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A man is always a story-teller; he lives surrounded by his own stories as well as those of others. Through them he sees everything that happens to him; and he tries to live his life as if he were fictionalizing it. --from NAUSEA, by Jean-Paul Sartre Time to wrap it all up. And what a sojourn it's been. I took time off to figure a lot of things out. Sometimes you have to do that in life. Put everything on pause. Cambodia seemed as good a place as any and I've definitely learned a lot from the experience. This is the first time in years and years I've been away from students for so long. Writing Wanderlusting has helped me find a new way of communicating with you yes, but with myself as well. I'm usually loathe to tell anything personal about myself, yet as I wrote Wanderlusting, I found myself talking more about my past and experiences then in all the years I've been teaching put together. As I talked about the things that are important to me: political activism, social justice, teaching, art and love, it helped me examine my life in total and try to reconfigure things. Often times this year i felt like a senior who just graduated high school...what now? Sometimes when you wander (sans lust) you don't know where you are going to end up and the journey and destination is a wonderful mystery. (Throw the "lust" in and God knows where you'll end up!) I have never written autobiographically in any of my writing or scripts--only thematically autobiographically. "Trust the art and not the artist," Pablo Picasso once advised. With Wanderlusting I have started to reshape and reform the world around me. Right now, my Dad is asleep up in the hotel room in Dalat, Vietnam. He shocked me by wanting to come over and visit me. Maybe because he's getting old and might never make a big trip again, he wanted the experience of traveling how I travel and see the world through my eyes. No tour buses or fancy hotels. Everything at ground level with people, smells, food, life smacking you in the face. When I picked him up in a tuk tuk at Phnom Penh International, I almost couldn't believe I was seeing my father in Cambodia. One thing I realize is that I never really talk about what happens to me when I travel and the nitty gritty of my adventures. I almost always say, "Yeah, it was a good trip." "Did some cool things." "Yeah it was pretty fun." I don't know why...maybe because some of the experiences are so personal that it is hard to communicate what these events have meant to me and my inarticulateness would sabotage my memory. It's better to say, "I wish you could have been there" and leave it at that. In my Philosophy class I always tell the students you can ask me any question on the last day of class and I'll try to respond to it honestly. I do enjoy explaining why I believe (or not) the things I do (or don't). That's fun. Our lives are defined by what we have experienced and how we processed those events. That's why EVERY SINGLE PERSON experiences/processes differently and one of the hardest things in the world to keep in mind is you have to give everyone else the same slack that you expect. Difficult. Very very difficult. I've tried to ponder over the milestones that I've lived through. In my Philosophy class at the end the students write the 50 things they will miss when they die. I have a lot of memories that now I've had the time to process. Some are: Being head-over-heels giddy flying in a four-seat plane over the ga-ga Plain of Nazca in Peru looking at those amazing, humongous five hundred year old drawings in the sun-baked clay. How the fuck did they do that?!?! Seeing thousands of Wilderbeasts up close stampeding through the wide-open Masai Mara in Tanzania. Exploring the favelas (slums) of Rio de Jenairo all day and then going samba dancing at a Copacabana club all night. After dragging myself through three showerless days running around Cairo and the Gaza pyramids, finally getting to the old city of Jerusalem in Israel to happily spray off the layered, caked-on dust of antiquity in a real shower. Hiking for three days in through China's Leaping Tiger Gorge looking down at the spectacular valley below and surrounded by snow-capped mountains. Being on the beach under a full moon in Nicaragua, watching thousands upon thousands of sea turtle hatchlings poke their head up through the sand all around, before beginning their mad scamper for survival to the ocean. Bike riding almost 700 miles when I was 15 with my friend from DC, seeing Niagara Falls for the first time, and then not being allowed in to Canada because the border patrol thought we were too young. My friend cursed out the lady and that ASSURED us of being banned from Canada for life. Having my senses and eyes dazzled in the phenomenal Ttsukiji Fish Market in Japan where tens of thousands of crazy, exotic and mammoth fish are bought and sold at auction each day. Running through Eastern Europe one year after the Berlin Wall came down and ending up in Prague blown away by its Kafka haunted austerity...at the time, they only served Pilsner Urquel beer and potato dumplings. One was good. Riding on the deck of a gigantic ferry from Italy to Greece for 14 long hour, but finishing two French novels, MADAME BOVARY and NAUSEA, that still "teach" me today. Talking to and shaking world renowned anthropologist Louis S. B. Leakey's hand when I was eight (i thought i'd be a paleontologist or an anthropologist like every boy). Freezing in March in Istanbul, but still compelled to go out into the night to look at the Blue Mosque as it blared its powerful Call to Prayer. Getting up at 4 am to ride a horse to the side of the volcano Mt. Bromo in Java before climbing it to watch the sunrise from its summit. Definitely worth the hassle. Celebrating my 21st birthday in Paris at Sacré Coeur church with my heart filled with love for someone. Being told by the House Mother of the University of Washington's chapter of the Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority (where I worked for a semester) that she didn't think I "had Kappa spirit" before firing me. She was right. Making tortellini from scratch with director Francis Ford Coppola (director of THE GODFATHER films and APOCALYPSE NOW) and his wife at his home in Napa the night of the Academy Awards and then winning the Oscar pool and a $500 bottle of Coppola wine. Spending two nights in jail in Rhode Island. Having the entire ancient city of Pompeii to myself one November night and running through all the lava-encrusted rooms laughing how crazy it was that I was here with no one else. Mulling with a seal on the rocks of an island in the Galapagos about nature, evolution and destiny. Interviewing the Ramones a few times (the single most world-wide, beloved, band of all-time). Traveling through the slums of Soweto before ending up at Nelson Mandella's house. Interviewing the great Beat author (and friend of Kerouac and Allen Ginsburg), heroin junkie, "murderer", philosopher William S. Burroughs. Laughing hysterically seeing Mt. Rushmore for the first time. I swear. You will too. Seeing Nicole Kidman naked before Tom Cruise (she was in an off-Broadway play where she appeared in the buff). Found myself riding in the back seat of a limo next to Senator Ted Kennedy. Caught in a subway car during a New York City blackout and had to walk through the dark, dank tunnel and climb out to the surface. Good horror film stuff. Drove Ray Bradbury, the greatest living science fiction writer, home in my car. Had him sign my dash board of my Ford to prove he was in it. Swam naked at the nude beach in Hawaii and then participated in the crazy, bare-ass hippie drum circle at sunset. Getting front row seats to a Rolling Stones concert. True satisfaction. Watched the Millennium get rung in at Sydney Harbor with mad fireworks blazing over the breathtaking Opera House. Met a dear teacher friend in London on a coincidental ten-hour flight lay-over and hit up as many art galleries as we could (See William Blake's paintings first!!!) and then gorged ourselves in the Indian district on the best curry I have ever had. Had to go to Monte Carlo for six weeks on a movie writing assignment but finally got bored of all the gourmet French food and ten thousand topless babes that I came home a week early to teach at Carson. THAT'S how much I wanted to be with you! Had no idea how to ski, but my friends in ninth grade took me to the top of Stowe Mountain in Vermont (the highest slope on the east coast) and by the time I got to the bottom (three hours later) I skied like a pro. Hitchhiked a thousand miles from Wisconsin to Montreal enduring one of the loneliest nights of my life on a barren Quebec highway waiting for a ride. Wandering repulsed, but fascinated, through the Auschwitz concentration camp outside Krakow, Poland but all the time realizing that if my Grandfather was there with me, he'd be anything but "fascinated". Spent a glorious Dia de los Muertos in a dusty town in inner Mexico where the zocalo was alive with a parade of skeletons and the cemeteries alive with flowers, tequila and loving, dedicated families. Interviewed Sting (never liked the pompous bloke). When I return to Virginia, if I see my old high school Journalism teacher, she STILL gives me shit. Also happy to still be in contact and dine with two favorite professors, one from undergrad and one from grad school. Still learning from my former teacher dudes. Hiked the Inca Trail and the four day exhaustion fest finally paid off with sunrise at Machu Picchu. Made it to all 50 states (Guam and Puerto Rico too!). Played in a college punk rock band called, um, Food Scrotum. Yep. I'm sure you have all our big hits on your iPod. Took a Carson group to New York a month and a half after 9/11 to the still smoldering rubble of the World Trade Towers. One of the most powerful group moments I've ever been a part of. Drove cross the United States almost 20 times. Interviewed Bruce Springsteen. Enchanted by the dazzling Night Market in Zanzibar where street vendors grilled any animal in God's creation on their bar-b-que. Camped for two weeks all throughout Alaska (the most gorgeous state of all by far!!!!) and ate the best salmon in my life. Was trying my hand at directing at 16-years-old and wanted to film the exciting climax at The Lincoln Memorial in D.C. Had fake guns storming the place, but the Secret Service didn't think it was funny. We were taken in our own separate screaming police cars through red lights to SS headquarters for interrogation. The bastards confiscated my film! A brilliant masterpiece forever lost to the fascist forces! Hung out on a stunning Thai island watching lots of westerners get incredibly f'd up...i didn't partake in that one. I did like the ocean and the food. Got to teach a class to excited, confounded Muslim school children in rural Indonesia. They didn't know what hit them. Watched Barack Obama with a completely enraptured audience give his thrilling 2004 address at the Democratic Convention in Boston (that speech launched him on his presidential bid). P.S. Was in the bathroom and in the next urinal over from me was Jerry Springer. I refrained from looking down and saying, "Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!" I'm sure he gets that all the time. Leaping 15,000 feet out an airplane and giggling my fool head off hurtling to earth, mesmerized by the stunning New Zealand landscape coming up to quickly greet me. Both a profound Buddhist (the world and you are indeed actually one) and Physical experience (a body will fall at the rate of 32 feet per second per second). After viewing the magnificent glory that is the Taj Mahal, having to step over hundreds of homeless beggars to get to the train station. Winding my way through a mile long protest march in Lisbon, Portugal where everyone was demanding the head of George Bush. Didn't want to tell anyone I was American. Going through block after block, mile after mile, of utter hopeless devastation in New Orleans three weeks after Hurricane Katrina, but returning to participate in their Mardi Gras to show support for the most unique, fascinating city in America. Was very moved by a Hindu cremation ceremony in Bali. Being "attacked" by a band of wild prostitutes in a bar in Nairobi, Kenya; funny at first but also realizing how incredibly sad their situation was and what they had to do to feed themselves and their children. When I was very young, going to the Congressional House Judiciary hearings on the Impeachment of Richard Nixon and later as an adult sitting in the Senate Gallery as they argued the impeachment of Bill Clinton. Staring at "Guernica", Picasso's masterpiece, for an hour in Madrid. Under the Milky Way, feeling lonely and isolated after riding a camel into the Sahara Desert and getting lost that night gazing over the vast sand dunes that stretched for an eternity. Watching a full on, dramatic, glorious, definitely crazy, Catholic Easter Holy Week procession in Seville, Spain. My parents taking me to the Moratorium Day March on Washington, D.C. to stop the Vietnam War where I, so young, was swallowed by almost a million protesters. Hitchhiking a ride with a willing helicopter pilot. After buying some extraordinary, highly expressionistic, amazingly detailed and alive Voodoo Flags (and many other electrifying handiworks) on the island of Haiti for about $200, I was swarmed by a hungry and desperate mob who would rather eat than talk art appreciation. I was very lucky to get out of there unscathed except for my conscience. Taking my high school students from the Bronx AND LA to the Museum of Modern Art in New York, perhaps my favorite museum ever. Jumping off 30 feet high cliffs into a river. Happy when I came to the surface. Spending the day on the Great Wall of China and then going to a Beijing nightclub to see Easterners and Westerners hook up. One frigid February day venturing onto the frozen Potomac River with my skateboard and wind/skatesurfing down it for miles and miles using myself as a sail. Watching a Mama Gorilla give birth at the National Zoo at 3am. Started an underground newspaper at my high school...got kicked out for it...and got the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) to take the case on First Amendment Constitution grounds. We won. Leibner v. Sharbaugh and the Arlington County School Board. You now have the right to have your own paper on a public high school campus with a few caveats... Playing on moving railroad cars in Pennsylvania grabbing onto them and riding them before jumping off. Hung out, drank and talked philosophy late into the night with my ex-students in New York, Boston, Berlin and South Africa. Watched a volcano erupt on Isla de Ometepe, Nicaragua. All the books, the movies, the theater, the dance, the paintings, the music, the food. Art. Art. Art. Ad nauseum. Talking and sharing with you. All these memories tend to blur together in the brain like a cuisinart set on high. And then throw in that blender all the REALLY personal stuff...the loves, the losses, the loves...you have made yourself quite a Recollection Smoothie. Almost too much for one brain to handle and make sense of. But sweeties, I am really trying hard to do so. Make it all fit. And learn. As the other half of that Philosophy class assignment, you are to write down 50 things you wish to accomplish in your life. I still have so many. Talk to me in Ten Years. Here is what I DEFINITELY WILL DO by then! Hold me to it! See the Northern Lights. Visit Russia, the Philippines and Samoa. Vote for a Presidential Candidate who wins. Buy me a stunningly beautiful house and fill it with all my art. (Come over some time!) Learn how to ride a motorcycle (yeeeesh. i think we ALL better learn how to ride a motorcycle!). Direct a film from my own screenplay. Get to Antarctica and have some time by myself to think. Learn Spanish (finally!). And who knows...maybe even have a kid. Go figure. (Perhaps I can adopt one of you as a "starter project" since you can't mess up too badly with a 16 or 17-year-old!). Looking back over everything, I recall Philip K. Dick's DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC SHEEP, the first book you read when you enter your junior year. What is most powerful to me about the book is that it makes you question what exactly it means to be human...you rarely think about that in day-to--day life. The most chilling scene is where the replicant Kris pulls the legs off a living spider trying to get a rise out of her human friend. Some people rave about the film version, BLADE RUNNER. I think the book is a million times better because of its complexity, but one sequence in the film haunts me. After killing every other android, Rick Deckard watches his final assassination assignment Batty die: EXT. THE SECOND ROOF (LATER) Deckard is looking at Batty. Batty is partly crumpled, frozen in an unnatural posi- tion as though he had been writhing and stopped mid- writhe. He looks back at Deckard with eyes full of life and intensity. They stare at each other for a long time in silence, communicating something with their eyes... without expression. Finally Batty breaks the silence. BATTY I've seen things... (long pause) seen things you little people wouldn't believe... Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion bright as magnesium... I rode on the back decks of a blinker and watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tanhauser Gate. (pause) all those moments... they'll be gone. Batty holds Deckard's eyes like a hypnotist. CUT TO: EXT. THE SECOND ROOF (A LITTLE LATER) Batty is crumpled in a different position. It's light- er now and Batty's eyes are staring into infinity... almost lifelessly. A pigeon flutters down and perches on his shoulder. Batty doesn't stir. Deckard is watching motionless. The pigeon flies off. Batty doesn't move. Alive or dead? CUT TO: EXT. THE SECOND ROOF - DAWN A more distant perspective. Deckard is a small figure looking down at the dead body of Batty. DECKARD (V.O.) I watched him die all night. It was a long, slow thing and he fought it all the way. He never whimpered and he never quit. He took all the time he had... as though he loved life very much... every second of it... even the pain. Then he was dead. Rick Deckard realizes that this android, filled with millions of extraordinary experiences that has shaped who he is, helplessly and heartbreakingly slip into oblivion. We have such a pitifully short time on this planet so it DOES matter what we do with our time, our energy, our hearts. Yes, all those memories and experiences will be forever lost. The Welsh poet Dylan Thomas, ends his most famous poem like this: Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. So my darlings, LIVE BIG! But more importantly, live the life that provides YOU the most JOY! That comes in different shapes and forms for all of us. I am going to take a break from Wanderlusting for a while. You can always leave a message here or just write me at leibdawg@hotmail.com if you wanna say hi. Tomorrow I'm going to walk with my Dad around this beautiful French colonial city in the Vietnamese hills. We'll drink some of the best coffee in the world (eat-shit-and-die Starbucks!) and really REALLY reflect on how grateful I am to my family, my friends, my fellow teachers at Carson...and you. In the very first Wanderlusting Blurty i said this isn't goodbye; it's a see ya later. I'd really REALLY like that. Maybe someday in the not-too-distant-future, I'll see you in an Athens cafe, a Chicago race track, an Argentinian rain forest, a hostel in Singapore, a Thai restaurant in Iceland....I hope so. Until then, play safe but play.            Post a comment in response: |
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