The Oracle of Apollo
Snippets from the life of Apollo Lee

I promised my ex-wife that I’d pay a visit to see the kids in September, but my dentist had plans for all of my money in the entire month of September. I made plans to visit the last weekend of the month, buying the plane tickets shortly after pay day on the 16th. I headed out this morning for the Caltrain station, bound for SFO.

Ex-Mrs. Me had been having problems with the Mac I gave her a few years ago, even to the extent of taking it to the local computer store to have it readied for internet accessibility (scary scary) and having the local “Mac-expert” tell her that he couldn’t figure out why it couldn’t hear the modem. So, I decided to give her my old Pentium 133 laptop. I stuffed that in my duffel, along with a couple days of clothes and some books and jaunted off to the airport.

An hour and a half after I took off from San francisco, the plane landed in Boise safely and the familiar pick-up (her new hubby’s) was waiting outside, with my son and daughter inside ready to pick up daddy.

We made a bee-line for Grandma’s house, 65 miles away, where I stay when I’m in the area. The kids had come prepared with their own backpacks for the “sleepover”. My ex stayed around a little while so I could show her some basics about her new laptop and then split, giving me my children for the weekend.

My son is an incredibly smart eight-year-old with a very short attention span and a hefty love of Pokémon and my daughter is the most energetic little thing I’ve ever seen. We watched some cartoons, ate the most detestable pizza ever created, played with various toys that Grandma has or that they brought along for the occasion, and watched some of the Olympics before it was time for them to go to bed.

A great day—albeit exhausting—and a good visit with Grandma. That woman never ceases to amaze me. After the kids were safely in bed, I headed on foot to the corner store, being critically low on caffeine, and saw a couple of people I went to high school with and, as I was leaving, my uncle, with whom I conversed for a bit. It was good to see him.

I took a bit of a nap this afternoon and headed out the door about ten. I arrived in San Francisco at 10:45 and at Staple at 11. Fil Latorre was on the decks when I arrived.

I mosied upstairs to see if Patrick was around, which he was. It was him and Gigi and his brother from vancouver. Nice. I talked to them for a bit, before wandering downstairs to bounce around on the dancefloor. Spotted Erin and Jen (who was celebrating birthday 23) and started dancing in the middle of the floor. Deep house…mmmm.

Dana introduced me to Stephanie, her really obscenely cute friend, and a couple of other people. They disappeared and I was warmed up well by the time Common Factor got on the turntables. He began banging out a reckless funky house set, just fucking bashing the speakers and the crowd with the most beautiful music. I couldn’t get off the dancefloor to save my life.

Round about 1:30, I managed to goof around and come up under one of the hanging decoration things, cutting my nose a bit. I headed for the can, stopped the bleeding and headed back onto the floor. Nothing that required stitches.

Fray Day 4 was incredible. I had such a good time, meeting wonderfully cool people who put things together that are daily reads for me, like Derek, Heather, Tom, The Phil, Isaac, Maggie, Jish, Melissa, and others. I didn’t muster up enough bravery to step in front of the mike and tell any stories that I might have pulled from the inner recesses of my memory for the occasion, so I helped clean up and gave a couple of people rides home.

John’s story about being on Studs was hilarious. Lance’s story had the entire room in tears and the singers were cool and make me want to take some guitar lessons, so I can play too. Overall, the entire evening was just beautiful, with great performances and great conversations.

Ended up at Orphan Andy’s on the castro for food after with the crew, including people above, in addition to Monica and Jen. What an interesting group of people. I had such a blast. Thanks, Derek, for everything!

Note: An extended write up can be found here. This entry is from the original Snippet.

My company decided to take us all to the movies today. We went to see Almost Famous (2000). If you haven’t seen this wonderful coming-of-age movie about a budding writer for Rolling Stone magazine in 1973, you need to go tonight. Period. This movie is wonderfully acted, wonderfully written, and was quite a surprise. I would never have gone to see this movie under normal circumstances. I’m half-tempted to go see it again.

Kate, my friend from SpaceBar, asked me if I would be at Staple tonight. Heh. As if that’s a question that requires an answer. Markie (Wicked, SF) on the decks tonight. I arrived to see Fil Latorre on the decks.

I went upstairs and spotted my Canadian bitches, Patrick and Gigi, kicking back, so I went to talk to them. Kate came, with her dad in tow, shortly after. Pretty soon, Fil finished his set and came upstairs for a breath of air. Somehow, Patrick convinced Fil to sell him a mix CD. At the end of the night, I ended up with a mix tape. Right on.

Markie put on a hell of a show, with me wandering here and there on the floor, stepping when I could find some room. Sally was there, along with Erin, Josh, another Erin, and some very adorable British girls who spent two weeks on a bus, getting from New York to San Francisco. A good night, overall.

I don’t know what it is about the Olympics that just gets me all wound up, but I just had to watch the opening ceremonies and the parade of nations. It was such a spectacular thing to see dozens of thousands of the best in the world, all the entertainment (although quite a bit was very very cheesy) and the “pageantry”, which was largely created by specially selected pieces of music and alot of time in an editing room with hundreds of miles of video tape.

Despite the overt commercialism of the Olympic games, I have always loved them. Ever since I can remember, I vowed that someday I would be in the Olympics myself. In 1988, I swore by everything holy that I’d be in the Olympics in Barcelona. In 1992, I watched silently, wishing I could. In 1996, I vowed to pick something to get good at. I am way too old now to even think of such things.

It’s very touching to see possibility and hope and the culmination of training and all that stuff that Bob Costas talks about and NBC shoots little filmlets of, recounting the “story” behind the story. I know it’s all commercial fluff and crass capitalism (particularly when some announcer talks about the “four billion people around the world watching these olympic games”. heh.), but I still love it.

It makes me think I should have done something with myself and that, just maybe, there’s still time.

Dan Bell and John Tejada at Staple this week. I hit it pretty early compared with recent weeks and arrived at Staple at about ten. The club was virtually empty when I got there, but I conversed for a while with the Idahoan at the door and Inhuman. Tejada was on the decks making waves.

John’s set was very smooth, very funky, very compelling. I got on the dancefloor about 11, after conversing upstairs with some regulars, and stayed there throughout most of the night. Soon, John started to tweak some drum breaks and start fooling around with mixer effects and turntablism, weaving a fragmented and disjointed tapestry of sound and rhythm. It was crazily dope.

Dan Bell took the decks at midnight and started out fairly noisy with some experimental sound and relaxed into a tight and very tasty deep house groove. I didn’t get as soaked down as I usually do, but only because the place was packed and alot of knuckleheads had to walk through every time I started to step. Incredible numbers of very beautiful natives. Gotta keep myself focused, though.

Happy Birthday, Steve!
Happy Birthday, Heidi!

Luckily, I’m only in demand enough to be invited to two parties at the same time. I had told Heidi that I’d go to her birthday party first, so I decided to go to that. Her party was scheduled to happen in a Moroccan restaurant in San Francisco. I left work at 6:15, figuring that would be enough time.

Ralston moved at 3 miles an hour. The 280 wasn’t moving much faster, especially in the vicinity of the 380 merge. Traffic into the city was evil. I arrived fifteen minutes behind schedule, at 7:45.

When I arrived, there was Heidi, her housemate, and her friend. Soon, a pair of Asian girls arrived, one behind the other. They’re all Burning Man people. It was very neat to meet them.

Dinner was very very strange, not because I’m not used to exotic foods, but because they seemed to have no clue what a vegetarian is and because, for some subconscious reason, Moroccon restaurants make me excruciatingly uncomfortable—not only because of the price (Moroccan restaurants are very expensive), but because of the decor, the belly dancers, and the floor cushion things. I was quite sore and very tired when I left.

Dinner with Heidi and her friends made me realize that she has changed a lot since I first met her. She’s a strong, funky, liberated, and groovy person, someone who is secure with herself, has a great career, and is still laid-back enough to be silly and goofy. I’m really proud of her.

I, too, have changed a lot since I’ve come to California. I’m more conservative, introverted, and anti-social. I realize that I would never go to Burning Man or Renaissance Faire or any of those things that Heidi and her friends could never live without, which is completely cool. I’m turning into an old man and I’m trying very hard not to turn old friends into annoyed strangers.

Staple scheduled an all-day party today, starting at 2pm and ending at 2am, with featured headline Glenn Underground of Strictly Jaz Unit (Chicago). After waiting to hear from a friend about whether I was still supposed to pick her up near San Mateo, I decided to go it alone. I arrived at Staple just about 9:45.

The music was already playing, of course, and Tony Roam was on the turntables when I got there. I repaired upstairs to see if the Canadians had arrived yet, found Joshua and Erin, chatted for a bit until the Canadians arrived. Talked to them for a while, until it was time to head back downstairs. I got on the dancefloor around 10:30.

I had stopped off and bought new boots for the dancefloor on the way, so it was cool to try them out. Before I knew it, I turned around and there was John, my coworker from Palo Alto, who brough his entire crew up for Staple. I started cutting the rug a little bit later, which I continued to do throughout the night, as usual.

Glenn Underground took the decks at midnight and started in with a very decadent dubby house set that boggled the imagination and inspired my old body to break it down even more than I usually would. Ended up in the back area near the stage with Peter, Sonja, and her friends. I have got to find some of Glenn’s CDs. Damn. I’m not going to assert here that this was the best staple I’ve ever attended, but it was damn sure in the top five.

Into the Sound featured Jenö and Tony. I haven’t been to Into the Sound since July 21 (not counting the listen.com/Horizons Unlimited party on August 18), so I figured it was high time for me to go out and do a little dance with that crew.

Matthew was on the decks when I got there. I got there about 10:15, talked to a couple of people, then got on the dance floor. At 11:00, Tony (from the Gathering) took the decks and started spinning some sweet house music. My energy level was quite low, due to my lack of sleep lately, but that didn’t stop me. I danced with a number of very pretty ladies, including Sally, whom I hadn’t seen for a couple of months, if recollection serves.

Jenö took over at 1:30, which would have disappointed me had Tony not been apishly jumping up and down on the turntables for the past two and a half hours. When jenö got on the turntables, everybody just went crazy. I sang my ass off and danced my ass off. It was quite a blast.

Today is my anniversary day at work, the day on which a quarter of my options vest (whatever that means) and I begin thinking about performance reviews, which, for some reason, have always scared me. Will I get dismissed this time around? I’m led to believe that’s not what performance reviews are for and I do an excellent job, of course, but part of me hearkens back to my days as a music major, standing before a jury that was certain of my incompetence. *shudder* Anyway, it’s been great working where I work and I look forward to many, many more years.