Saturday, September 09, 2006
DAY FOUR: SAN DIEGO III
Woke this morning feeling guilty and slothful. Despite my lack of a Catholic upbringing, I went for an ill-advised run/walk/run. Several elements conspired against any feeling of success, save for the buckets of sweat pouring down my arms and legs. We had a delightful breakfast of poached eggs that Jason made in one of those hi-tech plastic cupcake pans.
The gist of the day is that I got a haircut, we sat on the beach for 3 hours, and ate dinner at home. I wonder at the plodding nature of daily event descriptions. It reminds me of those endless travel emails I used to get--before the advent of blogs--from some friend in South America. This wondering coincides with my questioning of what I think I'm doing during this project. Because it feels an awful lot like visiting. Which was the initial idea. Then there is the work I imagined I'd do in a fourth-dimension of extra time. I might have to be more declarative about work time and social time. Do I act as if this were a visit or do I act as if it were something new an unusual? Doing so would present a new, possibly disruptive, element into my friends' daily lives. But my presence changes things anyways. And claiming my presence in photographs usually makes them more interesting.
I do find it interesting watching couples up close for an extended period of time. Colleen has been working the past two days, so today provided more opportunites to observe how they relate with one another. Jason has been a bit of a lone wolf since I've known him, so I'm still getting used to him in the context of a relationship. There are simple gestures like jumping up to help Colleen take out the trash. During dinner, Jason shared his musings about becoming a business manager for a local big photographer, and Colleen asked questions and prodded him to clarify his general vagueries. She wants him to have a steady job, yet also do something he likes doing, as she does. It was a subtle interraction that points towards a much longer conversation I won't be at the dinner table for the next time it comes up. I become fascinated and jealous around such tenderness.
Recently I've noticed changes in my personality that have something to do with either getting older or becoming self-consumed. I've started to wait until I can speak instead of listening (this used to annoy me when I saw other people do it.) I don't remember daily events the next day. I'm more reluctant to meet new people. Yet I had an interesting conversation with one of Jason & Colleen's friends, Geena. She's just left her husband. It did not sound like a good marriage. She had a disruptive childhood, and attended 30 schools by the time she graduated high school. Maybe now I have a more specific criteria for my conversations.
I'm thinking about this apartment and how it looks. How Colleen has arranged a number of little still lives on the book shelf. And how the blinds in the bathroom butt against the floral shower curtain. The photographs that might result from such musings seem to bear a striking resemblance to photographs I don't like.
Woke this morning feeling guilty and slothful. Despite my lack of a Catholic upbringing, I went for an ill-advised run/walk/run. Several elements conspired against any feeling of success, save for the buckets of sweat pouring down my arms and legs. We had a delightful breakfast of poached eggs that Jason made in one of those hi-tech plastic cupcake pans.
The gist of the day is that I got a haircut, we sat on the beach for 3 hours, and ate dinner at home. I wonder at the plodding nature of daily event descriptions. It reminds me of those endless travel emails I used to get--before the advent of blogs--from some friend in South America. This wondering coincides with my questioning of what I think I'm doing during this project. Because it feels an awful lot like visiting. Which was the initial idea. Then there is the work I imagined I'd do in a fourth-dimension of extra time. I might have to be more declarative about work time and social time. Do I act as if this were a visit or do I act as if it were something new an unusual? Doing so would present a new, possibly disruptive, element into my friends' daily lives. But my presence changes things anyways. And claiming my presence in photographs usually makes them more interesting.
I do find it interesting watching couples up close for an extended period of time. Colleen has been working the past two days, so today provided more opportunites to observe how they relate with one another. Jason has been a bit of a lone wolf since I've known him, so I'm still getting used to him in the context of a relationship. There are simple gestures like jumping up to help Colleen take out the trash. During dinner, Jason shared his musings about becoming a business manager for a local big photographer, and Colleen asked questions and prodded him to clarify his general vagueries. She wants him to have a steady job, yet also do something he likes doing, as she does. It was a subtle interraction that points towards a much longer conversation I won't be at the dinner table for the next time it comes up. I become fascinated and jealous around such tenderness.Recently I've noticed changes in my personality that have something to do with either getting older or becoming self-consumed. I've started to wait until I can speak instead of listening (this used to annoy me when I saw other people do it.) I don't remember daily events the next day. I'm more reluctant to meet new people. Yet I had an interesting conversation with one of Jason & Colleen's friends, Geena. She's just left her husband. It did not sound like a good marriage. She had a disruptive childhood, and attended 30 schools by the time she graduated high school. Maybe now I have a more specific criteria for my conversations.
I'm thinking about this apartment and how it looks. How Colleen has arranged a number of little still lives on the book shelf. And how the blinds in the bathroom butt against the floral shower curtain. The photographs that might result from such musings seem to bear a striking resemblance to photographs I don't like.
