My new show, CLICK!, is no longer called CLICK!
I’m not sure what it’s called at this point, but I know it isn’t CLICK!
Searching For Susan Rice
For many of the similar reasons mentioned in my “Searching for Clarence Evans” post, except that she obviously wasn’t my step-father, I’m searching for Susan Rice.
Specifically, I’m searching for the Susan Rice who went to Chaffey College in Alta Loma, or was it Cucamonga, California, in the mid-80s.
Susan Rice may have a different surname now, but have no real way of knowing this. I wonder if women occasionally go “ego surfing” for their maiden names? Or if people who have changed their name for other reasons – spiritual, professional, witness protection – do searches for their previous identities? I know I would.
So, Susan Rice? “Susan Rice” (In quotes so it’ll REALLY show up if she searches for Susan Rice.) Are you there?
Email me.
Searching for Clarence Evans
I figure that this is easier than actually searching, right? I’ll let him come to me, this Clarence Evans.
If you are Clarence Evans, and you’ve found this site because you’ve done a search for your own name (hey, we all do it from time to time, nothing to be ashamed of), then please know that I’m not looking for just any Clarence Evans, but a very specific one, one who lived in Mississippi in the late 70s.
Actually, even more specific than that – one who lived in Mississippi in the late 70s and was married to my mother for a few years. You know…Clarence Evans, my stepfather.
If you aren’t this particular Clarence Evans, then I’m sorry to have wasted your time…you may get back to your day now.
If you ARE that particular Clarence Evans, then hey…drop me an email. It’ll be fun.
I think I’ve now written “Clarence Evans” enough times in this post to have it really do some good.
Good.
In Fresno – Pt 3
I can’t stop thinking of Fresno puns. What part of Fres-NO don’t you understand…stuff like that. Pretty much the exact same things I thought last year while I was here. I generally have the same 5 thoughts over and over again, all day long, whether I’m in Fresno or not.
But this year I thought – Fres-gnosis! A sudden knowledge that I’m in Fresno! I shared this with fellow Rogue performer and Fresnan Jaguar Bennett, who had already thought of “Fres-gnosis,” and thought of a much better definition than mine.
Here’s Jaguar’s blog – maybe he’ll post his definition some day.
And speaking of gnosis, which I conveniently seem to be doing, I visited my friend Arman in Aptos, CA during the week. We walked around Santa Cruz one day and stopped in to browse in a head shop.
Where I saw this sticker:
Now, I’ve known about this before, and have always been fascinated by it. Basically, I’m there to buy a device to use for smoking pot. I know it, the person selling me knows it, everyone within 100 yards of the store knows it. Yet we have to nudge-nudge-wink-wink around it.
“May I please see that large water pipe on the shelf? No, the other one. The one with the large multi-colored skull on it. Yes. This looks like an effective tobacco smoking device.”
But we all know that I’m saying, “Dude, can I check out that bong?”
It’s a very surreal arrangement. Imagine not being able to actually say “coffee” at Starbucks. “Yes, I’d like a venti, non-brown beverage that will in no way alter my consciousness in a manner that is stimulating. And room for cream.”
And speaking of both drugs and coffee, which I conveniently seem to be doing, I had a cup of coffee. First cup of coffee in months. I have given it up because it makes me weird. And no, that’s not a typo that’s supposed to be “wired.”
About half an hour after my coffee (plus refill – why not go all out?), Arman went to the car wash. As I stood there waiting for the car to come through the washing machine, I had a sudden realization that I don’t know how anything works. Everything around me was a mystery to me. So I began to photograph all the things I didn’t understand, which was a nice distraction from pacing around and talking a lot, which is what led to my lack of understanding.
Traffic lights? Not a clue. Where are they controlled? How? An algorithm, probably. And I have no idea what an algorithm is. I don’t even know how to spell it – thank God for spellcheck.
This car wash machine? Forget it.
Basic framing/construction? Not me. Not one bit. I built bookshelves once. It didn’t turn out well.
A tree? No way. Where does that spark come from that makes an acorn into a might oak? Got me.
Garbage? Nope…you just throw it in a can it it mysteriously disappears. Sure, I know that people come and pick it up, and take it somewhere, but that’s hardly an “understanding.”
Electricity? The sun? Hardly…
Arman displayed amazing patience as I paced around taking pictures of every single thing. I don’t understand patience.
Or kids.
Or my own hand.
Or my camera. Or me. Or the physics of reflection.
The coffee wore off eventually, as all drugs do, and we headed back to Arman’s house, an awesome place in the redwoods.
There we proceeded to hang out and watch some movies for the rest of the day/evening.
That’s Arman in his recording studio. He’s holding a tobacco smoking device.
In Fresno, Great Lighting
Here’s a video shot by Mike Osegueda from the Fresno Bee. This was my first night in Fresno, and I thought that standing under a bright street light and talking fast would be the best way to endear myself to the community. I was right.
And here’s my link on the Rogue Festival web page. You can read what people said about my show, and stuff. How fun for you…
In Fresno
Last night’s performance of “American Squatter” was my best yet. Everything just clicked. It was actually my second performance of the day, as I did an added show earlier in the afternoon. The added show was lightly attended, which is one of the dangers of doing a show that nobody knows about. But I think it was pretty good despite having an audience of 20 spread evenly out over a space that holds 130.
Oh, and for the first time ever, I saw some guy in the front row texting during my show. TEXTING DURING MY SHOW! It was awesome.
I had to visit the chicken pie factory, one of the places you have to go at least once if you find yourself in Fresno. I documented my visit last year, so I don’t want to make the same jokes, but it is worth posting this picture of the interior of the chicken pie factory, because these shades of green are now extinct.
Fresno is like the Galapagos of hues.
The Road To Fresno, Part 3
I’ve seen lots of these before…
But never, until this Fresno drive, have I seen one of these…
You can put your card in any way! Well, either way, not any way. You can’t put it in upside down. At least not if you want to buy gas. Still, baby steps, right? I personally don’t have time to figure out which direction my card is turned. I just need to buy shit with it. Now! And this new “either way” technology makes it that much easier for me. I love this time I live in.
However, while taking pictures of the credit card picture, I noticed a sign that seemed much more relevant.
Holy shit!
I’m assuming that the reason you aren’t supposed to use electronic devices is because they’ll make you blow up, right? I mean, why else? You’re filling up your car, you whip out the cell to talk to someone, it creates a spark, and you blow up! Or, you take out your camera to take a picture of the credit card instructions, and you blow up! Jesus, this is terrifying. But not so terrifying that I didn’t take a picture of it, because I figured that a picture snapped at the very moment that you blow up would be pretty cool, worth it in a way.
This “You’ll Blow Up” icon isn’t huge, either. And you’d think it would be. In fact, you have to look really closely to even find it in the jumble of other “You’ll Blow Up” warnings.
No shortage of ways to die at the pump.
“Slow death by poverty” is not mentioned in the warning signs, but it could happen.
Be careful.
The Road To Fresno, Part 2
I’m not a big fan of fast food, but I’m even less of a fan of preparation. So, on the road, I sometimes have to bite the bullet. Though an actual bullet is usualy preferable to most fast food offerings, I’m using it as a figure of speech. I don’t, for obvious reasons, travel with bullets. So, fast food it is…
This Subway looks a bit sad, though it doesn’t really read in this picture. As I drove past it, on the prowl for some food, I thought to myself, “Is this OK? I mean, Subway can be kinda gross. Is it OK to have Subway?”
Then I looked up and saw…
Which you’d think would answer my question pretty clearly, right? Yet somehow this sign made me think that it actually WASN’T OK to have Subway. Like, as in seriously not OK.
But I was hungry, so I had to do some rationalizing – I figured that the people who do the sign are the employees, right? The same ones who make the sandwiches, right? Certainly they don’t have a dedicated sign-letterer at the Subway in Salina, Utah. So, judging by the slap dash appearance of the sign, I have to assume that the employee who was on sign duty that day was so excited to get back to making awesome sandwiches for people like me that they did a really shitty job on, you know, general sign layout, spacing and stuff…
So in I went, got a 6-inch turkey sub on wheat, no cheese, ate it quickly and got back on the road.
It was OK.
The Road To Fresno
OK, I have a bit of time now to fill in the exciting details of my Fresno trip, the one sketched out in an earlier post in cryptic, comic-like photo form.
First of all, ever since a seriously expensive repair last year in Calgary, my gas gauge no longer works. But it no longer works in a very random way.
This would indicate that my tank in full, right? But it isn’t. And if the gauge were always at this place, no problem, I’d learn soon that it wasn’t accurate. But sometimes it looks like this…
This photo was taken 20 minutes before the previous one. 20 more minutes and it will be on E. Then half full. Then who knows. I don’t have pictures of all of this – I am trying to pay attention to the road, you know.
I think they replaced the gauge with slot machine parts. I only mention this because it’s a testament to the human being’s ability to adapt. The first few times I looked down and saw the needle on E, my heart sank – and this was after I knew it was broken. It’s pretty Pavlovian – like how your heart rate increase when you see a cop car, even if you aren’t doing anything wrong.
But now I’m good with it. I look down to consult it like it’s some kind of oracle, like the needle position is somehow an indication of my current psychic state. Then I make personal adjustments accordingly. Sometimes these adjustments include pulling over to get gas.
It’s a long drive to Fresno.
