Earl was cool

I keep writing about how tired I am, how overstimulated - and it's true. In an attempt to turn that around, today I did nothing - at least as nothing as I could. Sleep seems to be the only method of clearing my head - something about a silent room, electric heater and a low playing radio. I read the NY Times, the Stranger - eyed my journal... Everything felt as though it were at the limit of what I could stand. Then I slept. Sleep felt good. I've been feeling a cold coming on and sleep (plus hot tea) seemed to take the edge off of my thickening throat and dry, achy head.

My evening has been chock full - I awoke to a call from Jason's brother, who is watching every acclaimed movie from the last century it seems, eating them up and getting ready for more. It's good to hear his take on films - feels a bit like to hear him piecing together his own story. After the call we went down to Earshot Jazz. John Zorn played tonight - a double set that Jason's volunteering at. I'm off to meet with friends to go over an ongoing online project. We spend an hour talking about everything and still manage to get a coherent list of goals at the end. I'm home again and ready for another nap. I've been wanting to write about the pumpkins - so I'll give it a shot tonight:

Our project started in earnest about two weeks before Oct. 31st. We have just started working on projects together. Dan is crazy about Halloween. Crazy about horror flicks and crazy about dressing up, throwing good parties, making good stories. It's the story part that we ended up deciding to do.

At first it seemed like all we needed was 1,000 pumpkins. Just enough to surround Green Lake, facing inward, faces blazing. But there wasn't any time to carve 1,000 pumpkins, even if all of our friends could help. We resigned ourselves to photographing one or two pumpkins and scaled back the story.

This story is the thing we're working on now. Quality and presentation are everything here and we don't want to squander the work we've put in thus far. But back when we were scaling downward - emails were exchanged about a project at the Woodland Park Zoo, where 1,000 pumpkins were being carved for a "pumpkin prowl". A few phone calls later and the pumpkins were ours, not all 1,000 - but as many as we could handle. Another few phone calls later and we had a truck to haul the pumpkins down to the beach - our new destination for the pumpkin faces to blaze. We called friends to come help, re-scheduled other plans and pulled together an outline of what we could do in the time we had.

But before we made it to the beach, we drove through the Zoo, following a security guard on his bike to the pick up area. We arrived and heard an announcement over the loudspeakers for people to come get as many pumpkins as they'd like. I imagined fighting over pumpkins with strollered parents and crying children. But I hadn't accurately predicted the physical impact of 1,000 pumpkins. There was such an excess, there wouldn't be any struggle. An hour later, we had picked over 100 pumpkins (faces only, no pumpkins carved with witches or bats or wolves). We set them all in the back of a 14' u-Haul truck, packed in tight against each other across the floor.

Careening down the switchback road to the beach, I'm laughing at the likelihood that the bouncing thuds we hear are former pumpkins. I'm trying to go slow, I swear, but it's tough to fight momentum. We arrive at the beach and scope out the setting, just after sunset. The murky twilight obscures our view. We wander down to the water, hoping to shoot pumpkins sinking into waves and back up past the parking lot, where a tunnel echos night sounds and is perfect for another shot. We've taken more time than I scheduled in and I have to leave to turn. I drop Dan off and head home - eerie thudding noises making me laugh again.

The next morning is jammed full with work. I'm barely done before 4:30 comes and I'm out the door - hurtling through traffic into the most gorgeous sunset I've seen. I'm passing cars, all stopped due to hideous traffic, in any lane I find open. I'm obeying laws, but just barely. I fly across the 520 bridge to get home to the truck and the pumpkins.

Reflexively checking the pumpkins when I get home, their sweet faces are all still intact... the drive down the switchback road is less humorous now. I'm impatient and carrying a fragile load - not a typical success story for me. But I manage to make it down the hill and meet Dan - who is signaling me with a flashlight at the entrance of the park. We drive quickly to the spot where we'll unload the pumpkins and get ready.

Unlit, pumpkins bobbed across a damp field to a group of fragrant trees sprouting out of night blue sand. Dan walked me through a path in the trees and we raced to put the pumpkins in place before the sun went down. Our friends arrived and hustled many pumpkins from truck to beach. Finally, we lit them. Orange grimaces and vacant smiles marched silently through the trees. While Dan got his dv camera, I propped my tripod on the beach and started snapping pictures. Then Dan took a turn, walking the camera over the lined up faces and again from a distance. Our friends went off to get warm and get warm food. We stayed and fussed over the shots we were getting. This part went on for a long time. I was cold.

The shot ended and we started collecting our equipment. I was loading my tripod into its bag and turned as the melody for A Love Supreme repeated itself behind me. It was Jason, who forwent the night's activities for his studies. I was really glad to see him. Not a few moments after he arrived, plans were made to pile the pumpkins on to a tarp and drag them over the 100 yards to the truck. I watched, grimacing inwardly, as everyone tossed the pumpkins into a central heap. I had wanted to see what 100 pumpkins would look like in my backyard. I grabbed three pumpkins and put them in the trunk of Jason's car. We raced across the field the second time around. Winners won by releasing their hold on the tarp as we drew close to the truck. I counted them as disqualified, but I don't think anyone else paid attention. It got funnier and funnier to see tired pumpkin handlers lob pumpkins into the back of the truck. With the last pumpkin loaded, it was time to go home. Later that night, Dan called to confirm that the dump would be open early. We agreed to meet at Vera's for breakfast around 7am.

There was a rain of pumpkins and pumpkin parts in the end. Dan and Jason both throwing pumpkins with great force into the compost bin. I stood aside, choosing not to risk today's outfit. I'd had terrible luck keeping the pumpkin crap off my clothes and was on my way in to work, afterall. We made short work of it and, checking to make sure the truck was clean, headed over to the u-Haul offices. I had received a phone message asking for the truck back the day before, that I defied. I wasn't looking forward to dealing with an irate u-Haul cashier. Earl was cool, though I could tell he was pissed. We just turned in the truck and left.

That's the end of the part I wanted to write about. There's lots of work left to be done.