Modok and I have been fighting about voting for decades. Before the 1988 presidential elections his compelling arguments convinced me not to vote. After the 1992 presidential elections, we had the following conversation in my little flat on the Ferdinand Bolstraat:
Modok: Congratulations you voted for a winner!
Me: Very funny.
Modok: No seriously you voted for Clinton and he won.
Me: Modok, I was here in Am*dam and did not do an absentee thing. You convinced me last cycle it was the wrong thing to do.
Modok: Yeah, things have gotten so bad, I forged your signature and voted for you in San Francisco.
At which he and I both broke up laughing.
It’s late, we are in Rome. Just going to throw up some of my favorite pics from the trip so far.
Bochie decided to call April “Not Here” because i am so often gone from the community these days.
As regular readers know, when i was in the Czech Republic i borrowed Erik Pipers cultural adaptation and started naming months things other than June and October. Polyglot Erik was encouraged because the Slavs themselves have their own wild inspired month names.
But “Not Here” is strangely appropriate month name for me as well, because with unusually high probability i dont know where be in 7 days time. I might be Am*dam, i might be Louisville and i might be someplace completely else.
Sara and i are trying to do the right thing in terms of our time together. There are many factors at play, including the cost of the trip to Europe. I am betting that my old college roommate Jay Walker will bail me out with his PriceLine.com cheap last minute tickets, should we decide to go.
We had originally talked about touring US Occupy sites, which still holds some excitement for me. We wanted to go to the Possibility Alliance (a dark green eco-village), which we tried to get to a couple years back and the truck we were in broke down, so it feels like an adventure incomplete.
The comic observation in the dynamic logistical world i inhabit is “there is no Plan A”.
Casa Robino is closing its doors. This is heartbreaking and surprising for me, despite the fact that no reasonable person could suspect this type of anti-gravity project would go on indefinitely. It was an area i was not willing to be reasonable in. Casa was some of the best we could be: wildly dynamic, anarchist self reliance in its fluffiest funnest form, exotic interesting people always coming thru. The doors were open.
Our doors are open to people who figure out what the keys look like. Usually, you have to come thru the email front door – by arranging either the “3 hour tour” on Saturday [queue Gilligan’s Island] or our three week visitor program. In other words, we don’t accept “drop ins”. So when these two charming, but ill timed, Dutch gals showed up at Emerald City – Hawina turned to Puck and said “Should we call the ‘drop in’ manager?”
Which of course is me. I come up and they are apologetic about not telling us they are coming. i was supposed to oil and bevel stretchers – but i decide to take time off and play with these new fun people. I take them for a tour, we even zip over to Rob Jones for a quick hot tub. And i arrange for them to go to Acorn. Because my commune is not comfortable with drop ins, if the drop ins are wonderful enough not to be ejected out of hand (which some are), then i try to place them at other places. This time it was Acorn.
I went over to Acorn and Aukje and Erika had blended right in. They had worked, they had played, they had made friends, there was definitely some flirting going on – it was sweet. And i wished my home could be more welcoming to strangers. And i totally understand why many Oakers are not happy with that idea. Or at least may enough so the culture does not change.
Of course the different communities hospitality cultures determine what number of little known people you have in your midst. At Casa Robino, if you just knew that the place existed, you could stay, often for a long time and “pay” nothing, tho almost everyone volunteered for something. It was doing it’s part to support the idea of digital nomadism. Similarly, at Little Flower an open door policy has been critical to their evolution.
One of my favorite stories is about what happened to Little Flower after 9/11. The FBI came to visit, having not found Osama bin Laden int he White Pages, decided to take the War on Terror to who ever they wanted to intimidate. Early on the list was the radical protesters from Little Flower. The FBI came to tell them that this pouring blood on the Pentagon and the like (which they had been doing for years and doing jail time for) was going to stop, because the FBI had extraordinary powers now.
Little Flower was having none of this.
The FBI dissatisfied with their lack of cowering went to their landlord (who had been very supportive before) and threatened them, saying that if these terrorists did anything, the landlord could be implicated and the property seized. Which is neither true nor legal, but my son does not get his distrust of authority from nothing. The landlord told them he could not deal with the threats and they had to go.
They started looking for places to live instead, but this time they wanted to buy. They found the prefect place not far from Travilians. Just one hitch, it cost $100K and they had exactly $0K
They also had a young couple who had stopped the night before on a long bike trip. Enchanted by the catholic Worker mission, when Bill explained to Sue that they needed this money, but did not have a source. The guy from the biking couple said
i just inherited $100K, i could give it to you
And he did. He had known them for less than 24 hours. And now Little Flower has a beautiful place, because they were willing to take chances with drop ins.
My favorite door sign was on the place we lived in Santa Cruz, many years ago now. It read:
Dont Knock! – If you are friend of the family, just come in. If you are an agent of the state, just go away.