An old short poem

Found this poem in an old notebook of mine and thought I'd share it:

The three legged create trumpets forward,
Breaking barriers of sound and time and
struggling for cultural relevance.

Ears turned off from meaning
and opened to blasting garbage.
Dance floor boogie is dead.
Replaced with shit instead.

Faint

So a girl literally fainted in my Developmental Psychology class while we were watching a video of a live birth.  Right when the head began to pop out, she just lost all control and knocked out.  Everyone looked her way in shock, but I turned back and continued watching the movie.  I was going to let some fainted girl ruin my cinematic experience.

I eventually turned my head to look, because I thought I might look like a jackass for watching the movie while someone in my vicinity was in danger.  The teacher had brought her back to the realm of the living and was asking her questions to test her memory.  I heard an older woman behind me utter "someone oughta go fan her face".  I looked back to see the same woman walking over with a piece of paper to fan the girl's face.  Her motherly instincts took over.

The teacher cancelled the class after she called an ambulance and I headed out of class, unenlightened as to what I could expect when my time to be a father came around.  But that won't happen for quite awhile.  Sorry to disappoint you mom.

I guess I need to put some kind of image in the blog to make it more visually appealing.  Welp, here goes:

"What should young people do with their lives today? Many things, obviously. But the most daring thing is to create stable communities in which the terrible disease of loneliness can be cured."-Kurt Vonnegut

Happy Travels.  Watch for squirrels.

Lucas

Wah

About a week ago I went to the SF Public Library before rehearsal and wrote out a long, unfinished blog post about my day.  I even took a couple of pictures to go along with it.  And so I woke this morning with the idea that I would finish that same blog and post it.  But alas, it has vaporized into thin air.  Ca put. 

I could have gotten really upset and spent my whole day whining about the post the could have been.  But I chose to say FUCK IT and move on.  Instead I will post the pictures I took at the library so you can have some visual stimulant.

                                    A book I found on the desk I sat at.  I love San Francisco.

I've been keeping quite busy with rehearsals for my show, Dog Sees God.  I'm paying a buttload of money to get out there on BART, but its well worth it.  The show and cast are awesome,  I walk everywhere I go (calf muscle increase) and I've gotten to know the city much better.

I was called in an hour early the other day to record the famous Peanuts "wah wah" sounds on trombone.  My main instrument is the trumpet, so it wasn't too hard to get a decent sound out of the trombone.  One of the technicians, Ross, brought in his trombone and a makeshift "wah wah" mute for me to use.

Well, shit.  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eUyLwXhqlWU

The original Peanuts "wah wah"

Anyone interested in ordering tickets can visit this website:

http://www.boxcartheatre.org/

The house only seats about 50, so I'd suggest ordering soon if you wanna go.

I've had a lot of crazy adventures since my last blog that deserve their own post...but they will come in due time.  Until then, America.  Stay classy.

Lucas

                                                                               

Homeless Philosophy

You always meet the weirdest, most interesting people on BART.  Of course you occasionally meet some psychopaths, but for the most part people on BART are pretty cool.


I ran into one such fellow on the SF train.  For the sake of the blog, I'll call him Harold.  He was filthy and had a shopping cart full of bags.  To add on, he had a huge red birthmark on the left side of his forehead.  And out of nowhere, he began to speak loudly to no one in particular.  I put my book away and took out my journal.  I had to write this shit down.


"The priest don't really believe in God.  The priest travels to Rome and whatnot."

I jotted down the words as quick as I could.  I looked back up when he stopped.  His gaze was downcast and his eyes looked empty.  He was definitely in his own little world.  He lifted his head back up and began to speak:

"Do good things, like pick up litter and volunteer and stuff like that...And don't do it once a week, do it everyday."

I finished writing as the train came to the next stop.  I looked back up to see Harold wheeling his cart out on to the platform.  I opened my journal back up and read what I had wrote.  The stuff about the priest didn't really make sense, but what he said about doing good things resonated with me.  Surprising the wisdom one picks up from the homeless, eh?

This was my first of many encounters with the wildly diverse BART culture. I'll continue to post shenanigans when they arise.  For now, it's beddy bye time.

Good Night America.



 Lazy Luke

It's Nice to Have a Social Life

It really is.  I forgot how wonderful it feels to communicate with other human beings.
 GOD it feels magnificent.


I experienced a lot of greatness yesterday, much of which cannot be put into words.  And so I give you:

My Day in Quotes, Observations and Bullet Points (and maybe some pictures, because blogs are boring without them):


•Rehearsal was tight. We are currently learning how to dance like the Peanuts characters, which is a lot harder than it looks.  We use this video as a reference:
http://www.youtube.com/YBPcoI4OE9Y

•Went to the SF Public Library afterwards, which is literally right down the street from our rehearsal space.  It is massive.  I looked up the top 100 plays online, and wrote the first ten in my notebook.  My stomach is ready to consume the classics.  Well, if you want to be specific about it, my mind is ready for consumption.  My stomach's just on permanent standby.



•Got in touch with my nerdy side by playin' some Magic the Gathering with my friends Brian and Marcus. They're both ridiculously intelligent and opinionated, which makes for some passionate debate. Oh, America.  How I love thee for allowing such beautiful discourse.


After Brian and Marcus left, I headed to my brother's house to let loose.  When I got there everyone was already pretty trashed, but I sort of enjoy seeing everyone in a much more carefree state of mind.  Too many great things happened.  Since I don't feel like giving you a play-by-play narration, I will instead give you what I was able to scribble down in my notebook while still sober.

"As long as you make love to her, it's all good." -Anonymous

(Referring to me)
"It looks like he's been well suckled."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Doesn't matter, just write it down."

And possibly the best quote of the night:

"If your dick's tellin' you to fuck a dude, doesn't mean you're gay, just means your dick is telling you to fuck a dude." -Ethan

Take care ya'll.  Don't drive drunk.

Lucas

Jetlaggin'

I've been back in the states for two solid days and I'm still tired.  I guess it takes awhile for jetlag to wear off.  Or maybe I'm just too accustomed to having three caffeinated drinks everyday.  Who knows...All I know is that I'm tired.

It feels great to be in my own bed though.  There's nothing like it.

But I feel like I'm in a daze.   Like I'm not really American any more.  Interactions with people feel different.  I found my self responding to the guy making my burrito with "Si, per favore".  He looked at me funny and repeated his question.  "What kind of meat, sir?"  I guess they don't have the 'yes please' meat in America.

I jumped right into rehearsing for a play in SF called Dog Sees God.  It's kind of like a raunchy version of Peanuts.  It features the Peanut gang in high school, and they're either homophobic as hell or on a lot of drugs.  Or both.  My character (a grown up Linus) took the drug route.  Figures that the philosophical kid with a blanket would get into drugs.

Regardless, you (the three or four people who read my blog) should come see it if you can.  It's gonna be dope.  Once there is a legitimate avenue for ticket orders, I'll let ya'll know.

Well my dog's getting angry at me now, so I guess I should sign off.  Time to hit the hay and pass out.

I don't really have a picture that fits on theme, so I decided to post one of this guy.  I have no clue who he is...but I call him Brad.  Seems like a cool guy, eh?

Good night to you all.  Take care.

Lucas

Pompeii

I've been evading this blog with Facebook.  I guess that's what three glasses of wine and a shot of limoncello does to you.  Maybe there was some deeper Freudian shit going on here.  Maybe I don't want to acknowledge that I'm leaving this beautiful country.  But I am.

We arrived at Pompeii sometime around 11:00 and got lead around by a hilarious Italian tour guide.  It was amazing.  I was surprised at how well preserved it all was.

Highlights:
Sleeping dogs, ancient fresco paintings, and the red light district.

An ancient dog preserved from the historic blast of Mt. Vesuvius.

Some pretty neat old ass walls of Pompeii

And of course, the classic landscape.

After Pompeii, we had lunch at a local restaurant, then headed back to Rome.  One of the few girls my age in the tour, Krista (from Virginia), invited me to go on a run around the city.  Knowing I may never be able to set foot in this town again, I accepted her offer.  After packing at the hotel, we got in our jogging clothes and met in the lobby.  She was dressed in an entire jogging outfit, which was intimidating.  I learned later that she ran cross country in high school, which was even more intimidating.  Regardless, we had a nice talk as we ran around the city.  People don't jog too often around Rome, so we got a lot of weird stares and comments in Italian.  After a circuitous lap around the block, we decided to run up a gigantic set of stairs.  It felt great.  Now out of breath, we walked to a nearby park and walked around.  

Eventually we ran into a group of Italians sitting on the ground drinking beers.  Two of the women were doing some weird dancing, and Krista dared me to dance with them.  "Why the fuck not?" I thought.  I approached the women and asked them if they could teach me how to dance.  The whole group turned and looked at me, confused.  One of the guys spoke up.   "No speak English".  Not knowing they were Italian quite yet, I responded with "Habla espanol?"  They smiled and shook their heads.

I tried my best to communicate that I wanted to learn how to dance.  I knew bailar, but not much more than that.  Krista had taken some spanish in high school, so she helped me out in getting my point across.  They finally understood.  One of the women who had been dancing stood up and began to run me through the steps.  It was by no means your typical dance routine.  It was pretty weird, to be honest.  But I followed her as best I could, and afterwards the group, Krista and I shared a laugh.  They were probably laughing at my inferior dance skills, but I didn't mind.

After we finished running through the steps a few more times, we took a break and attempted talking to eachother.  After speaking horrible Spanish in vain for a few minutes, one of the guys explained they were all Italian.  That sure explained a lot.  After having a nice Spanish 1 conversation, we left the park and headed back to the hotel.

After confidently telling Krista I knew the way back, we got utterly lost.  I asked two different people for directions, but they were both from other countries.  One from England and the other from Scotland.  Shows how well I know my cultures.  We eventually found an Italian man who pointed us in the right way.

We got back to the hotel sweaty as hell and met up with Krista's mother, who was upset that Krista had taken the only key to their hotel room.  I left before it got too awkward, knowing I would probably never see the both of them ever again.  Our family made vague plans to have drinks with them later, but it never fell through.  And that was that.  After showering and putting fresh clothes on, my family got together and had our last Italian meal together.  The meal was delicious.  I had a bit too much white wine, and topped off my too much white wine with a shot of limoncello.

And now I find myself slightly tipsy, trying to think of what big lesson I learned from this entire trip.  Well, in general I learned that being an ignorant American makes you feel like an asshole.  To be more specific, I wish I learned a lot more Italian before I left.  But there's a much greater understanding I can't quite put into words.  An appreciation for something completely Un-American, I suppose.  You don't really realize how deeply steeped you are in your own habits and cultural norms until they're put on blast in front of an entire country.  You also don't realize how utterly lonely you can feel when you're unable to communicate with ninety percent of the people you run into.

And that's what I look forward to.  Being able to connect with another human being.  I don't care if it's some homeless hick from Texas.  I just want to have a passionate conversation in English.

I want to see my friends.  I want to see my girlfriend.  And I want to play my damn guitar.

That is all.

And so, I say good afternoon and good night for the last time, America.  To the few of you who did, thanks for joining me on this trip.  I look forward to seeing your beautiful smiling faces soon.

All my love,

Lucas