One of the many things I attempt to archive here on this blog is my juggling. I don't post every single gig (just as I don't post about every TV extra role, every jumping picture, or every published crossword), but I do feel the need to stick in a performance post, esp. if a gig was notable, every now and again to remind myself and readers in the far distant future that performing was a part of my life. Hence this post.
Last weekend, the Bellingham Circus Guild, along with Hot Damn Scandal, hosted Circadia, a circus/play/concert show to celebrate the Equinox. I performed a solo juggling piece to the band's rendition of Haddaway's "What is Love" (complete with Night at the Roxbury head bobs and Will Ferrell inspired t-shirt/sports coat/gold chain attire). I programmed my fancy light-up clubs to change patterns to the music and lights such that the "club atmosphere" was well evoked. (The flashy clubs also served as a distracting enough gimmick that the perhaps less than inspired act still came across as fun.) The act was well received (even if I dropped more than I would have liked) and the show was deemed a success by all. I've been in 2 other Circus Guild shows since I lost my better-half/cheerleader/backstage support/stage partner, and each of those times, I barely kept it together and spend the majority of the show hidden away in my car with my fingers in my ears. The experience this time was much improved, with a cast that I really felt included in and supported by. And while it was still hard (I snuck a picture of Della high above the stage so she could be looking down on me), it was maybe the first time that I felt stage performance could still conceivably be a part of my future and that's a good thing. Anyway, since a picture is worth lots of words and a video is worth even more, here you go. Like I said, there were more drops than I would have liked in the act (esp. in this instance of it), but hopefully posterity will get the gist. (If you want to keep up on my circusing with more regularity than this blog allows, the best place to do so would be Instagram where I can be found @WrenTheJuggler.) |
Thursday March 24 2022 | File under: circus, juggling |
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We probably all know by now that being an extra in a movie is one of my life goals. I tell everyone about it (partially in hopes that their brother's wife's uncle has some sway on such things). And I've posted about it here a bunch of times over the years*. The official goal is "be an extra in a movie where you can see my face and the movie is big enough to play in my hometown cinema." And while I can't cross it off the list completely yet, today I got a tiny step closer. The name of the film is Kimi directed by Steven Soderbergh (famous for such films as Erin Brockovich, Traffic, Ocean's Eleven, and Ocean's Thirteen*). It released on HBO Max. It was definitely the biggest production I had worked on (at the time*) and as with all my movie/TV set experiences, it was super interesting. Interesting, however, doesn't always translate into screen time. I'm very pleased with the 2 glimpses you get of me in the movie (at 1:01:41 and 1:01:59) as a) you can clearly see it's me and b) I'm in frame with the lead character. Besides 1 day on set as a "pedestrian", I spent 2 days as "protestor" but I can't seem to find myself among the 300 other extras in that scene. Alas. In this line of work, you never know if you'll make it on screen and I'm happy I got a peek. Now might be a good time to point out that I have no delusions of grandeur. I am happy that I got a cumulative 7 seconds of blurry background action. In no way do I feel like I was in this movie. No one will watch the movie and say "Hey, that's Wren!". Nor will anyone say "That pedestrian really blew me away. Hire him for my next movie!" File this under obscure little things that matter only to me for reasons that even I don't fully understand. I filmed on 2 other movie sets last year, as well as a TV show (Girl in the Woods on Peacock) and two industrials* (Microsoft and Mercedes). The movies haven't been released yet and I don't think will be as "big" as this one. In the TV show, all you saw was me from behind. And I'll probably never see the industrials. But for a guy that is pursuing a goal, it's progress. You can see screenshots, filming dates, and the projects that I don't post about on my TV/Movie Extra Resume. And if you happen to have an uncle-in-law that is in charge of casting, hook me up! You will be doing me an incredible solid and I would be eternally grateful. |
Thursday February 10 2022 | File under: extra |
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On of the things that I do upon returning from a trip (besides looking through photos and sharing stories IRL) is to wrap my head around the costs of the trip. This helps me see the big picture, after so much attention paid to whether that albergue is worth €2 more than this one or if I'm the kind of guy that pays for taxis rather than taking public transport. And I really like knowing. So without further ado, here's what my recent trip to do the Camino de Santiago and then some R&R time in Africa cost.
In grand total, I spent $3,621 which comes out to about $65/day all inclusive. I'd say that's a small price to pay to have an experience of a life time that gave me new perspectives on myself (the Camino) and a glimpse into how others live in a totally different part of the world (Senegal/The Gambia), not to mention a long overdue visit with a college friend (Jerez, Spain). (P.S. I know that travel is about more than doing it as cheaply as possible. And I know that caring less about money while traveling is something I need to work out. This analysis is a tool to help me do that. And I would have said more about all that, but this post is long enough as it is.) |
Sunday January 9 2022 | File under: travel, data |
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Twas the night before Christmas and homemade music filled the air
The words were in Spanish, but I didn't care. Tambourines were shaking, people were clapping Elena had a textured bottle on which she was tapping These people who are singing I just met today They are in-laws of Horge, a friend from back in the day They've invited me in to share in their big feast There was shrimp, ham, and cheese, 8 types at least I needed the nourishment, cause the day'd been a long trial My flight back from Africa to Spain had been delayed quite a while A day spent stranded in airports left me tired and beat But I perked right up when I saw the plates of meat A toddler runs rampant, the house is full of great spirit The impromptu singing's so loud I'm sure the neighbors hear it The joy in this family is so plainly clear It's the perfect expression at this time of year And I find myself thinking, about Della of course And that familial joy of which she was the source I won't lay it all out, all my thoughts good and blue If you want that kind of stuff, check out last year's haiku So now I lay myself down for some much needed rest In a guest room far away feeling both sadness and blessed The sadness, that's clear, I'm sure it'll always be there The blessing are this evening that I was lucky to share I hope your blessings feel bigger and you have no cause for sorrow So you can fully enjoy the big holiday tomorrow So as I drift off to sleep, here on the Spanish coast I wish a Happy New Year to all and Merry Christmas to most |
Saturday December 25 2021 | File under: holidays, poetry |
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Almost anyone who has traveled to a developing nation has likely been confronted with the glaring wealth inequality between the US and wherever they are traveling. It is evident in so many ways: poor infrastructure, unavailability of goods and services, interactions with everyday people, and so much more. And while wealth inequality is evident in the US too, it somehow feels much more prevalent in so many countries I've visited.
Take The Gambia: according to a recent article in Global Finance Magazine, The Gambia ranks as the 16th poorest country in the world, even poorer than Haiti and Sudan. The U.S. is 7th richest with almost 30 times more per person, based on GDP and purchasing power parity. When you factor in the severe drop in tourism due to COVID-19, it puts a country that has not an insignificant reliance on tourism like The Gambia in an even tougher position. A Turkish power generation boat serves electricity to much of coastal Gambia because the local infrastructure is under developed. This wealth inequality was one of the factors that help me choose where I'm going to travel to. Hawaii doesn't need my money. Nor, in the recent case of me needing a rest after the Camino, does Ibiza or the Canary Islands. I figured while although the travels of Wren don't equal status quo changing amounts, every dollar I spend in a place like the Gambia or Senegal (34th poorest nation) is a dollar that otherwise wouldn't get added to the economy. And yes, not every penny of that dollar (or every butut of that dalasi, as the case may be) stays here (I do occasionally buy a snickers, Coke, or other American product in a pinch), but I figure a non-zero amount makes it into the hands of a Gambian and that I count as a win. So it is with all this in the back of my head that I toddle along on my African journey. I try my best to eat at local restaurants, stay at hotels/guesthouses that are owned by a person not a corporation, and not over-haggle. And even though it is counter to the habits I've spent a lifetime forming, I try to use the wealth inequality argument to splurge a little, maybe a couple fresh juices here or a cab ride instead of bus there. Enza and me with some delicious ice cream from Ice Land. In the last couple days, however, this consideration has come to the foreground. My daily routine involves quite a bit of walking and on these walks, I'm always approached by tour guides, taxi drivers, or market stall owners asking for my business. Since I'm rarely in need of their services, I instead take some time to answer their questions* and generally try to change the interaction from one of me feeling looked upon as a possible sale and little more to one where we are two people having a genuine conversation. It works maybe half the time. When it works, however, it can lead to some really great moments. The Gambian people are super nice. They don't call it the Smiling Coast for no reason. So I've had some really nice conversations, often hearing about the toll the pandemic is taking on people's lives and livelihoods. Last night, as I meandered the town looking for some dessert, a shop owner fell in beside me with the usual. After sharing a bit about an earlier negative experience I had with a local tour guide hustler, our interaction transitioned to a truly genuine one. He told me a lot about his life and esp. the finances of it (how much a bag of rice has gone up since the new president took power, how much it costs to send his brothers and sisters to school, how much medicine can cost when you get sick, how it is his job to support his mother and family yet he goes days without a sale at his shop). He ended up joining me the whole 2 mile walk to the ice cream shop where we continued our conversation the good stuff. On the way home, he introduced me to his mother. It was nice. I plan to swing by his shop later to at least have a look. I always love riding in a tuk-tuk, even if I could have just as easily walked. I wish I had some greater revelation re: this issue of wealth inequality viewed through the lens of travel besides hoping my meager travel budget is a drop in the bucket of what's needed. And I guess the mere act of being here and having my eyes further opened to the realities of that wealth inequality is something, esp. as it will be part of the story I tell about my time here. But with only <2 days left until I leave, perhaps I should just post this and head out and try and spend a bit more money. There's a fresh juice stand on the beach calling my name. |
Wednesday December 22 2021 | File under: travel, Gambia |
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With the thought that a little down time might not hurt, I decided my first days in Gambia might call for a beach and, well, little else. I found a nice "eco-lodge"* where the price was right. Tourism is very low, due to COVID, so I practically have the place to myself.
And while I'm looking for down time, I don't want it to be boring, so when an ex-pat who is living here asked if I wanted to accompany her on an "adventure", I was totally game. I needed to go into the little town anyway to exchange money*. So off we went in the bush taxi. The plan, as I understood it, was to hook up with a local beach bar owner friend, visit the market and get some stuff for a meal, convince beach bar owner to cook said meal, and generally make a day of it. And a day of it, it was. Nothing in Gambia (or Senegal, for that matter) seems to move with any sense of urgency/speed/seeming purpose, so I was very prepared for the meandering, side quests, distractions, and more that made our trip to the market take 2-ish hours. And when I mean market, I don't mean grocery store. The little fishing village near Gunjur was a mishmash of ramshackle huts, each selling a little of this or that. We got onions here, tomatoes there, rice bread water there there and there. I say "we" but I just happily tagged along while Lamin and Antje chatted our way through and handled the business. I was just along for the ride. The focus of the meal was to be butter fish, a step up, as I understand it, from the standard fish that seem to exist in piles all over. So we found a place cutting it fresh (though a million miles from hygenically) and grabbed some fillets. And with that, we were off down the beach! Lamin's beach bar was, well, sparse. No electricity, no floor, thatched roof, and cooking that happened over a fire out back, as far as I could tell. But it was right on the beach and really really peaceful. The cooking was another unhurried event, taking more than 2 hours. While we waited, I entertained the locals who were hanging out with some juggling, having found a machete and a couple of kitchen knives. They were a great audience. When dinner was served, it was, well, authentic. Carrots, sweet potatoes, taro, egg plant, tomatoes, cabbage, onions all coated in oil and slow cooked. The fish was battered and fried. And off it was served with white rice. The plate was so full I could barely finish it (thought left a bit of the smooshy eggplant). All in all, the food was good, though not great. Definitely a good boost of veggies that my diet has been sorely lacking*. The experience, however, was top notch. I got a local experience and down time, really exact what the doctor ordered. Back at the hotel, I entertained a staff with my rope tricks. Talk about the best audience ever! They all wanted to learn all of them and I was happy to oblige! |
Friday December 17 2021 | File under: travel, Gambia |
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Story #1: What Are Borders Anyway?
On the topic of travel, people often ask "What countries have you been to?" Besides relishing the question as a lowkey way to brag, I also love to tell the story of the time I snuck under a barb-wire fence to get my picture in Russia! Well, I did it again...I think. Cap Skirring, Senegal is in the far Southwestern corner of the country. In dinking around with google maps, I realized I was less than 1 mile from the border of Guinea-Bissau. Why not? So I struck off down the beach (coming up on sunset a little sooner than I had bargained for). All in all, it was even more anti-climactic than the Russia barbed-wire thing. There wasn't a fence or anything. I just walked until my phone said I was in Guinea-Bissau then turned around and headed home (so as not be be stuck in the dark.) Do I feel like I've been to Guinea-Bissau? No. But will it be a fun asterisk when the topic comes up? Heck yeah! Story #2: Little Successes of Public Transportation One of the things I really like to do when traveling to a new place is to get to know how the locals get around. Sure I could take a taxi everywhere (assuming I can somehow communication where I want to go), but that feels like cheating, like going to a foreign land and staying in the resort the whole time. Here in Senegal, the way people get around the sept place, these beater old cars (all the same model of Pugeot) that take 7 passengers crammed together down the potholed roads. They don't have any schedule, just leave once they are full. But despite the absolute chaos of the sept place station, there is a method to the madness, or so it seems, as I have ended up where I wanted to go all three times I've tried! Successfully getting around the way the locals do feels like a little success, but an important one, one that I can feel proud of. (But that pride doesn't keep my butt from falling asleep when crammed in the way way back of that little Subaru-sized thing.) Story #3: A Bad Day Turned Around As you may have gleaned from my last post about communication, Senegal has not been the happy-go-lucky recovery adventure I was naively hoping for. I keep hoping that each day will be the start of a that adventure, just after I learn how to do this, say that, or understand the other thing. Today, I prepared for that new start and came up with a plan. I sought out the one English speaker I had found in Cap Skirring, a great Rasta guy that ran a little cafe. I asked him advice on where to go, what to do, how to get there, and more. He was so helpful! He talked me out of one place I was going to go and into another one that he said was much nicer, cheaper, etc. He even hooked me up with his friend, supposedly English speaking, so when I arrived, he could help me find a good hotel and navigate the town. Well, after a fiasco of an entourage of moto-taxis, nearly spilling on the streets made of sand, and further communication gaps, I find myself stuck having to stay at possibly the worst hotel I've stayed in (which is really saying something) for a rate that could have gotten me at least a beach hovel in the previous town. I was so frustrated with the whole situation that I swore a blue streak (after everyone had left). The one savior of where I ended up was that one of the few Senegalese geocaches was a mere hour walk away. In hopes of cheering myself up, I set off. Alas, like the other two caches I tried in Dakar and almost everything else in this country, I was thwarted. But as is the point of geocaching, it took me to a spectacular location. And after a bit of letting the funk of the day wash away, I started to appreciate it: a beautiful secluded beach with wonderful thatched hut, an incredible hotel/bar property full of giant baobob trees, lagoons, and more (which I, coincidently, booked myself at for tomorrow night), the sunset, the walk back along the beach to a lively beach fish market scene. By the time I arrived back at my cell of a hotel room, I had found my peace, at least for the day. Did this turned around day balance out the contentious relationship I've had so far with Senegal? No. But I'm hoping it might be a start. |
Monday December 13 2021 | File under: travel, Senegal |
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First off, there's the French thing. Not only do I not speak it, I can't even pronounce it when I see it written*. So much for google translate to the rescue. And since most of the foreign tourists here do speak French, most locals assume I can understand them and am probably just being a jerk. But aside for awkward interactions, not being able to communicate affects things: can't communicate to a cab driver where I need to go, can't get a price for, well, anything, can't understand that the boat I'm getting on isn't headed to where I think it's headed to. Some of these things are par for the traveling course. And it's not something I've never dealt with, but what compounds it is... All the tools I rely on also seem to be suffering clear communication issues, though this time not based on language. The guidebook I'm using (most current version, only 3-4 years old) still referenced the old airport (a $40 cab ride away). Google maps is atrociously wrong, both on where roads exist and where hotels and establishments are on them. Even the most current info for the overnight ferry got a bunch of stuff wrong, specifically that there would be beds (there weren't) and that it would make a stop before its final destination (which it didn't.) Luckily, despite these frustrations, I've had some good experiences. Those that do speak English (few and far between) have been super happy to practice with me. And even when I respond to a "ça va??" on the street with a thumbs up, I get a smile in return. Too bad I can't communicate "to the nearest ice cream stand, stat!" with a smile. So while the communication thing has proven much harder than anticipated, I'm getting along, as I do. I added a jumping photo to my ever growing collection*. I've got to squish sand through my toes and let the Atlantic wash it away. I've eaten some great food (until I was laid up with a bad case of the Timbuk-toots). I've seen oodles of dolphins. And, as was my goal, I'm here and getting to know Senegal, even just a little bit. Perhaps this language thing will become too much for me and I'll hightail it for the English-speaking The Gambia. Or maybe I'll get over my need to understand and be fine with paying whatever they want to charge a bottle of water or a kebab of shrimp or the ability to take your luggage with you in a shared taxi. Ha ha. Just kidding. The Gambia here I come... |
Saturday December 11 2021 | File under: travel, Senegal |
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Well, I did it. I completed the Camino de Santiago. Specifically, I walked the Camino Frances (French Way) from St-Jean-Pied-a-Port, France to Santiago de Compostela, Spain. Guide books and mileage markers put the distance at 490 miles, but with detours, exploration, and occasionally getting a little lost, my mileage came in closer to ~520. It took me 30 days without any rest days, averaging a little over 17 miles a day.
I kept a daily journal of the trip, available here*, but I wanted to summarize and capture some overarching observations and feelings.
In conclusion, I walked 500 miles*. It was an experience I will never forget (for so many reasons) and I'm really glad I did it. To see a gallery of the three photos I challenged myself to take everyday, click here and arrow right. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . |
Sunday December 5 2021 | File under: travel, Spain |
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I'm walking the Camino de Santiago in northern Spain. Minimal research and planning speculate it will be about 500 miles and about 30 days. My minimal planning, however, has allowed for maximum flexibility, though, so we'll see.
Instead of making blog posts to track the adventure*, I've decided to keep a sort of trail journal. As with almost all things BdW, it will mostly be for me and my buddy posterity, but I offer it below in case you'd like to follow along. (The iframe below will be a window the to the live document, so scroll to the bottom to get the latest. Or you can just go here and bookmark it.) I'm imagining the journal will be as much about data-keeping as it will be about reflection (in true Wren style), so don't expect any Hemmingway-esque prose. (Oh, and as with most journaling, spelling and grammar errors don't count.) In the spirit of data-keeping, here are a few nuggets: * Pre-trip weigh in: 193.9 (high code orange, but I let myself off the hook for the weeks before as I knew I might shed a few lbs walking.) * Pack weight: ~25lbs, depending on what I'm wearing vs. carrying, how much water I'm carrying, etc. * Money spent on gear: $200 rain jacket, $25 used rain pants, $25 used light-weight sleeping bag, $40 backpack rain cover, $10 used insulated 1/2 liter water bottle for carrying tea So let the adventure begin. |
Friday November 5 2021 | File under: travel |
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