pick up the camera and shoot. There's a story you're telling even when you don't know it.
Going to Chicago meant I had to leave Lil 'Nita behind!
Truth is, the main reason I cut my trip short of the day that would have given me access to one of today's presidential candidates, as well as the "blogger's brunch" that was listed under Jane Hamsher and Atrios's name (I think?) and probably would have been jammed with bloggers well-known online was I missed my little one just thinking about being away that long. It was to be the first time either her mother or myself were away from her this long, and it would be enough to affect her sleeping and such. But I was probably thinking of myself, too. Well myself, mostly. As long as we are here telling the truth and all.
I was freaked out about the plane, as you remember. I really really get uptight about them nowadays. What a drag. I've flown since I was young. The ride home was immeasurably better. (Not a problem for reasons the documentary will probably disclose), but this flight to Chicago was quite nervewracking. Especially because the flight from the first Airport to Seattle is done on a very small plane. Like a small plane with big-ass propellors. And a drone so loud that you can barely hear the flight attendant's speeches about pulling ripcords or sucking oxygen or hurtling through space or whatever.
Even terrified, though, I was struck with awe.
Or...maybe it's just easier to stare it down when you put it in a little frame.
11:34 am, Wed, August 1. Seattle Airport. One hour to wait for takeoff/boarding.
Here in Seattle, WiFi is not free. I wondered why I was having a hard time hooking in, so I asked the woman at the ticket counter, and sure enough, she assured me that I could connect at the "Business Office. " I wasn't surprised, maybe I was smiling or even laughing. She said it apologetically, said "of course..." when I asked, "Ah, so they charge you for it."
So I am writing this offline. But hey, you know me. I'm a rebel, I'm a ruffian! I'm all mad kinds of against the grain, baby. Shoooot. I'm not even onLINE and I'm typing. WutWUT??? Allright? Where YOU from is what I'm talkin' about....
Frankly, I feel amazed at the amount of technology I am bringing on this trip, I just got into a conversation with a fella...I should have recorded it! He leaned over, because he saw me firing up my Edirol R09 Digital Voice Recorder, and said "Now let me ask you...what exactly does that do?" I found it funny, he must have suspected it did as much, because when I turned it on, he leaned way over and cupped his hand over his mouth as he spoke on the phone. Which was funny because I thought to myself "What a great way to get people to quiet down!"
Anyway, I lied. That wasn't his first question, actually. His first question was, "So...are you in the film business...the film industry?" to which I answered, of course, "Yeah." Because I am. Even when I'm asleep. I'm part of the INDUSTRY yo. Like a cybernetic eye, that's me. I'm flippin' open and suckin' up your life essence so I can feed it to the INDUSTRY.
[Note: This was not the fella who later stole my Edirol R09 Digital Voice Recorder.]
I spoke to a cat on the plane, he was from the Middle East. I asked him if he wanted to speak on camera for my documentary. He said something about not really understanding the "camera" part of it. So I made motions to indicate that I was a huge silver halide particle being exposed to light. I'm not sure he got it, but either way, he declined. Ah well. So I asked him if he wanted to be interviewed with sound only. But again, he didn't seem to grasp my quite physical portrayal of a ferrous oxide particle being magnetized to aim in a certain direction so that a certain sound is produced when it (I) run over a play head. I'm sure there was a cultural gap there. I don't know if ferrous oxide particles in Egypt wave their arms about when they get magnetized. Anyway, the ingrate declined, and so I just asked him questions, all guerrilla style, no mic, no camera, its a new cutting edge thing called "conversation" and I'm trying to make it catch on here.
I asked him if he received any extra paranoia or strange treatment or suspicion as he was from the Middle East and on an airplane. I immediately sensed this was his favorite thing to discuss on a plane by the way he began making very dramatic head motions from side to side and shooting his eyeballs into all corners of his eyes. Either that or he was acting out a paranoia particle being sucked into the mind of a Xicano filmmaker. If so, I have to commend his skills. I got it right away.
One more plane to go. Until I am in Chi-town. Later.
next in Part 2: The Quad. The Quad Squad. The night you can't quad because the Quad quads quadly all the live-long quad.