From The New Yorker: Six Degrees of Lois Weisberg. Excellent article recommended to me by Renee. Quite a long-winded one, but with lovely highlights that have struck me.

In the last 10 days, the goodwill of friends of friends of friends has astounded me. In the midst of conversation, I have been kindly offered an empty apartment in Toronto to stay in while I’m there. (That’s hundreds of dollars in hostel/hotel fees saved…and an added security for a girl traveling by herself.) Another friend of a friend that I struck up conversation with at Anu turned out to be a Toronto local who has offered to show me the clubs/bars worth visiting. While at Montreal, I will likely have a couple of other acquaintences to meet up with.

I am far far from being a socialite. On the contrary, I’ve more than often been accused of being anti-social, not having the patience to smile and yak with everyone every time. But once in a while, I enjoy the occasional conversation with someone else in the group that seems to stand outside the crowd of faces somehow, usually the other person who looks like he/she has enjoyed merely observing. Yet somehow or other, the networks keep expanding, evolving and integrating itself, and I find myself thoroughly enjoying the mere conversation as an end in itself. So unlike who I used to be, I wondered. But having a personality that sits on the fence all the time, I never knew how I really was anyway.

Point being, people are essentially reactive. Being blessed enough to have had no foul experiences warranting a suspicion/discomfort towards anyone new, I start out liking them first, which lubricates the conversation, the acquaintance and possibily the friendship later on.

My weekend was an entire ya-gotta-be-there moment.

After helping my boyfriend move into a world famous gay district on Saturday, we headed out for the night. At a major Castro intersection, I was tickled by the alternate universe I was placed in. It was wonderful! There were parcels of men everywhere, in groups wearing clothes not dissimilar from the Village People (biceps-flaunting singlets are a popular choice as well), with ‘fag-hags’ (new term I picked up) gossiping loudly with their parcels of gay men, in pairs, in cars, buses, the streets…suddenly, a car stops in the middle of the road and a dude in faux camouflage outfit jumps out with his hands clasped pretending to hold a pistol yelling to a dude "Stop! Police!". Slight commotion in the middle of the road. Natalie wonders to a stranger what’s going on? The stranger says he’s not sure…suddenly, Natalie and stranger-boy start screaming at each other and jumping up and down. They’re collegues. He’s with his boyfriend. We all do our rounds of introducing. A well-dressed girl holds a paper cup, shaking it as if she’s a homeless beggar chanting up and down the street "50 cents for the gay bar? 50 cents for the gay bar? 50 cents for the gay bar?". It was arguably the best 8 minutes of my week so far. (Apparently camouflage man was not really a cop. His eyebrows were too groomed for that. The dude he was chasing allegedly spat on his car after camouflage man honked him for crossing the road too slowly. Men.)

Then we head to Dalva where a group of us hung out till about 130am. None of us were ready to go home. Hence, the Green Gorrilla’s underground warehouse rave where there wasn’t really a "norm".

Sunday, we visited someone’s new abode. All I heard about it was that it was in the hills off San Jose. It was only till I saw a topless middle age lady casually stroll by the gate that I realize that the Lupin co-op/resort was a naturist club aka a nudist colony. I had the same tickle touring the recreation hub with their tennis courts and swimming pool as I did in the middle of Castro…well, maybe a little more. (I did however have a different tickle skinny dipping for the first time).

It was quite the usual family club you see everywhere else really…parents bringing their kids swimming, etc. It just that the parents were as comfortable running about bare-assed as their toddlers. An overheard conversation (and I kid you not): "How’s it going, Ed?" "Oh, nothing much. Just hanging out."

Oh lordy, oh mercy…it was a fun weekend to say the least! Only in California, dude.

So my boyfriend’s moving into his new place in the Castro today. Aside from having a kick-ass patio with a view and a fire-place, he’ll be living in one of the most famous, flamboyant gay districts.

The Castro is an awesome place really. Aside from being the best party area, it’s certainly one of the safest place for a girl to walk around in. We were pre-partying there last night (at his straight friend’s place which was sandwiched between Hot ‘n’ Hunky hamburgers and Moby Dick). He had to get used to guys checking him out, not me. Poor darling kept reaching for my hand. I gotta watch out for my boy’s ass here.

Hilarious. I’m going to have fun visiting.

(Another belated post about previous days)

So I thought this summer of no-plans would be filled with delicious do-nothing days. They are still delicious, but do-nothing is certainly un-right.

Friday night was relatively easy, so to speak, watching the sunset at The Ramp, then heading to Zeitgeist for more drinks and yakking. We wanted to chill it for Saturday night, but got dragged to a fashion show at Studio Z instead, which turned out to be a great night. This unorthodox fashion show was entertaining as hell. You had models that looked like this:

…and this (it is somewhat nasty to mention that they made me feel like I was watching Jerry Springer…):

All of Sunday was spent on the Stern Grove Festival which was just crazy choked with people people people just cos the music was so good, the weather was so good and it was free.

Natalie decided that I was going to be her doll for the day…

…and gave me the sweetest pigtails that horribly does not correspond with my very non-sweet personality…

…but a freaky sid eof me actually liked the novelty of looking like a bobble-head doll (y’know those freaky Noddy-like things you put in your car with the head too big for it’s body fixed on by a spring?) while killing my opponents with a 51-point ‘LAZY’ at Scrabble…

…and pose with my dude who’s hair was poofing out in record breaking heights with his Jane’s Addiction t-shirt:

A weekend of freaks in good ol’ San Francisco where freaks abound. Hurrah!

But the impossible has actually happened–I’m partied out…just for a while. I need some time out. Thus my week has been filled with quiet afternoons in Berkeley with my best Berkeley bud Alex, reading (I love Harry Potter and all, but I can’t tear myself away from Middlemarch!) and talking at the Golden Bear Cafe, walking down Telegraph Avenue with frozen yoghurt and late-night watching of my Sex and the City Season 1 dvd with my hun.

Just once in a while, I like this old boring quiet life of mine back.

Yeah, baby! A li’ll $19.95 purchase for superMP3recorder, a few clicks of the button and 59:06 later, I have Anthony Pappa’s YoRadio set tucked away snugly in my iPod, ready to be heard whenever where ever I want. Mercy! Mercy! The glory of technology!

My iPod has seen a lot of activity lately. A recent raid of boyfriend’s CD collection bagged me delicious Back to Mine series by Danny Tenaglia, Faithless, Groove Armada and Nick Warren; Global Underground collections by Danny Tenaglia, John Digweed, and my boy Anthony Pappa which kicks solid ass. A recent raid of a friend’s computer burnt me 2 whole cds of live sets by Anthony Pappa (yes, him again), Spesh, Cass and Tiesto. Found Perfecto Presents Seb Fontaine at Amoeba whose House collection made me drool. Amoeba rocks…beats the hell out of neighbouring Rasputin. So Seb’s da KelPod house too.

The best thing is that after inhaling all this music into my ipod, it tells me that I have not yet used up 1/4 of the space available. Mercy! Mercy! The glory of technology!

Oh, and, and, I have found away to ensure a continuous flow of music: after walking into my room with my headphones on, I can mount the ipod onto its whachamacallit mount-plate, which has been plugged into my speakers already, and the music doesn’t even cut off from the headphones, just blasts through both ends, such that I can remove my headphones while collapsing on the bed without a pause in the music. It’s an anal thing I know, but it kills me to break the trance of the music when I’m thoroughly enjoying it. This li’ll manoever makes Kelly a very happy girl.

Marie left last Wednesday night. I miss her.

I’ve never known a time in my life when I didn’t know this girl. Then I fly halfway across the world, experience a shit-load of experiences for 3 years, change in many ways and remain unchanged in some ways in that whole growing-up blah blah blah…she comes up here and when we lay in the dark, half-asleep, talking and giggling about something that happened at 10am that day or 10 years ago, my current schizophrenic self which is sitting between 2 worlds of Me feels soothed at the presence of someone who’ll be there at all points and changes.

I’ll see you soon.

Where is my summer going? People, events, stuff, just keep spinning by me and I can’t seem to get a grip.

Two Thursdays ago, I met a dear friend Jane briefly at the Sasha Boat Party…

…where we had a crrrrazy night of partying. Jane was always up for a good night out. Chick-friends just can’t be beat when it comes to dressing up together before clubbing (we call it putting on the war-paint) or all-nighter chick-talk.

The very next day, the camping trip to Mount Lassen began. It’s the craziest geological site:

We could play in piles and piles of snow while wearing tank-tops (Marie had her first snowball fight and made her first snowman)…

…nearby, we could swim in the river and splash in a (frrreeeezing) waterfall…

…and hike across wide green fields and dense forests…

…to these amazing pots of boiling mud and steam vents at Devil’s Kitchen where I discovered that I actually like the smell of burning sulphur. Go figure:

A geothermal experience! I never had so much fun not showering for 4 days.

Lots to say about camping at Mt. Lassen. Suffice for now to say that I never thought I’d have so much fun not showering for 4 days. Of course, the fact that California doesn’t have the 110% humidity of Singapore made camping without running water much much much more tolerable.

But this post is about a streaming recommendation: I think this set by Anthony Pappa kicks major ass. If that link doesn’t work, go to Yoshitoshi’s radio site and choose Anthony Pappa’s radio mix (should be 5th on the list). There are some sets that you just want to listen to over and over. I find myself going back to that site over and over when I want to inhale some deep progressive house.

Now if only I can find an easy way to inhale this glorious 59:06 set into my ipod, I’ll be a very happy girl. Very.

"It’s a spiritual thing…it’s a body thing….it’s a soul thing…not everyone understands house music…it’s a spiritual thing, a body thing, a soul thing…"
–approx 22:10 into the set.

While my body is itching to groove, my soul’s been contently fed with summer vacation reading. George Eliot’s ‘Middlemarch’ is chugging along beautifully. I’m frustrated by the fact that I can never fully expresss how wonderful I think this (or any other great) novel is other than using uninspired expressions of appreciation like "beautiful" and "wonderful". So what one does then is just quote.

Amidst my obvious reveling in youth, the persistant "two selves" (Refer to Friday June 6 2003 entry) nags and checks my propensity to "rave on heights". Then I get to Eliot’s careful understanding of Mr Casaubon:

"He had not much foretaste of happiness in his previous life. To know intense joy without a strong bodily frame, one must have an enthusiatic soul. Mr Casaubon had never had a strong bodily frame and his soul was sensitive without being enthusiastic: it was too languid to thrill out of self-consciousness into passionate delight; it went on fluttering in the swampy ground where it was hatched, thinking of its wings and never flying. His experience was of that pitiable kind which shrinks from pity and fears most of all that it should be known; it was that proud narrow sensitiveness which had not mass enough to spare for transformation into sympathy and quivers threadlike in small currents of self-preoccupation or at best of an egoistic scrupulosity
…For my part I am very sorry for him. It is an uneasy lot at best to be what we call highly taught and yet not to enjoy: to be present at this great spectacle of life and never to be liberated from a small, hungry, shivering self–never to be fully possessed by the glory we behold, never to have our consciousness rapturously transformed into the vividness of a thought, the ardour of a passion, the energy of an action…"

…and then I feel less guilty about fully plunging into this "great spectacle of life" especially when I have the youthful frame to do so.

———–

George Eliot is fond of using "poor xxx" to express sympathy for her characters. It’s not a sympathy that revels in gratitous and mawkish mourning. Nor is her sympathy is not of the pitying kind which usually arises from a snobby superiority complex. Rather, it’s a feeling understanding of human nature, how and why people come to be who they are; how circumstances and character sometimes intertwine to spawn misfortunes of character and at worst, tragedies; the cry for the missed opportunities when that happens.

The latest Harry Potter book is wonderful in Rowling’s revealing of Harry’s insecurities and fears. It’s an accessible work dwelving into and seeking to understand human natures, which is the hamering theme for most literature most of the time.

And amid all the benefits, reading is cheap, accessible and entertaining. Dammit…I like this hobby.