River Tam, Firefly, War Stories
Saturday afternoon pull up to the Hotel Tomo. A dozen cheerful Cubans are milling about on the sidewalk, members of the wildly popular charanga group, Los Van Van. Supposed to drive leader, JF, across the bay to KPFA. Band members seem to be living on Sutter street, 'cause they all smoke and can't do it in their hotel rooms.
Fifteen minutes in the white zone, no sign of JF. A tall young man sticks his head in the window and says he is the manager. He knows nothing about any interview; he and two others are going to lunch. He stalks off authoritatively down Sutter; they are done with any interview.
Two much older men with two women come up and smile politely. The men are shabbily dressed. The women look bored. They speak no english. After a good-natured round of sidewalk charades I figure out they want to go to Walmart to buy pants. The nearest Walmart is miles away. Since we are not going to KPFA, I can run them up to Jeff's Jeans at 16th and Geary. This is purely selfish; that store is run by a rapacious russian grandmother and the prospect of her and these Cuban gentlemen together is too much to resist. I tell 'em I know a place; they clap appreciatively and we are off.
We pull away from the curb; call comes in from transpo coordinator. I explain about no notice no interview, and the shopping trip. He says no side trips. Right, no side trips. Fuck it, we are on our way. My passengers get this and stay quiet giggling and murmering "special driver, special driver." The phone rings again two minutes later and I am told to haul it back to Tomo to talk to the manager, Hugo, about the interview. We abort the unauthorized shopping excursion but the warm hand on my shoulder confirms no hard feelings.
White zone for another ten minutes until manager Hugo comes out. Hugo is not the guy lunching on Fillmore. Hugo tells me to sit tight, JF is up in his room. They are trying to convince him to come down for the interview. I sit in the white zone trying to figure out if 7% is usurious, may as well bill some time.
Hugo reappears after ten minutes. Interview is supposed to start in five. He advises no interview, JF is not feeling well. Thank you very much. Let transpo guy know. Sit in white zone a bit longer, doing email.
Hugo comes racing back out, JF is eating, he will be down in five minutes.
Ten minutes later, five Cubans pile into the van. Young short guy says he is the manager, Javier. They will go now to the interview. I call transpo guy: "we are off to KPFA." "You have JF ?" "Maybe, I have five, three guys and two women but I have no idea if any are JF. I do have the third guy who claims to be manager in the last hour, Javier." 45 seconds later, get the call. Too late for KPFA. Ok. I have been at this for 90 minutes. I have driven about ten blocks. I have met three guys who claim to be manager, and two guys who want to buy pants. I may or may not have met JF.
I drop them off, they smile and waive appreciatively.
Time for some research. I google JF. I get pictures, I have not met him today. I read an NYT review of the Los Van Van show on Tuesday night in NY. JF was not there. JF may not be here either.
I am wondering if JF even made it on the flight from Cuba.
Come back around 7:00 to get them to the gig. They pile in. Walmart pants guy is looking very very sharp. Leather jacket, silk slacks and carrying a guitar case like he was borne attached to it. His jeans run pal is in a white linen suit. White linen nods that it is ok and hands me his trombone case to put in back while he helps the turned out ladies with their spike heels into the van. He has the sort of grace only older Latin Gentlemen can pull off. There is a guy off to the side in white jeans and a windbreaker who looks at me and waves quickly; it's JF.
We get to the club. Hand trombone guy his case after he makes sure the ladies are safely out. Guitar/Walmart pants guy clasps my forearm and puts his arm around my shoulder: "if no see you again, very nice to meet."
It's late and I can't stay for the set. Catch first few tunes, they pop.
Get home and watch TV with Brigid. Ian comes out around 11:00 and asks me what I think of Assange. I say Assange is a total dick; but you ought to hear Los Van Van. He grins and we talk about the First Amendment, the role of government, expectations, naivete and danger. Then we watch Bored to Death. Not.
Wednesday, nothing save meet with new partners.
Thursday
20 incline pushups. 10+10, one foot up and switch.
10+10 Bulgarian split squats,
5 + 3 neutral grip pull-ups, 28/22 lbs assist
20 Skier plate swings, 45lb plate. Had not done for at least a year, 35 way too light.
3x
Coach Dos circuit
10+10 woodchoppers, 35, slow, deliberate, and hard. Watch angle of arms, shoulders locked down, extend fully and way out, no cheat.
3x.
Great workout.
Friday
Work, then head mining, exhausting.
Gonna go do this anyway, 60 minutes Pradeep. It's a pretty easy class but I am rung out and psychically spent. I can only hold Crow for three long breaths, and Pradeep comes over runs his hand down my back and chants softly. That and "you have all you need, do this" gets me through but it is rough. Head to Japantown to meet the Cubans; delightful people, single scotch and home.
Saturday
Good walk with Ian early, and Brigid B-ball. Her coach does not realize her talent; he is mired in small town bullshit politics that dribble all the way down to frosh girls basketball. She is at the 105th percentile in PE. She has killed the district competition in field events at the District level three years running and been at the top in County for two. She can't wait for her PE final tomorrow, she says school records will fall. But he has her on the bench cause he has known the parents of the starters all his life. I am going to straighten him out, gently. It will not involve heavy iron, I think, maybe. It might if necessary.
Sunday
Marsh walk with 5 and Dina and the dogs. Dina is tripping over her dog baby; 5 is telling her to breathe deep and I am trying not to laugh. Office for four hours, then into CT at 6:30.
Now this is good. She has been in a z seminar for four days. We focus on micro movements, yeah I am strong but I cannot even find my fucking ankle joint for two minutes. We do press work and eye position and I am pumped. G pays attention to me and I am grateful. He points out swing problems, I am froggy at the knees due to turned out ankles, and its worse with the lighter swings and he is a real help.
CT has us doing what the z folks call ball of the foot circles. Very similar to MH instruction on one foot stuff in yoga. But screwing the foot into the floor coupled with oppositional eye movement applied to heavy presses really works. At the end of class I throw up the 32 right, and that is better but still muscled through. But 32 left goes up like helium, even though I feel farther out and further back than I would have thought comfortable. Pop. Wow.
Today.
Long long office day filled with transition drama. I adore ko, her competence and sincere desire to save me from myself. She has helped me for so long, and she has been through so much. That we have not communicated clearly (or at all) gives me a fair amount of pain. Recurrent theme.
Pradeep late. Just bring it. It is hard, stay strong. Extended plank stuff (he really digs that), screwing arms into the floor, he is saying "push the floor away." I am doing the same thing with my arms we were doing with feet the day before. Drill it down and push up; you sink into nothing. Crazy strong and gloriously wrung out at the end.
You have this body, you have this head. The body feels so simple; head, not so much. And that is simply a function of training. It's the same thing; figure it out. You have all you need. Do this.
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