grey to blue to red

5 am was a drizzling mess in Krakow as İ bounced my suitcase over cobblestones and puddles to the tram. Connections, connections--tram to Dworec Glowny, figure out how to buy a ticket to Katowice, then catch a mysterious bus to the airport. Get through security, fly a hop to Warsaw, finally then big jet to İstanbul.  Yours truly, the savvy world traveler,  picked an airport about 3 hours away from Krakow to save about a hundred bucks. how do you say 'duuuuuh' in Polish?

The mysterious bus remained, in fact, enigmatic, and İ cannily negotiated a taxi for a fee of 100 zlotys to the airport. This was accomplished by walking away, deciding İ wasn't going to find the spectral bus, and accepting the cab driver's price. He then showed me the little sign with the fixed fare to Pyrowice İnternational. 100 zlotys. Savvy.

As amusing as the roadside billboards were--among them, adverts for a gentleman's club called  'hot american bikini'  [i am not making this up]--they did little to lift my mood. The prior day had begun with a heated conversation regarding President Obama's verbal misstep, usıng the misnomer "Polish death camps." The camps are on Polish soil but decidedly they were established and run by Germans. Not such a big deal, perhaps, to we yanks, but when you're at a hostel an hour away from Auschwitz/Birkenau, you discover that the youth of nowa Polska don't see things the same way.  İ found myself in the novel position of right wing patriot, uncomfortably so...but after my vısıt to Auschwitz that same day, my perspective had changed dramatıcally. Linguistic precision carries the weight of its subject matter. The leader of the free world was pretty much Hulk smash on that one. .

But it isn't time to talk about this particular bit of humanity's dark side.  Soon, perhaps. For now...after the above dot to dot travel craziness, I stepped out of Ataturk aiport into the Istanbul sun. And the sea smelled like home.

This is the view from the rooftop cafe' at the Metropolis Hostel.  That would be Asia in the distance, there. Score one for the bright side. 

EuroFog

little bit was sobbing, kneeling,  supplicant on the floor beside her open suitcase, wailing into late afternoon Brussels. "What is it?" "I can't find my shirrrrrt..." falling into her personal psychotic blur of exhaustion. sleep was supplanted by excitement and movies on seatbacks 35k feet over the atlantic. sweet relief was all the girls wanted from the grote markt in the city center, despite my efforts at caffeine infusion via coca cola --sold, by the way, in 8.5 ounce bottles with real sugar, the way god intended man to consume coke. they ate the chocolate at neuhaus and the pommes frittes from the place de la chapelle, but they were only there in body. Brussels seems relaxed, self-assured, well-dressed. Tourists abound only in the aforementioned Grand-Place (you gotta use the Dutch and the French), but otherwise the city is going about the business of Europe, both micro where we bought champu' at the botanique and macro at the european parliament. Ya know how you always hear that high level diplomatic activity is taking place in Brussels? An afternoon here and you know that's a symbiotic relationship. It feels like a place where nations could agree, over a traditionally served cafe in a small white cup with the spoon carefully placed on the saucer just so. And maybe a waffle with some good chocolate drizzled over the powdered sugar. I am NOT making this up. Lian and Maya and I all crashed hard about 6 pm, and if I could bottle the look from Lian's face when I told her she could finally sleep, no further world diplomacy would be necessary. All would know peace. Pics soon, more from the Left Bank-- CF

How can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat?

All in all...

I was blathering at the Evolutionary Psychiatrist about finding joy in the everyday.  Do y'all reckon paleolithic man appreciated sunsets, or did it take more to impress him?

There were a few rough years in there where I short-circuited my ability to do just that. We have all heard of mindfulness, being present in the moment, enjoying the journey on life's path--and it is of paramount importance to actually feel that happiness in the day-to-day.  There's an epidemic of depression and anxiety out there...and maybe it's magnesium deficiency or  protection against infection , or maybe it's somehow related to clowns and fast food.  I am NOT making this up. The Evolutionary Psychiatrist is REALLY smart and has lots of interesting stuff on her blog. Science!!

This modern life--the constant plug-in (yes, even blogging, "Deep Irony" noted) of advancing technology is putting bricks into an ever-growing...well, you know.

Had a conversation with The Coach about the addictive nature of texting, for example. The same parts of the brain light up when we wait for it....wait for it....ding! and get that text that satisfies the craving, just for now, until it builds again.  This may explain why texting and driving is such a problem--people just can't break the addiction.

So what?  Well, the addictive neural pathways tend to hijack the pleasure centers, in the deep lizard brain...

Leading one to equate the behavior with survival needs such as food and sex, powerful rewards. Our neurons are  then bathed in our endogenous opioids--"More please!" Shoveling in more pudding without the basics, the protein, the meat of the matter.


Being in the moment, in the present, helps us to break our attachments and enjoy what is.  So let's look for beauty where we can find it. Breathe. Breathe in The Air.

The Flava of Time

Frank Lloyd Wright was 70 years old when his doctor told him that a move west would help his recurrent pneumonia.  Damned quacks.  But he took the opportunity to design and build a masterpiece in the desert.

I had my second opportunity to visit Taliesin West on the edge of Scottsdale, dragging Greg "The Dawg" along for the one hour tour.  After about five minutes of looking around, he was a convert.

The Asian influence is omnipresent, from the Chinese pottery mounted here and there to the
rooftop structures and the "setting stone" element of a Japanese rock garden.

The school Wright established still trains architects, and the site is more of a "working commune" than a museum.  Most people know Wright for his design of the Guggenheim--begun when he was 76--or this little cottage in the Pennsylvania woods:

Fallingwater has been called "the best all-time work of American architecture."  Wright was just a kid at 67 when he designed this. He's been criticized for some structural issues that arose later--but then it was pointed out that the site was never meant to have thousands of visitors per year tramping through it.  It was built as a country retreat for a family of three.

The point, other than to learn a little about FLW and see some cool buildings? Time. My own little retreat to AZ with the dawg had me thinking about time, and what I want to do with mine. Time's at the base of all our resources, all we ever hope to do and be.  We may have invented clock and calendar, but we are subject to the whim of telomeres and apoptosis, not to mention cardiac issues, malignancy, and of course the odd wayward bus with our name on it. There is a ticking beneath the din of our greatest aspirations. Wright didn't let age slow down his dreams, his passion.

So you and me, see, we get to choose what we do with our ticks, at least the ones not spoken for already.  I will end now in that spirit! Keep the faith, and remember that real courage may be simply laughing at the tyranny of clocks.

Positively 4th Avenue

The Ocotillo burn candle flames at their tips, in the Sonoran desert. Our hike in Catalina State Park, just north of Tucson, took us from the sandy desert floor up, up and away into Romero Canyon. Given the name, I really expected to be met with the Zombie Apocalypse.  And me in my Five Finger Shoes. And no Katana...

I shambled my own self up the rocky climb, and despite being chased down by Dutchmen (I am NOT making this up), Greg and I were rewarded with water from the stone.

That from just above the Romero Pools, no ravenous undead in sight.  We did, however, have the terrifying Dutch on our trail, and they caught us at the parking lot.

Tucson itself, back to the south, does not generate such sentiment in the harsh midday light.  From the low slung houses of the barrio to the graffiti on the abandoned car washes, from the endless bleached khaki strip malls to a ripped up for repairs downtown, it seems tired and sunburned. How many shades of beige are there?
But we refueled at Medusa Kabob House on 4th Avenue, still open though empty due to construction. The businesses are worried, but Tucson is betting on downtown renovation in the long run.

Our kabobs are being flamed in the back, delicious. And we'd seen the future last night at The Hub, a hip downtown eatery with great meat AND great ice cream. It's okay, my old friend Rick was our host, and he's a cardiologist. The Playground, a hip spot in anybody's town, is right next door.

Tucson dresses up and comes out as the sun sinks low, the ecru and tan begin to glow coral, rose, and a neon blush rises on the land. Maybe there's more promise in the desert at night. Future cool, hip on the horizon. Let's see what sunrise brings.

Bitchin' Camaro

The Kid in Oklahoma City wore a tie and a headset and a gamer's smile as he upsold our rental car at Sky Harbor airport. "How about a Porsche, Kurt?" I asked him. He grinned back over the video feed from across the great divide.  "Not in your rate class...but maybe a 2012 Mustang convertible?"
Greg and I already HAD the car rented, so 25 more a day?  Too much, even for a Mustang.  But for 10 a day...a Bitchin' Camaro, cherry red, only 3K miles, he'll throw in XM radio for free.  Upsold.
Brilliant idea at Hertz:  staff the rental counter with (mostly) remote workers, who can handle more traffic when things get really busy at DFW or SFO.  And yeah, Cherry  will move pretty well.












Thus far our further adventures have included a venture to Whole Foods for supplies, a cold-brewed iced caffeine experience at Cartel Coffee Lab, and an interesting encounter with a gallery that deals in these:

Yes, that is Renoir's "Venus Victrix," I knew you knew that.

Turns out there is a sort of "created market" for bronze casts of his works--aaaaand a gallery called Rima here in Scottsdale owns some of the original plasters. So they limit the number of bronzes made from these, and voila! Bronze sculptures for people who can afford them.  I found this all so strange and fascinating that I looked and found this interesting little tidbit of fine art intrigue! Involved with international art forgery controversy on just our first day in AZ.  What next?  Well, stay tuned for potential encounters with "C" list celebrities from the eighties... I am NOT making this up...wait for it... HERE.

Last Notes from Home

Hopis have two types of medicine men, neither the particularly metaphysical type often associated with Native America.  One is more of an herbalist, prescribing various teas and concoctions for what ails you.  I was once given bear root   for a sore throat, and it had a local anesthetic effect. The man who gave it to me said it would impress the Hopi grandmas if I carried some around with me...

The other type is called a bonesetter.  You can guess what they do.  The Hopi have been living on the tops of three mesas in northeastern Arizona for oh, a millenium or so. They are bound to have learned a thing or two about putting bones back in place.  More than once, I saw a patient that had been to the bonesetter, who did what they could and sent them up to the pahana (white guy) hospital. 

Primal/paleo medicine is about getting back to common sense.  So when the latest victim of zombie attack in Utah State's annual "humans vs. zombies" student campus game came in to the clinic...common sense dictated my next move.  The zombies had chased him over a flower bed and into a dislocated elbow, his humerus now several cm impacted away from his olecranon. Common sense said feel around for a fracture, check his pulses, and turn down the lights in the room.  Talk to him soft, soft, with no urgency or panic and ask him to relax, feel his muscles soften, feel the edges of the bones that want so much to go back to their rightful anatomical position. Oh, they want to.  They just have to be coaxed.  And with a quick squeeze of my hand and a gasp from him, he had an elbow again.  And didn't go to the ER to have the same thing done for a grand or so.

And when I have the privilege of doing these things for people, I feel the ancient connection to those medicine men, doing their best to bring some comfort.

Now THAT's paleo.

Common Sense from The Cave

Paleo Fx kicked off March 14 in Austin with an inspirational intro from Dr. Jack Kruse, who detailed his path to becoming a source for optimized life for patients and physicians alike.  Thus began a 3 day immersion into the practical applications of the "paleo" lifestyle, from detailed lipid chemistry -- Chris Kresser is a very smart guy--to nutrition for the family--rollergirl skates into the cave--to fostering change--shrinking your head, paleo style.

So what's the deal? as perhaps best asked here, back in the day. (you need to see this, for stress management).

To paraphrase the evolutionary psychiatrist, Eat real food.  Get 8-9 hours of quality sleep nightly.  Exercise regularly. Manage your stress (perhaps through changing your priorities, meditation, life coaching, simplifying, or getting professional help with all of that).  That dang deal right there is 80% of "this paleo gig," as Robb Wolf, paleo guru would say.  If you're interested, best starters are Robb Wolf, Dallas and Melissa Hartwig, and Mark Sisson.  This is "common sense medicine,"  and it's my hope you'll hear more about that in the years to come.  Salud!

Dubcave and the hipster police...

Jacob's face lit up, the Christmas lasers reflecting off his teeth as the bass rattled our rib cages...
TOY, out of LA, was digging into their penultimate groove as we made our way towards the front of the venue, Star Wars cantina meets acid lounge. I am NOT making this up...I am in the Purple Haze glow there, grinning back at Jake, but those are not the droids I was looking for.

We had walked into one spot and saw 3 bands--Smashing Pumpkins meets Junior High Poetry Slam (that may have been their actual name), then a folky/Jewel-esque combo called State (no link found). Then we entered the hipster zone and the space time continuum changed completely.

Jake and I had met Emily Deans--the Evolutionary Psychiatrist--at Paleofx, and she grew up in Austin its own self. The three of us once again ate at Ruby's BBQ--so good you had to have it twice!--and ventured into the fray of SXSW. After our stint on Tattooine, we headed for Shiner's Saloon, where Emily's pal Jenny was rocking the french horn (yes, I said ROCKING the FRENCH HORN) for LesRAV , whose lead singer was sort of a Throwing Muses meets Bjork at age 22. Check it out in links below. Pretty good stuff, for we avant garde hipster types.

Jacob had trouble getting into the skinny jeans, but my beard made up for it as we met up with Eric (who indeed had the beard down pat) and  finished off our evening at a place called the Cloak Room right by the Texas statehouse, dangerously beautiful in its scary tyrannical capital punishment pink marble glory.





More on  Paleo Fx conference (& BBQ highlights) tomorrow.I can tell you music loud enough to vibrate your internal organs is bound to be good for you... and that to be a REAL hipster, you gotta have a digital watch circa 1983. Ebay, anyone?                                              

The Links:   Emily, the Evolutionary Psychiatrist
                   TOY
                  LesRAV (hip chamber pop)
                  galactical places to go, 2012
                  THAT's what I'm talking about...

mariachi with kilts

the best band you've never heard of led off the show at the Easy Tiger, a plum outdoor venue right on Waller Creek, a stream tamed by concrete in downtown austin.

The Scottish Music Industry Association's showcase featured the cream of the Scottish crop (would that be oats?) in rock/pop/DJs right now, and Woodenbox kicked the "arses" of the other lads and lassies that followed. It was like The Clash was born in the Mississippi Delta,  went to Chicago, found some horns, and headed south to Tijuana. I am not making this up.

Paleo conference--more tomorrow.  Turns out gluten is bad for you...shhhhhh...

And SXSW? Well, I met an artist, a couple of musicians, and someone whose card reads "Director of Interactive Marketing." And there was a twentysomething staggering about loudly quoting Gwendolyn Brooks--"We Sing Sin/ We Thin Gin," and I stopped him--"You're a writer," I said. "Ain't nobody else would know that poem." "Yeah, man!" "What are you writing?" "Rock and roll songs," he laughed.

THOUSANDS of people on the street at midnight. The men, however, do not look well kept. As if liquor and weed might wear on one after awhile, even at twentysomething. They are, however, keeping Austin weird.

Tonight? A movie, I think--I will have to sleep sometime, though.
"Hey!" I said to my new writer pal. "Go write novels. That's what we need. Novelists."
"Thanks brother!" he shouted as I made my way back up Congress Street in poorly chosen footwear.
Indeed.

The links: Scottish Music and Woodenbox
               "We Real Cool"

south by southwest by caveman...

"This is only a test...were this an actual blog, you'd be getting more out of it"

From gate B12-
I took the 400 dollar voucher, the 1st class upgrade, and
the 18 bucks in food coupons and ran to the dee-lux digs of the comfort inn airport. Not to disparage the establishment, but you get what you pay for. I aint sayin', just sayin', you know what I'm sayin'? The highlight of the place was the free toothbrush/toothpaste. My dopp kit is already IN Texas...
The Caveman conference - - urrrrgghh, Grok click here --  seemed like a great way to go until I found that hotel rooms were 300 DOLLARS A NIGHT. Turns out, it is also the week of South by Southwest, one of the biggest music/technology/arts festivals in the US.
Just the music schedule is intimidating- see? --
Last time I was in 1st class, it was only because I was terribly ill, and noticed a flight attendant took pity on me. Today, I already noted that I had a bit of my own 'tude just because there was a little delay getting we first classers on the plane...interesting what even the "backdoor" to privilege does to us, hm? Do those with BS "higher status" come to expect special treatment? Moreover, do they get it? There are better snacks in 1st class--

Fortunately, I won't be in that echelon often, anyhow! More later--1) Staying with Gammy, Deb's mom, saving me that 300 DOLLARS A NIGHT! Yes! 2) Hopeful foreshadowing of a fun night--"If it's not Scottish it's CRAP!"
JB