Sometime in the past 24 hours, I had my Saturn Return. Exactly, according to Astrolog. Those of you who are complete Doubting Thomases (or Eugenes, or Francises, or Leopolds, or whoevers) may not want to read the next few paragraphs (as of now I don't know how many paragraphs I'm going to spend on the subject) so consider yourself warned. Otherwise, I will now ponder the significance of my first Saturn Return (similar I guess to My First Sony, but Oh So Different).

A Saturn Return, for those of you not astrologically inclined or educated, is the point in your life when Saturn (the planet) returns to the exact point in the sky where it was at the moment of your birth. It's sort of a good delineator, and tends to indicate certain types of things happening in your life. It happens somewhere between your 29th and 30th birthdays, so all this lines up very nicely with that otherwise round number so the Doubting Whoevers can just write all this off to "I'm Turning 30" angst and leave it at that. Those of us who don't dismiss it out of hand, however, can look further into the astrology books and say, "hey, what does a Saturn Return mean for me?"

My particular Saturn Return is complicated by the fact that just as Saturn was getting really close to the position it was in at my birth it went retrograde, astrogical lingo for what happens when an object in the sky appears to stop going "forward" (the direction it goes most of the time) and starts going "backward" instead. "Planets" (just about everything astrological is referred to as a "planet" for convenience's sake) only go retrograde for a bit before they "go direct" and go the way they normally go once again. Last August Saturn got to within one degree of where it was in my birth chart before going retrograde. This means that all the typical "Saturn Return" stuff that usually happens got dragged out eight months longer than necessary, but it also means that it came to a head this week.

And how.

Thursday night I was reading along here, and I discovered that Sheepish's grandmother had passed away (she knew it was coming soon enough), which reminded me of what I'd written about my brother's death when a friend's dad died (see previous entry), which reminded me about when my brother died, which set off a chain of remembrances.

Also, by coincidence, my oldest friend-that-I'm-still-in-touch-with Ben, whom I've known since elementary school, was getting married this weekend. Here, as a matter of fact. So I started thinking about how amazing it was that I've known this guy since we were about 10 and he's getting married (wow!), and that set off a whole 'nother chain of remembrances.

When it all was done, my whole life had passed before my eyes. Not in that flash you supposedly get when you think you're going to die, but in highlight mode. The game film, if you will. A summary of the first almost-thirty years of my life (30 in November).

It's weird.

I don't think of myself as a "failure," but I'm not done. I can't say that as of right now I've hit any sort of marker, anything equivalent to passing GO so I can collect the karmic $200. But it's also hard to tell when you're in something what your position in it is. Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle as applied to a human life. So looking at what appears to be the overarching theme of my life, I'm not sure that I've reached any stopping points. But I can't say that I haven't either. I Just Don't Know.

It's weird because I can see all of the pieces getting ready to fall into place, but they haven't yet. It's like now is happening in slow motion. My life is a pool table where somebody is slowly knocking things around, apparently with no motive, but there's a portent that they're really setting things up so that they can run the table, corner-side-corner-corner-side-side-corner-eight-ball-corner-pocket wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am insert-your-own-cliche-here. And until they started you didn't know it was coming. I am suspicious that's what happening now.

I can size up where I've been, and where I am, but I can't tell right now what's next. Usually I have a clue, but now I'm at this blind corner. I'm not sure if that's the corner marked GO or if it's just Free Parking.

I'll know soon enough.

link (2000-04-23)

What a fun Saturday I had.

For starters, my very dear old friend Ben (I've known him since fourth or fifth grade) got married at 11am. The wedding, conveniently enough, was out here (his family moved out here around 1990, I moved in 1998).

The wedding itself was fun, but nontrad. His little - excuse me, younger - brother Paschal was Best Man, and did a reading at the ceremony itself that was a rather nice little essay. Good job Paschal. Then the Matron of Honor also did a reading, but hers was over as soon as it started and left no impression on me at all, to the point that I can't recall anything about it now except for its brevity.

Then Groom and Bride (that's Ben and Bits to you and me) did their own readings (I think Ben Sr. wrote the poem Ben read, and Bits read something too), then the judge presiding (a judge presiding in a church, who'da thunk it?) did the vows part, then we were done and it was off to the reception.

The reception was in a pretty good location, in a lounge on the 16th floor of a hotel with a good view of the Pentagon (heh) but also of the Washington Monument and also the Capitol and all the other sights of DC that are tall enough to be noticed (the Shrine at Catholic U, for instance, which I wouldn't be able to identify if it weren't for my voice lessons on campus there, being a heathen and all).

The band was a jazz combo with a singer chyk who needed coffee in order to perk up and get a little stage presence (even then she was lacking) but who had a nice sounding voice regardless (even if she also needs to learn to enunciate). The band was good. I did a "surprise" number with the band for the first dance ("More," as recorded by Bobby Darin), then a cobbled-together last-minute version of "Brazil," then gave the mike back to the band and sat back down at the table of people who also hardly knew anybody else at the wedding. It was fun though.

On the way back from the reception, I got onto the HOV version of the 14th Street Bridge, as did an Angry Black Man in a Dropped Down Sentra, who apparently didn't think that my 15mph over the posted limit of 45 was fast enough for him, so he flipped me off. I maintained my speed on the ramp, and as soon as he had a chance he zipped around me and glared in that Angry Black Man in a Dropped Down Sentra way, so I kissed my palm and blew him a kiss.

His passenger (also a Black Man, but not, it seems, an Angry one) thought this was hilarious. The Angry Black Man apparently didn't, as he then attempted to force me into the Jersey Barrier, then once I was safely behind him straddled both lanes in his Dropped Down Sentra in order to delay me from getting where I was going. Interestingly, he realized he was being discourteous by blocking other traffic, so he moved over into the right lane (in front of me) to let the other cars pass. Then he moved his Dropped Down Sentra back into the middle of the road (preventing me from passing, a maneuver I had no intention of attempting anyway) before finally getting back into the right lane so he could merge back onto 395. Since I was actually going onto 14th Street, I moved into the left lane. As I passed, he glared at me again in that Angry Black Man in a Dropped Down Sentra way, so I puckered up for an air smooch, gave a little ta-ta wave with my right hand, and continued onto my exit.

I am unaware as to whether or not the Angry Black Man realized the humor in the situation. He was five seconds later because of me, and that's all that counted in his Angry Egocentric Universe. Of course, once he set about trying to delay me, he made himself even later. Whatever. Dude, it's DC. You're not going to get anywhere quickly.

So I got home, changed clothes, and headed over to the painfully twee bookstore Politics and Prose, which was hosting an appearance by Dave Eggers, whose book is A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, along with Sarah Vowell, she of Salon and This American Life, who also has a new book, Take the Cannoli. I farted around after getting there early intentionally so I could get a seat (had a lovely mango "Shakespeare Soda" though), and ended up seatless. But then it was announced that we could sit on the floor up front if we desired, so I did so.

I commented to the people who sat down in front of me, "wouldn't it be really awkward if I turned out to have Tourette's?" I think they were amused by this. I'm not sure. Anyway, when Eggers and Vowell came out, he discovered to his dismay that they were expected to sit in some comfy chairs behind a table and use mikes that were placed on the table, instead of standing at a podium as he was accustomed to doing. There then commenced a bit of business as the podium was moved from its place nearby to a position between himself and Ms. Vowell, the table was scooted forward a bit to make room, and then the issue of the microphone was set upon.

Now. The authors had been provided with two microphones; one of these was attached to one of those silly 6-inch stands on top of the table, the other was mounted on a rather dodgy mike stand of the variety you usually see at public events. The 6-inch stand was too short for comfortable use on top of the podium, requiring the speaker to hunch over awkwardly. The more useful mike stand, however, had shortcomings of its own: it was wobbly and wouldn't stay adjusted to its full height, and it also happened to be supporting the less functional of the two microphones.

I suggested that the taller mike stand be adjusted for use with the podium. Mr. Eggers liked this idea, at which point I commented that I had been in the AV Squad in Junior High school, and you can never really get past it. This suggestion was adopted immediately, but required some rather artful fussing by the "Events Coordinator," Vanessa, in order to get the mike stand to stay in something approximating the right place. Fussing done, Mr. Eggers leaned down into the microphone and discovered that it was shorting out. At that point I suggested placing the other, more functional microphone, on the taller, more useful stand. Mr. Eggers requested that I, the AV Man, make this happen. I did.

Microphones thus handled, the evening progressed.

Mr. Eggers' first reading was a piece that had been intended for the book but didn't make it, a geographically appropriate bit about him and Toph happening across a bunch of Secret Service activity in front of a restaurant in Berkeley, where it turned out none other than Bill Clinton was dining. I can't do justice to the piece, but it was good, and after a rather awkward nervous beginning Mr. Eggers was revealed to be quite a good reader of his own work. This is good to know, since he and the other characters in the book will be playing themselves for the audio book version. I'll have to buy that when it finally comes out.

Ms Vowell's first reading was the first part of an essay in her book about a trip taken to Disneyworld with a gay Canadian immigrant who didn't seem particularly taken with the whole idea, but the whole thing seems to have gone off well in the end. She's a great presenter of her own work (the voice helps, really, although that's difficult to admit) and comes across as sort of a female counterpart to David Sedaris (not the David taken to Disneyworld, but also, it turns out, a friend to both authors).

After the first two readings, they traded off with shorter pieces (Mr. Eggers read a few of the fake reviews posted to Amazon as a result of the McSweeneys contest), there were questions at the end, then a rather long line for the signings, which turned out to be at the absolute other end of the store. So I was almost last in line after being right next to the authors for the reading. It's a fair trade, I guess.

Ms. Vowell's signature:

to Ed for a.v. prowess
[her signature]
4/22/00 d.c.

Mr. Eggers' signature:

[he was apparently drawing something in everybody's books]

A good day it was.

link (2000-04-23)