June 21, 2014

Solstice. Rose before dawn under the fat crescent of the moon, jaunted about in the dark, mailed a letter. Toe achy but not debilitating.

Recollections from the journey: In Munich there was a big tangle before the security check before the gate from which our flight departed. A man at a desk on the side motioned me and a few random others to what we thought was an additional line. But once we rounded the wall, we discovered we had been waved past the security check altogether, just sauntering into the gate area as though we were VIPs. It’s not that I didn’t appreciate the relief from yet another security check (and this one seemed particularly rigorous, with the opening of bags and questions asked by serious-faced officials) but that I wondered why, if it’s so vital, can it be circumvented with such random alacrity.  In Charlotte there was a terrible backup at customs. My connection was far off so I didn’t care that much, but the harpies screaming at us “You must have your passport in hand” crossed the line for me. Needless to say, I did not have passport in hand, and as the woman pursued me screaming “I need you to have passport in hand!!!” I observed to myself that I didn’t, and she clearly didn’t need that at all. I got too deep into the crowd and she lost interest. Meanwhile, a blond lady cop was browbeating a kid for wising off to her. “I’m in charge here, not you. Do you think you’re in charge? Is that what you think?” The kid refused to answer her rhetorical questions. I admired him. The last thing I saw was her pulling him out of line. When we reached security after customs I was pulled aside, ordered not to touch my carry-on or my jacket, and four additional guards surrounded me. The urge to touch the damn carry on was almost, but not quite, overwhelming. All arbitrary orders must be disobeyed. Anyway, the guard said I had a Tupperware box filled with powder in my bag. What was it? I said I had no such thing, and he said the scanner clearly showed it. He rummaged around to his heart’s content–meanwhile the guards had put their hands on me, lest, I suppose, I bolt. Finally he said, “Oh, here it is.” It was a paperback book jammed into the pocket of my jacket. The fineness of the TSA’s discernment amazed me yet again. What other operation which is 99.9% useless and faulty do we endure?

Wild calling of birds just before the light. Enraging rehearsal this afternoon, then a concert tonight.