FROM THE EDITORS “Real action is in silent moments.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson This quote has been kicking around my head for the past few months. I find myself scrawling it in the margins of my notebook; it is the feature of my computer’s desktop background; I trace the words absent-mindedly on napkins and post-its. I have chewed on it and worked it around pretty much since the moment we decided that this issue, our Sum-
mer issue and, technically, our 3rd season opener, was going to be all about Action. Because what the hell kind of vague, yet intensely meaningful kind of sentence is that, Mr. Emerson? What and where are the silent moments? And what is “real” action? Is there fake action? Have I been doing it wrong all this time?! Obviously, I’ve been mulling over this a lot. And the more I thought about it, the less annoyed with a long-dead poet I became, and the more I understood this as some of the best advice one could encounter. “Real action is in silent moments.” It is in the moments before a decision is made physically manifest. It is in the hours of mulling and turning over ideas and information. It is in the creating of ideas and opinions. Real action is the quiet, internal change that precipitates outward change and action. Real action is the seed of the idea that germinates into something tangible and larger than yourself. Real action is in the bravery to change and then make up your mind. This issue is all about the seeds of “real” action. The thoughts and ideas and motivations that make people act. The planning and preparation that goes into taking action and being active. Action takes many forms, serves many functions, but at its core, it is a change, a shift, it is something new and something exciting, it is movement forward. In these pages, our incredible contributors have challenged themselves to describe and explain this forward motion, through essays and stories and art and food. We hope that their work moves you to action, just like it has moved us. “Do you want to know who you are? Don’t ask. Act! Action with delineate and define you.” ~Witold Gombrowicz, Polish Novelist and Dramatist Here’s to the silent moments,
Ashleigh
ATOM EDITORIAL
Ashleigh R. Hill Brendan G. Nystedt Spencer J. Sands
CONTRIBUTORS Boki Vukajlovic Erin Fraboni Erin Brown Coby Zeifman Jenny Tighe Eli Sanchez
ON THE COVERS Garth Von Ahnen
FEATURED ARTIST Bray Panfilo
FEATURED PHOTOGRAPHER Urvi Nagrani
Additional ART Spencer J. Sands Brendan G. Nystedt Emma Nystedt Ulf Klose Free Photo Fun Š 2013 Atom Magazine
Punching Your Way to Better Health
Time to Hit the Trail Mix • Gazpacho
Prop 8 by Urvi Nagrani • Getting Out of Your Head by Erin Brown
Thanks, Max by Erin Fraboni • Trapped on Geoje Island by Coby Zeifman • Packing for Adventure by Jenny Tigh
Travel Light, Travel Far • Death Mix for a Daydreamer by Eli Sanchez
Featured Artist: Bray Panfilo • Poems by Boki Vukajlovic • Copernicus Pox in The Time Traveling Senator by Garth Von Ahnen
Punching Your Way to Better Health By Spencer Sands
L
ike all action heroes/ unofficial cage fighters/ awesome dudes, I like to work out. That’s not 100% true, but I do really like hitting a punch bag. All through college, I had a deck with sturdy rafters to hang a punching bag from, but these days I live in an incredible if not older home. It was fear of the house falling from the resulting jostling that prevented me from hanging my bag in my new space. With that I mind, I designed the punching bag stand you see on the page to the right. I was lucky enough to have welder access, and I realize that is not everyone’s situation. Really, this article is not about punching bag stands. Ok, it is, but it’s also about looking for unconventional solutions and making do with that materials that you have. I actually spent zero dollars on this build. It was completely constructed out of stuff my parents had laying around their house that I spirited away on a visit home. So even though I had a welder and scrap metal, this could totally work with wood, or maybe ABS pipe. I don’t know, use what you have, and be creative about it. I started with a simple concept: build a structure that could support 60 pounds of free hanging weight as well as the associated jostling that comes with repeated punches. I thought about a few different designs, but ultimately settled on the familiar “hang-man’s gallows” shape. Next came the ever fun game of trying to figure out just how big the whole thing would need to be. Using the ever-technical armlength as unit of measure approach, I roughed it out it. Next came a whole bunch of welding as I pieced together the super-structure. Here again, I want to emphasis, wood could totally have worked, use what you have availible. Once the base structure was constructed, I was compelled to reinforce and reweld the joints that I felt would be subject to the greatest amount of abuse. Once I was happy, I attached the bag to see how it worked. To my great surprise, it was totally front heavy and fell on me. Learning from my mistake, I added additional footings to help keep it stable and it still wasn’t enough. Ultimately, I took the additional weight of 5 60lbs bags of gravel to get it to stay put. I had a problem, and using my caveman brain, I was able to build a solution. It isn’t perfect and I live in fear of it falling and crushing me, but I gave it my all, learned some lessons, and next time, I’ll do even better. So please, get out there and try.
Time to Hit the Trail... Mix E
A Guide to an Adventurer’s Favorite Snack and Awful Puns By Spencer Sands
very good adventurer needs a snack every now and again. You have to keep your blood sugar up when you are adventuring. For sheer portability, it’s hard to argue with with trail-mix. Moreover, trail-mix comes in so many variations, there is bound to be something for everyone. Being the clever-lad that I am, I figured I could add a further level of customization to my trail-mix by doing the mixing on my own. Via the modern adventurer’s favorite dry-goods emporium, Trader Joe’s, I was able to acquire everything I needed though surely any good supermarket should suffice. Effectively, my thought process for this entire experiment was to choose items that would be compatible taste and texture wise as well as food stuffs that would last. Bellow are three example of variations on the trail-mix theme that I concocted, though I would stress that the only limitation to trail-mix is your imagination.
The Valley of Hearts Delight
A gentle breeze takes the edge of the oppressive late-summer heat. The rustling sound it creates in leaves of the apricot orchard helps to relieve the relative monotony of pruning the trees. Only four hours left till quitting time, and another four till the relief that comes from the setting sun. Reaching into your pocket, you find the trail-mix you packed earlier, and taking a bite, you’re instantly reminded why you love this valley. The salty tastes of the dried pistachios perfectly compliments the sweetness of the dried apricots and bing-cherries, while the crunch of the roast almonds plays beautifully off of the smoothness of the yogurt covered raisins. Wiping the sweat from your brow, you pick up your sheers and begin again, feeling utterly renewed by your snack.
Ronin Crunch
Standing motionless, afraid to move, your wait for the inevitable sound of your enemy falling to the ground. Seconds drag on into infinity, until the inevitable happens and you hear the thud of their body falling to the ground. With one fluid motion, your sword finds it sheath with a comforting and familiar click. He was a fool to have challenged you to a duel, and has thusly paid the ultimate price. As the rush of the adrenaline tappers off, you realize just how hungry you are, and that the closest inn is a two hour walk away. Thank goodness for the delicious snack you pieced together in the last village. The chewy, savory teriyaki jerk gives you the instant protein fix that your body craves, as the spicy bursts of the wasabi peas invigorates your sinuses. Crunchy almonds, peanuts, and soybean crackers stimulate both your tastebuds and your ears as you begin the long walk to town.
Tropical
“Another day in paradise,” you mutter to yourself. Though you’ve said it a thousand times before, this is the first time you’ve ever meant it completely free of irony. Between the crashing waves, the glint of the sunlight off of the tin-roofed beach hut, and the ice cold, bottled cola, you can’t tell what is making you happiest. Only one thing keeps you from achieving full-blown, tropical vacation nirvana is the slight rumbling of your stomach. Rummaging through your beach-bag you find the perfect solution! The crunchy coconut-chips and peanuts dance on your pallet as the chewy, sweet/sour combination of the dried mango and pineapple challenge your tastebuds and your jaw. And the banana chips, oh, the banana chips. So tasty, so much texture, such a treat. Life is rough sometimes...
GAZ PA CHO
By Brendan Nystedt
FUNNY WORD, DELICIOUS DISH.
G
azpacho. It might have the least appetizing name of any food, ever, in any culture. In reality, it’s a delicious dish that’s absolutely perfect for the summertime. Summer’s the last time you’d usually want soup, but since this is a chilled soup, it’s an excellent salve for the crushing heat of July or August. This recipe is adapted from my mother’s, one that I was raised on. And, if you’re into veggies or raw food, this recipe is 100% vegan and uncooked, too! Sweet.
A quick note on kitchen tools. You’re going to need at least a blender for this recipe. The texture desired isn’t that of a rustic, hand-chopped assortment of veggies. It’s a fine, confetti mix of all those tasty veggies. Trust me, it’s worth tracking down a blender or investing. You’ll need:
1 onion (chopped) 3 cloves garlic (minced) 2 stalks celery (sliced) 1 cucumber (peel, seed, and chop it up) 1 carrot (chopped) 3 tomatoes (peel, seed, and chop them up) 1 bell pepper (chopped) 4 cups water 1/2 cup red wine vinegar 1/2 cup lemon juice 2 teaspoons salt 1 teaspoon pepper 1 28 oz. can chopped/cubed plum tomatoes
In one bowl, combine the solids and in another, combine the liquids and the can of plum tomatoes. If you have a blender, pour 2 cups of the liquids and a few handfuls of the solids in, and blend them up. Repeat until you have processed the entire batch. I had a hand blender with a food processor attachment. I used that to chop up the veggies, added them to the liquid bowl and used a regular blade attachment to incorporate everything together. I like to crumble some feta cheese into my gazpacho. Other people like sour cream and my mom enjoys tiny shrimp in hers.
Prop 8
By Urvi Nagrani
Getting OUt of Your Head N
By Erin Brown
ormally when writing to incite action, it’s understood that the action will be on a grand scale. Change the future, change your government, change the world; but the kind of action I want to invite people to take after this article is action against themselves. More specifically, to take action against the voices in your head. Getting stuck in a rut and ignoring your own wants and needs can be a damaging habit to get into. A really good example of this is the fact that most people hate their jobs, but have no choice but to stay because they need the reliable paycheck. Another more extreme example would be living with depression, when doing something about how you feel is often the last thing you would feel capable of doing. Rationally, you may know that the only positive way to better the situation would be to stop doing what’s making you so miserable, or telling someone else that you’re hurting but that often seems impossible for what could be a variety of reasons. Recently I realized, after working at my job for 5 years, that I hated it and, although I was good at it, it was a terrible environment for me to be in. I was surprised that I had let myself go that long being miserable when it occurred to me that I had let putting my own personal well-being second to the necessity of the paycheck, which is a problem I’ve had most of my life. Not that I’ve had to work most of my life, but as a child I was bullied by classmates and as I grew up was in abusive relationships which led to having low self-esteem and eventually depression as a young adult. The longer the bullying went on, the more misplaced obligation I felt to them to accept the hurtful things they were saying as truth because it was the consensus. Everyone except for me seemed to accept the harmful things that they were saying to me and about me as truth so the only choice I felt left with was to believe them. It was the realization of that fact that led me to
make a change and, in theory, this is great! I knew now that it was important for me to move on and, once I found somewhere else that would make me happier, everything would be alright. The problem was that I needed the reliable paycheck that my current job earned me to pay rent, eat, and buy things at Savers, but work had gotten to the point where being inside the building made me feel trapped and helpless. Angry customers who I would normally be able to handle with ease were making me so upset that I would often go home crying. Even though looking for a new job seemed like an easy solution, it turned out to be much harder than I expected and it took months of my situation worsening before I was forced to actually get up off my lazy butt and do something about it. I had to take action. After filling out job applications for 2 weeks, getting called in and not getting called back, I finally got a new job that paid better, seemed less stressful and everything was starting to come together. Then, I did something that would have been unfathomable to the twenty year old version of me: stand up for myself and put my wants before the needs of others and the need of a paycheck. I turned in my keys (meaning quit for good) before my last two weeks were finished. I know that it was irresponsible and that I left my coworkers in the lurch, but the good that it did me to take action and stand up for what I needed for myself to be happy is worth all of that. I hope that they can forgive me for inconveniencing them that way, but at the same time because I was acting in my best interest I don’t feel too much like I need it. Through this experience I can attest to anyone who feels as though their situation cannot be bettered that all it takes is a little courage to take action and that no matter how seemingly small the change may be, doing something for yourself will always be a positive change.
Stranded on Geoje Island
I
거제 By Coby Zeifman
t had been a turbulent Friday night. I had been knocked down and almost punched by a friend that evening. A combination of some sorted words (on my part) and alcohol (on his) had created this situation and, needless to say, I was a bit on edge afterward. I wasn’t quite sure how to handle such a falling out with a friend, especially of such a chaotic manner. I didn’t know if making ungenuine amends was entirely worth it. I had been talking about getting out of town for quite some time and now the timing couldn’t seem more perfect.
ant beach outing.
I decided to go to Geoje Do (Island) with my friends Ryan and Candace from my building. It was early June and not quite yet a muggy and hot Korean summer so the beaches were not particularly crowded. We set up at Gujo Beach and placed our towels down over the cinnamon colored sand. The sky was slightly overcast but sun breaks were poking through enough to make for a pleas-
She then said , in English, “I’m actually North Korean.”
After getting my towel and bag situated, I changed into my swimsuit and went in for a dip into the clear blue ocean water. The water was cold, but after my body adjusted I began swimming away from shore. I soon noticed a Korean woman paddling her yellow kayak not to far from me. I swam over to her and said hello. She asked me in Korean where I was from. I responded back in Korean that I was from America.
A bit shocked, I replied, “You’re really North Korean?” She laughed and told me that she isn’t. She was maybe in her early to mid thirties. She said she learned to speak English from traveling.
“What’s your name?” I ask her.
“It’s a secret.”
거
She then says to me, in English, “I'm actually North Korean.” paddled to the rocky shore.
거제도 “What’s your name?” I asked her. “It’s a secret.”
Later she told me her name was Hyun Ji. At this point I was holding onto her kayak.
Looking off at the distant island about a kilometer away from shore she said to me, “I want to go there.” I had been curious about the island upon my arrival at the beach, and now I had a way to get there. My ears perked up and I, a little too nonchalantly, invited myself on her island embarkation. She said she was meeting her friend at the beach in 30 minutes and told me to meet her in that time.
Her friend arrived. We talk about going to the island for a bit. And then Hyun Ji and I got in the little rocky kayak and began paddling toward the island. Through wind, bobbing waves, and faltering balance I mentally continued to assure myself that we’d be fine. I should also mention Hyun Ji told me that she couldn’t swim and that jellyfish plague these waters. We’d be fine. We’d be fine. As I approached the island my heart swelled with the adventure of pursuing and discovering the unknown. We
“Ok get out. You are going to stay here. Wait here so I can pick up my friend to bring her to the island.” I paused. “You what me to stay here alone on the island while you bring your friend here?”
She noded and I agreed to the plan with some reluctance. It should also be mentioned at this time that I didn’t have a phone or even a shirt and was completely unable to effectively communicate with Ryan and Candace on the shore about to this recent development. But I walked on to the island’s shore and looked at the small forest on the tiny island. There was orange-brown clay leading up to the small forested area up the hill.
My heart was a bit aflutter with small anxiety as well as nervous excitement as I looked at my entirely new surroundings. I wandered around the island a bit, but never strayed far from shore.
I looked out as the yellow kayak grows smaller and smaller in the distance. I am reminded of Lord of the Flies and Apocalypse Now.
거제도 With the overcast sky, the forest looks dark and ominous and there was garbage littered across the large stones of the rocky shore. There was an abandoned office chair and discarded makgeoli bottles. I nervously drummed my fingertips on my sides. I toldmyself, this is a good exercise in trusting people. That it’s these moments, in which you put your blind faith in strangers, that are truly character-building. I continued to watch the opposite shore. The kayak has reached but it’s still on the shore. It hasn’t moved. I continued to wait. It’s been 20 minutes. 30 minutes. 40 minutes. I was stuck on the island. My friends didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t have shirt, let alone a phone. Thankfully I had shoes.
The kayak on the opposite shore began to move. But in the opposite direction. It seemed that Hyun Ji has changed her mind about coming back for me. I saw the kayak get dragged farther and farther away from the water up toward the parking lot area. She was not coming back.
I panic. I was not sure of what to do. Do I swim? I remembered the story Ryan had told me about how his friends once tried to swim a distance in the waters as Geoje, only to unluckily encounter dozens of stinging jellyfish which greatly hindered their swimming abilities due to pain and
limb numbness.
I was not sure I would be ok.
It’s at this time I noticed a small yellow-sailed sailboat approaching the island. The two people, a man and a woman, docked their boat at the nearby floating dock and kayaked over to the island. I quickly and over-enthusiastically went over to them and greeted them. They were a Dutch couple in wetsuits in their sixties. The man is named Peter and woman is named Marta. After talking with them and explaining my situation, I was grateful to be offered a sailboat ride back to shore. I lied down on the sailboat, relieved that this scare was all coming to an end. Peter, with his easy going Dutch temperament and graying beard, told me he has been sailing for 40 years. He was a shipbuilder on Geoje. Through my rescue, I marveled at my good fortune and couldn’t help but laugh at this situation I put myself in. My problems of Friday night seemed blurry and distant now and I smiled hopefully as we sailed our way back to shore.
도
H
eyo, I’m Jenny. Currently I’m in the middle of graduate school and about to leave for Peru to do some research. Before grad school I did the Peace Corps in Nicaragua and traveled around Central America a bit when I finished. My traveling experience is more of the cheap-hostel kind, especially when I studied abroad in Spain and traveled to different places in Europe. I don’t have much experience backpacking through National Parks or camping out, so my list of suggested goods is more based on traveling via buses to hostels. -Solid Backpack: from my experience, and what I’ve heard from friends, is that you should really be like Goldilocks on this- make sure your bag is not too big and not too small for what you’re doing. I am super spoiled because a good friend gave me a Kelty backpack she wasn’t using, so I didn’t have to hunt one down. I’m not a slave to the brand, so really just make sure the size is right for whatever trip you’re doing. -Swiss Army Knife/Leatherman: May be a cliché, but it’s definitely necessary and comes in handy. Helpful whether you are roughing it out in the wild or just need something
to cut the fancy cheese you have in your hostel in Paris. You don’t want to rely on going out to eat, so these babies make creating your own meals easier -Toilet Paper: TP isn’t something you necessarily need to bring with you from the States, but it is definitely something you should have on you at all times when traveling. Whether you are squatting in the woods, using someone’s latrine, or simply stopping at a gas station, you own stash of TP will be your saving grace. - Yoga mat: I am not a big yogi, but I’ve found yoga mats to be really great to have. If you’re going on just a short trip, this may not be worth carrying. Other countries often don’t have carpeting or cushioned floors, so a yoga mat makes working out on hard surfaces a possibility. -Something in which to write down your thoughts: I have never been much of a journal-writer, but just having a designated place to write down what you did will help remember it for the future. Plus, you’ll want to remember specific names of hostels, tour groups, sites, and other kinds of places so you can recommend them to others or re-visit them when you’re done. -Swim suit: when I was in Nicaragua, my friend Cassie brought a swimsuit with her everywhere because you never know when the opportunity to go swimming will present itself. This doesn’t exactly work if you are backpacking through Europe in the winter, but if you are traveling in warm weather, a swim suit should be in your bag/purse/ fannypack at all times. Don’t want to miss out on some awesome bridge jumping because you forgot your suit! (alternative: just be okay with getting your clothes soaking wet. That works too. Birthday suits can also be used, but only when in a culturally acceptable setting.)
Packing For Adventure
By Jenny Tighe
Thanks, Max
By Erin Fraboni
S
ometime around the end of July is when the sheet music would come in. My mom would come home from the symphony office, a thick orange envelope in hand. “I swung by the office and picked up your music for you, Erin.”
That was the cue to summer’s end. My instrument, which had been lying untouched in its case since the last concert in June, would once again be lifted from its velvety bed; the wood would be brushed off of any dust and my bow would be rosined up in preparation for the annual intense two-week practice sessions that preceded music camp. I hardly glanced out the window that entire forty-minute car ride up into the forest, deep within the Santa Cruz Mountains. Instead, I buried my face in my music, hurriedly studying and reviewing the difficult parts, scribbling notes and fingerings between dynamics and along the margins. Before I knew it, I found myself walking toward my cabin holding nothing but a small duffel bag and my violin as my mom’s black suburban pulled out of the dirt parking lot and back on its way to civilization. There was nothing motivating about playing the violin. All of my friends played sports, not instruments. It was only the other not-so-enticing electives that my high school offered that kept me in orchestra. The passionate, aspiring professional violinist of my twelve-year-old self had disappeared, and now all that remained was a much less enthusiastic fifteen-year-old mind, which seemed to abandon most appreciation for the arts. As I walked up the dirt road to my cabin, I expected to get nothing more out of this year’s music camp than a few new learned phrases of Korean. Day one consisted of breakfast, rehearsal, lunch, sectional, dinner, and more rehearsal. Even sleeping didn’t provide much of a break. Dreams were just a similar rendition of the tempos, dynamics, and melodies rehearsed earlier in the day. Day two wasn’t much different, only that the sectional was replaced with a master class. This was somewhat of a break, considering it required less active participation on my part, but still nothing I became overly excited about. In master class, one of our especially confident peers would play a movement of a concerto and be critiqued and pointed out of flaws, which would then be forced into correction by the guest teacher, while the rest of the orchestra watched. I trailed behind my fellow musicians into the rehearsal room where we sat in clusters, making sure to obtain a spot next to our friends, far away enough to stretch out our legs, close enough to whisper back and forth. At the front of the room stood the brave student, the teacher, Max, at his side. Max was easy on the eyes. His slim frame was neatly and fashionably dressed, as if he had walked straight here from the streets of Milan. Max’s foggy blue eyes stood out beneath his dark chocolate hair, which was styled in coiffed waves. He oozed grace and sophistication, through his appearance, through his movements, and through his voice, a foreign accent delivered in intimate, soft breaths. The student played through his piece, while Max watched and listened, his face expressive of mental note taking. Once the student finished, Max began a performance of his own, of lecture and critique. He chose passages from the piece, explaining what was missing, what should be added, and what should be changed. Then he followed with an exemplification by playing it himself. It was incredible watching his words come to life, proving his advice. Max did this for a series of passages and lines. The simple bow movements or dynamic
changes he suggested seemed to alter the deliverance of the piece completely. It was teaching at its finest. I was overwhelmed. His words brought everything together. All that Max uttered seemed to surface from some unwritten violinist’s manual. It was as if he was sharing unspoken words, secrets, tricks, everything that separated the students from the professionals. At one point during the lecture, that suave accent of his shared, “You must play the piece as if it is your own. Now,” he said, pointing to the music, “play this part here again. But play it pretending you wrote it.” The student obeyed, playing the passage once again, this time emotion visible across his face and in his body movements. He seemed lost in the music, caressing each note and giving the lines musical phrasing his fingers had unknowingly retained. Max stood in the background, smiling and nodding as he watched his advice come to life. Despite the class’ ending, Max’s effortless playing, passion, and knowledge resonated with me throughout the rest of camp. He became a sort of celebrity to me. I idolized him and crushed on him. In my cabin, I practiced harder than I ever had, continuing to hear those words of his. “Play it pretending you wrote it.” And I did. I strived for that same passion that shone through the student’s and Max’s playing. Whether it was a girlish crush or a professional admiration attracted me to Max, it was undeniable that his presence had completely altered my feelings towards violin and music altogether. To my unexpected disappointment, I was sad to see that short week of music camp come to an end. This slight depression stemmed from a fear. I was aware of the drastic change that had overcome me over the past few days, and I was afraid of returning to my unmotivated self that had entered music camp. I feared losing that newly acquired passion. After that last wave goodbye to Max, my violin went everywhere I went. A few weeks prior, what had tragically been left behind while swimming and tanning took first priority, now never went more than a few hours without being stroked or plucked or tuned or any other reason I could create which would get my beloved violin out of its case and into my hands.
TRAVEL LIGHT, TRAVEL FAR My thoughts on what to pack, how to think about packing and other stuff... By Brendan Nystedt I’m a big proponent of carrying as little as possible on you at any given time. Well, at least carrying the smallest possible bag. By limiting yourself to a small bag, you’ll hopefully trick yourself into paring down what you’ll really need—something that can be difficult to do when packing for a trip. If you find yourself bringing a bunch of stuff around with you that you don’t need, here are some tips on how to deal with making the most of the least amount of stuff. But, first, why would you want to pack lightly? Well, I find that I get tired way, way faster when I make myself into a pack mule. The point of traveling should be to have as much fun as possible, and it’s hard for me to have a carefree trip when I’m having to manage a bunch of crap. The Boy Scouts teach the maxim “Be Prepared” to their kids, and it’s a good thing to keep in mind. But, you should also take that with a grain of salt. How can you prepare for the unexpected when it’s...unexpected? So, here are some essentials. This is stuff that should take priority over everything else, pretty much wherever you go. Keep reading for my further thoughts on my own travel system.
•Sunscreen •Paper documentation of your plans (plane tickets, hotel reservations, addresses and maps) •Citizenship documentation (passport, IDs, health insurance) •Local currency •Toothbrush and toothpaste •A small first aid kit (preferably with some kind of pain killer, an over-thecounter allergy medication and some anti-diarrheal medicine) •Sunglasses •A camera •A notebook and a pen •Tampons/pads (if you’re a lady) •Medication People tend to want to bring a bunch of other stuff with them. I rarely ever travel with shampoo or soap, because they can spill in your bag and I don’t want to have to take them out for the TSA to inspect. It just adds complexity and, y’know what, there are drug stores everywhere. If you’re in a hotel, you can survive on what they provide. And I acknowledge that it’s trendy right now, but don’t bring a water bottle with you. If you know the water that you’re going to drink at your destination will be safe, buy a bottle of water and refill it. An empty bottle of water in your luggage will just take up more room. Finally, there’s the wardrobe question. If you know you’ll need fancy clothing, bring it. But, otherwise, take as little as possible. In your planning, find out where there might be a laundry facility and plan to do laundry in order to cut down on the amount of clothes you have to schlep.
My own system usually involves as many as three differently sized bags. The use of a small shoulder bag makes a day trip easy because if you can fit the above essentials into it, you’ll be able to survive without a bigger bag. A big duffel bag or a rolling suitcase can hold clothes and souvenirs. This bag can be stored somewhere like a train station locker or at a friend’s house if you’re making multiple legs of a journey to different destinations. Finally, a decent-sized backpack can be used to hold some clothes for a possible overnight trip, and it’s an essential for the airplane as a carry-on. In that bag is where you can hold some books, snacks, and other amusements to help the time pass more comfortably. Another tip is to leave the computer at home. Even tablets can be a little bulky to carry around. The last time I travelled away from the US for a long period of time, I brought an older iPhone to use to stay in touch. I used it on Wifi so I wouldn’t have to pay for any service, and I was able to manage to write emails, tweet and stay in touch occasionally. Part of the fun of traveling for me is to not feel so obligated to stay in touch with everyone at all times, so the smaller screen of a phone didn’t bug me in the least. Plus, because it wasn’t my normal phone, my phone I was going to need when I was back home in the States wasn’t in any danger of being stolen or broken. Finally, one note on philosophy. It’s funny that we travel to other countries in order to experience a new setting, only to surround ourselves with a bunch of crap that we had to schlep from home. The less you can manage to bring with you, the more you can fully enjoy the immersion of living in another place for a little bit. Also, if you carry less things with you, you’ll ultimately strain your body less carrying all that stuff, and you’ll worry less about potentially leaving something behind. Travel is supposed to be liberating!
Pack lightly and enjoy.
DEATH MIX FOR
I
t goes without saying that each of us at one time or another have fantasized about what our funeral would be like. Would it be sad? Joyous? Mixed emotions? Would we want something awesome out of something we won’t be attending?
People as a whole tend to worry about the uncontrollable. The religious like to prepare for the afterlife, or if they’re political, like to control the flock’s thought processes. Hedonists tend to live in the now and don’t get caught up too much in what the end of their lives bring. They have a tendency to burn out from excessiveness as opposed to the other side of that by stressing out too much and missing the point.
So if one is truly supposed to have a memorial that is a celebration of life, you truly are preparing and planning for it from the beginning, but sadly, many people fall into that all too familiar habit of celebrating a life of what we think they would’ve liked, not what we know they would’ve liked. I bring this up now because my father passed away ten years ago this November and I never did anything even remotely close to a memorial. My father had alienated most of the people in his life and was estranged from his family, except for me. He always kept me around for whatever reason. He didn’t suffer fools well, but for some part of him, he must’ve felt I wasn’t foolish. I do recall several conversations with him regarding how he would’ve liked to celebrate his afterlife. Some of it was vindictive towards
A DAYDREAMER By Eli Sanchez
others, such as having body wheeled up to the doorstep of a relative with a bill sent COD. Other thoughts he had were hiring a taxidermist so he could be stuffed and mounted as a hat rack at a former friend’s house. He also mockingly wondered if when he died did the mortuary charge by the pound. Given that he was seriously overweight, though not really funny, the way he asked it was funny. As it turned out, when the crematory came to retrieve his body from the hospital, they had to bring two extra people to load his body into the Hearse and there was an extra $150 up-charge. This of course was a bit of irony not lost on me, and one in which in the midst of my deep sadness for having lost my father, while being told this over the phone from the crematory, had to cover the receiver so I could laugh out loud. Needless to say, my father died alone as he had more or less been alone up until that point. He was a bit of a hermit and as befitting a hermit, had a quiet, non-existent memorial in which nobody came. There have been moments of hilarity carrying around his ashes: the cat curling up to his urn rear end first. I also accidentally left his urn on the kitchen counter of my Aunt and Uncle’s much to the chagrin of a cousin of mine. For many years I carried around my father’s urn in trunk of the car because I had moved around a few times and had neglected to take him inside. The irony doesn’t end there because my uncle, my dad’s brother, carried around his father’s ashes in the trunk of his
car for several years. It was noted repeatedly that their father traveled more in death than he did in life. They drove several times to Colorado to visit their daughter whereas my grandfather rarely left the state, let alone the bay area. I wasn’t that depraved, I took him only in and around the Bay Area. My concern is that I would get rear ended by another car and his remains would get scattered all over some wary Camry driver. In fact, he probably would’ve appreciated that. So, I’ve gotten around to asking people what kind of music they would like played at their funeral. Most everyone of my parent’s generation or later all agreed they’d like rock music. Many of the funerals I’ve attended over the last few years have been more reverential and contain some level of spiritual hymns or classical music and very little on the side of reverential. Thankfully, nobody picked something wholly inappropriate music. It’s been tasteful, but eclectic. This brings me to my point. We all get to a point in our existence in which we ask ourselves, “will they miss us when we’re gone?” It’s often let me think about how I would do it if I could plan my own funeral. If I knew I was about to die, I don’t think I’d want one of those funerals where I was still alive but having a big party, at least I don’t think I’d want one that was sad. Ultimately, I think I’d like something like this: I’d like a live band. I’d like a DJ playing all of my favorite music. In this age of digital music and people not blasting their music indoors much anymore, it is important that you make your own proverbial mix tape. In fact, if iTunes doesn’t pick up on this concept soon, they’re going to lose a gold mine of an opportunity. Like Genius Playlists, you can periodically send music to your “death mix” over the years so that you know you’ve covered the whole pantheon of emotion. Nothing would be left out. There wouldn’t be regrets by your loved ones. In fact, Apple could come up with something called Ideath in which when your body expires, your Iphone immediately sends a an invite to all of your friends on Facebook and sends them a digital download of your “Death Mix” for a reasonable price. In fact, eventually your Iphone will also alert the Mortuary that you’ve now paid for with your exhorbitant Apple Care Plus Minus Package that celebrates both your life and death. I movie takes all your photos and sets it to the soundtrack of your life, and you have immediate grab bag giveaways at the service. I do think that this was more of an amusing way to handle one’s death. I’ve often joked that I’d like to be served open casket as a buffet with all of my favorite meals in my body cavity, but that may have been a bit too morbid. My mother still requests that her family honors her with Stars and Stripes Forever played on Kazoo. I don’t what the rest of my life has in store for me, but I do know one thing as I find my fortieth birthday approaching. It’ll be one heck of a last party.
Featured Artist:
Bray Panfilo
See more of Bray’s art on facebook. com/BryPanfilo and follow him on Instagram @bry_panfilo
Poems III
V
I won’t It’s no fun. Catch me When I’m done.
Swanky brick tote Eclipsing lacquer foundation Bed of nails dark eye shadow Art deco feel modern tropes Crimson fashion Waning passion Pineapple flavor Plutonium savior Zirconium embed misty petals Coaxial stretch alligator sandals Exfoliant relaxant
Stimulant tan High end gym Low cut trim Club catatonic Muscle ebonic Vodka pour salad Confetti cigar Laptop book on tape Carbon cast model parts Kimono Sundays Friday fundays Hi attention Lo pretension
By Boki Vukajlovic
IV
It is said it cannot be that mountains can be moved. Mind must accept that ‘failed’ is not a fad. Nature dictates the tectonic plates to shift the ground. One gap is filled, a passage opened elsewhere.
VI
Krispy Kringle Krescent Katch Kounted Kowboy Kows Kooling Klaptrap Klear Kerosene Kar