The news is all about the supposed Second Coming of Christ tomorrow - or, more technically, I heard earlier today, at 6pm EST wherever you are tonight. They at first said it *would* be a "rolling rapture" but now it's not supposed to be, most agree. That would make it...uh...9pm for us here. It's 8:20 now.
My problem is not with the actual event, per se - whether one be pro or con, and frankly, I could be convinced either way, as it would be nice if some deity would descend and help this crazy planet - but with the way such a negative vibe went viral. I guess it wasn't ALL negative. There are people throwing "after rapture" parties, and eating Last Day dinners, and offering to take care of pets left behind. OK, I see it's some sort of unifying event for the human race, or at least lots of white people on the Internet, which is who I mostly think is thinking about this. Still, I was just saying to my mom, we create our own reality (although she didn't buy it), and I'd prefer if not so many people on the planet were thinking of real trouble all at once.
So, maybe I'll get up and do some magic in a bit, just to get some visionary activism going and turn this paranoia into pronoia, as Caroline and Rob would (wisely) advise. I'll throw up my hands of willingness, which is all we can ever do anyway.
What else is going on, you ask? Or, anyway, that's what I blog about - what's going on. I have another, probably fairly long entry about Hugh Jackman. I know. But seriously, something additional happened, and I really feel the series needs to be a trilogy. As I recently read, in The Alchemist, "What happens once will never happen again. But what happens twice will surely happen a third time." And it does seem to be that way - once you do something for the third time, it becomes not something you'd done, but something you do. Three really is the magic number. Anyway, I will give us all break before the next HJ installment.
So, I went down to Indio, which, if you don't know, is near Palm Springs. Quick aside: I just typed Plam, instead of Palm, which reminds me of this weird thing. The bottom of the hill I live on has this psychic parlor on the corner, and it's always very well lit and seems open although I never see anyone go in or out. I've always wondered how they stay in business. Recently, they got a bunch of new neon signs, including one that says Plam Reading. Yes, Plam. As in, I'm a plamist, I read hands. It's crazy that *no one* noticed during the entire making and then purchasing of the sign that they are advertising plam reading. I got so curious, I finally looked in, and it was all deserted, with buckets and pipes and a dirt floor. It's a total front! That plam reading is awfully suspicious.
Back to the trip: Indio is near Cochella, where the music festival is, but there's really not much there, just a bunch of retirement communities, giant strip malls and reservation casinos. We stay at one called Fantasy Springs, a cut above, I think; it's actually a really nice hotel - oh, their fluffy down oversized pillows are the apex of bedding satisfaction - and, due to the in-laws frequency of gambling, the rooms are often extremely cheap, or even free.
And they have a lovely pool area, a nice long pool, rows of sturdy wooden beach chairs with thick striped cushions, cabanas you can camp out in, and weather than makes it pleasant to be damp and in the shade all day. I burn quickly, and must have constant shade (unless I am in the water), so it's great when it's 90 out, hot when you're in the pool and refreshing when you get out. I lay around and read, mostly; I read The Alchemist one day (boy, that book is a doozy!). I've been wet a lot lately, after my trip to Harbin, which I'll have to discuss next. I'm a water sign so it's great to be submerged. There are some people who love to be in the water, and some who can't stand it, and it's a great separator - each side kind of can't fathom the other.
California casinos are kind of funny places - unlike Vegas, where people are there, in many cases, for the more total experience of the elusive "fun," people at the California casinos seem to be residents. Fantasy Springs as a lot of retired folks, it seems, and it makes the whole vibe kind of mellow. I am fascinated by slot machines; for some reason, they tend to occupy a part of my mind - like playing solitaire or knitting - that sort of zones me out and allows me to relax and observe things. It's kind of a form of meditation for me. Weird, I know. The crazy sounds tend to help; they repeat and lull you a bit. I'm sure there's a whole science of programming slot machines, but I'm not interested.
I also made a side trip to Huntington Gardens, which are not just gardens, but also an art museum and famously extensive historical library. They have some famous artifacts: a Guternberg Bible, a FEW first folios of Shakespeare, and the Blue Boy. You know the painting. I also saw a page from Bukowski's Ham on Rye, and letters from Washington and Walt Whitman, and a copy of John James Audobon's "Birds of America," a book famous for its expensive and masterful production.
This Birds of America book is crazy. First of all, it's enormous - called a "double elephant folio" due to its massive size - several volumes, sure, but the pages themselves are also huge: 39x28. Pages were printed, but then watercolored by hand. The project took over 13 years, produced not quite 200 copies, and cost a ton of money. Audobon had to travel around American and Europe, and convince the weathy elite to enter into a pay-as-you-go subscription. And now they are worth a fortune - the most recent complete first edition sold for $11.5 million dollars in 2010. It was all extremely impressive. Talk about artistic commitment.
The rest of the place had some fantastic things as well - the meticulous Bonsai gardens, the tranquil and extensive Chinese gardens (only half done!), the explosive rose garden, the unbelievably thorough cactus and succulent area. Infinite variety, infinite diversity. It's hard not to feel celebratory of Life, just Life itself, when you go to someplace like that. I mean, what's the point of all those different roses, if not just the celebration of the beauty of the world.
Well, that's my brief review of Indio. And I should mention, it's 9:22pm, and it seems like everyone is still here. Everyone in my household, anyway, which maybe doesn't tell me much, as none of us were likely to get raptured. I guess the next Doomsday is Oct 5, 2011. Then there's 2012 coming up, and probably some more dates after that. We'll see!
My problem is not with the actual event, per se - whether one be pro or con, and frankly, I could be convinced either way, as it would be nice if some deity would descend and help this crazy planet - but with the way such a negative vibe went viral. I guess it wasn't ALL negative. There are people throwing "after rapture" parties, and eating Last Day dinners, and offering to take care of pets left behind. OK, I see it's some sort of unifying event for the human race, or at least lots of white people on the Internet, which is who I mostly think is thinking about this. Still, I was just saying to my mom, we create our own reality (although she didn't buy it), and I'd prefer if not so many people on the planet were thinking of real trouble all at once.
So, maybe I'll get up and do some magic in a bit, just to get some visionary activism going and turn this paranoia into pronoia, as Caroline and Rob would (wisely) advise. I'll throw up my hands of willingness, which is all we can ever do anyway.
What else is going on, you ask? Or, anyway, that's what I blog about - what's going on. I have another, probably fairly long entry about Hugh Jackman. I know. But seriously, something additional happened, and I really feel the series needs to be a trilogy. As I recently read, in The Alchemist, "What happens once will never happen again. But what happens twice will surely happen a third time." And it does seem to be that way - once you do something for the third time, it becomes not something you'd done, but something you do. Three really is the magic number. Anyway, I will give us all break before the next HJ installment.
So, I went down to Indio, which, if you don't know, is near Palm Springs. Quick aside: I just typed Plam, instead of Palm, which reminds me of this weird thing. The bottom of the hill I live on has this psychic parlor on the corner, and it's always very well lit and seems open although I never see anyone go in or out. I've always wondered how they stay in business. Recently, they got a bunch of new neon signs, including one that says Plam Reading. Yes, Plam. As in, I'm a plamist, I read hands. It's crazy that *no one* noticed during the entire making and then purchasing of the sign that they are advertising plam reading. I got so curious, I finally looked in, and it was all deserted, with buckets and pipes and a dirt floor. It's a total front! That plam reading is awfully suspicious.
Back to the trip: Indio is near Cochella, where the music festival is, but there's really not much there, just a bunch of retirement communities, giant strip malls and reservation casinos. We stay at one called Fantasy Springs, a cut above, I think; it's actually a really nice hotel - oh, their fluffy down oversized pillows are the apex of bedding satisfaction - and, due to the in-laws frequency of gambling, the rooms are often extremely cheap, or even free.
And they have a lovely pool area, a nice long pool, rows of sturdy wooden beach chairs with thick striped cushions, cabanas you can camp out in, and weather than makes it pleasant to be damp and in the shade all day. I burn quickly, and must have constant shade (unless I am in the water), so it's great when it's 90 out, hot when you're in the pool and refreshing when you get out. I lay around and read, mostly; I read The Alchemist one day (boy, that book is a doozy!). I've been wet a lot lately, after my trip to Harbin, which I'll have to discuss next. I'm a water sign so it's great to be submerged. There are some people who love to be in the water, and some who can't stand it, and it's a great separator - each side kind of can't fathom the other.
California casinos are kind of funny places - unlike Vegas, where people are there, in many cases, for the more total experience of the elusive "fun," people at the California casinos seem to be residents. Fantasy Springs as a lot of retired folks, it seems, and it makes the whole vibe kind of mellow. I am fascinated by slot machines; for some reason, they tend to occupy a part of my mind - like playing solitaire or knitting - that sort of zones me out and allows me to relax and observe things. It's kind of a form of meditation for me. Weird, I know. The crazy sounds tend to help; they repeat and lull you a bit. I'm sure there's a whole science of programming slot machines, but I'm not interested.
I also made a side trip to Huntington Gardens, which are not just gardens, but also an art museum and famously extensive historical library. They have some famous artifacts: a Guternberg Bible, a FEW first folios of Shakespeare, and the Blue Boy. You know the painting. I also saw a page from Bukowski's Ham on Rye, and letters from Washington and Walt Whitman, and a copy of John James Audobon's "Birds of America," a book famous for its expensive and masterful production.
This Birds of America book is crazy. First of all, it's enormous - called a "double elephant folio" due to its massive size - several volumes, sure, but the pages themselves are also huge: 39x28. Pages were printed, but then watercolored by hand. The project took over 13 years, produced not quite 200 copies, and cost a ton of money. Audobon had to travel around American and Europe, and convince the weathy elite to enter into a pay-as-you-go subscription. And now they are worth a fortune - the most recent complete first edition sold for $11.5 million dollars in 2010. It was all extremely impressive. Talk about artistic commitment.
The rest of the place had some fantastic things as well - the meticulous Bonsai gardens, the tranquil and extensive Chinese gardens (only half done!), the explosive rose garden, the unbelievably thorough cactus and succulent area. Infinite variety, infinite diversity. It's hard not to feel celebratory of Life, just Life itself, when you go to someplace like that. I mean, what's the point of all those different roses, if not just the celebration of the beauty of the world.
Well, that's my brief review of Indio. And I should mention, it's 9:22pm, and it seems like everyone is still here. Everyone in my household, anyway, which maybe doesn't tell me much, as none of us were likely to get raptured. I guess the next Doomsday is Oct 5, 2011. Then there's 2012 coming up, and probably some more dates after that. We'll see!
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