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Location: Work.
Anticipating: My friend Scott visiting on the 24th.
Listening: "Honey" ~ Moby.

I would like to begin by apologizing to the people who parked next to me on the roof of Structure 4 at LAX Saturday night. Thank you for not alerting security.

With that out of the way, I'll say that Peter arrived, safe and sound (if an hour and fifteen minutes late) on Saturday night. I barely made it to the gate on time, as the USAir security folk decided to search my purse. Apparently, my monogrammed Leatherman (which I had forgotten was in the interior pocket), caught their eye on X-ray and so I found myself, with about five minutes before Peter was scheduled to disembark, watching a squat security maven frantically rifling through my belongings. Having removed a set of chopsticks, a miniature bottle of water from a previous flight, a sports bra, birth control pills, my Teach Yourself Swahili book, stacks of print-outs, my wallet (which she stared at as if it were a grenade), four watercolor brushes, two temporary security passes to my work building, a pack of pictures and four UniBall pens, she finally found the Leatherman and held it up triumphantly. I offered to let her keep it if she would just let me through the checkpoint. She played with it and raised an eyebrow. I growled "Yes, it's a knife. It's actually about seven or eight knives. And it's yours--just let me through.". She stared, put the Leatherman back in my purse and walked off.

People. God Bless It.

Despite that absurd exercise, I managed to make it to the terminal in time to greet Peter as he came down the jetway. He looked tired, but beautiful. I kept sneaking sideways glances on the way to baggage claim and thinking "Oh my God, he's so cute." Sometimes I'm all of 12 or so, but it's fun.

We meandered home, where we inspected the new sheets I had purchased in his absence (jersey--sooo comfy) and sat on the den floor, where he unpacked his carry-on. Among the things brought home were about six or seven contact sheets from rolls of black and white film that he had developed--containing some of the most amazing pictures that I hope we'll be posting soon, several binders of collector's stamps, pictures from his high school and college days, and gifts for me. I received not one but two (!!) of his mother's porcelain boxes. I was stunned. I'd been quietly coveting the aqua-glazed box he brought with him from Seattle in January, but hadn't thought to mention it to him. The two that I received were selected by Peter and his mother; Peter's is a deep celadon green and his mother's choice is a dark, almost lapis, blue. The colors of water--and my two favorites. I'll be posting pictures of them here shortly. They are, honestly, the most thoughtful and beautiful gifts I've ever received from a lover.

We slept like rocks until noon on Sunday and then lazed around the house until it was time to leave for the Area One concert in Devore. The drive was predictably long-ish (Devore, for those familiar, is where they hold Renaissance Faire every year--a remote little town closer to San Bernardino than Los Angeles), but we arrived just in time for me to acquire a membership in Greenpeace before New Order took the stage. We had lawn seats (floor was sold out when I called *sigh*), but the view wasn't as poor as I'd feared and Peter stood watching while I sat at his feet. I was familiar with some of the songs from my own radio and club experiences ("Blue Monday" and "Solo Love Triangle") and others from Peter's mp3 playlist, so I enjoyed the set despite not being a fan previously. Apparently, they reunited for the Area One Festival for reasons we later discovered during Moby's set, and they sounded tight--at least to my untrained ears. Visually, they were fun. Peter later commented that it was shame that the lead singer "danced like a dork"; I just found him endearingly enthusiastic. I replied "He's a musician--he's not supposed to dance."--because the majority of musicians I've known couldn't get the box step down. Strange, but consistent, it seems.

After New Order, we rambled around the concert grounds until we found the "Ford Focus Area", which amounted to a large tent packed with ravers, glow sticks and projection screens. Paul Oakenfold was performing and I was very impressed with the small amount we managed to hear before fleeing the crush of bodies and stifling heat. I felt thwarted for several reasons: 1) The music demanded to be danced to, yet I found myself constantly jostled and menaced by the motions of the people around me (I knew it was just a matter of time before the teenage girl in front of me gave me a black eye with her flailing) and 2) The tent was dark, crowded, and filled with pounding percussion--in other words, ideal for concert-sex. However, due to the constant flood of people moving around us, I was convinced that a painful if not potentially disabling collision would inevitably take place with really embarrassing results. So I refrained. *sigh*

We fled the rave tent and wandered up onto the far reaches of the lawn, beyond the majority of the lights, to stretch out in the grass and look up at the stars. The moon was rising over our shoulders and the sky stretched out above us, full of the stars that are so often invisible in Los Angeles and Long Beach. Despite the noise from the Outkast set, it was peaceful and those few minutes alone would have made the entire evening worthwhile for me. I also had the opportunity to make out with someone in the grass for the first time in years--and it was as much fun and as frustrating as I remember it being. Yay.

Moby took the stage around 10:30 and proceeded to give one of the most energetic and eclectic sets I've seen. I first saw Moby perform last year at the KROQ Weenie Roast; he was allowed about four songs and managed to turn the former Irvine Meadows into a mini-rave for that brief period of time. I was impressed with his energy and unabashed enthusiasm (as well as his self-deprecating humor) then and got much more of the same last night. The show was amazing--to try to record everything that I enjoyed would be too lengthy, but suffice to say, I was again blown away (and he played "Honey", which is my favorite piece of his). The highlight of the show came about two songs from the conclusion, when Moby called New Order to the stage and fulfilled what has apparently been an almost lifelong dream of playing with them. He credited the influences of New Order and Joy Division as key to his success--a pleasant surprise for both Peter (a Joy Division/New Order fan) and me (a Moby fan). To top it off, the song they chose to play together is apparently somewhat obscure--and one of Peter's favorites. Considering that I bought the festival tickets as a present for him, I couldn't have been happier. Moby and New Order. Peanut butter and Jesus. Two great tastes that taste great together.

We took the 10W back into LA and had a (very) late dinner at Denny's in my old neighborhood near 'SC. This reminded me to take Peter onto the campus one of these days, ramble around and show him the places I revisited the weekend after he left--the goldfish fountain in the lower patio of the University Church, the Chapel where I fell asleep on the pew (after entering something resembling a church for the first time in years), Mudd Hall of Philosophy with its natural circle and fountain with the faces of the Green Man at the four corners, the Doheny stacks...all of the places that kept me sane during my college years. All of the places that still managed to give me a sense of peace when I returned...

Over the past week, I've realized how good this trip actually was for us. Being apart for three weeks allowed me to re-discover my independence (something I realize now I desperately needed to do) and him to return home and explore his nostalgia. The result, it seems, is that we're (at least I am) as happy if not happier than before in our homelife--and as "fucked-up" as it may be, I wouldn't have it any other way.