Thursday, March 22, 2007

A March through The City, Part One.

One of the favortie things about my job is that it brings me into The City once a week. For those outside the Bay Area, we call San Francisco "The City" here. It is a truly special place on this earth, and although its has its downsides and hassles, I will always look fondly on the days I lived there, which were probably the most creative, and fucked up, days of my life (so far).

I work in another office there. I like the people I deal with, and they like me. Even met a new one today and we got along well. But what's best about The City from my current point of view is that when I left work, its a great place to observe people, architecture, culture and the triumphs and tragedies of our capitalist society. I walked out of restaurant (after shooting some foottage) because I couldn't afford a $12 beer. I saw at least 30 homeless people in a couple hours...

I wandered around downtown and the Embacedero, recording video, until the battery died. The City makes you think. About yourself and the world...

I have to post this blog in written form for now because the most interesting things happened after the battery had died. On a very crowded BART train on the way home, I had a moment. Lately, my mood had been this odd mix of euphoria, desperation and incredible optimism. The desperate part took hold as I stood there in the overcrowded train, deep within myself and my own thoughts. The I looked up.

And saw a train full of people. I looked at each person in turn, trying to understand, empathize and feel waht they were feeling. It took me out of my own head for that moment, and that is what I was looking for. I saw different dreams, ages, genders, colors and social classes, but what I realized as I tried to feel each person individually, is that we all were going through the exact same thing. We were stuck somewhere, returning to our homes and lives, trying not to think, feel or be in that moment the best we could. That we all had in common. But even more so, what we had in common was that we were all human beings. We were all souls. We were all the same person, really.

How important were my traumas, dilemmas or problems when put in context of 50 other people going through the same thing? It wouldn't be accurate to say it made me feel insignificant, more like just part of a greater whole.

As we zipped under the Bay itself at 70 mph. I turned around and saw a man whose face was completely deformed. Some sort of birth defect. Elephant Man or the kid from Mask. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think to myself, "well, at least I don't have his problems." He was rapidly working a Rubik's Cube. It seemed hopelessly jumbled from my point of view, but he moved it with a dexterity and purpose that was indescribable.

The TransBay tube did something else to the train full of people, almost half of whom were checking e-mails on their Blackberries, talking or texting on their cel phones or had a laptop out. There is no wireless reception 300 feet underwater surrounded by several feet of concrete. People were cut off. The Rubik's cubes gears spun and spun faster and faster, and as seasoned commuters can tell just by the number of minutes that have passed, the train shifted into a gentle upslope as we approached the other end of the tunnel.

Rubik's Cube guy slowed the pace of his twisting. Each movement seemed to have more purpose, and there were even a couple of pauses as he analyzed his next move. One side complete.. then two then four, and with a couple last twists, the Rubik's Cube was solved just as we emerged into the twilight of West Oakland.

A dozen cel phones, including deformed Rubiks Cube guy's, announced new voice mails simultaneously.

I wasn't the only one on the train who was able to disconnect from our disconnected connectivity for just long enough to see this small, but amazingly huge human triumph of solving a Rubik's Cube in the time it takes to pass under the San Francisco Bay.

We are all one. We all triumphed in that moment.

-JL

Now, off to make a video.

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