We've Hit The Air

Except, air is a gas; you can't hit it...

www.skysthelimittv.com

Unsolicited reviews like these make my heart sing:

Greetings

I watched Skys The Limit last night (PVR) and was really impressed with Joni’s camera work and the program overall.

The photography was of the highest professional quality and matches anything I have seen on television.

The program about sugaring (maple syrup) was very interesting.

I watch these things without bias – I take myself out of CHEK and place myself as just a viewer in front of the TV.

I found Levi a bit stiff and he has to get rid of that ball cap which I saw in every scene – Suzanne has a lovely

natural style that comes across very well.

A really interesting program – sweetening is great – music and production excekllent.

I am proud to be associated with a program such as Skys The Limit by my mere association with CHEK NEWS.

-Bruce Kirkpatrick

The experience of launching a series is unique for me as a producer.  First of all the storytelling style becomes micro-stories due to the viewing format.  It's freeing because we get to keep moving forward, but somehow less satisfying than an epic.  The arc climaxes as often as possible, and we can fake closure (that is what she said).  The risk is also quite low, as you don't require 2 hours of someone's life.  That's a big request these days, you have to earn it.

The release is also quite constant and drawn out.  Thirteen releases weekly, over the course of several months.  Lather, rinse repeat.

What we end up with is a large supply of television content.  Six hours of airtime is actually worth some cash, compared to an hour-long one-off documentary that takes almost the same time to produce.  It's exciting and also a bit intimidating as we head into sales of the show.  Like selling ice in africa, to a bunch of hyenas.

Today I sit back and watched the first 8 completed episodes and I'm proud.  I remember the ideas in the field, the challenges, the small changes that made the world of difference, the personal hurdles that seemed too steep to leap- the final product becomes an amazing feat of collaborations.

The most amazing of all is that the end is neigh.  As much as I'm sure this project with need my coddling for years to come, there is finally room for something new.  The last time this happened I made some poor choices, investing in the wrong people.  This time I feel like I'm finally beginning my career, and am grateful for those lessons of the past.

I am surrounded by a spectacular team who is above all patient with me, and passionate about what it is we are doing.  My goal is to make that team even bigger (mostly so I can do less paperwork, more filmmaking) and I have a feeling that what I've learned so far will be very valuable in avoiding the pitfalls, allowing more time for the muse.

The Hamilton Bank Building

Another office has been absorbed into my collection in this 100 year old building.  This place continues to fascinate me with it's string of characters who each have different motives for congregating in this palace on the tracks.

What is that Thing that creates?  Where does it come from and how do we summon it.  With this wide range of mediums being practiced here the answers are broad reaching.  Opening our studios on June 1st brought this conversation forward for me frequently.

I spent May producing a series of short videos on the topic, and on the neighbourhood that inspires us.







Ironically, Kermodi has been broken into twice in as many weeks, windows are regularly smashed often just for pleasure, and we probably should have more security in place then we do.  Yet we are all still here, creating, watching the trains, smelling the roasting coffee and smiling about it all.

Some day I will come up with a smart, self-reflective one that can tie all of these together.

Christine Schuss showed her work in one of my studios and we are just about to re-hang the unsold pieces, which aren't many.  I'm looking for another new artist to show in August, as it's obviously a valuable venue for those who are putting together their first or second solo show.  Suggestions welcomed.

Life's Winter:
a long time coming for her

She denies it, forbids it, conquers it

Her eyes flash from youth to years with a blink

Although it hurts her
Let her run, let her leap

Smell every corner
greet every stranger
taste the breath of life

Life's too short, too fleeting, too small
Waste none of it, every moment is only now

Love all of it with the purity of a puppy
Without cost beyond vulnerability

We are all dancing on the edge with our eyes closed

Step smart, dance hard

Please

The Immortal Twin

What an interesting experience. Such a revealing challenge.

Alone in the narrative structuring of a project that spans decades of time, telling the stories of Canada's aviation legends was a steep cliff to scale. My devotion to the client added a high standard to what I wanted to produce.

It's actually been years since I've completed a film, and the emotional journey is intricate.

Yet, on the home stretch, so many heros rise to the occasion that it's difficult to adequately express my gratitude.

Andrew Oye eagerly awaited each rough edit as I spilled pieces of it off to him. He instantly produced a quantity of music with great enthusiasm. Specific and inspired, he wanted it to fit into the film according to my vision and then he took it one step further. A small amount of input from me was quickly and expertly incorporated into what has become a thrilling film score.

I didn't leave much time for a sound mix and the online edit. We really only finished filming a couple of weeks ago and I lost 4 days to delays in the approval process and a couple more that it took to recover from that. Then it's hard to let it go when every extra hour at this stage results in massive improvements.

I really only gave Earworm Sound as much time to do the mix as it would take to upload and download the files. Other than a few well placed emoticons in skype, he hardly complained. Like Andrew, he worked through the night and all of the next day to pull something together that he could feel good about. An 80 minute film is a load of sound.

Since this was originally a 20 minute film, our original quote can only afford this much work from Matt anyways, but hopefully we'll get to revisit the film after it's screening today at the operators conference at Viking Air. It would be exciting to see what Matt could do with 2 weeks of sound designing.

I'm editing in exile (for non-professional reasons) from the studio where the film is completed and so I managed to do absolutely everything that was possible for me to do remotely so as not to lay too much onto the online edit. Yet, on the homestretch most of our time is spent uploading and downloading files. There simply wasn't enough time to render it out. Unless someone worked all night long.

Here we add Jeremy Klassen to the list of amazing night owls who contributed to this film while watching the sun rise. Last night he and David watched it at Gamut Productions, and became the only two people in the world who have seen the film with all of it's pieces together. I usually feel like Jeremy is uninspired by the projects I helm, partly because his role in them consists of uncreative aspects required due to my exile. Indeed it is beneath him to be doing my lower third titles, he should be making the next break-out indie film.

He spent the night watching the download bar, the render bar, the progress bar. Not very glamorous. But if he hadn't done that, we wouldn't have delivered.

How do I appreciate these people properly? How can I ever even begin to?

A week ago I felt as though I was making this project by myself. This morning I look around and am truly amazed at the team of talent that is forming around me. The feeling of working with someone, and enjoying it, is unlike any other.

I'm going to ask approval to post a scene from the film here. Otherwise it will only be available on DVD from Viking Air. It should be interesting to see what they do in sales.

Spring Fever

Our Kickstarter campaign for Oceangybe was immensely successful, meeting our target with 10 days left to spare. Very cool. It helps to have a story about subjects who have lots of friends. The edit is barrelling along without me, and my role supporting story structure is a lovely one to bear. I don't envy how much footage those boys are sorting through. Our screening next month will be quite an experience seeing all of those years assembled into less than two hours.

Meanwhile I am on the front line solving the riddle that is the five year project about the launch of the Twin Otter program by our friends at Viking Air. An extension of The Immortal Beaver this film has high expectations. The relaunch of the Twin Otter bushplane spans several years, cost millions of dollars (billions?) and the niche audience we are producing this for are beyond passionate; exemplified beautifully by their response to our last film.

The footage transports me to that time in my life and the emotional journey of the edit has been a thrilling one to conquer and overcome. Somehow, after days and days committed to the footage, it has assembled into a cohesive story. A story that I can feel in my loins in the way we all desire from the things we create. This is the stage where you can see the potential of the polish.

I send it off into the silence for input. I wait. The calendar clicks past. The screening approaches. The polishing beckons me. No feedback.

A younger me would be falling apart right now. My thoughts let loose on all of the possibilities of why I am alone on this one. I would be angry. I am angry. But it isn't paralyzing me. Instead the possibility of carrying it alone is a challenge I can encourage myself to accept.

I can accept it because we are all alone anyways. The input we are blessed with in this creative process is precious, but at the end of the day we are alone in all of our collaborations. Our team members are also alone. It is only our own tactics and approach that we truly have control over.

I've accepted that working until 6am is my process, not my penalty. The years that this ages me will be worn on my face as the accomplishment of wrinkles take form. Whether I had help or not those wrinkles will be mine, and they will be there because I care enough about it. I will wear them with pride, instead of caring less.

I think back to completion of other projects and remember the support I had. I crumbled under the pressure at that time, and conducted myself unimpressively. Those became great films, in my own mind at least. Was it despite the emotional collapse or because of it? Was it because of the commitment I enjoyed from my partner? Was it because all that was required for brainstorming was provided over dinner? This project will be revealing in a way I didn't expect. It's showing me my way forward from paralysis amidst the consequences of my past decisions.

What I continue to be able to return to is outlook. Keep it positive, kind and compassionate. The rest will sort itself out.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

I'm pressing a travel series out the door. More on that later...

Bright Central Railtown Studio

Book Online

Find an apartment to stay in Vancouver

Pronunciation: /ɪnspɪˈreɪʃ(ə)n/

Deep water diving into the dark abyss of footage, searching for the treasure chest of jewels. Somehow we have to carry them into the light so everyone can see them. We have to clean them just the right way so that you will see them at their best. But it is all of them together that is the splendor of a great film.

inspiration Pronunciation: /ɪnspɪˈreɪʃ(ə)n/ noun

1 [mass noun] the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, especially to do something creative:

• divine influence, especially that supposed to have led to the writing of the Bible.

2 a sudden brilliant or timely idea: then I had an inspiration

3 [mass noun] the drawing in of breath; inhalation: crackling sounds are heard in the stethoscope on inspiration

I surround myself with healthy distractions to inject into the long durations of sitting. My phone is off, internet unplugged, and the trains continue past my window in a linear fashion. I absorb the clips into my paintbox and exhale them in a non-linear fashion- playing with time at the tip of my fingers, somehow keeping it sorted in my consciousness.

Sometimes it’s best to hold my breath while I wait for whatever instinct it is that washes over me, whenever it decides to arrive. I trust it like a guide dog. I have to believe it can see the way forward because otherwise, we’re in trouble.

I try purity; brown rice, water, greens. I try stimulants; alcohol, coffee, sugar. Each brings me fleeting moments of clarity, but not one more than the other.

A faint trilling voice interrupts. The blessing that is canine friendship grounds me to the earth again. Her needs remind me of my own. Otherwise, I’d be in danger of not ever leaving the task at hand to breath the fresh air, or listen to the birds.

I recommit to my tunnel vision with a sun salutation and a small prayer for a Muse to be attracted here. Even just for a breath. (Or is it here, hiding in the dog?)

Tide Lines

Oceangybe is an initiative that came my way shortly after completing The Immortal Beaver and after meeting Andrew Naysmith who said simply, “I have some friends who are adventurers” or something to that extent (it was many years ago now so forgive my memory)

I got excited about this project because at the time there wasn’t much being said about the Pacific Gyre, and environmental films in general are usually not very exciting. These guys infuse a youthful exuberance into a global topic that would otherwise be quite depressing and seem somewhat hopeless.

Bringing this project to television markets I was met with a similar perspective as the guys received when trying to finance the trip itself: people don’t have much faith in young people’s ability to actually pull something like this off. The television industry itself it also quite ill, and taking this kind of risk is a huge liability for the old guard that is facing bankruptcy on all fronts.

That didn’t discourage us, and I set forth to invest the money I was making on other projects to ensure that production could continue in a better capacity than they guys had been able to accomplish on their own. We hired a Kiwi cameraman to cover their departure from New Zealand, and invested a large amount into hardware such as hard drive storage for the hundreds of hours of footage being collected from documenting the trash on beaches all around the world.

On several occasions logic tried to convince me that I should move on and abandon what could be seen as an idealistic endeavor. It’s hard not to realize how small a drop in the bucket any initiative on this topic is, especially when held up next to highly funded, corporately sponsored projects in a similar tone that have since popped up all over the world. In the end though, what that points more to is the dire need for every effort to be seen through to fruition. Drop by drop, eventually we start to fill that bucket.

David and I proceeded to invest even more time and money as the adventure neared home. We drove to San Diego to cover the journey’s American chapter. I flew myself to Maui and sailed for 3 weeks to film the final leg across the great Pacific Ocean and the arrival home, to Canada. >Here’s my guest blog from the trip<

Then the real work began. Hundreds of hours of material now make up the Oceangybe film, and tackling the edit is a daunting task indeed. Andrew and I continue to contribute labour and time to move the project forward, but in light of paying projects, Oceangybe has always risked being forgotten on the back burner.

In revisiting the material we have, it’s hard not to be inspired by the potential of a project that approaches this complex issue in such an entertaining light. The characters involved are funny, passionate, and determined. This project is not going to let us forget it. It’s demanding to be made.

The worst part of filmmaking is asking for money. It is not something I have been very good at. Now we are faced with this crowd funding initiative which is doing surprisingly well. However, when I look at the list of backers I realize I don’t know any of them. My inside voice wants to scream “Not even $10 for a copy of the film?” but I know that isn’t effective in getting people onside. I can only hope that eventually the project will rise above the multitude of similar requests that flood our online lives. I can only hope that the 10 minutes of time required may materialize in my friends lives and we can hit the home stretch with this project - so close and yet so far.

>Kickstarter<

Rafiki is an African girl name. The meaning of the name is `Friend`

Life passes another one past

tears are only for my own pain

your pain no longer lasts

and your love will never die

You sailed the sea saltily

stood proud by your masters side

stood guard against the evil squirrel

and took snuggles in your stride

Gently you placed your chin on my knee

lovingly you'd groom our friend

it’s how we know your gentle soul

those memories won’t end

So we ran in your park today

celebrating your heart, your play

how from the start you let us in

and let us forever call you friend

Rafiki

Cargo Cult Culture

Packing to film on a small island in the Pacific is like packing to film on a small boat crossing the Pacific. If you didn't bring it with you, good luck finding it on Tanna.

At the base of the Yasur volcano lives one of the two John Frum villages on the island. The ground rumbles the voice of god from the active lava belches mere metres away. Sometimes it rumbles the tectonic plate disco. When I was there it also shook with the pounding of the passionate feet of the people who worship the teachings of John Frum.

While Jimmy was navigating the pothole stricken roller coaster ride that took us across the island just after sunrise, I noticed a book beside him. It was about the man who brought Christianity to Vanuatu. He was heralded as a saint. Likely he convinced them to stop eating each other which would have warranted some bold attention.

Jimmy is Bahá'í, which is just one of the dozens of religions on this small island. Describing Bahá'í, he used an interesting template.

" Jew's prophet is Moses. Their book is the Old Testament and they worship on Sunday. Christians prophet is Jesus. Their book is the Bible and they worship on Saturday or Sunday. Bahá'í have no prophet, no book, and we worship every day." I've since looked further into Bahá'í

I'm fascinated at the idea that they have all of these prophets recognized as part of an evolution of mankind.

For the John Frum followers their prophet is obvious. I never heard about any book that they may follow, but they worship every Friday by sharing songs that came to them over the past week. On this day though, it's not Friday, it's February 15th: the anniversary of his visit.

Photographers swarm in the faces of young men, proudly painted with the red letters "USA". The people taking the photos are from every country except the USA and they are treating their subjects like zoo animals. I watch them as they make no eye contact with their subjects, jump in front of them, pointing their cameras inches from their faces, and then walk away without a smile in their direction.

At first it seems bizarre that they are dancing in front of an American flag in front of a volcano. Gradually, with every dance, their attire gets closer and closer to what we might imagine people from this place may dance in.

(except for the Christmas tinsel)

Reviewing the interview from Chief Isaac, I can only understand 20% of the Bislama he is speaking, but I think I get what he is saying, and suddenly it all comes together.

John Frum told them not to abandon their traditional ways as the missionaries would have them do. They dance before us, decades later, in the ways of their fathers before them, with a pride and passion that makes the earth move.

The French seismologists told them that they had to evacuate the village 20 years ago because the volcano was going to erupt. They danced instead, and they are still here. The French are not.

And so the American Flag and military uniforms may seem out of place, but this prophet deserves his following for what he has brought to these people everlasting.

It also makes me curious: are we not due for a new prophet?

Auckland

It's funny what passes by between postings.

The Sky's the Limit crew returned to Los Angeles to catch some pick-ups that will help to flesh out our episode nicely. LA is a brutal city to film in, and doing it properly via Film LA is best to avoid if at all possible. It's costly, painful paperwork and the last visit we were never asked to provide proof of a permit anywhere we went. Locations are less excited about being featured in a travel show than any other city. This time the weather cooperated unlike our last trip here, and we're all happy that we returned and managed some amazing footage.

Currently we find ourselves in Auckland New Zealand. Gio and I had planned to arrive in Vanuatu in advance of the rest of the crew so that we could sort out logistics since it is a very hard location to plan from Canada. There are places that benefit from face-to-face contact immensely and I assume that this is one of them. They are culturally protective and the permits are still detailed, but communication challenges make finalization of plans near impossible.

Cyclone Jasmine hit the day we flew out of Vancouver, forcing us to wait for the next flight from Auckland 3 days later. There are far worse places to be stranded and we've made the best of it, getting a nice sunburn and exploring the city from the left-hand lane. People are less friendly than one would think and I assume they think that we are American. While here I have managed to connect with contacts that friends have passed on so that we arrive in Vanuatu as less of the strangers than we had previously been, so perhaps it's all for the best.

The entire crew is now here and we are about to head out into the city for the night before grabbing our flight out tomorrow afternoon. I'm hoping all of our equipment will make it as well since we are so far beyond the weight limit requested for luggage on this small plane.

Victoria

We arrived in Victoria to a snowstorm, which is always amusing on the Island. From Portland to the Coho Ferry the storm challenged my driving skills, but driving in Montreal trained me for the conditions, and gave me many skills in dealing with the circumstances. I feel surviving a storm in Montreal should be mandatory to get your drivers license, but then I wouldn't get such entertainment from this city, which closes down after an inch of snow.

1. Drive slow. Then when you skid you are still in control

2. Park at an angle in case snowfall buries you, you can rock your way out of it

3. The rocking technique allows you to dig your way out using your car's natural abilities and weight

4. Staggering in a checkerboard pattern on the roads guards you from other idiots who don't know these things

5. Pump your brakes slowly to slow gradually to a stop. This also allows you to understand the limitations of the slipperiness you're dealing with before you slide into the intersection

This city itself paralyses me. My dog as well stiffens up, but for different reasons. We'd both rather be in the sun and heat, but work required we return prematurely.

I'm trying to craft a new relationship with this place. It was surprising to get such a warm and roaring welcome from so many dear friends.

Brick by brick I am rebuilding a creative space, a creative team, and a healthy lifestyle. My office here is finally furnished, and loose ends are finally being cleaned up.

While the next few weeks will be full of travel, I also get to return to some of the film community events that started me on my professional path. When I first arrived in Victoria, it was the Film Festival that brought me into my own community of filmmakers, which drove me to achieve measurable feats.

We are not the product of our pasts, we are the potential of our futures. We are our dreams.

The Hobo Highway

Expediting us home takes us up the I5. It’s estimated that it saves us three hours, but those hours would be well spent on the Pacific Highway. The #1 is a WAY nicer drive, as most of the I5 is like the desert drive = nothing. Civilization is a significant detour from the highway so all you really have left are gas stations and rest areas. My back and shoulders object. My co-pilot does not.

Without a selection of music of my own I have grown tired of the Spanish lessons and the one disc I purchased in Oakland. The radio stations offer and interesting evolution of local news perspectives, and the same playlist. It’s a bad accompaniment to being alone with my thoughts, since lyrics usually sing to heart’s sorrow, or relate to past happinesses. Ekhart Tolle expressed that unhappiness is the result of thoughts, and I have been experiencing this during my three hour stretches of highway driving. It helps to tune in to the Spanish stations which are much happier, but lose signal faster. It also help to try to sing along to those tunes extolling the same heartaches but in a jovial tone, and without understanding half of the words.

It's also occurring more and more to me that it's a very strange thing that our happiness is gauged by how well our relationships are going. No doubt if I could let myself be devoted to another person I could dwell in those feelings instead, and forget what it is I want, and why it is that I'm single and alone. Love songs easily distract from a bigger picture of the world; one that I want to expand on and on reflection this is the freedom I have been enjoying.

The main challenge is obviously that I’m driving in the wrong direction.

Tips from the hobo road:

Don’t wear make-up. It’s just stupid and screws with logistics of minimizing the needs of the hobo. Not wearing make-up also deters advances from strangers.

Starbucks is your best friend for free wifi, and although the priceless GPS guides us well and often (and without requiring a cell signal or roaming fees), businesses change more often than it's updated. Usually it’s right about where the Starbucks are, and from there google will tell you whatever you’re missing. A handy feature in google maps once you have your location is “search nearby” and “directions” which will help you find almost anything you need as well as help you plan your itinerary and route.

Gas station cuisine will actually do a person more harm than good. It’s better to just avoid eating until you can make a real restaurant stop. I do, however, usually snack on gummy bears though it's inadvisable if you have problem skin.

All Oregon gas stations are full service, and will check your fluids for you without a fee (I think a tip is expected) This is always a good idea.

I have also learned to carry a full jerry can of gas at all times, but that’s because my fuel gauge is bust... which has been exciting on a couple of occasions. This is not something a lone woman, or anyone really, should deal with at night.

Pumps in California will not often take Canadian debit (bank cards don’t work in Cuba either btw, anywhere, but that’s another chapter), and Canadian credit cards don’t work at the pump. I’ve taken to overpaying with cash and getting refunded the balance.

Man my shoulders hurt, which is a surprise, and would be solved if my co-pilot could drive.

San Diego

It's funny that when I start to think about San Diego all of my descriptions seem to fail me.

All I've ever really seen of this city on the two other occasions I've found myself here is the area known as Point Loma because it is near the airport, the cruise ship terminal, and the marinas. Shelter Island is well populated by residential vehicles who relocate to the streets after 10:30pm.

These happy people enjoy beaches and utilities that make for a nice day of BBQ and banter. I learn that they manage internet and showers by acquiring the secret codes from friends in the know. Judy tells me I can get info about sailing if I talk to Mary-Jo at West Marine. Then they tell me of an RV mecca nearby to where I just was in Arizona. Quartzsite a city of RVs on public land "drycamping" for free. This is the second time I've heard this place described as the motor-hobo paradise that brings child-like joy to their faces.

There was only one place I could have dinner. The Pearl is a pearl. Funky collector retro touches create an ambience to match the menu. Creative cocktails, locally sourced, fresh food, craft brews line the taps. They also run an online radio station that is always awesome no matter when you tune in. The staff here always impress me with how good they are at their job and how extra personable they manage to be- obviously truly enjoying themselves. When you ask anyone in San Diego where a traveller should go to explore after dark, everyone replies, "OB."

Ocean Beach. Just over the hill. It's a small strip that hasn't been overrun despite it's supreme oceanfront location. Just a few blocks radius, it's dozen or so bars are buzzing with surfer types and other local lefties. The parking lots here are free and only closed between 2am and 4am. The beach has a public washroom and a very cold shower. I am not the only one with the idea of how comfortable it can be to live out of a vehicle. In fact, this place has everything we need, but we don't have the vermin effect that could easily happen under these circumstance.

Sable isn't allowed in parks or on beaches before 4pm, but the enforcement that told me this was able to point me at the dog beach. You can probably imagine how wonderful a place that is. It instantly becomes part of our daily routine and the smile that paints my face the entire time I'm there and for hours following feels amazing and beautiful. The secret to happiness can be found on a dog beach.

It takes us days to explore this small place. I learn so much about the culture here, how things work, why it is the way it is. Everyone I talk to smiles in a very sweet way as I extoll the virtues. "Yes you belong here. Of course you'll be back. Of course you want to live here. Of course you don't want to leave."

The Hobo Producer in Las Vegas aka Alice in Wonderland

It wasn't the plan, but the last dusk of 2011 was witnessed by my best friend and I in Sin City.

We arrived without expectation. At least it can be assumed Sable had no expectations either, since she didn't voice any to me :)

The thing about travelling alone is that social behaviour has to be cautious for the sake of safety. On the road we avoid friendships or discussions about where we're going and how unaccompanied we are. Bars and nightclubs would be a mistake. Acknowledging vulnerability to oneself first any never to anyone else seems to be sensible. This does, however, make for a pretty tame New Year, even in Vegas.

They say like attracts like, so it's fitting that I watched the fireworks with my new friend Mike, another Happy Hobo. He continually tugs at his tangled beard exclaiming how hard it was for him to cultivate this image, and how much time he's invested in it. 18 years ago he was tempted home from the road with news of his mother being ill. "She's 93 and still a bucking horse!" Yet something has kept him from returning to the road. His sweetheart pitbull Franky happily rides atop the trailer he tows with his bicycle nimbly through the rowdy crowds to everyone's amusement. Mike's determined not to lose me in the crowd and he says to me sternly, "I came here to find you. You may not believe me but I did."

I know he did, and I'm so happy to have him as an escort since together we avert any potential for problems amidst the moronic youth that surround us and have yet to learn how to drink without looking stupid. He's my guardian angel tonight. Or Frankie is.

We talk about how we resent money, how we feel it takes away from our integrity. His eyes glow with every revelation we share. I adore how much I have in common with this man. The one thing we debate is his calm pond. "I do nothing, that way there's no ripples in the pond."

Nice excuse, but I have to challenge him. In fact he doesn't do nothing, he makes macrame. Knots. But refuses to make money at it. We can all claim reasons for our failures and justify them 10 ways from Sunday, but in the end it's only ourselves we answer to, and he himself is happy doing nothing and that's all the reason he needs. I envy this contentment he's achieved.

Vegas locals struggle with an interesting dynamic: lack of women. We wouldn't assume this of Vegas, but Nevada has the lowest ratio of women to men than any other state aside from Alaska. They're very confused and concerned about me traversing the streets alone, and it's quite unusual. Even hookers wouldn't find themselves alone in the streets. Considering the commodity women are here, it is quite unsettling to not be one of the ones capitalizing on it. The female tourists are even engaging in the strange role, probably assuming it's expected of them. Perhaps though, this is the way so many people want to behave and how they wish they could treat each other, and that's a very sad state of affairs.

The locals are easy to befriend though, and I've encountered an incredible collection of wonderful people who each have their own exciting stories of how they ended up here, despite the coastal options right at the doorstep. If my heater had been working I would have joined my oyster shucking friends on a snowboarding adventure, but Vegas is cold and the best call was to head back into the sun. It's a city I look forward to returning to with friends and money. I'd say it was a successful scouting mission. All around me I could hear the usual conflicts enjoyed by travelling partners and teams and I am reminded how lucky I am that my co-pilot doesn't speak English and seldom complains. In fact, Sable loved Vegas and her wild eyed gleeful grinning face is all I need in life.