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Cars, mechanic books and orange-clad hostages

May 23, 2006

The Sun cut above the horizon and smite B’more landscape with its harsh light. I was still fast asleep, sleeping off caffeine jolts from some ultra-chinese green tea from last night that I took to organize my negatives portfolio. As I opened my tired eyes I knew it would be the “it” day when multiple threads from the past interlace into a single seam of perfection and promise of the future.

My supervisor Ron conferred with our team regarding his visit to the National Academy of Sciences where he went to grease the way for the SIM PlanetQuest satellite and lobby the teams’s way into a few more billion dollars of taxpayer’s money. He’s been working on this for more than 15 years and is getting restless to see his baby take off the launchpad. Monica is going to Japan for a conference about which she didn’t tell me a word so I am (again) left out. Shridhar might be learning how to drive in America on his fake Indian driver’s license.

At exactly 10:18 AM Jake called from the Volkswagen car resurrection service and informed me that my Wolfsburg is in pristine condition, valves exchanged, belts tense, pump pumping and oil lubricating. He was enthusiastic about the drivealability of the van and commended me on my $100 purchase. Jake promised to call within a few hours and give me an update as more repairs are progressing. At exactly 12:38 the phone rang again. It was Jack. The door keys are replaced, the tail gate supports works and the stick shift is shifting again. Done. Ready for deployment. Volkswagen Dada.

I ordered a seventies classic book from the Amazon about “How to keep your Volkswagen alive, full of such ancient antics like: Drive it with love, feel the karma brothers and sisters and so on. It assumes a somehow higher level of mechanical dexternity than I am ready for: complete engine overhaul, exhaust fix up all the way down to flat tire change. It is beautifully illustrated with wacky hippie black and white pictures and overall feels almost alive.

Later on in the day, a lady from Peabody finally called me to invite me for a test class for the Fall Open Program for Contemporary dance. I was elated to finally get going on my dance project again and there’s even a glimmer of hope that I might be able to enroll in the Pre-Professional Program, which would be dazzling. Let’s wait and see for Wednesday, though.

Jason is putting some finishing touches on his Operation: Waiting, an extraordinary rendition of Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett. Today we shot background videos of a gang of Islamic extremists dragging a hapless hostage in an orange suit through a derelict warehouse, down the stairs and onto the stage where the hood is taken off and the hostage transmorphs into The Boy from the play. In a twist of fate, I turned out to be the Boy and was thus shacked, put on a trolley and dragged around by a bunch of guys in ski masks with machetes. All this went on in total darkness with the night camera rolling and some heavy metal music proving some background elevator entertainment. It was utterly scary and confounding.

One Comment leave one →
  1. Anonymous permalink
    June 5, 2006 10:29 am


    Twas a joy to be one of the godoterrorists.


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