phonewise

Edit: Don't read this as a complaining rant about what I can do...but more of a commentary on why someone else owns my phone number. :)

Phonewise, I find myself in a fairly particular situation. That particular situation has made me realize a few problematic facts about phone numbers. I got my first cell phone and number in 2004. That number has been the way to contact me ever since, and to my understanding based on how cell phone numbers are assigned, it had never been a way to contact anyone else before me. The predicament I find myself in now is the fact that I seem to not own that phone number. I find that quite odd. Who besides me would be the logical owner of my phone number?

Since I spend my time working and traveling around the world I have assembled a small collection of sim cards from various countries. Using prepaid sim card plans seems to leave one in a fringe group of people without annual contracts and invariably extends to me the joy of far inferior service. I seem to have traded the ability to have local phone numbers around the world for first rate service. Though periodically irksome, that is a tradeoff I can live with.

Since I knew that I would not be stopping back in the US for at least six months I recently sought a solution to avoid paying monthly for something I cannot make use of. While trying to inform myself of my options I was notified in a memorably monotone voice by a remarkably uninterested phone company employee that if I didn’t pay for my phone for more than a month I would risk forgetting my phone number. When I proposed the idea of cancelling my phone plan altogether and holding onto my number until my return to the country the same uninterested phone company employee informed me that that was a sure fire way to forfeit my number. What was one to do?

A recap of the absurdity: I have just been told that I must pay a private company every month in order to not lose something that I plan not to use and that I consider to be my own.

Why must I pay a monthly fee to a company in order to maintain possession of something that is mine? The fact that I can change, or “port,” as the FCC website calls it, phone companies and keep the same number would lead me to the conclusion that the phone number does not belong to the phone company either. If “my” number doesn’t belong to me and seemingly doesn’t belong to the phone company I find myself concluding that it must belong to the government. In a democratic nation without any kind of state run phone company, why would the government own my phone number? Similarly, if that were true, why would I have to pay  a private company in order to not risk having it forfeited to someone else?

I want to own my cell phone number and do with it what I please. I didn’t really think that was too much to ask, but it sure seems to be. Maybe I’ll find a way to incorporate myself as a phone company to hold onto this series of ten digits that I seem so attached to.

light art TREASURES

Today, on what could have been a quiet and uneventful day off in a quaint little town...I had my mind blown by a true treasure hidden in Germany. I convinced one of my cast mates to come join me on an adventure and he begrudgingly agreed to sacrifice what could have been a day of procrastination to see the Centre for International Light Art. The museum can only be seen by guided tour and we were quickly advised that the tour would likely be completely in German and last for 90 minutes. Just after hearing that unfortunate news we were greeted by our tour guide who told us that we would be having a private tour and that she would be happy to do it in English. She explained a few things and we venture off down a turquoise neon-tube lit staircase into a basement. Upon entering the first exposition we realize that this seemingly small and humble old brewery beholds some mind-bending treasures created by thirteen world renowned artists. We wandered from piece to piece at our own pace and as our guide recommended we spent as long as we needed on each creation and then after observing she would give us detailed and insightful remarks about each one. Where else can someone who doesn't contribute a vast sum to a museum spend as long as they like alone in an Olafur Eliasson rain corridor and watch and hear it turn on and off and then experience the optical illusions of a James Turell immersive creation!

Our guide was apologetic that we had likely missed the necessary perfect timing to see the last exhibit, James Turell's "Third Breath" a type of camera obscura that at the perfect moment after sunset gives you a view of the sky's color that can only be created by the naked eye exposed to this environment and has never been recreated otherwise. Much to her surprise and delight just moments after we walked into the outdoor creation the lights changed and out of the hole in the ceiling we saw exactly what she had described.

When the museum was founded the artists were selected and invited to the empty building to choose a space to create a piece based on the room they had chosen. All thirteen exhibits are breathtaking. Hidden in a small town, I think this must be one of the most understated and underrated museums of the world. Without the glamor or pretension of MoMA or the Tate it houses an astoundingly large and inspiring collection. I felt truly privileged to discover a museum where one can buy a ticket for 10Euro and take a private, guided, and insightfully thoughtful tour through every gallery.

As we were out the door with a glean in our eyes a man who turned out to be the director of the museum caught us and asked if we were the visitors all the way from California. After a very kind welcome and thank you for visiting his museum he confided that it was actually a very exciting day there because a Chilean artist residing in New York had just put the final touches on a new exhibit just a few minutes before. He had just barely gotten that phrase out when I exclaimed that he had to show us the new work! He hesitated a bit but I could tell right away he was thrilled by the idea. He took us downstairs and showed us a few of his personal favorite angles of the pieces on the way and then introduced us to the artist and gave us the chance to be the first to be the first sets of eyes to wander a stunning exhibition that had just been finished minutes before.

Whether you're near or far, make your way to experience this gem of an institution, a museum where the director will come find you to ensure that you enjoyed your visit. Check out a short video and some stills that caught my eye and my lens.

Keith Sonnier: Tunnel of Tears, 2002

Olafur Eliasson: The reflective corridor | Draft to stop the free fall, 2002

Mischa Kuball: Space-Speech-Speed, 2001

Jan van Munster: ICH (in dialogue), 2005

Keith Sonnier: Tunnel of Tears, 2002

Rebecca Horn: Lotus Shadow, 2006

Li Hui: amber (2006)

James Turrell: Floater 99, 2001

James Turrell: Third Breath, 2005/2009

ode to a grape

      Until just a few days ago I stayed for a month in a hotel in a fairly small town in Germany. The best part about this hotel was the freshly made breakfast and such incredibly kind service. The waiter who served us every morning knew the succession of drinks we all liked in the morning and gave us huge hugs as we left. Staying there for a month meant 30 breakfasts. Though I switched off between a variety of morning treats, I ordered muesli with fruit every single morning. The muesli was topped with a delicious plump orange gooseberry which a few minutes of research informed me most likely came all the way from Mexico to adorn my fruit salad served by an Italian in Germany. Each of those 30 bowls of muesli was also adored with an average of 6 purple concord grapes sliced in half. These repulsive little fruits tasted of nothing and were stocked full of small bitter seeds that once chewed were impossible to eradicate from ones mouth.
      I could not get over the ridiculousness of the fact that these grapes were picked by hand by an undervalued laborer, shipped across the planet, sliced, and finally arranged on top of my muesli. After this voyage that once upon a time was the adventure or even merely the dream of a lifetime for any human, let alone a grape, I have the audacity to daintily pick them off and leave them on the side of my breakfast. That means that those grapes travelled all the way around the globe just to end up rotting in a european landfill. I’m sorry little grapes. But really, you did not taste good at all...so its not completely my fault. Maybe we're both guilty in this mayhem. If you tasted just a bit better I would have gobbled you up and likely never even pondered the ludicrosity of your trajectory, just like all the rest of the food I eat.

rants of a pragmatist

Zoe saw an older woman standing ankles deep in the pacific ocean, toes dug into the sand, giving an offering to the ocean. Though I myself don’t choose to partake in any material ceremonies of giving back to the earth, I can wrap my head around the concept and have no problem with people doing what they will to feel connected with this planet of ours. This particular woman who Zoe watched was pouring milk and honey into the ocean. I don’t even have a problem with that. Those are two iconic and symbolic items of sustenance to “give back.” The problem I have with this situation is the fact that she was pouring a half-gallon of generic milk and a plastic bear of honey into the ocean...both of which she surely bought from the 7-11 down the road.

I have no qualms whatsoever with someone offering the ocean something that is near to their heart but I have to call this woman out on the irony of pouring milk into the ocean that was sucked by a robot or uninsured and underpaid illegal immigrant out of the udder of a cow kept alive with antibiotics living in the bovine equivalent of guantanamo. Then that milk was processed until it lost almost all of what makes milk “healthy” and then trucked from middle america, bottled, shelved, and sold for $2.49. Im sorry, but that is not something the ocean wants! The ocean cringes and wishes it could yell at this lady to get her gnarly feet out of its waters and to go pour that milk into a bowl of sugary cereal. Drink the milk, give it to someone hungry, do something pretty much anything than pour it in the ocean! The same applies to the honey. If you produce something yourself and chose to “give back” part of your crop to the earth, great! Go for it! Go ahead and do your thing, be yourself, but if you find yourself buying packaged food that took environmental resources to produce and dumping them into the ocean.. I think you need to check yourself….before you wreck yourself.

home.

I'm on a 51 week vacation from home.
Burning Man 2014 by Drone from CopterOptics on Vimeo.

solar catch-22 loop

November 22, 2104

Bochum, Germany

My observation of the day:

Germany seems to be stuck in a perpetual catch-22 loop...yet it seems to be working. In a country that has the rare trifecta of foresight, wealth, and organization to cover every barn roof and remote cottage with solar panels it is hard to ignore the incessant debacle of constant grey weather. Though statistics seem to show Germany sitting on a shiny solar throne above us all I really can’t wrap my head around how such a sun-starved place can sit so far ahead of the rest of the world in solar production.

A formal invitation to Comet 67P/Churyumov–Gerasimenko

It is so thoroughly mind bogglingly awe-inspiring that a bunch of tiny living things on one little planet in a seemingly infinite universe were able to fling a science experiment into space, chase a duck shaped rock for ten years, and then finally catch up and land on it. I had to stop and think about this one for a while. It can make a circus show feel a bit futile to consider some the massive projects that our fellow humans are up to on this little planet. Though I’ll clearly never fully comprehend the science and meticulousness that goes into launching a little space explorer pod off to run after a rock 317 million miles away, I can indisputably sit back in awe and applaud all of the little humans that made this improbable, wild idea a reality. 

I would like to take this time to formally invite the inhabitants of Comet 67P/Churyumov–Gerasimenko or whatever you may call your distant land to step up your game and get your space programs up to par to pay us a visit in return. It really would be the polite thing to do.

Flying Ducky

Comet 67P/Churyumov–Gerasimenko

 

can't quite empathize

I had the realization today that I'm quite grateful for the struggles that I can't empathize with. Does that make sense?

all abord.

airplane smorgasbord

That moment on a long haul flight when you wake up thinking its morning and the flight attendant hands you a mini ham sandwich with semi frozen bread that the worst bodega in NY would be embarrassed to serve and a generic klondike ice cream bar. What time of day is it supposed to be? It feels like the flight attendants are that stoner roommate we’ve all had who could put together thirteen different leftovers and make a 3am stoners smorgasbord that would somehow leave you staring hungrily in awe. I self-richiously declare to myself that I wont eat the awful airplane food and will obviously instead eat the awesome food I brought with me...but by the time they come around to collect the garbage all thats left is a wrapper.

Random Acts of Kindness on the Golden Gate

I am a rare breed. I grew up in San Francisco. I don’t live there full-time anymore but when I do make it my home and find myself chatting with strangers they’re seemingly all shocked that I actually grew up IN the city. A native becomes a rare thing in a city that has experienced such a massive influx of young people chasing tech dollars. Before battles over tech busses and the googlificatoin of neighborhoods there was a means to gift a random act of kindness that we no longer have. Before fastrack and no-stopping toll pay, back in the day when you actually had to pass over a few dollars in cash people occasionally paid the toll for a few cars behind them. Though it was only a few dollars it was a random act of kindness that represented the generosity and playfullness of the bay area.  It didn’t happen so often...but that rare moment of coming up to the toll booth and having the cashier smile and wave you on saying that the person before you had paid your toll reinvigorated my love for the bay and its smiling people. It was a small thing , but regardless it was something that made people smile. I am not a tech-hater and am open to the growth and change of a city but every time I come back to San Francisco I feel that the sense of playful generosity is disappearing.  Pass something on today. Do a random act of kindness. See how it feels. Give someone else the feels.

Camera Sharing Game

The night before heading off to burning man I stayed up all night far too excited to sleep. I was going through my boxes of goodies to take out to the playa and found a box of disposable cameras I had bought the year before. I know myself and know that I am not someone who will stop to take photos during playa adventures.... so I decided to share my cameras and turn it into a game. I attached notes to the five cameras. The notes read as follows:

1. Take a photo with your friends. Make it beautiful and sexy...just like you are!
2. Write your email address on the back of this card.
3. Pass this camera to someone you don’t know.
4. Look forward to seeing your pictures.

On the back of the card I left a space for people to write their email addresses and gave instructions for returning the camera to me back in the default world. About a month after returning from the playa a very kind burner named Cordelia developed one of the cameras and sent me the results. The other four cameras are still floating around out there. Maybe they’ll make their way home eventually. Thanks to all the beautiful people played with me! Enjoy!