independence day chronicles

Last night, I left my wallet behind whilst riding the 49 back to Capitol Hill. It always happens this way -- I'm glancing down at my wallet, thinking, "I should probably put this in my bag." And then I answer myself with the ridiculous, "Oh, no, I should not do that, I'm going into a bar, and I would never want to be that asshole helplessly rummaging through a bag for 10 minutes." (the bouncer always cards me within 10 seconds of walking in, and this happens every time.)

So what happens? I get down to the Montana to meet up with my friend and creative partner, he's a bit older than me and already only takes me so seriously, and I have no wallet, no ID. He tells me to sit down, relax, and "act adult", and proceeds to buy me two rounds of drinks. He introduces me to his friend and we have a fascsinating conversation about Vietnam -- his cousin died in Cambodia, apparently (yeah.)The night ends and the two gentlemen very kindly hand me some cash so as for me to hail a cab ride home. And feeling much like an asshole, I hail a cab ride home and find my roommates dancing in the living room.

Anyway, long story short, apparently some gentleman by the name of Jeff found my wallet on the bus, and rather than turning it into the police, saw the uniqueness that is my name and decided to look me up. He found my Vimeo profile and messaged me there. I rode my bike down to Rainier Valley to pick up the wallet, and we not only discussed my film, but he proceeded to tell me his life story. Turns out the guy writes for a newspaper, races cars in his spare time, and has access to potentially fascinating stories for documentary film.

Sometimes, people are great.

........living it out

I forgot about this old thing -- glancing through it, it's frightfully embarrassing and probably cringe-worthy but I'm always destroying things, erasing my footsteps so as not to own up. That shouldn't be happening anymore. It's funny, I was reading about my "dual lives" blogging project idea (that never actually panned out, thank God), and ... had the strangest realization. The "Dalyce" of this blog's previous posts is not the same "Dalyce" writing this now. So much has changed -- I don't know where to begin. Yet --

It's almost like I did transform into this "Patysse" character who loves and laughs and roams wantonly and freely -- It's almost as if that frustrated Dalyce of "spinsterdom" obsessed with "philosophical literature" ceased to exist. Except, not really. 

It's sort of sad -- a lot of me misses her, that frustrated, overly cynical, needy, attached girl who ate in the college cafeteria by herself and spent Friday nights holed up in her dorm reading and Saturday mornings taking solo walks around Capitol Hill talking to strangers and supporting local eateries. I really miss her -- I mean, I miss how much she used to read, at least.

And a lot of me doesn't, I mean, I guess I live my life now. I work, I volunteer, I attend film screenings and I ride a bike, I participate in social settings and I have sex. 

I don't have the patience to blog anymore. If I did take the time to blog, I would rather blog about ideas and films and books and projects -- the Dalyce from before was still overly obsessive, bitter, and possessive -- the men in my life should always be teachers (as I usually find myself a sort of teacher for them) but they don't need to be the subject of my blogs. 

And that's the part that frustrates me. If I'm not blogging about my feelings, over which men unfortunately have a strong influence, then what would I blog about? My accomplishments? My criticisms? My activities? All of these are worthy subjects, to be sure, but then I'd feel like I was either yuppifying or hipsterifying myself -- those aren't words, winning over here, but that's the thing. Everyone (in this city, especially) is SO obsessed with selling themselves, with talking themselves up, with impressing everyone. I want to be around people who are people -- I want to watch them laugh and cry and throw back shots. 

Granted, I'm always attracted to creative people and there is nothing that exults me and fills me up more than the company of a person who acts on his passions -- but that's the thing. It's never the product itself I'm impressed by, impressed isn't even the right word, but it's the act of creating itself, of channeling your energies into something that fills you up, that fills me up. 

Now I'm rambling, I guess the content of my blog is going to be the same as it's always been -- maybe I'll throw a bit of everything in here -- just know that I don't care about your credentials or your status as an "Award winning filmmaker" or your fellowships or how many non-profits you've started -- I care about your essence and I want you to care about mine.

Speaking of award winning filmmakers, it feels like everyone is one of those nowadays. Surf through the Kickstarter campaigns. Joe Schmo, "award winning filmmaker", trying to put his 1st feature through post ... yadda yadda yadda. 

My professor is literally going to give me a card-board cut out award and I, too, will be an award winning filmmaker. 

And that's why I don't care about your credentials. And that's why I suck at talking to people. People are always in my business -- "What do you do? Where do you work? What are you studying?" 

I'm studying life, and if you really want to get to know me, buy me a drink and we'll sing some karaoke. And if the sun is out, maybe we'll ride bikes down to Woodinville and drink there. Or what about Rattlesnake Lake? Let's splash around after a good ole hike. I'm sick of thinking, I want to keep doing.

And yet, I really  miss the Dalyce who thought and articulated those thoughts. It sounds trite but I really, really need to learn to balance both sides.