Got my first experience humping everything I need to live across town on my back. Books are carried at a premium. My concept is to have two bags: my new giant messenger bag packed with the usual NYC livelyhood stuff (laptop, connectors, journal, power cords, paperwork) plus toiletries, a pair of pants, a couple fresh shirts, socks, underoos. Then I'll have my big-ass duffel sitting somewhere with the rest of my clothing in reserve. In practice this is pretty much how I live, with "the floor" substituted for "messenger bag" and my tiny chest of drawers instead of a duffel.

I'll make some tweaks in the next few days for sure. At the moment my messenger bag is a little overloaded -- more stuff than I need -- and I need to buy a few odds and ends to have a good kit. It will still be a challenge to live this way for six months, but it's something I've got to do.

Also, website redesign and other stuff is coming right along. Expect groovy results soon. The days of the turtle are upon us.

I'm out of house and home; it's easy on a weekend. We'll see how this week goes.

Bastard spammers keep hitting my trackbacks even though they're disabled. It makes me sad. Site revamp is eminent.

Lots of good things happening. I'l chronicle and record in good time. Lucas is in AZ with truck in hand and visiting with Talyn, we'll head up to Westhaven Friday. The wheel is in spin.

In spite of overall long-term confidence, the feeling right now reminds me of getting out of college, a kind of four-year de ja vu. I'm still hurting for space to think and fumbling around for the lack of structure. Lost in the wheels of confusion, spinning fast on caffeine and poverty.

I have blind faith that something will break soon, but at the moment I don't know what it is, and I worry about letting people down. Hopefully my universe will be forgiving. I need some time for myself.

The Crisis Of Meaning is a time-worn idea, something I've discussed with my friends since adolesence. According to good old Erik Erikson, we're supposed to have moved out of the struggle of Identity vs Role Confusion and into the realm of Intimacy vs Isolation. I ponder...

Intimacy is defined as the ability to be close to others. This means as a lover, a friend, and as a contributing member of society. There's the rub. Though I feel strong on the issue of "who I am," I have quite a lot of angst about "what I do" and "who I do it with." What's your role here? Just what would ya say ya do?

The last time I remember feeling like I had a good answer to this was in early 2003. Sasha took me out to a party in TriBeCa with a bunch of other people who seemed older and more established, I was leaning in a doorframe (like Brando's Stanley) and sweating from biking over from Brooklyn and we were doing the introduction thing. The women were teachers or grad students; the men were in finance. "I'm an artist." I threw on a little bit of Oregon accent with it. Felt right. Sasha took to it, which was the point, but I didn't really live up to the billing in the long run, got sidetracked -- really -- into politics as an occupation, and now I'm here.

And I'm struggling. The most important thing is to stop struggling. Need motion, velocity my old sweet mistress.

Just finished episode 13 of 13 so far produced. Good stuff all the way through. It's not all that often that you'll see television programming taking risks, going at all outside the box, but when it does it can be quite good. I highly recommend this bit of sci fi.

I lik be because it does very well with the form, managing to explore all the great classic metaphysical topics -- what does it mean to be human? a staple of the genre -- as well as political theory and mythology to boot, and all this with highly engaging characters and admirable style. I'm watching online (not like I'd help their neilsons anyway) so the lack of commercials is a boon, but the bottom line is it's good viewing. If they get the pick up for a second season, (which is looking likely as the show is a relative hit here and across the pond), Edward James Olmos has a meal ticket that could take him to mainstream notoriety ala Patrick Stewart. Providing he wants it of course.

Speaking of Stewart, I think this series can do a lot more for the players involved than Star Trek: The Next Generation. On the whole the characters are vastle less "gimmicky." This is good. It means the show is less otaku-centric (more broadly appealing and free to roam), and it also means the actors can avoid typecasting. There's a lot less pseudo-science -- though a lot more pseudo mythology/politics -- and a lot more simple drama. The style is much more gritty/lowbrow, and the action revolves more around the course of human events than what strange planet crop ups next.

I think it's a good setup. In all it probably makes for a shorter shelf life (it's hard to see this thing going 7 seasons without some serious cheese) but there are at least 20 or 30 good episodes in it if they keep everyone on board and enthusiastic. My guess is that this is the first big break for a number of the cast and crew, and the producers aren't old hands either. It's a start-up show. The whole thing has the touch of the auteur, of vision, of people who have been looking for their chance to make a mark.

I'll say again, it's a step up for science fiction, let alone on TV. If you're savvy you can watch it on your computron like it did. If you've got cable, you can catch it on sci fi. If you're looking to be entertained, I suggest you give it a whirl either way.

I'm contemplating bringing my stereo back into my room to play loud music.

It's February 2nd and in San Francisco's Mission District that means 60 degrees and blue skies. I remember this from my first visit here; jetting down alone at the age of 17 to try out for acting schools. What a trip that was. I sat in Union Square for a couple hours between auditions and just soaked it up.

Today I impose order on my posessions, deal with the IRS, and decide how to prepare myself for the first leg (New York) of my ramblin' time. The widows are all wide open: out with the old, in with the new. Kick out the Jams indeed.

You know what's good? The new BattleStar Galactica. I snagged some of it online (no cable or TV for the Koenig) as I've been looking for entertainment and Zephyr mentioned she liked it. It's pretty decent. I have a giant soft spot for good sci-fi but most everything I've seen coming out lately has been dreck. This is the best stuff since Star Trek w/Patrick Stewart (which is the current high water mark for televised sci-fi content).

I also have the benefit of no commercials, watching a rip off SkyOne (UK TV), but I think the cutting may have removed a few scenes. Either that, or the producers are playing with the form of a serial television series by inserting information into the "previously on BattleStar Galactica" bits that wasn't actually in the previous episode. I actually kind of hope it's that, because it works as long as you roll with it, and it would be a novel use of the form, which I'm all about.

UPDATE: Mike comments in from the offices of the Hearst corporation with this resource for anyone looking to catch up, a television without pity recap. It does appear they pull some content from the miniseries into (which I'm also downloading now), but it's also clear after watching four episodes that they're also playing with the dimension of time in telling the story. In particular, the opening introduction always features a fast-cut montage of images from the episode to come, and there are also other elements of foreshadowing that let the viewer in on certain plot elements the characters themselves are ignorant of. Quite interesting.

It's my kind of show; heavy on character, psychology, metaphysical and philosphical themes -- the true value of science fiction -- and the production and acting are mostly above average. Edward James Olmos is approching old master status, and it's nice to see him get a chance to play a leading role that doesn't revolve around him being Latino. The rest are up-and-comers. This Katee Sackhoff (from Oregon) stands out w/sass and unconventional good looks, but the whole ensemble seems to know what they're doing.

I never saw the old shows or movie, just a memory of the faded '70s video box at the rental place from when I was a kid, but this seems to be a worthy ressurection.

Asshole bastard motherfucker net-vandals have decyphered how to spam trackbacks, wanting to advertize poker. Or maybe that's a front; seems an awful lot of trouble to get people to play your version of Texas Hold'em online. Well, it is the new American obsession. On the other hand, it could be an identity theft scam.

Other than that, people are milling about El Rio after dollar drink night, so I won't get to sleep yet. It's a weekly ritual to overhear 10 to 50 boozy conversations on Mondays.

For my part, I'm feeling pretty good. Joe's giving me a little padding time in the apartment so I can pack and plan in a more leisurely fashion.

I'm starting to think things might work out yet. I'm starting to feel my cultural sense returning; the tingling tickle of creativity on the rise. I've got plenty of stabs to make. Hunter didn't get on the trail of the Hells Angels until he was 27 -- and then it was another year before anything Really Big was published. There's time.

You see, in this country we creative types are conditioned a bit to expect (or shoot for) some kind of great success pretty early on. It can feel like a dissapointment when you're 25 and you feel you haven't "made it." Of course, that's just our great cult of youth at work. In reality, very few people amount to much at a tender age, and many of those who do are warped by their success. My own ambition is far to weak and diffused to give me anything more than the occasional throb of worry over missing some kind of boat. Truth is, I don't see anyone doing something Big that I feel I could have done, so I'm not really worried about it. My day will come, or else I'll just be happy and productive. Either way, I'm on a decient trajectory.

Doing good out here. Things are in motion. I have transit arrangements from Oakland to NYC on the 15th (arriving butt-ass early on the 16th) and from Boston back on the 19th of May. I may bounce back between now and then, but the only certainty is to see my sister graduate from college, then return to this coast to load up for the road.

On that front, Luke got a truck. Off e-bay. Oh yeah. He's flying to Phoenix, AZ next weekend to pick it up and drive it back. The weekend of the 12th/13th we'll drive it up to Westhaven where it will be stored until May.

Things are shaping up. I spent the night in the Sunset with Carrie -- watched Eddie Izzard and had some ice cream -- and today instead of rushing home to work as I'd planned I took off through Golden Gate park on what turned out to be a nice three-hour ride through the swankier parts of SF.

In spite of my obvious hunger to leave, I'll miss this place; looking forward to a nice long goodbye.

PostSecret

You send a postcard that contains a secret; they scan and put on their blog. Cool use of the medium for art. There are some really interesting things going on online in the realm of confession, secrets, etc.

This ties into why I think the net might support (finance, popularize) a new kind of live performance. It's a ways away from being big enough business to support many people, maybe a decade or so, but I think its coming. The current aesthetics of technology are going to change as more and more people figure out how to make shit. I'm just waiting for someone to work out a $200 linux-based system that's essentially a communications and e-commerce platform. That will kick some ass.

Contempating leaving this coast... flights to NYC are $85 from Oakland on JetBlue. Even I can affort that! I need to get serious about logistics, schedules and the like. I've been thinking about Feb 15th as a departure date. It's two years since then that I did this.

Easy to forget that stuff. I thought it would be a good thing to come back in on such a date. I'd set up a meeting for axiom, start doing lunch witih people, working out of the Tank. It would be wild, I tells ya. Wild.

To be a seeker again. An explorer. I don't want to sleep. I want to curl up with a bottomless hot toddy and be slightly numb and melancholy and vaguely hopeful for the future forever, to sit under the sodium-vapor yellow of streetlights and contemplate how it all got away. At the same time, I want to be on the move; to ride, to fly, to run, swerve and accelerate. To feel the force of life in motion. F = mA, dig? And A = delta-V over t... Without acceleration (change in velocity vector-wise) there's no feeling. Time to ramble with open eyes.