The Eye of the Storm.

Saturday my wife and I had the honor of volunteering at the Street Speech / Columbus Coalition for the Homeless water sales booth, at ComFest, a music festival held every year in Columbus, OH. For two dollars you could get an frosty, cold bottle of water and help those less fortunate. It was in a prime location, right at the corner of the two major streets that define the most prominent boundaries of the park. ComFest, short for community festival, is built around the idea of inclusion and unity, the driving force behind Columbus Coalition for the Homeless, and Street Speech. Not long ago I was fortunate enough to meet the editor of Street Speech, (and she is kind enough to have published a few articles of mine) which put me in prime position for the gig of volunteer.

It was a beautiful day, sunny, warm but not hot, and the crowd was vibrant. We arrived early and

walked around a little before our shift began. ComFest is the very definition of diversity. Goodale Park is crowded with vendors, stages, people, topless people, tattooed people, mothers and fathers pushing strollers, children, grandchildren, adorable young people on dates, old people in wheel chairs married couples walking happily through the narrow paths lined on both sides with tents. Tents filled with arts, crafts, henna tattoos, t-shirts, political activism. There is enough tie die and woven clothing to have outfitted the Monterey Pop Festival.

And the music echoes from one stage to the next. Reggae, hip hop, occasionally some country and
western, some classic rock, though to a man my age classic rock has a different definition, all manner of music. People who are willing to get on stage and leave themselves open to praise and criticism. It takes a special bravery, a certain amount of self belief to put yourself out there, and I salute every single one of them.

Food lines the streets. Barbecue in all its glory, calling your name, beckoning with the sweet smoky smell of wood chips and dripping with heavy sauce. Buns piled high, and looking absolutely wonderful. Steaming hot cauldrons of spicy hot curry, pita bread stuffed with meat popping and sizzling over an open flame, buried under onion, lettuce, and creamy white sauce.   Pizza, fish sandwiches, lemonade, people will wait in long lines or the lemonade. And beer trucks with masses of humanity crushed in front, a mob of beer customers, thick, thirsty and surprisingly patient. It has to be the national debt in beer sales. Beer, the cornerstone of Americana. The lines were so long I wouldn’t wait, and I like beer. And after my time at the water booth I could have used a beer.

The water booth was like a scene from The Walking Dead. Moments of silent introspection and careful planning, followed by wave after swarm after full frontal assault of people. It could have been the desert and the water would not have sold any better. Some people buying 3 or 4 bottles at a time. A brief lull in the demand, grab a case and try to ice it down, but the motion and the noise and the sight of bottled water was more than the swarm could resist. They would line up, “water please.”

The water came in cases of 36 and we went through at least 4, and possibly 5. It was exhausting, it was terrifying, and it was exhilarating. We worked as a team, fighting the good fight, against the encroaching madness. Supply and demand meet heat and hydration. A tempest in front of the Jazz stage. The sound and the fury, and we were the calm in the center of the storm. Dispensing smiles, cold water and sage wisdom to the yearning masses.

“Where is the Gazebo Stage?” Over that way, I think. You have to remember I have only been to ComFest a couple of times, have a lousy sense of direction, and don’t handle pressure well, and demanding mobs of thirsty festival attendees, and a polite request for a location qualifies as pressure.

It was an experience and we are both grateful for the opportunity. There are a lot of good charities, you should pick one and give as much as you can. You could help make the world a better place.

Aliens, Charity and Water,

There are a lot of questions involved in searching for intelligent extraterrestrial life.  Will finding life out there offer any comfort?  Will it ever be found?  What if alien life is not polite, and decides to just take over our little blue green planet?  Would that suck, or what?  We spend all of that money, and some advanced life form, armed, dangerous, and cranky takes over, and it is all our fault, what then?

Even if they turn out to be decent folk, and just want to trade recipes, maybe play cards, or catch a movie together, maybe borrow the mower, or the hedge trimmer.  Imagine the implications to the religious, or spiritual beliefs of the worlds inhabitants.  It would have a catastrophic effect on our collective psyche, spreading doubt, and fear, mistrust, and xenophobic paranoia.  OK so that wouldn't change that much, certainly not for the better.

So, if there are any life forms out there thinking about stopping by, saying hello, maybe you could swing by ComFest tomorrow from three to five and buy a bottle of water from me. All proceeds go to the Columbus Coalition for the Homeless. And if you want, I will even autograph it for you. Free of charge. It is a good cause.

ComFest, an explosion of fun, and rain.

Every summer in Columbus, there is a celebration, called ComFest (Community Festival, personally I don't think much of the name, it sounds too military, and official, "Commander, move the threat level to ComFest 3," but they never asked me).   This was our first visit, despite living here for over 20 years.  We really didn't know what to expect.

So many times these things are so disappointing, so filled with stress, tension, conflict, turmoil, it is like a walk through your worst high school memories, with a plastic glass of beer, which might have made high school better, (maybe I should pitch that idea to the local school board, think of the profits) except for the the hangovers, and all of the vomiting children, maybe that idea needs a little work.

Personally, I didn't expect too much, my wife is more of an optimist, (she still thinks I might turn out all right, poor, confused girl) so she was upbeat and happy.  If I found something a little silly, a little pretentious, something  that might make me feel little superior, I would have felt it was a success.  My wife was hoping for fun, entertainment, and a little release from everyday life.  We found a place to park and walked over.  Who would be right?

As we approached the park a cyclist was being put into an ambulance, blood running from his nose, his split lip and cut under his eye.  He was agitated, and seemed more than a little angry.  It was unclear what had happened, (it might have been a fight, or a wreck) but it seemed like a bad omen.  Still, we were there.  Might as well check it out.

It would be simple to find the flaws in a undertaking so ambitious as this.  But, there is a real feeling of community in this festival.  It is a diverse, colorful, noisy, community, with variety, and spirit, and a flare for fashion.  A community that does not minding getting wet, within limits.  There were people of all shapes, walking around, a careful dance, simple, casual, friendly and respectful.

Essentially, this was an anarchist's dream, cheerful, friendly chaos.  There was no order, no reason, just a wild, tangled mass of humanity, many people strolled casually through waves of music, and enjoying themselves.  Others were sitting up little communities, and talking amicably.  Lining the streets surrounding the event were vendors selling tie dye shirts, handmade jewelry, hand woven hats, and scarfs, and with the music in the background I understood what Garland Jeffreys meant when he sang "all due respect to art for art's sake."  It was almost magic.  And there was food, a lot of food, which, thanks to rains that were almost biblical, I didn't get to try.

There was a basketball game (that kept going after the rains came), a person walking a ferret (or something like a ferret, what am I a zoologist), people throwing a frisbee, who didn't mind a bit when people strolled through.  Music filled the air, music in all varieties, and it was a happy event.  In 100 meters you could walk from the blues, through some metal, into acoustic folk music, and all of it was enjoyable.  And we were only there for about an hour and a half, until the rains came, and drove us away.

When we were too wet to ignore the discomfort we left, walked a short way, found a restaurant with an open table and a ROOF, and had some food.

Nancy and Susan looking splendid in
Red ponchos and their cups.

A small warning;  This might be a good time to mention we probably would not have even thought about going, but a friend of ours asked us to come down.  She is a wonderful person, and she was part of a forum I joined almost two years ago when I quit smoking.  The month of July is going to be a celebration of the accomplishment, (or at least as long as I can dream up new true stories) with tales of the friends made along the way, the amazing trip we took together, and my gratitude to each of them.  For now, I will introduce Susan, everyone please say hello to Susan.  But, there will be much more about her later.  She will object to parts of it, but most of it will be true, and all of it will be flattering.

Bil, and Brian, (in the middle) a little angry, and they
always seem so nice.

Plus, a brief upadate;  For those of you who thought Bil was only an undefeated chess boxer, and Brian was just a gardener extraordinaire, well, think again.  They are both accomplished, widely respected and well recognized musicians, too.  Here is the proof.  There are copies of the Columbus Alive with their band on the cover for sale in the lobby, so grab several, they make wonderful gifts.  Particularly for people who like pictures of Bil and Brian frowning and looking surly.