Trust me...

That is what Jason, my acupuncturist kept saying to me on Wednesday after work. Trust me. He had gotten my newly dog-biting knee to bend so far back I swear my leg was twisted like a pretzel. Of course, this mantra came after a needle hit the nerve it was supposed to but sent an emotional shock of electricity through my leg and I thought I had kicked him. But I burst into tears instead. It was fine. The whole appointment was great save for that one part. Trust me. And I told him how interesting it was, that my body was learning to trust my knees again. You failed us! You caused us great grief. Now they say trust me. He agreed that was part of the problem of pain - that you are hurt like that and you need to trust your body to do its job again. The whole hour ended up being about trust and I walked up the stairs to my apartment like I usually do, no over compensating in my calves, but just up. And it worked. We were starting to trust each other again.

Tonight at practice we stretched (limited) and I helped with plyometrics... and then I went to put on my skates and I said to my knees, what do you want to do? And they said back to me - we trust YOU. Ok actually, my knees said nothing of the sort but I did come to a compromise with myself - my body needs to trust my knees not to let me fall and bring back that biting dog that so terribly hurt me and my knees need to trust my body not to push too hard. And it worked out. We had a great time together. Not pushing too hard and not going too strong. Just enough - enough so that we, my body and knees, went dancing after practice - at Neighbors for 80's night, which was super fun. I ran into Drew Blood there (who I've danced with before out at clubs) who was just getting back to dancing after cracking vertebrae (4) in her back. Neighbors kicked me out with "Under Pressure" - Queen - Freddie Mercury - which has, in the past made me cry. The logic goes like this: I love Queen. I loved Freddie Mercury. He died of AIDS. I hated the 80's. I hate Ronald Regan (for never, ever acknowledging the problem). Oh God what are we going to do? Then I'm overwhelmed. But tonight it was just my other fabulous teammates, Drew Blood, a shot someone didn't want to drink and my knees trusting me.

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Connie Torturous, the Dog that Bit Me and in love with my knees...

Now, a couple of weeks ago, I was walking down Phinney Ridge (ave), with a volunteer, going to meet with a stylist who was working on an event for Planned Parenthood when a woman leaned out of the passenger window and yellow "Hey Connie!" waving furiously. It was flattering, it was baffling, it was also 11 a.m. on a Friday in Phinney Ridge. The volunteer knew I did roller derby, followed-up with "who was that a fan?" Hmmm... it could have been but I was doubtful "if you put a helmet on her, I'm sure I would recognized her as a derby skater." "So can I call you Connie?" (No, but you can call me Torture like everyone else.) And last week, I found out it was a skater who I knew but who, honestly, I had only ever seen once without her derby gear and uniform. This time we caught each other in a wedding dress (her) and hot little blazin' yellow piece from Mexico (me) to add to the impressions of each other.

Sunday night, a giant pit bull tore off my knee and I screamed in the worst pain ever. Well, ok. Let me explain. It was the last 5 minutes of practice. I had had a "jacked" left knee and a right one that had been injured but had recovered from our last bout. We were doing this light drill that was pretty easy, loads of fun. One of the new skaters was coming through the "pack" and I went to push her out of bounds - half paying attention, not wanting to knock her down (which wasn't the point of the drill) - when she stumbled over a cone and because I was only half paying attention, I went down with her. The pain that shot from my recovered (less jacked) knee was terrifying. I scooted backwards on my butt to get off the rink and stared at my knee like it needed to come off. Like the pit bull that was biting my knee and pulling at it, needed to win, to take off my leg and go away. And I scooted away from my leg (forgetting it was attached) hoping I could just leave it behind. I had to get away from it. But there it was - still attached. Two dozen short breaths, and mumbles of "ohmygodohmygodohmygod" later, the dog walked away. Incredible. Intense. A believe it or not, very little damage. Some angry muscles, a little swelling. But what incredible pain. What an amazing dog.

And what an amazing physical therapist I have, who with some massage, a little bit of ultrasound managed to worked the "jacked" left knee to the point that my heal could reach my butt - the first time in a month. I was thrilled, I did a happy dance - I said I would stretch and do everything (as I have been doing) to take care of it! (The knee with the dog bit needed to calm down before it can be worked on.) I danced, literally, out to the car and then call friends telling them the great news about my knee and how happy I was and how much I loved, loved, loved my knees, and my physical therapist. And derby.

Old Money Wanted

That is what the sign read on the shop outside of my hotel in Boston - which happened to be the oldest (continuously running) hotel in the US - and the oldest in Boston - which is pretty old in US standards. I was there for the Development Officers Conference, which I've attended (in various cities) over the last 5 years. It was, as always, a great week of fundraising workshops (yes, those can be great!), seeing old colleagues and peers, exploring a new city (though I've been to Boston a couple of times) and most importantly, being inspired by my work. This year's speaker was Dr. Kenneth Edelin, "a young, black doctor who arrived in Boston in 1971 to do his residency training in obstetrics and gynecology at Boston City Hospital. In April 1974, when he was three months away from completing his residency, he was indicted on a charge of manslaughter by a secret grand jury." Because he performed abortions legally in the city hospital. Because he was black. Because people didn't like how their city was changing... and he was found guilty.

He brought tears to the eyes of women who have been fighting the fight for decades, he light the fire in the bellies of younger generations who had never heard this story. He was passionate about the plight of poor women, of poor disenfranchised, black and Latino women. He was amazing and he made me feel so good about my job and the work that I do. Incredibly inspired.

On Wednesday, I left the very old city of old money and headed to Vegas - a shiny, sparkly new city in the desert who money is just as Mafia tied as Boston's but has a much shorter history. It's also a city that rebuilds itself every 20 years, pulling off history like an outdated pair of jeans. I feel like I could take a deep breath and blow it down.

I was in Vegas for RollerCon, a roller derby convention with 1,500 participants from all over the world. It was amazing! By 9 a.m. I had down an hour of plyometrics and an hour of skating drills. I would sit by the pool for 20 minutes then rush off to a workshop about sponsorship, rules, merchandise, membership in the the main organization, grab my skates and go to another drills class where I skated backwards for two hours and learned how to do whips. Go back to my hotel, grab a bit (we were always forgetting to eat) and then head off for scheduled bouts between teams like Team World (yes, those from England, Australia, New Zealand) vs. Team USA, East Coast Refs vs. West Coast Refs. Then, with skate bag in tow, head over to the scrimmages where there were two teams - black and white. You pulled on a t-shirt, laced up you skates and headed out onto the track. Phew. Oh, let's not forget the Black and Blue Ball, birthday parties, burlesque, shows, Derby Weddings, etc., that went all night long. It's truly a city that never sleeps.

RollerCon was incredible on so many levels - not only did I get to meet gals from sister leagues all across the country (even got to know some of my Cleveland pals) but I got to be a part of this really fantastic movement of empowering women - of athleticism and entertainment. I got to fill my "bag of tricks" with more ideas and techniques for skating and sisterhood and connections for help. I came away with t-shirts (for my teammates who didn't attend), a bag full of tricks and enough ideas on how to do it better. Truly inspired.

What a weekend!

On Friday, at midnight, book #7 of Harry Potter was released. I was out at a fabric shop picking out material with Suzi for CarnEvil and was too tired to head to a release party - my last chance. I received the first Harry Potter while I was in the Peace Corps. I couldn't understand why my friend, who worked at the Borders where I had worked, sent me a book for 8th graders. My French friends wanted a "simple" English book to read. I have them Harry Potter. They gave it back a month later and said "we didn't understand a thing." So I opened it up to read it and explain it to them... I stayed up all night reading it. When I go back to the States, #2 had been released. I read stayed up all night reading it and would go to bed when my dad was going to work. (His comment was "you need a job Michelle.) #3 came out during my travels across the Midwest. And I've been thrilled to get single book. JK Rowling has grown as a writer with each book, the characters are stronger, they grow up, the plot is complex and dark and with millions of other people across the world, I'm relishing this last book - so sad that it's going to be coming to an end. What a journey.

Today, I finally, finished my rain barrel project for my P-Patch. Up extremely early this morning, I read as much Harry Potter as I could before decided I absolutely had to finish it. I started it at the beginning of the month and didn't have a chance to get back to it - plus I was lacking motivation for reasons that need their own blog posting. Two trips to Home Depot and a lot of help from Lara (both my knees were up in ice last night), my community P-Patch has a rain water barrel system fit for kings - or for very granola crunchy Ballard gardeners.

But all of this is just icing on the cake - for all of these other wonderful things stood in the shawdow of Jet City Rollergirls Expo Season, bout 2! Last night, with relatively few snags, we turned the Everett Skate Deck, once again, into a venue that held hundreds people to watch some fantastic roller derby! My team kicked butt! We had come such a long way since our last expo bout two months ago. I was so proud of all of them, thrilled to be part of such a movement and excited about the future of our league. So many friends who hadn't seen me bout with my team came out and were surprised! There were so many other surprises and though CarnEvil didn't win either game, we had a great time and worked so hard. I even got into a brawl with the Pink Pistols co-captain. We have a great schtick and our fans love us. I managed to jack both of my knees (the left one on Thursday and the right on Friday.)

One comment I truly appreciated last night was "Your team's tenacity will pay off Michelle."

Oh, you bet it will.

Flying Fez, flying flags...

I won the bet with myself - Fez was the first one to fall off the balcony. I came home from practice last night and was on the phone when Fez jump onto the balcony from somewhere - but where? I watched him for a minute and then he jumped off the balcony onto the window ledge of one of my kitchen windows. Of course Fez found a way to get further and higher - that's his nature. I called his name, he jumped back onto the balcony but because he was thrilled and crazy (like cats are) he turned and jumped right back to the ledge, did a triple pirouette (show off) but misjudged his landing and feel off the ledge, three floors, into the bushes below. I got off the phone and went running downstairs where I met my neighbors below (we just saw a cat fall from the sky). He was poofy tailed and shaken but mostly disappointed in his landing. Friday and Monkey came to the edge of the balcony and meowed to him below as he cried and cried... most likely because of his damaged pride.

We need an American flag for our bout this weekend and I just happen to have one - the one used at my grandfather's funeral, folded nicely in a triangle, collecting dust on top of my bookshelf. It's a very nice flag, well made, thick and it means a lot to me because my grandfather meant a lot to me. He served in WWII - 5 years - two campaigns. He was part of intelligence (and if you heard his stories, he was sometimes the only intelligent one.) Played pranks on his buddies, got in trouble with everyone, had something to do with the liberation of Buchenwald, was part of the Battle of the Bulge, had a thousand stories and could make me laugh harder than any other person I've ever known. I wrote an award (small award) winning play about him. He was the best. And I have his flag. And I'm thinking he would LOVE it if I used it during our roller derby bout for the national anthem...

Burnt Grass, Burnt triathalons

The lawns around Seattle have faded to brown, as they do every summer. The great thing about Seattle is the lawns die and come back later - it turns out most lawn die and come back. I'm glad to live in a city whose residents' priorities do no include watering lawns - because it's HOT. Hot for Seattle seeing that it's going to reach a whopping 90 degrees tomorrow. Not Midwest hot but definitely Seattle hot.

And in the heat of the summer, drinks after work (when not at practice), sunsets at Golden Gardens, roller skating outside, walks around Greenlake, and the occasional work meeting, I've done nothing for my triathlon training except run after skating practice. With 6 weeks left, a trip to Boston and Vegas and a hundred other things that are far more interesting to do (like read the new Harry Potter book!), the triathlon has become a donation to breast cancer. It wasn't a lifetime goal and I don't like doing things half-assed. I don't feel bad for bailing on it - I'll do it next year when I actually make it a priority - or not. Like the lawns.

You should be dancin' - Yeah!

Saturday night after a BBQ with my team, a group of derby gals, with a at least one other thing in common, went out dancing. It was Juice - world music themed - benefiting Darfur at the Baltic Room. It started off a bit slow with the DJ just not quite spinning the right combination and only a few people on the floor willing to brave what came next. The crowd kept coming and eventually a new DJ took the table and I found myself dancing to samba mixed with hip-hop, electronica with a touch of Middle East pop, crowds of people mashed on the dance floor and it was hot - but so much fun - to be out dancin! I loved it and I missed it. In a conversation on my way out close to 1 a.m. a guy said to me when I explained that Juice happened once a month - You only come out once a month? - which I would like to have said - no - I come out every weekend. But I can't quit say that just yet...

Happy 231st birthday!

I participated in my first 4th of July parade as the Jet City Rollergirls rolled down Colby, shouting "Happy 4th" and cheering for the fans, (who were cheering for us.) It was super fun to be with such a passionate group of gals. The parade was short - barely a mile - but long enough for me to get oddly shaped sunburns through the elbow pads on my arms.

I went back home to Seattle, took a few laps around Greenlake before heading back up to Edmonds for a tiki BBQ at my friend Sassy's house whose backyard had been tikified and all of her friends were part of the rockabilly crowd. After some tasty Mai Tais, dips, pies, tiny kee-bobs, and watching a bigger small dog try to snack on a mini-small dog, we headed back to Seattle to pick of my friend Christy - who I knew as a volunteer at Planned Parenthood in Cleveland. She had emailed me periodically over the years to tell me of her many adventures and recently she said she would be landing in Seattle. I told her to call and she did!

We picked her up and dashed off to another BBQ on Dexter, where the grill ran out of gas (but just as my brats were done grilling), overlooking Lake Union where one of the best fireworks show in the city was. It was like having a seat in the center row of the auditorium. We got to see it all. (Fantastic!) Traffic took forever (taking Christy back to her rented room in Capitol Hill) and I crashed out having had one of the best 4th of Julys in a very long time.

One of those days...

where the stars seemed to collide, the planets weren't aligned and I'm sure my horoscope said Good Luck! Read me tomorrow! And you know, nothing serious happened, nothing worth writing about but still one of those days... and here's one of the things that made me particular exasperated:

http://www.slate.com/id/2168758/

More photos from my starring role as gonorrhea!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/67749380@N00/sets/72157600480505137

Woo hoo Gonorrhea!

Today was my first appearance in the Pride Parade, starring as Gonorrhea for the Planned Parenthood entry. We were a melody of STDs and a giant condom. The condom would go erect, then the diseases would try to attack and would be repelled back. I had the special place of being gonorrhea on roller skates to boot!

It was packed - hundreds? Thousands of people lined 4th Avenue in downtown Seattle. We threw bracelets to the crowds that read "Love Carefully", which followed our message of Safe Sex is Sexy printed on our bright pink shirts. I crashed into another gonorrhea at one point and about half way through we ran out of bracelets and condoms.

I ran into some of my roller derby pals at the Seattle Center where the Parade ended, ate a gyro, corn-on-the-cob and listed to club music before taking the bus back downtown to get my car. I love parades and I was quite proud to be in this one...

UFOs and such...
When I saw this comic the other day in the Seattle Times, I laughed out loud - on the bus. I remembered an incident, that makes my father laugh to this day, that occurred when I was walking home my friend Jeni Taylor. Her house was about a mile away off of of ol' state route 422. My street, the last street before her house, was a new neighborhood, essentially a street carved into old farm land. (And I mean old, it had everything you would expect in the woods like rusted nails, random barbed wire fences, old mattresses on the edge of the field, which was where our house was.)

In the summer time, she would come over to my house to hang out. In the 6th grade, we had a 9 p.m. curfew which meant it was dark in NE Ohio and undoubtedly hot and muggy. One night I was walking Jeni home, or atleast to the end of my street where she had to walk about 500 ft on the busy state road - often her Dad was often waiting for her at the end of their driveway. (Um, which is why I never "snuck out" -where the hell was I going to go? Into the woods with rusty nails? To the neighbors house with little kids? Until you drove, you were ISOLATED). We were heading to her place and it got progressively darker as we reached 422 as there were few houses at that end of the street - and no streetlights. Off in one of the old barns, there was a blinking orange light. In the barn. A blinking orange light. We looked at it for a minute and walked a little further trying to figure out what it was? A blinking orange light. Then our 6th grade minds races off - there could only be one thing in that barn - an alien. Holy crap.

We went back to my house, doing our best not to break off into a dead run, and searched for my dad. We didn't know what to tell him, so we told him the true. "There's an alien in the barn by the road." Of course the meant that he wouldn't drive Jeni home - he had to go check it out. (Damn!) He walked down the street and I think at one point we both might have grabbed his hands (long after it was cool to hold hands with your parents) and as we approached the barn, my dad looked for the blinking light..pause... Girls, it's just a construction barrel with a light on it...

Whatever. It totally was an alien. He just left before we were able to get back to the barn.

SNIFF, sniff

Tonight was my last SIFF volunteer shift. As my friend Katie stated and I concurred, it's a lot like summer camp. Last year, my first year, was fantastic! I saw 27 films, volunteered a gazillion hours, made tons of friends, went to parties and still managed to skate and have a great time! This year, volunteering was fun but I moved, had a wedding (in Mexico) right in the middle of the festival, saw only three films and just couldn't get my schedule to work out as well as I would have liked - though I did come out of it with one new friend - who is going to put together a circus workshop for my team.

I have the SIFF guide and some ideas of some films to watch... and next year to go back to summer camp again.

Pictures from the wedding...

http://www.flickr.com/photos/67749380@N00/sets/72157600349710376/show/

The Most Romantic and Beautiful Wedding Ever...

Claudia's and Justin's wedding was the most wonderful wedding - it was like being in a movie where Pacabel's Canon played over their vows, the sun broke through the clouds just in time for a sunset, the bride flirted endlessly during the Jewish ceremony and every single person danced. I'm sure I've seen this film and it was just as magical in real life.

Friday night's reception with the out-of-town guests (which was honestly everyone - 131 of us) started off this film. There was incredible food, mole pollo, beans, rice, the most delicious guac, coke and rums (or shots of tequila), a 12 piece mariachi band who played the most incredible music, more dancing, eating, meeting new people and leaving the rehearsal dinner at midnight to go have more drinks at a tequila bar before crashing out at 3:30 a.m. The bright sunshine on Saturday morning only begged for a bottle of water and aspirin (but it could have been much worse.)

I walked around town with my "roommate" Brandi whose starting residency for anaesthesia next week. We ate lunch at an organic, environmental restaurant (yep, even in Queretaro) where I learned all about her med school experience, the challenges that Claudia and other's trying to enter difficult fields such a dermatology faced. (They did not get residencies this summer as they wanted to be placed together. Justin's choice as an OB/GYN (who does abortion) has him in high demand where Claudia's choice in dermatology has her in severe competition.) We bought a couple of souvenirs (these fun little dolls) for our nieces and goddaughters made by the some of the more poor rural women who would come into town to sell their tourist tchotchkes. She reminded me of the dress that I was interested in buying and one look, she said, You have to get it- you'd regret it otherwise. And I did. Bright yellow. It was lively and more exciting than the other two I had brought along for the occasion.

We made it to the church just before 5 p.m. Storm clouds were brewing and wind whipped up leaves and dust - which it had done the night before but had amount to nothing. As soon as Claudia and her parents started down the isle, the rain came pouring down - loud. We listened to the ceremony in Spanish while glancing nervously at the down pour. Just as the bride and groom where on their second or third kiss, they shooed us out into the clearing sky. A few sprinkles and a few bubbles later, Claudia and Justin came bursting out and into their dressed up ancient car while we loaded up in to buses to head out to a "hacienda" (ranch) on the out skirts of town for the Jewish ceremony and reception.

The bus ride was longer than we expected but the results were gorgeous! This former hacienda spread out over acres of beautiful land. There was an incredible marble veranda with stone column fountains. Stepping out of the bus, we were greeted with cocktails and appetizers and a sunset. When the sun was finally down, the sabbath over, we started with the Jewish wedding. The hoopa was made by both of the mothers and beautiful. At one point in the ceremony, the bride makes circles around the husband (to seal the relationship, build a protective wall, etc.) and Claudia turned it into a flirty, seductive dance around him which had all of us laughing. The rabbi (whom everyone thought Justin flew in from St. Louis but was really just from one town over) told stories about them as a couple, they broke the glass and we headed into the actual "house" for the dinner.

The evening could haven't been more magical and we hadn't even started dancing! Another 10 piece band (complete with two dancers) played modern Latina musica, covered the Bee Gees, Gloria Gaynor, and other wedding favorites. After the initial dances of the bride and groom, parents, the party started. Nearly everyone was on the dance floor and something I had never seen before - the band brought props - every half hour or so. First there were balloons, then masks, paper glasses, straw cowboy hats, hands (on a stick) - it was hilarious. We drank all of the wine, liqueur, ate the cake and when the buses came to get us at 1:30 a.m. (the staff was tearing down the tables) no one wanted to leave. They finally stopped the music and we finally left...

Sunday morning, an exhausted but still very festive crowd showed up for "brunch" which of course was as much food as we had had at ever single other meal - we wished the bride and groom off (for three weeks in Italy.) The weekend wasn't over - a community orchestra who covering Sinatra tunes invited people to dance in the town square, a bit of shopping for super fun party shirt, dinner with some of the friends and a late night beer (finally - a beer) with some of the bridal party to capped off the weekend and the most fabulous wedding ever.

The perfect conversation...

I slept hard and woke up remembering that I was on a completely different spot on the globe. I was slow to rise and snagged a bit of the ¨contintential breakfast¨of toast and instant coffee. I love instant coffee when I´m traveling - it reminds me of traveling... I dropped my bag off at my next hotel where I´m staying for the wedding festivities and hit the streets. I´m considering getting a bright orange dress for the wedding tomorrow as I brought a brown dress and the classic black cocktail but not thrilled with either of them. I visited parks, read my lonely planet, bought another pluma (pen) and found a little hole in the wall where I tried to order pollo mole enchaladas. It was completely comical as we couldn´t understand each other and she was asking me how many orders did I want and I kept telling her lemonade. Finally we decided she could revert to Ingles and I would answer in espanol and it worked. She loved my fish tattoo and when I finished my lunch the cook came out to talk to me.

He spoke English having spent the first 12 years of his life in New York City - his father moved the family back here to Queretaro when he was 12 and has hated him since then. He doesn´t like it here but has a plan to get back to the US. Because he was born there, he´s a citizen and he´s going to finish high school, work for a year, get his passport and go to college in the US. We talked about Queretaro, school, the funny things his parents use to do. (One time, they told me to get in the car, we were going somewhere. I told my friends I would be right back... 5 days later. My parents took us to Disney World. That was fun.) I told him about the wedding I was going to and how Mexico was sooooo clean compared to Africa, for example. (That was the only way I was able to excuse myself for not knowing Spanish - most of my travels were in Africa and the Middle East, not Mexico.) I told him I definitely wanted to come back. I paid my bill and left him a $10 bill (american dollar) and told him to save it towards his passport. I honestly thought he was going to cry. Good luck! We shook hands and I went across the street to the art museum of Queretaro.

It was the perfect conversation, not because he wanted to go back to the States but because we could actually converse, make jokes, talk about things. He was local who spoke English. I was remembering my trip to Cuba last night and it was fun to have a travel companion. However, my travel partner did not want to go out and meet ¨the local people¨- he was content to hang out with touristas. I am not. I need to talk to people, anyone, just about life, how things are here (where ever I may be), the issues, problems, joys, etc. It made me happy.

The art musuem was great - lots of pictures of Jesus and a modern section, that they were painting (had taken the art and put it on the floor). There were nets to keept the birds out of the square. The city is designed a lot like old Jerusalem or what I imagine Italy would be like. The streets are tight and one-way but open into patios, restaurts, shops, etc. It´s a whole other world behinds the doors.

A frog in my mouth... I arrived in Queretaro after two flights, a 2 hour bus ride and taxi to my hostel. The last time I was in a Spanish speaking country I had practice for three weeks before hand, had a traveling companion and felt more confident in my ability to speak. This time around, a variety of things kept me from hitting the language CDs (out first bout, the film festival, work, moving, etc.) and I find that I have a frog in my mouth - when all esle fails, I revert to French. Which isn´t Spanish. Close - but not really. And it´s kind of funny. And it´s completely frustrating - like having a frog in your mouth, chewing on words, trying to find what you want to say and lacking the knowledge... in Spanish. However, I found my hostel (whose ´return´key on the computer doesn´t work) and made my way down to the centro historico where there was a parade! Something was going on with the church. There was also a live band a huge sign about campaign to preventi cervical and breast cancer. I got ripped off, my one time that I allow per country, from a street vendor (who charged me the correct amount but then wanted a tip and when I offered the small coins I had, he took 3 times the cost of the meal, forturnately, I´m allowed to get ripped off - once.) But I didn´t care about the street vendor, as I was more interested in the parade, the people dancing in the historic square, and how much I didn´t quit stand out. Quite a modern city. I´ll be glad to explore the city more tomorrow and meet up with Claudia and her friends too.

Wonderlustful...

I leave for my first foray into Mexico on Thursday for Claudia and Justin's wedding. I've never been to Mexico and not for any good reason besides that I just wasn't interested - my heart lies in Africa and the Middle East...(though I salsa danced - a mix of son - Mexican music and Jazz - for almost 10 years and in my music collection the number of cds in Spanish is second to those in Portuguese. After pouring over my Mexico Lonely Planet guidebook this weekend, I can't wait to go!

Last night I booked a first night in a hostel in Queretaro (I have a couple of nights in a hotel for the wedding). I am looking forward to having to be "awake" because you don't know the language, culture, where you're going, etc. I'm looking forward to eating "street food" and going out in the evening. It's going to be a great time!

It's going to be 85 degrees the whole time... and raining.

The Things We Carry...

The things they carried were largely determined by necessity. Among the necessities or near-necessities were P-38 can openers, pocket knives, heat tabs, wristwatches, dog tags, mosquito repellent, chewing gum, candy, cigarettes, salt tablets, packets of Kool-Aid, lighters, matches, sewing kits, Military Payment certificates, C rations, and two or tree canteens of water. Together, these items weighted between 15 and 20 pounds, depending upon a man's habits or rate of metabolism... (from Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried.)

Franz Kafka's, The Castle, which I have never read, made it thru a fire and a trip across the county before I picked it up last week in my move and asked "why is this book coming with me? I have never read it, I probably won't and I can get the exact same translation from the library." I thought, as I looked at the small amount of stuff I had to move 10 blocks to my new apartment, why did I bring these things, why did I carry these things across 7 states when they were not "the necessities" or even the "near-necessities". Tim O'Brien's book, The Things They Carried, did make it across the county. Some books made it to and from West Africa. A few bit of jewelry made it from my childhood to now. Clothes I've kept through a few seasons (if they're not worn more than two in a row then they go to Goodwill), some letters, plays and my art. But when I look at it all, what are the important things we carry in our lives? Some of it was packed in boxes and moved to my beautiful, spacious, bright new apartment. Most of the things I value are not able to packed into a box - ever.

I love...

The Seattle International Film Festival which started this week. I love volunteering for it. I love going through the schedule, both online and through the book, and picking out films I absolutely have to see. I love the crazies that show up year after year (true of just about everything I do). I love the opportunity to see a story that I would never have the chance in the "mainstream" cinemas.

Last year, Kelly Rae and I saw a film that might be one of the best films I have ever seen - Gravehopping- it came from Slovenia and it was hilarious, charming, tragic, horrible and brilliant. I managed to see 27 films last year (not all like Gravehopping) of the hundreds offered at the festival.

There are a million stories all over the world and some of them get to be told thru film. One of my favorite directors is from Mauritania (is that a country? um, yes. The Moors, you know, from Northern Africa... oh yea) and he has a new film this year that I'm sure is going to be as great as the one I saw at FESPACO (Panafrican Film and Television Festival of Ouagadougou) in 1998. I've been participating in and volunteering for festivals for a long time and I love every single part of it from loosing track of time because you've seen three films in a row, to loosing a sense of physical being because you've been volunteering and on your feet all day, to loosing your sense of self because you have been inspired, shocked, awed or moved by a story go you got to see.

I LOVE the film festival. And between roller derby, volunteering, roller derby, work (oh yeah), moving and a wedding in Mexico - that is where you'll find me.