I can’t stop thinking of Fresno puns. What part of Fres-NO don’t you understand…stuff like that. Pretty much the exact same things I thought last year while I was here. I generally have the same 5 thoughts over and over again, all day long, whether I’m in Fresno or not.
But this year I thought - Fres-gnosis! A sudden knowledge that I’m in Fresno! I shared this with fellow Rogue performer and Fresnan Jaguar Bennett, who had already thought of “Fres-gnosis,” and thought of a much better definition than mine.
Here’s Jaguar’s blog - maybe he’ll post his definition some day.
And speaking of gnosis, which I conveniently seem to be doing, I visited my friend Arman in Aptos, CA during the week. We walked around Santa Cruz one day and stopped in to browse in a head shop.
Where I saw this sticker:
Now, I’ve known about this before, and have always been fascinated by it. Basically, I’m there to buy a device to use for smoking pot. I know it, the person selling me knows it, everyone within 100 yards of the store knows it. Yet we have to nudge-nudge-wink-wink around it.
“May I please see that large water pipe on the shelf? No, the other one. The one with the large multi-colored skull on it. Yes. This looks like an effective tobacco smoking device.”
But we all know that I’m saying, “Dude, can I check out that bong?”
It’s a very surreal arrangement. Imagine not being able to actually say “coffee” at Starbucks. “Yes, I’d like a venti, non-brown beverage that will in no way alter my consciousness in a manner that is stimulating. And room for cream.”
And speaking of both drugs and coffee, which I conveniently seem to be doing, I had a cup of coffee. First cup of coffee in months. I have given it up because it makes me weird. And no, that’s not a typo that’s supposed to be “wired.”
About half an hour after my coffee (plus refill - why not go all out?), Arman went to the car wash. As I stood there waiting for the car to come through the washing machine, I had a sudden realization that I don’t know how anything works. Everything around me was a mystery to me. So I began to photograph all the things I didn’t understand, which was a nice distraction from pacing around and talking a lot, which is what led to my lack of understanding.
Traffic lights? Not a clue. Where are they controlled? How? An algorithm, probably. And I have no idea what an algorithm is. I don’t even know how to spell it - thank God for spellcheck.
This car wash machine? Forget it.
Basic framing/construction? Not me. Not one bit. I built bookshelves once. It didn’t turn out well.
A tree? No way. Where does that spark come from that makes an acorn into a might oak? Got me.
Garbage? Nope…you just throw it in a can it it mysteriously disappears. Sure, I know that people come and pick it up, and take it somewhere, but that’s hardly an “understanding.”
Electricity? The sun? Hardly…
Arman displayed amazing patience as I paced around taking pictures of every single thing. I don’t understand patience.
Or kids.
Or my own hand.
Or my camera. Or me. Or the physics of reflection.
The coffee wore off eventually, as all drugs do, and we headed back to Arman’s house, an awesome place in the redwoods.
There we proceeded to hang out and watch some movies for the rest of the day/evening.
That’s Arman in his recording studio. He’s holding a tobacco smoking device.
