So indeed I did meet me father for the first time since age 2 yesterday. Surreal and complex, another ordinary day. As a kid I'd wondered about him quite a bit. As an adult not so much. I thought about the details of my heritage more as an adult. Race became a hot topic for me in my undergraduate years, and my faith in my mother's version decreased. So sure enough, her story was somewhere past incomplete. Turns out I'm 1/16 "black" rather than 1/4; 1/4 Sudanese (Arab), not Saudi Arabian; am Cherokee, Chocktaw, and Creek, making me twice as Native American as I am black, that's 1/8 for those of you who lack the skills to add things up right, and 9/16 European, otherwise known as mostly white. My Chinese coworker has already started calling me whiteboy, which rings painful and hilarious. Yup, this means that I will have to revise my whole wardrobe and music collection, as I will my voice and view of the world. The whole story ain't short, and it's late, but I wanted to write something, search for resolutions and revelations between the written thoughts.
The Crucible's Fire Arts Festival rocked like nothing else in these parts last night. God hell love fire fascinates and warms me. One of my favorite parts was when one of the Megavolt guys sat on a wooden stool and put himself in the Tesla coil arc circuit, causing the stool he was sitting on to burst into flames. So badass. Hats off to the fire tornado folks and all the dancers too. Makes me want do some fire art of my own, pretty bad.