Adventure - Marty
Description: To celebrate Heather's 36th Birthday.
(Marty's Report):
Tip for husbands: when your wife asks you if you have something planned for her birthday, it is not a simple question, and the appropriate answer is either "Yes!" if that's the truth, or an enigmatic yet suggestive shrug if you haven't yet planned something. "No", is not the right answer.
So after failing this test, I set about planning for Heather's Bday celebration, her 36th year of life on this planet in this incarnation. At one point, mid-week before the designated Saturday, I got frustrated with her total dearth of instruction, and she let on that perhaps a meal at a belly dance restaurant would be interesting. So, what happened was:
1) Breakfast in bed: around 9am, I start cooking breakfast burritos. I hate eggs. I find the smell nauseating and the taste like yellow tasting rubber (that weird description is meant to convey the weird experience), and yet, uber husband that I occasionally am, I cooked eggs for the first time in forever. For me it was tofu, but for the birthday girl, chicken excreta. Um. But I couldn't do real sausage, so phony tofu sausage, which nonetheless also was rather nasty.
But! As an act of love, I thoroughly enjoyed it, and love the little ritual of coming in and shaking Heather awake, then setting up the folding table and bringing in courses of breakfast grub, and having a disheveled, cover strewn morning with the beautiful spring light and air coming in from our beautiful city.
So, along with the breakfast burritos, we had some coffee (Heather's ironic morning brew, given that she used to sneer at me drinking my "battery acid"), then a bowl of berries and Heather's favorite coconut water drink, with chunks of coconut pulp. We luxuriated in that, then I informed her about the rest of the day.
2) The Conservatory of Flowers: This building, which was partially destroyed in the mid-90's, and reopened a few years ago, we had never visited. One of the ironies of life in such a city, where the main tourist sites often go ignored. Even when the place is several blocks from our house. So we were determined to go, in no small part because they had a train exhibit. (In the video below you can see the inside of the place, and the pretty tepid train layout.)
It is really a remarkable place, both architecturally (apparently the rebuild after the huge wind storm destroyed it consisted of pulling down the extant half, and replicating it bit for bit in the destroyed half) and botanically. It feels like such an old world experience, genteel and curious about the big world outside of the boundaries of civilization. Totally enjoyable.
3) Hanging out with the Sharpe-Madsons: We met James, a very pregnant Robin, and the B-Dude for a picnic, out amongst the flower beds in front of the conservatory. That also was very sweet, a couple hours of munching and gabbing, and playing ball with the boy. One very sweet moment was going with the boy (my turn on watch) and going into the tunnel under JFK Blvd. (the main drag through the park), where a four piece band was playing into the tunnel from the steps on the other side. We stood there, B-Dude on my hip, watching them play through a whole song while I filmed on my phone. Benjamin is a remarkable (at times) un-squirmy two year old, and he just observed the scene and the view through the camera-recorder.
4) Castro Hair Adventure: This adventurette-ito was a response to Heather not wanting to go to the Kabuki for a massage. She rather wanted to get a hair cut, being so totally over her long hair phase. And she was determined to go to a better stylist than the $20 Chinese lady down the street who had been abducted by aliens when a child. So she found, somehow, a flashy place in the Castro and we went down there to one of these walk-up places where everyone seems over-caffeinated and mandatorily gay. I sat in a corner typing on my new mini-computer, and she got a workup from images of Amanda Tapping, an actress from the show Star Gate. I was insufficiently praising of the haircut (second note to husbands: praise new haircut), but we worked through that spat quickly, and headed off for:
5) Dinner at Marrakesh: There are a number of Moroccan restaurants in the city, and this one looked good from the website when I was hunting around. We got there, to a somewhat seedy place on O'Farrel in the Tenderloin, and entered the un-windowed storefront to find a atmospherically lit replica of a Moroccan eating establishment, with the lush rugs and metal and cushions. We were seated in a corner in the back, and went through a whole elaborate series of events in the meal, which was very good and distinct. We especially liked washing our hands in the rose water between courses.
The place is definitely slanted towards the tourist trade, and when the belly dancing began, the woman obligatorily pulled people from the audience in what would be more enjoyable if you were somewhat inebriated. I don't know if we were emanating a "go away" vibe from the corner, but she didn't venture as close as us, preying on others in the audience. It's one of those odd tourist events where pleasure and pain are structurally built into the event.
Two highlights of the dinner were, first, on the darker side, observing the trio at the next table/couch. There was a 30-something man and two young college age women, who provided us with enough ambiguity and unconsciousness to be able to spin various theories around the curiosities and shadows of human mating behavior. And then on the lighter side was a discussion about cultural meetings--the wait staff was all Moroccan or Middle Eastern--and what constitutes respect at the border lands between cultures. Heather was really affected by the conversation, but I think it gave a lot of food for thought as we get ready to go to Egypt next year.
Roundup: And that was the events marking the 36th birthday of my dear and beloved wife Heather, may she have many many more.
(Heather's Report):
Gosh, what am I supposed to say after all that?
The whole day was fun despite me not liking my hair all that much at first. I appreciate my husband's willing to cook eggs despite his dislike. I knew he didn't like eating eggs but I didn't realize what passion of grossness he has for the entirety of the egg realm. Yellow tasting rubber indeed.
I also enjoyed hanging out with James and Robin, and Benjamin, who previously did not seem to take me much into his conceptual world. It's all about Uncle Marty and that's completely fair since he's spent A LOT of time with him since he was born. I'm just now starting to develop a neural cluster in his brain and he's starting to slightly remember who I am and not shy away from me. So while playing ball and on my "watches", he was just fine with me. Marty's right, he's a fairly un-squirmy, non-complainy child.
I enjoyed the food at the restaurant and the conversation although I did have some consternation about the conversation about crossing cultural boundaries. I do not want to be rude or disrespectful when going to a different culture but I did understand after a bit of conversation that I am probably going to step on toes no matter what, coming from such a different (and although I don't think so, but I know they will, rich) life and not to be too hard on myself, especially just to accept that it will happen and that I'm not a bad person. But on the other hand, I wanted to find the rose water for home after the luscious hand washing. The belly dancing was so-so. The creepy trio next to us was... creepy.
Overall, my husband rocks!
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Adventure #7 -- A Night on the Town
Adventur(ette) # 7 - Heather and Marty (well, technically our neighbors)Description: Attend a story-telling event wherein one of our neighbors was the teller of honor.
(Marty's Report):
We got an invite card some weeks back to attend the CD release party of our neighbors, Willy and Jacqueline. Willie is a folk artist and story teller with, we learned, a career going back longer than I've been alive. He gave me a couple of CD's some months back, of his story telling for adults and children, and they were riveting (particularly the tale of Pegamoose).
Now, Heather and I are not the cocktail scene set. But we were pretty sure that's what this would be. The address was a toney one up in Pacific Heights (Daniel Steele's neighborhood), around the corner from where I did my first psychotherapy internship. The owners of the flat apparently do regular concerts or cultural events, with Willy and his son being the entertainment for the evening (I thought everyone was going to know Willie, but it seemed more folks were friends/guests of the host).
We got there and I'm pretty sure were the only arrivees who had come via motorscooter--at least, we had the only helmets in the coat room. The crowd was quite genial, and very San Franciscan, hip and downbeat at the same time, but not intolerably existential (Heather and I were at one of our favorite restaurants, Q's on Clement, and above her head, embedded in a collage, was an image of two very serious people, with a newspaper caption reading: "It's hard being so existential"). We were given wine glasses with our names attached, and Heather and I had the hard stuff, fizzy apple juice. I wanted a couple of the brownie cups, but Heather insisted they were for after. Then we chatted up, prior to the performance, talking dialects with a transplanted Brooklyner.
Willy and his son played for about an hour and a half, songs moving from the British Isle to America, especially in the south. Most had grim tales told through bouncy melodies and harmonies, usually accompanied by a guitar or banjo. A couple guest musicians came on a few songs to round out the sound. They were all well done, and Willy seemed to have an easy erudition about the music, which made sense seeing as how his career is about 50 years old. He had a great folky voice, as did his son, though his son carried also a bit more soul in his vocal cords. Heather, transplanted southerner that she is, and also aficionado of contemporary arrangements of folk songs, was able to sing along to many of the songs, gathering appreciative comments after the show from some of the audience.
(Heather's Report):
Marty described the event best, I think, so I'll just come from my own experience for this one.
I used to volunteer for the National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough, Tennessee when I lived there with my mom. Mostly running around making sure there were chairs and such, pretty easy. The best bonus was of course, getting to sit in and listen to the storytellers ply their trade. Some Tellers sort of slide by your brain and you can't really remember their stories or performance later. Some stick with you because they tell really unique stuff and are really great performers, charismatic and with that great "stage energy" that just rolls out of them, affecting their audience. I remember this one African-American storyteller who told fantastic fairytales, mostly based on African tales although had some very funny renditions of old tales like Hansel and Gretel. He was riveting. You couldn't take your eyes and ears off of him.
So, I was all up for going to see our neighbor Willy spin yarns although I had only heard a few moments of his CD, including the infamous Pegamoose, which to me was already a mark of a good Teller, to be able to make his voice so different and so funny.
As Marty can also attest, I'm really not great in crowd situations where I don't know people and mingling with small talk is basically required. I tend to get nervous and say stupid, socially off stuff. I've been getting better the past year or so, mostly just learning how to shut up first, smile and nod with genuine interest and am slowly working on how to actually speak without getting into trouble. I've started with asking people about them. Always a good strategy and saying nothing about me or relating anything about what they are saying back to anything I know or any of my experiences. So far, this has kept me mostly out of trouble.
So I felt I did fairly well when speaking to a genial Brooklyner about accents, did not grab onto Marty and did not put my foot in my mouth. But I was still really nervous, that internal tremble I just can't seem to kick in those situations. So, overall, the social part went fine.
They started up the British Isles first and I was able to sing along with most of the songs. I grew up with a lot of this music, through Trapezoid, Birds of a Feather and contemporary Great Big Sea, among others. But then they moved into the south-east, more Appalachian songs and surprisingly, I was a bit lost. I didn't really hear much of that sort of stuff growing up. Although I was able to hum along because they do have the tendency to be a bit predictable.
On the downside, I learned that Freyda Epstein, a singer from Trapezoid, was killed in a rather horrible car accident some years ago. I was a bit stunned, especially that it happened and also that I didn't know it happened. She had an amazing voice.
Overall, I had a really good time and it reminded me of good times in my childhood.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Adventure #6 -- It's Never Too Late... To Rollerskate!
Adventure - Heather
Description: Re-Experience the childhood phenomenon of rollerskating, be able to hold hands with someone while skating, only this time getting to hold hands with one's favorite person!
View our videos at the end!!
(Marty's Report):
Well, it's been a few weeks since we had a full blown adventure. Our adventurette last week was fun, but not full tilt like this one. Because this one was a full on, balls out, freakin' blast from the past: Roller Skating, m*****ther f****er!
Heather tracked this one down, and believe it or not (I'd believe it if I were you), there are no skating rinks in SF. There's an ice skating rink in Yerba Buena, and some 4 wheel rinks out in the desolate hinterland of the East Bay (we try not to venture there too often), but nothing in the hip rockstar city that we live in. A loss.
So down we sojourned to my half-week workplace, the sad and tattered Redwood City. Now, I know what you might be saying: "But Marty, isn't Redwood City kind of a Silicon Valley North? Doesn't it have wealthy and powerful tech companies that power our economy and give us hope for the future?" Well, that's a good question(s), but whatever tech companies still cling to the shoreline like desperate rotting barnacles, they no more embody the heart of Redwood City than does the stripper culture up in North Beach. No, the heart of Redwood City, California, we found on Main Street, at the Redwood Roller Rink. Sort of a scuffed, miniature-golf-carpet, multiply-patched wood floor heart, but that's what the RWC has to offer.
We haven't been roller skating for, let's see, maybe 25 years? OK, maybe 20. I remember Corey and I going to the summer skating when school was out, at the Roller King in Roseville. We were hooked up with summer passes, and could go as we liked. I don't remember if Mom always took us, or if we sometimes went by bike. I suspect the former, because we were kind of young.
Redwood Skate was exactly like King Skate, and I think this demonstrates an underlying pattern similar to the One Peruvian Band Theory. You know the Peruvian pipe band you see at the Green Festival, outdoor markets, and tourist locales like Pier 39? There's really only one band in the whole world. It may seem like there's many, but it's an illusion, or maybe Rainforest Magic. Because if you listen closely, they are ALL playing the same music, the same songs. Really.
So in the same vein, I think that while you may enter the doors of King Skate, or of Redwood Skate about 200 miles away, both are portals to the One Skating Venue (OSV). When you exit, it somehow knows how you got there, so the illusion is that you were in a totally separate facility. But it's only an illusion.
"Marty, how can you possibly know something that on the face of things seems to implausible, no, impossible?" Another excellent question.
Redwood skate had the same accoutrement as did my beloved summer home 20ish years ago. The snack bar was the same, with the same more-or-less food-like items. The people working there had the same bemused self-reflectiveness about their working in the OSV. The indoor picnic benches were the same. The little girl birthday part: same. The disco ball and colored light ball thingy, also, identical. The only sane conclusion: the OSV.
Said truth of the OSV did not diminish our enjoyment of skating one iota. I had a great time, and got to skate hand-in-hand with my favorite four-wheeled chick in the whole world. I had a coke. We listened to music that was just the modern equivalent of what they played in Roseville. They did the Hokey Pokey! Ah, sweet...
It did take a few minutes for my body to remember what to do with its standing on 8 little rubber wheels. But once the cellular data kicked in, I was off and zooming around the track, only almost-falling once when I was filming Heather on my phone (see below for Heather's rockin' edited video and mine). Otherwise, it was a zippy and peppy graying 40 year old going around the track, not plowing into any of the munchkins at all!
I actually spent a fair amount of my time filming on my new super phone, which was fun, because Heather thinks she's probably obsessive-compulsive enough to be a good video editor. Which is great, because I find the process impossibly tedious. So I collected all manner of shots to give her a good palate to work from, and I look forward to seeing what she comes up with (she hasn't finished it as of me writing this).
Yeah, it really was quite a sweet outing. I am around, in my day-to-day San Francisco life, so many rock star people, both in terms of their amazing talents and painful conceits and egos, that to be at the OSV among folks who seemed to be Just Regular Folk, was so refreshing. Not that I have illusions of being a JRF myself. I'm lost to the neurotic seeker crowd long ago, culturally speaking. But like going back to the Central Valley, something in me is consoled by people who, if they ever thought they'd be rock stars, gently cast off that illusion a long time ago and settled with what appeared to be some dignity into the small pleasures of life.
Maybe I'm idealizing, and people are always deeper than I at first give them credit, but if nothing else this tells you my own subjective feeling at the OSV today. Simple and innocent in a way I don't get to experience very often, and therefore quite a little vacation.
(Heather's Report):
Well, I think Marty said most of it in his usual spot on fashion. I think his theory of the One Skating Venue is also spot on as I have experienced this phenomena myself.
The portal for me leads to Greenville, North Carolina. In remembrance, a completely hated town although maybe not so hugely bad when I consider all the things I did there. This was from 12 - 18 years of age, one's most psychologically formative years as one starts learning one's individual self. I played a lot of D&D, went to movies, took Tae Kwon Do and went roller skating... a lot.
The rink in Greenville looked pretty much the same as Redwood City, although perhaps less worn. This I attribute to being in existence 21 years ago and I think, quite recently built at that time. Disco balls, flashing colored lights, the music (which as Marty puts it, was pretty much starting to use synthesizers), the weird astro turf like carpeting. The floor was in great shape, unlike the worn surface of the Redwood skating rink. I think I even saw the scuffed up wood through holes in the smooth "top" material. Although it didn't seem to have much issue with catching wheels but I did tend to avoid those spots.
It was a bit weird getting on four wheels again. I have this thing about falling and getting hurt these days. I'm only 35 but I seem to have picked up some old lady fear about falling. Plus, I've always felt that I have a long way to fall, being so tall and all. At least that's my story and I'm sticking to it. But there was no falling amazingly enough. I think being on four wheels in a square, rather than a line, helps a lot. I had a pair of inline skates and I remember falling a lot off of those but rarely when using the old skates, unless attempting to skate backwards. I didn't try some of the fancier things I used to do, such as crossing over feet in turns to keep speed, nor did I go super fast.
I was definitely satisfied with "strolling" around and around, musing at the quality of the atmosphere, the "speed" generated breeze through my hair (which I had done up into pig-tail style braids to increase the sense of childhood fun), the darkened lights with the disco ball and flashing, colored lights, the smell (yes, the OSV has the same smell, no matter what part of the country it transports itself to), the music, although granted it was more contemporary hip-hop, pop, rock style rather than 80's music. Like smell can transport one into long ago, forgotten memory, thus can environmental association. And I definitely had hits of this as I went round and round, my body having the sense of this experience, even if I couldn't exactly remember in my head.
I did remember all the old (and sometimes still current) fantasies I had when skating of wanting to become a champion ice skater or at least being very good at roller skating that I could do iceskating type tricks, jumps, spins. Basically I wanted to dance on wheels. When I did the indoor skydiving, I wanted to be able to dance in the air. That complete freedom (and confidence of self and training... and natural talent) to be able to do anything on a blade or four wheels, but to be able to do more than just dancing with feet on the floor. Dancing is cool, I grant you that! But dancing on blade or wheels or in the air, that is so much cooler!!! Plus, you can do things that you never could on regular feet. So as I zipped around, I noticed those old fantasies arising (contemporizing and remaking themselves, as always) and did feel a bit of melancholy yearning for stuff that I never did. And very likely never will do.
I don't remember if I skated hand in hand with whomever I went with, because I don't remember going alone but I don't know if I went with boys either. Or girls. But again, pretty sure I did not go alone. I remember going with my father once when he came into town. I remember that very vividly and how he would go around corners in a most funny fashion; squating down into a crouch position with arms straight out like superman and zooming around the end of the rink before straightening up again. So this time around, I got to hold Marty's hand which felt both strangely familiar and just strange, at the same time. But if I had to skate with a boy, he'd be the one.
But all in all, I enjoyed myself. It's a work out on one's legs and ankle's for sure and I would happily go again for the experience and exercise. And to hold Marty's hand in a different venue. The One Skating Venue!!!
Marty's Video (containing our interviews and skating footage):
Heather's Video (a different version with "story"):
(Note there are a few seconds of deliberate darkness after the music, there's more, keep watching!!):
Description: Re-Experience the childhood phenomenon of rollerskating, be able to hold hands with someone while skating, only this time getting to hold hands with one's favorite person!
View our videos at the end!!
(Marty's Report):
Well, it's been a few weeks since we had a full blown adventure. Our adventurette last week was fun, but not full tilt like this one. Because this one was a full on, balls out, freakin' blast from the past: Roller Skating, m*****ther f****er!
Heather tracked this one down, and believe it or not (I'd believe it if I were you), there are no skating rinks in SF. There's an ice skating rink in Yerba Buena, and some 4 wheel rinks out in the desolate hinterland of the East Bay (we try not to venture there too often), but nothing in the hip rockstar city that we live in. A loss.
So down we sojourned to my half-week workplace, the sad and tattered Redwood City. Now, I know what you might be saying: "But Marty, isn't Redwood City kind of a Silicon Valley North? Doesn't it have wealthy and powerful tech companies that power our economy and give us hope for the future?" Well, that's a good question(s), but whatever tech companies still cling to the shoreline like desperate rotting barnacles, they no more embody the heart of Redwood City than does the stripper culture up in North Beach. No, the heart of Redwood City, California, we found on Main Street, at the Redwood Roller Rink. Sort of a scuffed, miniature-golf-carpet, multiply-patched wood floor heart, but that's what the RWC has to offer.
We haven't been roller skating for, let's see, maybe 25 years? OK, maybe 20. I remember Corey and I going to the summer skating when school was out, at the Roller King in Roseville. We were hooked up with summer passes, and could go as we liked. I don't remember if Mom always took us, or if we sometimes went by bike. I suspect the former, because we were kind of young.
Redwood Skate was exactly like King Skate, and I think this demonstrates an underlying pattern similar to the One Peruvian Band Theory. You know the Peruvian pipe band you see at the Green Festival, outdoor markets, and tourist locales like Pier 39? There's really only one band in the whole world. It may seem like there's many, but it's an illusion, or maybe Rainforest Magic. Because if you listen closely, they are ALL playing the same music, the same songs. Really.
So in the same vein, I think that while you may enter the doors of King Skate, or of Redwood Skate about 200 miles away, both are portals to the One Skating Venue (OSV). When you exit, it somehow knows how you got there, so the illusion is that you were in a totally separate facility. But it's only an illusion.
"Marty, how can you possibly know something that on the face of things seems to implausible, no, impossible?" Another excellent question.
Redwood skate had the same accoutrement as did my beloved summer home 20ish years ago. The snack bar was the same, with the same more-or-less food-like items. The people working there had the same bemused self-reflectiveness about their working in the OSV. The indoor picnic benches were the same. The little girl birthday part: same. The disco ball and colored light ball thingy, also, identical. The only sane conclusion: the OSV.
Said truth of the OSV did not diminish our enjoyment of skating one iota. I had a great time, and got to skate hand-in-hand with my favorite four-wheeled chick in the whole world. I had a coke. We listened to music that was just the modern equivalent of what they played in Roseville. They did the Hokey Pokey! Ah, sweet...
It did take a few minutes for my body to remember what to do with its standing on 8 little rubber wheels. But once the cellular data kicked in, I was off and zooming around the track, only almost-falling once when I was filming Heather on my phone (see below for Heather's rockin' edited video and mine). Otherwise, it was a zippy and peppy graying 40 year old going around the track, not plowing into any of the munchkins at all!
I actually spent a fair amount of my time filming on my new super phone, which was fun, because Heather thinks she's probably obsessive-compulsive enough to be a good video editor. Which is great, because I find the process impossibly tedious. So I collected all manner of shots to give her a good palate to work from, and I look forward to seeing what she comes up with (she hasn't finished it as of me writing this).
Yeah, it really was quite a sweet outing. I am around, in my day-to-day San Francisco life, so many rock star people, both in terms of their amazing talents and painful conceits and egos, that to be at the OSV among folks who seemed to be Just Regular Folk, was so refreshing. Not that I have illusions of being a JRF myself. I'm lost to the neurotic seeker crowd long ago, culturally speaking. But like going back to the Central Valley, something in me is consoled by people who, if they ever thought they'd be rock stars, gently cast off that illusion a long time ago and settled with what appeared to be some dignity into the small pleasures of life.
Maybe I'm idealizing, and people are always deeper than I at first give them credit, but if nothing else this tells you my own subjective feeling at the OSV today. Simple and innocent in a way I don't get to experience very often, and therefore quite a little vacation.
(Heather's Report):
Well, I think Marty said most of it in his usual spot on fashion. I think his theory of the One Skating Venue is also spot on as I have experienced this phenomena myself.
The portal for me leads to Greenville, North Carolina. In remembrance, a completely hated town although maybe not so hugely bad when I consider all the things I did there. This was from 12 - 18 years of age, one's most psychologically formative years as one starts learning one's individual self. I played a lot of D&D, went to movies, took Tae Kwon Do and went roller skating... a lot.
The rink in Greenville looked pretty much the same as Redwood City, although perhaps less worn. This I attribute to being in existence 21 years ago and I think, quite recently built at that time. Disco balls, flashing colored lights, the music (which as Marty puts it, was pretty much starting to use synthesizers), the weird astro turf like carpeting. The floor was in great shape, unlike the worn surface of the Redwood skating rink. I think I even saw the scuffed up wood through holes in the smooth "top" material. Although it didn't seem to have much issue with catching wheels but I did tend to avoid those spots.
It was a bit weird getting on four wheels again. I have this thing about falling and getting hurt these days. I'm only 35 but I seem to have picked up some old lady fear about falling. Plus, I've always felt that I have a long way to fall, being so tall and all. At least that's my story and I'm sticking to it. But there was no falling amazingly enough. I think being on four wheels in a square, rather than a line, helps a lot. I had a pair of inline skates and I remember falling a lot off of those but rarely when using the old skates, unless attempting to skate backwards. I didn't try some of the fancier things I used to do, such as crossing over feet in turns to keep speed, nor did I go super fast.
I was definitely satisfied with "strolling" around and around, musing at the quality of the atmosphere, the "speed" generated breeze through my hair (which I had done up into pig-tail style braids to increase the sense of childhood fun), the darkened lights with the disco ball and flashing, colored lights, the smell (yes, the OSV has the same smell, no matter what part of the country it transports itself to), the music, although granted it was more contemporary hip-hop, pop, rock style rather than 80's music. Like smell can transport one into long ago, forgotten memory, thus can environmental association. And I definitely had hits of this as I went round and round, my body having the sense of this experience, even if I couldn't exactly remember in my head.
I did remember all the old (and sometimes still current) fantasies I had when skating of wanting to become a champion ice skater or at least being very good at roller skating that I could do iceskating type tricks, jumps, spins. Basically I wanted to dance on wheels. When I did the indoor skydiving, I wanted to be able to dance in the air. That complete freedom (and confidence of self and training... and natural talent) to be able to do anything on a blade or four wheels, but to be able to do more than just dancing with feet on the floor. Dancing is cool, I grant you that! But dancing on blade or wheels or in the air, that is so much cooler!!! Plus, you can do things that you never could on regular feet. So as I zipped around, I noticed those old fantasies arising (contemporizing and remaking themselves, as always) and did feel a bit of melancholy yearning for stuff that I never did. And very likely never will do.
I don't remember if I skated hand in hand with whomever I went with, because I don't remember going alone but I don't know if I went with boys either. Or girls. But again, pretty sure I did not go alone. I remember going with my father once when he came into town. I remember that very vividly and how he would go around corners in a most funny fashion; squating down into a crouch position with arms straight out like superman and zooming around the end of the rink before straightening up again. So this time around, I got to hold Marty's hand which felt both strangely familiar and just strange, at the same time. But if I had to skate with a boy, he'd be the one.
But all in all, I enjoyed myself. It's a work out on one's legs and ankle's for sure and I would happily go again for the experience and exercise. And to hold Marty's hand in a different venue. The One Skating Venue!!!
Marty's Video (containing our interviews and skating footage):
Heather's Video (a different version with "story"):
(Note there are a few seconds of deliberate darkness after the music, there's more, keep watching!!):
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