Headache

My headache, into day three now, is so immense and pervasive that the pain it gives approaches beauty. I believe it may be my first real-life migraine. The tip of my nose hurts in ways that are like yet distinct from the pain of cold, of burning, and of bruising.

With any luck, i should begin to experience hallucinations sometime tomorrow, I think. Sadly, it does not appear to be triggering an endorphin response that I can parse out.

I had always thought the hallucinations must have been an endorphin side effect.

However, I am beginning to perceive symmetry in the pain as it overlays the more floriated elements of my skull. This leads me to suspect that migraine hallucinations must actually be pattern-seeking overlaid on random, persistent stimuli. The symmetries of pain I am experiencing, like leaves or wings insinuated under my facial muscles, echo the bursts of light we see with eyes closed, hands gently pressed against eyelids.

Once, subject to incredibly frequent and capricious hangovers of debilitating intensity – I recall spending an entire day wracked with dry heaves and nausea apparently brought on by two beers (admittedly, they were VERY BAD beers) – I had the ability to focus and call forth a wee dab of endorphins, enough to complete a given task, such as the dishes or a shower. Today, the juice seems utterly lacking. Yet I find myself able to complete normal tasks, such as cooking dinner, without falling down or vomiting. This headache seems a different sort of plague all together.

Loose ends

ITEM: Viv, Greg, Stacey and I attended the Ghost LIght production of Tartuffe, featuring two actors that Greg and I have worked with previously, Michael Oakes (sp?) and Patrick Allcorn. The show was hilarious, easily eclipsing a theater-in-the-park performance (possibly by Theater Schmeater) Viv and I saw about ten years ago under the noisy jets in Volunteer Park. We started with a happy hour nosh-out at 1200, just up the road. A personal highlight of the evening was my helpless loud snorting with laughter at the end of the first half of the show. Michael had sprouted a truly refined John Waters pencil moustasche, presumably in contrast to Patrick’s impressive Lemmy-style number. Michael’s parents were in the audience and laughed as heartily as did I.

ITEM: The server rebuild continues to plague me. I have a cloned server that has been successfully updated as far as the current underlying OS components are concerned, but I am still wapping my head with a hammer in search of a workable and non-disruptive testing methodology before I plunge into the upgrades for the rest of the services. I did do a spot more homework on hosting and although prices have dropped, the news is not as positive as I had hoped; in particular, a hosted implementation on my budget and traffic numbers will require Google ads deployed across all my midrange sites, probably inclusive of about ten domains. This implies any number of complications, from business issues involving licensing all the way down to redesigns and user education. Sigh.

ITEM: After at least a year of farting around (RIP Kurt) I obtained and constructed a baker’s rack for our ‘lunarium,’ a tiny room that an inspired prior owner of our domicile built nearly entirely out of 72“x48” double-pane windows. It leaks a bit, but as one might expect is a killer greenhouse.

ITEM: The spawning Steller’s Jays have a loud brood of four or five chicks. They team-feed, which is interesting, and are not alarmed at all when the not me, as I am now, pecking away on the porch. I have learned a call that the female uses which appears to be an ‘I’m here’ message and which is quite distinct from the usual raucous bird profanity I associate with the species in their role as mountain beggar and trail scold. Interestingly, a pair of male robins are currently disputing the back yard as their very own.

Loose ends

ITEM: Viv, Greg, Stacey and I attended the Ghost LIght production of Tartuffe, featuring two actors that Greg and I have worked with previously, Michael Oakes (sp?) and Patrick Allcorn. The show was hilarious, easily eclipsing a theater-in-the-park performance (possibly by Theater Schmeater) Viv and I saw about ten years ago under the noisy jets in Volunteer Park. We started with a happy hour nosh-out at 1200, just up the road. A personal highlight of the evening was my helpless loud snorting with laughter at the end of the first half of the show. Michael had sprouted a truly refined John Waters pencil moustasche, presumably in contrast to Patrick’s impressive Lemmy-style number. Michael’s parents were in the audience and laughed as heartily as did I.

ITEM: The server rebuild continues to plague me. I have a cloned server that has been successfully updated as far as the current underlying OS components are concerned, but I am still wapping my head with a hammer in search of a workable and non-disruptive testing methodology before I plunge into the upgrades for the rest of the services. I did do a spot more homework on hosting and although prices have dropped, the news is not as positive as I had hoped; in particular, a hosted implementation on my budget and traffic numbers will require Google ads deployed across all my midrange sites, probably inclusive of about ten domains. This implies any number of complications, from business issues involving licensing all the way down to redesigns and user education. Sigh.

ITEM: After at least a year of farting around (RIP Kurt) I obtained and constructed a baker’s rack for our ‘lunarium,’ a tiny room that an inspired prior owner of our domicile built nearly entirely out of 72“x48” double-pane windows. It leaks a bit, but as one might expect is a killer greenhouse.

ITEM: The spawning Steller’s Jays have a loud brood of four or five chicks. They team-feed, which is interesting, and are not alarmed at all when the not me, as I am now, pecking away on the porch. I have learned a call that the female uses which appears to be an ‘I’m here’ message and which is quite distinct from the usual raucous bird profanity I associate with the species in their role as mountain beggar and trail scold. Interestingly, a pair of male robins are currently disputing the back yard as their very own.

Josh Bell rocks (?) the DC Metro

WaPo recasts Josh as busker. He’s game. DC commuters? um. Point: JOSH!

I really, really liked this. I sent this note to the WaPo team responsible for the piece.

Thank you all for making my day.

I knew Josh, distantly, as a kid when we were growing up in Bloomington. I haven’t seen him except to be aware of his career in years and years. However, I have heard about his openness and groundedness through the hometown grapevine from others of that cohort. I have no doubt that he is as open to and welcoming of the brilliant and crazy stunt you crafted with his kind cooperation and as sanguine and full of humor as you capture in the story.

In the years since I left Bloomington, I have become friends with more than one busker, but only one who might be characterized as a profoundly gifted professional musician. If I read him correctly, he has come to hate the busking portion of his work, primarily because in order to gather that money-generating crowd, you must rely on set pieces, little two minute magic tricks that confound, excite, and inspire, and which can be executed over and over, once every thirty minutes, to capture the crowd and engage them into the one-or-two dollar donation, or even better, the CD purchase.

Despite what I read as his frustration, his pursuit of the technique has resulted in a spellbinding performer who is unafraid to use his magic tricks to capture the audience’s attention before he proceeds with a piece he may regard as a more subtle and challenging expression of his talents as a songwriter and performer.

I flatter myself I would have had the time and openness on that morning to recognize the preciousness and hilarity of the gift Josh and your team offered the DC commuters at that, incredibly busy, station. I don’t mistake my desire for self-regard with a probable account of my notional interaction.

I can, however report this: your sensitive reportage and careful attention to craft in the prose of your final piece successfully echoed the tragic colors of Josh’s ‘Chaconne’ on the printed page, or more accurately on the internet, and moved me to tears. Kudos to all of you, and my tears are for the tragedy of our national culture of isolation and overscheduling. Thanks for a kickass reading experience, and great work with the multimedia documentation. Simply outstanding, entirely worthy of every participant, from the DC commuter though to Josh and his violin.

UPDATE:

Two days later, Wiengarten notes that this is his largest-response-generating piece, and that at least 10 percent of the thousand or so correspondents note, as I do, that we wept.

Plus one (or more) (or less)

This morning as I got the paper I heard a new birdcall, a quiet ‘hoo.’ It was coming from very nearby and after a bit of jockeying I was able to see the source. I was surprised to note that the bird appeared to be a smaller-than-I-usually-note Steller’s Jay. I was more surprised by the uncharacteristically melodious call, however. The bird was reluctant to flee my efforts to see it better, and this led me to surmise that she was in fact Mrs. Jay, my porchside companion of late.

Ascending the stairs to my deck, I noted that the nest was empty of brood-covering jay. On a doubletake prompted by a flash of movement, I saw a tiny, bright yellow beak reach tremulously up from within the nest, blindly agape. Moments later, the smaller jay I’d harassed in monkey curiosity hopped atop the tiny maw.

Around the corner, a senior citizen graciously greeted me as I gingerly walked down her drive to peruse the goods on offer at her garage sale. She is a painter, and one in particular, of a Duvall valley road, barns in the distance overmastered by alpine hills, was quite good, if a bit pastel for my own taste. She introduced herself with the words “I’m K_. We’re H_ people.”

The construction is the same as if I introduced myself and my family with the phrase “I’m Mike. We’re Whybark people.”

It was charmingly anachronistic. I gather the garage sale is a transition marker, given the house’s real estate notice and signboard.

Outage

My apologies for the downtime today. There may be more over the next week or so. I’m prepping the web server for the upgrade and getting comprehensive backups in place in case of disaster. Tie a knot in your quipu for me.

Ink

Last night I dreamt I drank a bottle of fountain pen ink. I recall examining my darkened lips and tongue in the mirror and thinking, ‘Why, surely, my shit will be the deepest black.’

Ms. Jay

A Steller’s Jay is nesting about five feet from my back porch. I think it’s probably a mated pair, as I had noticed a vocal and aggressive (even for these blue meanies) jay yelling at me for the past couple of weeks every time I walked around that side of the house, but tonight after taking my fair share of abuse I glanced over and saw a quiet jay in a nest clearly thinking “you can’t see me.” That’s very different behavior, so I think Ms. Jay and Loudmouth Jay are prolly distinct boidies.

Server repair news: I was able to clone the server and upgrade the OS, but am still working on the LAMP upgrades. I am booked for the next four weeks (making a movie!) over the weekend, though, so it’s kind of a race to see if I get the work done before SIFF or not.

Casting

We held casting auditions for the film today at the Shoreline Historical Society, and thanks to the hard work of Greg and Joey, saw the impressive talents of about forty actors. We had a wealth of talented and attractive performers for the female lead, but much fewer for the male roles. Happily, two of the guys that gave it a shot were nothing short of electrifying. We have one more day full of ac-TING to get through, but by the time the sun sets on Sunday the film should be fully cast.

It was interesting to see the sides from a script I’ve read at least five times in various stages read by people with the chops to actually bring Greg’s characters to life. It was even more interesting to realize that the jokes in the script are still funny to me. I sure hope that means the script has the legs we hope it does.