Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts
By Alyce Wilson
Sunday morning, we did a small amount of moving for my sister and her boyfriend. Most of the rest of their stuff will fit in their cars, so they will finish later this week on their own.
I was visiting during the Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts in State College, and we wanted to at least see some of the art before everything closed up.
My sister and I walked around town. We found a lot that we liked, but there was only one booth where I absolutely had to buy something.
The artist, Liz Saelzler, explained her process, which involved painting canvases and then projecting the art onto nudes and photographing it.
Sometimes, she does additional manipulation in PhotoShop. I loved one of her works, in particular. It reminded me of the body painting in the 60s and Op Art. I just had to have it. She had a small print, so that's what I bought.
My sister was wearing a shirt she'd made for a future themed party. It was a black tank top with computer keys glued on it. It said:
CTR
ALT DEL
M
E
The artists loved it; she got a lot of compliments. I told her they recognized one of their own.
Considering we'd spent so much time this weekend moving things, you'd think my sister and I would know better than to accumulate more, but we stopped at two yard sales this weekend. We went looking for end tables (for my sister) and book shelves (for me). Finding neither, we loaded up on other things.
For example, I bought black cat ears at one yard sale, along with a necklace, prayer beads and a black handbag (which my sister borrowed during Arts Fest because it matched her outfit better than her own purse). Because I need to be organized, I bought some plastic trays. I don't know what will go in the "out" tray; everything's always in the "in" tray.
At another yard sale, I bought an artistic sort of light. It consists of a clear crystal inside a red pyramid, set on top of a light base. My sister got a painted bowl that has fish on it that resemble her Betta fish, Godzilla. She filled the bottom with marble and put three bamboo shoots in it, for a little decorative flair in the new apartment.
I'm sure the person who was selling it wondered why we were looking at the fish saying, "Oh! It looks like Godzilla!" And yes, my sister does intend to get a second Betta fish, to be called Mothra.
At one point, we were talking about dopplegangers. I said I had one in my neighborhood. These kids keep coming up to me, and saying I look like the mom of one of their friends. I said this as we walked by the bouncer for Zeno's, a young guy with spiky frosted hair.
With a big smile on his face, he said either, "You don't look like anybody's mom" or he said, "You look like everybody's mom." I really don't know which one it was, but from the smile on his face, I took it as a compliment.
We decided to try another local band called Sam's Farm, which was billed as "funky alternative." They were neither. They sounded kind of like the Hooters.
My sister had to write up a paper as part of her credit for her summer internship. While she was working, I walked back to the car and put away the art. I ran into my sister's friend, Jen, who was playing drums as part of a drum circle at the wall in front of Old Main Lawn. She said she was planning on going to the Earthtones that night, so we made plans to meet.
By the time I got back to return the key, my sister was practically done, so I read it for her and gave her a few pointers. She printed it out and we walked down to meet Jen. My sister didn't want to go to the Earthtones, since she doesn't like reggae. She met up with her boyfriend to do more moving to the new apartment.
Jen and I walked up to the Earthtones, who were playing at the Festival Shell. Only took a few songs to get everyone up on their feet. We ran into Travis, the guy who'd been wearing the "STAPH" shirt on Friday. He and I were being very silly, dancing strangely and wildly. We acted out part of the songs, like making our fingers into teeth for the words "rat race."
I told Travis that the 10 feet in front of the stage was the Dance Zone, and that if we saw anyone not dancing, we had to stare at them until they left. This didn't always work. With one particularly persistent person, I suggested that Travis and I grab his hands and dance wildly until he began dancing, too.
"Or until the police came," Travis said. So we nixed that idea.
Jen and I did some of the African dance moves she'd taught me, which was a lot of fun. It fit perfectly with the music, too.
Practically the entire lineup of the Earthtones has changed since I used to see them. Except for R.T., who has the same long dreadlocks but has beefed up a bit. Paul Young, another old-time member of the group, stepped in to play along.
They played a new selection of songs, too. They've mellowed. There were lots of antiwar songs and a lot of songs about praising Jah.
R.T. was in his old form, saying things like, "I see a lot of people out there doing Rasta-robics."
Near us were a few college students who were fascinated with the African dance moves, so Jen taught them and we had a small group dancing in sync for awhile. But I was just in a mood where I wanted to skip and whirl around and run through the crowd a lot, so that's what I did. It's a great indication that I'm getting in better shape; I never got winded!
A friend of Travis came up, dressed all in black, wearing a pentacle and with a hint of black eyeliner. He was taking himself to seriously, saying that he couldn't remember the last time he'd been in a concert that didn't involve a mosh pit. I told him he could mosh here if it made him feel better. He didn't seem to want to.
"Well, what if we beat you with a stick?" I asked, and picked up a large stick a dog had left behind. For some odd reason, he left.
Close to the end of the concert, some college students came running towards us in a great mood, screaming excitedly. Travis and I turned around and screamed back at them. We were all jumping up and down screaming with our hands in the air. Then we all danced really silly together in a circle and put our arms around each other's shoulders, kicking into the center in high spirited silliness. It was tons of fun.
When the song ended, I shouted, "Rasta-robics!"
I saw a lot of people I hadn't seen in a long time; the Earthtones tend to draw them out. Some I hadn't seen in nearly 10 years. The older hippie contingent was there, the ones I'd always looked up to. A few more lifelines around the eyes, a little more gray hair but still young at heart, as they'd always been.
At one point, I looked up at the Old Main clock tower, and the Earthtones were playing "Buffalo Soldier," and there was a really tall Native American woman dancing with us, and I just thought, "The more things change, the more they stay the same."
The same people were there, even though they were different people, if you know what I'm saying. It keeps on keeping on, with or without me and I've never stopped belonging. And that's a good thing.
Previous Arts Fest entries:
July 15, 2003 - Mimes, Dancers, Piñatas
Moral:
There's no better exercise than Rasta-robics.
Copyright
2003 by Alyce Wilson
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