Living Out Loud

It's official- MOVED

2008-06-12T06:23:00.000-07:00

Find me here instead: http://ladamesansregrets.wordpress.com/

Moving?

2008-06-11T08:53:00.001-07:00

I am considering moving this blog over to Wordpress. As it stands, I have the blog set up at this address: www.ladamesansregrets.wordpress.com All my more tech-savvy pals swear that Wordpress is superior. However, I like the idea of coordinating everything through Google. We shall see...

Recent Events

2008-06-09T15:00:00.000-07:00

I don't usually document events in this blog, but I figure an occasional 'this is what I've been up to lately' update would be appropriate.

I have emerged pleased and triumphant following the marvelous birthday trifecta of the pass two weeks. It began with Allen's 'Big Lebowski in Little China' themed birthday party. Lil' bit Levine was an excellent co-hostess to the event, also celebrating the birthday of James Galloway (responsible for half the faux-Norris sightings around the world). The evening was complete with old bathrobes, Chinese lanterns, White Russians, and many fabulous friends. Many thanks to Morgan Holleman and Tony Ledesma of Boheme for contributing to making the evening a
blast.

Shortly on the heels of Allen's birthday came my big brother's 40th. We enjoyed wine and cake at the Corkscrew in his honor... and both my father and great Uncle Charlie came out to celebrate. The only snafu was the cake- Robert had told mother he liked German chocolate cake. Unfortunately, he didn't quite know what German chocolate cake was. My outrageously selfless act of ordering a cake for my brother that I would not touch (due to my aversion to coconut) was completely in vain- since Robert can't stand coconut either. Alas, you win some and you lose some. Otherwise, a good time was had by all...

Lastly, my dear friend Cynthia had a birthday this last weekend. We started out the evening right with balloons, confetti, margaritas, and Mexican food at Las Alamedas... then swooped over to the Black Swan at the Omni Hotel for drinks and dancing. Adorned with a pink birthday crown and sunglasses, Cynthia was positively glowing all evening.

Aside from birthday party planning, I've been on the mend... the crud that's been going around finally got a hold of me. However, I am pleased to say I am on the up and up.

The last pertinent update is that I am in the home stretch of rehearsals for the upcoming Tamarie Cooper Show, care of Catastrophic Theatre, at Stages Theatre. The show features the hilarious and fabulous Tamarie Cooper and is a complete blast. I play everything from a screaming baby to a Busby Berkley girl. We added the band (which is wonderful) last night, and we open up next weekend. Definitely worth seeing! http://www.thecatastrophictheatre.com/

(And while I'm on that note, I am inserting a shamless plug for my own theatre company's current escapade: The War of the Roses. Imagine the cycle of eight Shakespeare history plays presented at together, through the lens of 8 different directors. A daring experiment in theatre... come see. http://www.novaartsproject.com/ )

That has been the bulk of what has occupied my spare time recently. Onwards...

Pet Peeve #23

2008-06-03T12:46:00.000-07:00

I don't oftentimes air the trivial, everyday annoyances that get under my skin. Time wasted on negativity is time wasted indeed. However, I will go ahead and air a few of my grievances on this blog, because...well, because I can.

I will start with the arbitrary number 23. Surely, there are at least 22 other things that have annoyed me up to this point. No need to dwell in the past... so, onwards to #23.

#23 Evite Followup

Evite is a convenient little website that allows one to create an invitation to be disseminated to numerous people at once, replacing the old-fashioned, time-consuming practice of writing or engraving individual invitations to be mailed. Not only do you not have to waste money on postage or rely on the postal service, but the recipient need not mail back a reply card or keep track of a tricky little off-sized invitation. Everything is handled with ease, with all pertinent information stored on a website that may be referenced countless times. Trees saved. Time saved. Everyone is happy.

SO WHY DO SO MANY PEOPLE STILL TEXT OR CALL YOU 5 MINUTES BEFORE THE EVENT WONDERING WHERE IT IS, WHEN IT IS, AND HOW TO GET THERE, ETC?! *

I want to say, "Check the damn Evite, you numskull!"

*I make exceptions for a few people in extenuating circumstances. These are:

1. You don't own a computer or have email access. Ever. The fact that you nevertheless have an email address is purely inconsequential.
2. You have recently had a lobotomy and can't remember your Evite log in info.
3. You have a bad case of amnesia due to some terrible fall you suffered as a child and have found yourself stuck in a remote place (perhaps a desert island) where you are unable to check the evite the day of the event.
4. You are an avid disciple of Amy Vanderbilt or Emily Post and Evites are against your religion, as well as any other signs of social and technological progress or gender equality.

Corollary #1: Directions to Events

If you are already online, why not look it up? Why are you asking me 5 minutes beforehand? Why are you asking 5 minutes before, for instance, a play... a play that I am IN... a play in which, 5 minutes beforehand, I am probably in costume. BACKSTAGE! Does a text asking me for directions really seem appropriate at that point? And if you own any kind of portable online device, why are you asking ME? Isn't the point of those little contraptions that you won't have to bug your friends with questions like that? If you don't make full use of that handy little gadget, why don't you just be so kind as to give it to ME? :)

There. I have spoken.

Blog-eat-blog World

2008-05-23T08:57:00.000-07:00

HappyKatie (local blog goddess, social media fly, and mom extraodinaire, among other things) posted a blog that caught my eye today:

http://www.happykatie.com/dailies/2008/05/freebirds-ash-1.html

I agree with the notion that blogs serve as a record of one's existence. It reminds me of a guilty pleasure of mine: the 'Shall We Dance' remake with J-Lo. (Yeah, so I know the original Japanese version is better- I don't care. A fake-tanned, wig-donning Stanley Tucci makes me a happy girl.) In the movie, Susan Sarandon says something that has always resonated with me:

"We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things... all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go
un-witnessed because I will be your witness.'"

Isn't that true? To take it one step further, we are constantly grasping for significance in our multi-tasked, célèbre-obsessed, stimuli-overloaded lives. Why thumb through the recent issue of People in the grocery store line to read about the fairly predictable lives of Britney or Paris, when we know our own lives are just as, if not more fascinating? (...and our stories far more interesting.) A spouse is not necessarily enough for us- we want our COMMUNITY to witness our lives. We quietly and 'surreptitiously' seek electronic validation- but in plain view of the public. And every blog-reader does his or her part to acknowledge and validate our existence- the amusing, as well as the mundane. Thus, blogs are the great equalizer.

Besides, I'd rather read about a friend's insight on local happenings or thoughts on Lebanon because, with acquaintance, comes an appreciation for context. And with our increasingly pluralistic perspectives, everything is relative. So, whether it be a healthy catharsis or mere exhibitionism, I'm a convert.

Sugar-Lips

2008-04-21T09:50:00.000-07:00

I have an ongoing joke with a friend of mine in which, during our email banter, we challenge each other to come up with the most ridiculous terms of endearment for the other. I don't really know how this got started, but when he would address our emails to "sugar lips" or "love-muffin," I couldn't resist. Even though I know it's a silly joke, it never ceases to put a smile on my face. It reminds me of this article I once read by Garrison Keillor- which he referenced when he recently appeared with the Progressive Forum (where I met him).

http://www.salon.com/opinion/feature/2006/10/18/keillor/

I finally have the maturity to appreciate the charms of the good ol' South- it only took me the greater part of three decades to do so. People sometimes observe that I don't sound like I'm from Texas, but I used to receive that comment all the time. Less so now. Why? Because I no longer strain to neutralize my Southern accent- I've even grown to kind of like the drawl that occasionally slips into my speech. More than that, I like how I feel when I call someone "sweetie" or "darlin" or "sugar." And I like meaning it when I do.

PS: Even those voting for Obama or Hillary might call you "precious."

Terms of endearment

Why do Southern folks elect regressive, warmongering politicians but still call you "sunshine" when they serve your coffee?
By Garrison Keillor

Oct. 18, 2006 I was misunderstood growing up and have often been misunderstood since, but then so is everyone else. People are busy, and you can't expect them to drop everything and try to understand you. If you want to be understood, practice kindness and mercy. Kindness is seldom mistaken for anything else. Small kindnesses reverberate a long time in people's hearts.
A woman checking I.D.s at the airport saw me coming the other day and said, "Good morning, sunshine." She didn't know me from Adam. She glanced at my driver's license and said, "Have a good flight, darling." This was in the South, of course -- in Austin, Texas, to be exact. Northern women would no sooner address a strange man as "sunshine" than they would ask if you wanted to see their underwear. But that woman's "sunshine" shone on me for the rest of the day, and a week later I still remember it. Like I remember old waitresses in diners who addressed everyone as "love." "Care for more coffee, love?" Yes, dear. And you left a quarter tip instead of a dime. Fifteen cents for a little endearment.

On the flight from Austin, I sat next to a black woman my age from Alabama who was in a chatty mood. I said, "You've seen a lot of history in Alabama." She said, "And it isn't over yet." We got to talking about Dr. King and his family, and she blurted out, "I just cannot forgive those children of his for never giving their mother a grandbaby. Four healthy children. I don't know their sexual orientation, but you would think that one of them could've produced one baby for Mrs. King to hold. She died without ever getting those babies to hold in her arms. Do you have grandbabies?" I said I have two. "I've got two," she said, "and every time I look at them, that's me. They're the continuation of me." She patted my hand. "I am going to pray for your grandchildren. Tell me their names." So I did. When the plane pulled up to the gate in Chicago, she touched my knee and said, "It was good talking with you, darling."

Up here in the north, a man wouldn't touch a stranger on the knee or address her as "darling," lest he be reported to the Attitude Police, but once in Nashville, Tenn., a lady said to me, "Sweeten up to me now," meaning "Give me a squeeze," so I did, of course. She smelled of lavender and talcum and lemons. Everyone craves a little sweetening now and then, but in Minnesota we don't squeeze easily or address each other as "darling."
I went to a big dinner of diehard liberals in Texas and was darlinged left and right and sweetied and even occasionally precioused, but if you were among Democrats in Minnesota, you might think you were at a meeting of Mormon actuaries. We offer a cold handshake and a thin smile, and that's all you get from us. We are wary of the big grin and the shoulder squeeze, the trademarks of the con man, and we resist being drawn into friendly banter with strangers for fear we'll end up with a truckload of aluminum siding or a set of encyclopedias.
We're burdened by the need to be cool. When I was in college, I read Kafka and Camus and tried to write like them, in flat, non-American English, as if writing under the influence of a migraine, until it slowly dawned on me that I was missing the basic experiences that had formed them. Enduring high school is not the same as growing up Jewish in Prague or fighting in the French resistance. I had no solid basis for being cool in that existential motorcycle James Dean absurdist chain-smoking hero sort of way, so I gave up being cool and settled for being pleasant. And now I see teenagers locked up in iPods, looking sour and sleepy and hostile, and I hate to see them reliving that part of my life.

If we can't talk to strangers, if there is no public life in America, then it's no wonder politics is so out of whack. And yet in the South, which has produced the most regressive politicians this side of Sudan, who are proud of bad government and lousy wars, in which a disproportionate number of young Southern men die, you keep running into the friendliest people on earth. Explain that to me, sunshine. Sweeten up here and tell me why these good people keep electing those dreadful idiots.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - --
(Garrison Keillor's "A Prairie Home Companion" can be heard Saturday nights on public radio stations across the country.)

Houston Press Review: Loving 'Love Loves a Pornographer'

2008-04-16T12:15:00.000-07:00

Thanks, DL!!!

Loving Love Loves a Pornographer
Nova Arts Project surprises with a wicked Victorian comedy-of-manners parody

By D.L. Groover
Published: April 17, 2008

Barnevelder Movement/Arts Complex
2201 Preston, 713-623-4033

Details:
Through April 26. $15-$30.

It takes a few minutes to become acclimated to Nova Arts Project's immaculate staging of Love Loves a Pornographer, Jeff Goode's wicked parody of a late Victorian comedy of manners. This isn't because the satire is odd and edgy — it's downright classical, if truth be told — but because we don't expect something quite like this from the avant-garde troupe, certainly not after its surreal tempOdyssey, wacky, CSI: Denmark-inspired Hamlet or crazy-quilt Oedipus3. Goode's beguiling sex comedy begins with an obsequious butler, a fine old English country house and fine English landed gentry, who seem to have crash-landed from an unknown play by Pinero, Shaw and, most assuredly, Wilde. Epigrams, waistcoats, dueling pistols — this is not typical Nova territory. But once we shake our head clear of expectations, allow the radiant cast to work its definite magic and relax into Goode's extremely funny play, we're bathed in first-class entertainment all the way. Love is the cleverest play on either side of the bayou this month.

A prolific playwright, Goode has unbridled humor, an ink-blot view of the world and an absolute love of words — qualities that serve him perfectly in Love, his loving, anachronistic tribute to, and parody of, Oscar Wilde. It's difficult to spoof Wilde, since his arch style pricked his own society and class. Of course, Wilde's shallowness and pretense hid great depth, but he wasn't about to say so. Goode takes Wilde's basic tenets — superficial characters, witty dialogue, mistaken/misplaced identities, sublimated sex, tony language – and flicks them with his own brand of body English. Love never falters or loses momentum, it just moves faster and more furiously, making the plot funnier as it becomes more convoluted and improbable. This is a neat trick for any writer, and Goode pulls it off brilliantly. Wilde is definitely smiling.

Love is no slavish imitator, though, and pulls some neat tricks all its own. Fennimore, the Butler, sits offstage at a table loaded with props and reads a newspaper when not "on." Daughter Emily wears proper Victorian garb, yet sports sneakers and striped socks. Earl, Emily's American fiancé, wears 21st-century casual. A child's crayon drawing is talked about as if it were a Gainsborough, and Fennimore uses a TV clicker to announce the act titles. These delectable postmodern deconstructions cheekily add to the fun. The play almost pops in 3-D.

Any detailed description threatens to deflate this finely crafted confection by revealing its numerous twists and surprises, but here are some basics — believe it or not, they're interconnected. Lord Cyril Loveworthy (Seán Patrick Judge) supplements his income by writing pornography under a pseudonym. His nemesis, Reverend Miles Monger (Timothy Evers), the influential literary critic of the Times of London and a sanctimonious prig, might be on intimate terms with Lady Lillian, Cyril's wife (Jenni Rebecca Stephenson). Out of jealousy, might Cyril be dallying with Millicent, Monger's lovely but frustrated wife (Melissa Davis)? Daughter Emily (Katrina Ellsworth) has returned from travels in America not with a genuine earl, as was expected, but with Earl (Bobby Haworth), a questionable mountain man who sells unsavory literature in Flagstaff, Arizona. Mrs. Monger may have committed suicide in the garden, but the guests spend time arguing over who has the proper social standing to investigate. Fennimore (Wayne Barnhill) is chastised for swooning when he should leave that to his betters.

Of course, in plays like this, no one is ever who they seem, and reversals and surprises are a matter of course. Goode keeps us guessing — and listening. Timed to perfection, the words, barbed and dangerous, or flighty and shallow as the clueless characters spouting them, swirl like clouds. Love is intricately structured to allow the witty Wilde-like throwaways their deserved position front and center, such as Lady Lillian's wonderful "No married woman should be left alone with a firearm. The temptation is simply too great." Or Monger's: "Money should never be earned, when it can be inherited."

Under Rob Kimbro's faceted direction, the cast of seven is a dream. Judge is particularly effective in relaying Lord Loveworthy's commanding tone and haughty sense of entitlement. But it is Evers, as the smug Monger, who steals the show with his marvelously twitchy performance. Encased in costumer Kiza Moore's straitlaced greatcoat, with hair combed straight down, glasses nailed to the very tip of his nose, and those long bony fingers constantly on the prowl over his watch chain, he's a George Cruikshank illustration come to life. Self-righteous and proud of it, his dirty little secret drives the play, and Evers takes the wheel with glee.

Amazingly smart and very funny, Love Loves a Pornographer has class, style and wit. The comedy, whose world premiere was only five months ago, proves that new, fresh theater doesn't have to be dumbed down to work like gangbusters. It just has to be good — or better, Goode.

Houston Chronicle review for 'Love Loves a Pornographer'

2008-04-11T09:28:00.000-07:00

Ingenious wordplay drives Pornographer

By EVERETT EVANS
Copyright 2008 Houston Chronicle

Sometimes you can pinpoint the exact moment when a play irrevocably pulls you into its corner.

With Jeff Goode's Love Loves a Pornographer, getting a nifty Houston premiere courtesy of Nova Arts Project, it's this inspired bit of verbal lunacy:

"Your latest creation elicits illicit elations."

Goode's playful homage to drawing room comedy has already rhapsodized about "savage enravagements" and tossed off wry epigrams such as "A man should take pride in his livelihood, however shameful." Not to mention the priggish antagonist who, described as "rakish," defends himself with this choice retort: "In my entire life, I have never been rakish with so much as a leaf-strewn lawn."

Yet for me, it was that "illicit elations" line that put the play over the top. Despite a few lulls here and there and a sense of winding down near the close, Pornographer can be recommended for the sheer merriment of its ingenious wordplay and the fun this cast generates delivering it. It's the heightened language that's supposed to sound like stage talk, not everyday talk.

Premiered in December by Los Angeles' Circle X Theatre Company, Pornographer starts out as a tribute to, or spoof of, Victorian drawing room comedy as epitomized by Oscar Wilde. Yet midway, it acquires a more modernist bent — as if a play by John Guare or Christopher Durang or Paul Rudnick had wandered in and mingled with the earlier model.

Famed novelist Lord Cyril Loveworthy and his wife, Lady Lillian, entertain the Rev. Miles Monger, who also happens to be the Times of London's lead literary critic, and his wife, Millicent. Lord Loveworthy, whose writing is respected but not sufficiently lucrative, tries to blackmail Rev. Monger into a favorable review of his next book. Lord Loveworthy needs the boost so that he can finance the wedding of his daughter, Emily.

Emily arrives with the man she plans to marry — not "an earl" as her parents had misunderstood, but Earl, a scruffy bookseller Emily met in Flagstaff, Arizona. While the other characters are steadfastly British and Victorian in speech and attire, Earl is thoroughly contemporary and American. Before long, other anachronisms creep into the scene. One character leafs through an issue of Vanity Fair. Another sips not from a teacup but a can of soft drink.

The thunderbolt is the revelation that Earl's bookstore specializes in erotica. "Earl is a pornographer" Emily announces, the punchline just before intermission (at which the butler faints dead away.) The second half is (as the butler announces) "a series of shocking revelations." All pertain to which of the other characters are secret readers of the star author whose work Earl sells, or have secretly written those books, or even secretly inspired the whole series through real-life experiences recounted in a diary.

Was every Victorian a secret hedonist? As one character observes, "You make this licentiousness sound almost medicinal."

An exercise in theatrical style, Pornographer marks a change of pace for the young Nova Arts group. Director Rob Kimbro generally keeps things crisp, brisk and light of touch. Apart from a few hesitant moments (and remember, many of these lines are a mouthful), this team gives the play a capable rendition.

Sean Patrick Judge makes Lord Loveworthy sly, condescending and morally slippery. Given many of the script's most potentially tongue-tangling lines, he handles them with authority. Timothy Evers makes an amusing foil as the stuffy, stodgy Miles Monger — prim, prudish and sourly disapproving.s

Jenni Rebecca Stephenson brings haughty confidence to Lady Loveworthy. Melissa N. Davis' Millicent Monger is particularly appealing, indefatigably cheery with an unabashedly saucy streak.

Bobby Haworth's laid-back Earl Kant seems to have wandered in from another play, continent and century, which is exactly the point. Katrina Ellsworth shows daughter Emily's increasing iconclasm and rebelliousness.

As the butler, Wayne Barnhill, formerly of Infernal Bridegroom, has a droll way of being unflappably obliging to his "betters" yet at the same time mocking them.

You might say that while Love Loves a Pornographer is not quite Wilde, it's certainly very Goode.

LOVE LOVES A PORNOGRAPHER

• When: 8 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays, through April 26
• Where: Nova Arts Project, at Barnevelder Movement/Arts Complex, 2201 Preston

• Tickets: $15-$30; 713-623-4033

http://www.novaartsproject.com/

Must Love Library Cards

2008-04-04T00:59:00.000-07:00

So, I posted a link on Facebook that started an amusing exchange...

LINK:

Essay About Love and Literary Taste - New York Times
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/30/books/review/Donadio-t.html?em&ex=1207022400&en=be66964abe7c5f54&ei=5087__
(Among the bookish, even casual literary references can turn into romantic deal breakers.)

COMMENTS:

Linda at 2:31pm Mar 30
i JUST read this article this morning and thought it was wonderful. yes yes, so true. :)

Jenni at 2:38pm Mar 30
when i meet attractive, funny men, i secretly cross my fingers, hoping they don't list dan brown and james patterson among their favorite authors... ;)

Linda at 2:42pm Mar 30
HA! i love it! i just usually hope not to get an empty stare when i mention Isabelle Allende or Pablo Neruda...

Jenni at 2:46pm Mar 30
neruda is fair... but i would be a little lenient with allende. unless, of course, said date is from peru.

Linda at 3:04pm Mar 30
true, however Allende does tend to get more of a response then Neruda... go figure! maybe i just don't date enough South Americans. hmmm...

Natalie at 5:55pm Mar 30
You were among the people I thought about when I stumbled upon this little gem. There are the obvious red flags--personally, I think Left Behind tops the Da Vinci Code on that front--and then there are high-brow red flags. Like Ulysses. The only reason to read that in public is to be seen.

Victoria at 2:28pm Mar 31
Absolutely true! Thank you for sharing :)I am just thankful when someone has hear of Pushkin. Forget about reading anything by him. Surprisingly enough, many people have never heard of the great poet.

Colby at 10:48pm Apr 1
I hate to be the contrarian here, but there is, in my opinion, a bit of hypocrisy in writing off someone as shallow, incompatible, or undeserving solely on the book they are carrying around or list as their favorite. So some guy reads Da Vinci Code, Ulysses, or any other book you deem to be pablum, does that truly identify him? Are you not engaging in a hasty generalization? Or even the obvious question: how does your taste become a red flag, why are you able to determine that Pushkin knowledge is a good thing, or more importantly good art? Basically, what I am saying is that some of us didn't have the opportunities to read what you, or the rest of the world, consider necessarily or important to have read. From a Rawlsian perspective I would have you consider what if I rated your appeal based on your philosophical readings or lack thereof--that would seem a bit unfair would it not? And don't worry if you don't know who Rawls was, I won't hold it against you. ; )

David at 11:16pm Apr 3
this guy wants to sleep with one of the three women above.

Colby at 12:34am Apr 4
C'mon Dave I have heard better ad hominem from the kids over at Digg. But seriously, I hate it when yet another qualification is prescribed for men, to which we must contort ourselves. I have no doubt that if Brad Pitt read only Choose Your Own Adventure books, swearing that they were the best literature since Cervantes--even though Alan Bloom himself would recoil--that Rachel Donadio wouldn't be turning him away. That is all I wanted to point out. But if you would care to retort with more of your engaging repartee then be my guest.

Jenni at 2:37am Apr 4
haha- play nice, boys.

ok- now, colby, be fair- dave's comment is funnny. AND a logical retort to your comment.

i also think it's fair that you point out the injustice in dismissing a date if he hasn't read the right book. as a girl who has dated the musician who liked the 'right' composer, the writer who liked the 'right' author, the actor who liked the 'right' playwright, i will agree that none of these things serve as a consistent and reliable indicator of compatibility. i will also posit that dating artists is perhaps the first step towards misguided... i digress.

i would never count it against someone, friend or date, if they didn't, for example, have an affinity for faulkner. i've recommended 'the sound and the fury' to many who haven't made it past the fourth page. however, there is some merit in a comparison of tastes. if a guy lists 'dumb and dumber' and 'van wilder' among his favorite movies of all time- and then, claims john grisham as the second coming- it's quite likely that we operate on different wavelengths. not a value judgement- just divergent sensibilities. (if, on the other hand, he likes 'harold and kumar' and anne rice- we might be workable.) hell- i love 'joe versus the volcano' and read the whole series of star trek TNG books... would you suggest for a second that it wouldn't be a deal-breaker to some?

and regarding all the notable fiction valued by us women- we KNOW that the average joe is recommended some of the best books (excepting machiavelli and vonnegut) by the women in his life. (i am exaggerating, but is this so wrong?) for instance, just the other day, i spotted 'snow falling on cedars' on the bookshelf of one of my favorite guy friends. did he pick that book up of his own volition? doubtful. was it recommended to him by some cute girl? probably. OR his sister. i am OK with this.

then, there are those guys who read the NYer for fun. they are a breed in and of themselves. the self-identified intelligentsia. (i know this, b/c i subscribed for a year so that i could feel smarter and impress at cocktail parties with my academic soundbytes- only to become frustrated that i could never make it through an issue before the next one arrived.) the ones who DO indeed make it through every issue either teach for a living, are wealthy hypochondriacs (thus spending an inordinate amount of time in high-brow doctors' offices), never get laid, or are the type to hitchhike across the country desperately posing for the freedom and seeming effortlessness of kerouac. and believe me, i ain't knocking- i raise my glass to you, mr. chain-smoking-beret-wearing-beat-cum-emo-man! (they make good fantasies, since they are generally passionate and at the mercy of any woman who can pay for their pearl beer.)

and you're right- rachel donadio and harold bloom deserve kudos. they are both exceedingly brilliant and well-read and have managed to function in real life. procreate even. yay for them! you already know my stance on this, colby- must i remind you? we need more supermodels and PHDs to spawn- let's even out this gene pool once and for all!

where am i going with this, you might ask? i don't even know.

all i know is that i think it's kinda hot when a guy wants to recite poetry to me...IF it's good. IF it's his- even better. (IF it's good, that is.) IF it's bad, it makes me want to slap him. and not in a good way. cliched? absolutely! but kind of like large-breasted blondes in bikinis...

if said guy looks like eric bana with glasses, he could be reciting dr. seuss or shel silverstein and it would STILL be kinda hot. (Horton Hears a Who's your daddy?!)

and are you trying to dismiss 'choose your own adventure' books?! they were the bedrock of my elementary literary escapades! i only started denouncing 'baysitter's club' and 'sweet valley high' as pedestrian when i reached middle school and got in trouble with miles for tossing those books out the 2nd floor classroom window. (100% true story. the teacher couldn't bring herself to give us detention, since i think she found the whole affair pretty amusing.)

i leave on this note: i do not consider myself well-read. i only know what i like. i do not judge on the basis of exposure or lack thereof- nor do i damn anyone for an appreciation of a little drivel now and again. open-mindedness and a willingness to expand one's literary horizons is, however, a plus. my bookshelf is respectable, but not impressive by any means. still, if given the choice, i take dave eggers over james patterson. (if he were a few inches taller and unmarried, it'd be even better.)

...and if anyone takes this seriously, they should review the literary genre of satire.

gute nacht!

-jenni "lady love" rebecca

(figured i'd throw in a little rawlsian of my own)

and a quote to grow on:

"Just because the f*cker's got a library card doesn't make him Yoda!"
-Brad Pitt in Se7en

Cold Mountain

2008-03-27T09:24:00.000-07:00

I just recently caught the movie Cold Mountain again on television and was struck by the beauty and haunting quality of some of the music. I had bought the soundtrack a couple years ago, but as it has such a distinctive flavor, I don't listen to it very often.

The soundtrack is simply incredible- including a compilation of new compositions and old folk songs as recorded by popular artists like Jack White and Alison Krauss. One of the standout songs on the CD is "You will be my ain true love," as sung by Krauss. Upon listening to it, I heard Sting's voice faintly singing backup harmony... and as it turns out, Sting wrote it.

The added bonus is that Gabriel Yared (City of Angels, The English Patient) has written all the incidental scoring- which is gorgeous. I highly suggest you take a listen...

The Fidel Fido Diet

2008-03-22T09:54:00.000-07:00

I have recently considered the possibility that my dog, Fidel, is not in fact a dog, but rather, a pig. He eats everything- compulsively and without consideration. So, I have decided to create a list of things (of which I am aware) that Fidel has ingested. Instead of the well-known "Stuff on my Cat," I shall entitle it "Stuff IN my Dog."

Stuff IN my Dog:

1. Dog food- This is fairly obvious.
2. Dog treats- Another obvious one.
3. Whole pecans- No, not the actual nut- the whole damn shell and all.
4. The knobs off my cabinet- This is a fairly new development.
5. Trash- Yes, the compost my Depression-era neighbor throws out her kitchen window, much to my chagrin. (Steak bones and all.)
6. Toilet paper- Evidenced by paper shreds strewn around my apartment.
7. Frosty paws- I admit I'm a sucker. Why not have ice cream for dogs?
8. My Anthropologie shirt- Fidel did indeed eat part of my $115 mesh shirt from Anthropologie.
9. Grass- Not entirely abnormal.
10. Pantyhose- Fidel apparently has a thing for nylon.
11. Everything off my kitchen floor- Who needs a vacuum when you have Fidel?
12. My vitamins- I wasn't quick enough in picking up one I dropped.
13. Toy squirrel- And all its stuffing.
14. Rat poison- The reason I spent this last Christmas Eve in a vet emergency clinic.
15. A whole pack of Orbit gum- This is bad. Sugarless gum contains an ingredient that can kill dogs even in small doses. Fortunately, with his cast-iron stomach, Fidel was entirely unaffected.
16. Any food I leave on my coffee table for even a second- I once brought home one of my favorite sandwiches from Whole Foods (Turkey with brie and raspberry jam on Seeduction bread). I left it on my table for approximately one minute while I grabbed a drink in the kitchen. In one minute only, it disappeared. Completely.

To be continued...

Eulogy for my Poet

2008-02-27T16:39:00.000-08:00

"We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own, live within a fragile circle, easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful gaps, we still would live no other way. We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never fully understanding the necessary plan. "
-Irving Townsend
Faulkner came into my life four years ago and has been ripped out of it all too soon. In the spring of 2004, we travelled to Madisonville to collect Fidel, a five week old Manchester Terrier we had planned to adopt. While waiting for paperwork and vaccines to be completed, little Faulkner (3 months old at the time) courted me with the vigilance of a Shakespearean hero- a pleading look, a rub against my legs, a kiss on the hand. It took all of ten minutes for me to fall in love with him, and it became inevitable that we would be taking two dogs home with us that day- baby Fidel and my poet, Faulkner. He was so handsome and so sensitive- and though I realize it is in our nature to anthropomorphize our pets, I have never known a more empathic creature than my dear Faulkner.

The breeder intimated that Faulkner had been rescued from a potentially abusive situation. Quick to cower and nervous about new people, this was not difficult to believe. His innocent anxiety and eagerness to please tugged on my heartstrings, and I vowed to do absolutely everything I could to make him feel all the love I could manage. Doting on him day and night, I was oftentimes accused of favoritism- an unfair accusation, since my behavior was in response to a need I saw in him. And eventually, Faulkner grew more confident and comfortable in his world.
At the dog park, Faulkner would choose the biggest and boldest dogs as his playmates. Proud and newly confident, he equated himself with the likes of German Shepherds and Golden Retrievers- dogs two, three, and four times his size. He was mischievous. Not particularly interested in playing fetch, he did, however, love the game of taking balls and toys away from Fidel... and he was good at it, being faster and more lithe. Faulkner also taunted his companion by commanding the prime lap space- even when it meant displacing an already settled Fidel. It was standard practice for Fidel's growls to be met with a casual and disinterested glance from Faulkner. Knowing how to endear himself, it was most important to him that he be close to me.
Yet, Faulkner shined most when allowed to run free. I would take him to the wilderness trails at Memorial Park and with no present threat, would let him off the leash to enjoy the woods. He was like a graceful gazelle... sleek, elegant, and effortless. Watching him fly through the trees was perhaps one of the simple pleasures that brought me the most joy in my life. He was leaping with that same natural grace when he fatefully crossed the street in front of a car right before my eyes a few days ago. I suppose it is some comfort that his last moments were spent running free, as he loved so much- his final act of good-natured rebellion and mischief.
As any dog-owner would, I adored darling Faulkner. Yet, I may humor myself to think that I may have been more attached to him than usual. Having weathered a difficult time two years ago, my two dogs were my anchor. They were the family I saw everyday- a constant source of unconditional, unadulterated love and affection. Quick to console with kisses, they helped me through one of the most tumultuous periods of my life. No day meant defeat when I could finally lie in bed as Faulkner wriggled under the covers, sidling up next to me. Cunning and hyper-intelligent for a dog, I have no doubt this registered at least in some small way with him- he was special that way. Faulkner always seemed especially attuned to my emotions... and he stood faithfully at my side until the storm was over- lovingly repaying my initial kindness with kindness of his own.
On the very day I lost him, I spent the morning rejoicing him. With him curled up on my unmade bed, I held him tight and thanked God for bringing him into my life. At that moment, he was like a reluctant little boy, squirming in his mother's embrace- but I know he loved all the attention, for he would come begging for it in its absence. I will forever cherish the memory of that wonderful morning when I could show him, one last time, how much I loved him
Faulkner, you were an extraordinary animal and a dear friend to me- the best kind. Loyal, loving, and sensitive to a fault, I count myself so blessed to have had the great fortune of caring for you these past four years. Your life was a precious gift to me, and your death shall not be in vain. My darling puppy, you have taught me such an important lesson. Both with your sprightly gait and through your untimely death, you have taught me that life is magnificent, yet so fleeting and precious. I find myself surrounded by so many friends and loved ones, so many bountiful gifts, and so much beauty in my life- I promise you I will do my best to appreciate it all and to remind those loved ones of my gratitude with every breath. And with every breath, my dear Faulkner, I will carry a part of you with me.
Faulkner
February 4, 2004 - February 26, 2008

the cyndi/jenni chronicles

2008-02-21T11:48:00.000-08:00

she and i amuse ourselves with email banter...

exchange 1:

From: Jenni
Sent: Tuesday, August 28, 2007
To: Cynthia
RE: Is Facebook the new Match.com?

no, seriously. the good ones are all unavailable. i'm not kidding here. either emotionally...or physically (as in, they live in different time zones...or perhaps they hide in jungles)...or legally.

i'm wondering when other women will start to realize this. the answer? a total upheaval of our preconceived notions of love and relationships. we women should stop accepting advances and proposals and such...just long enough until there is an established population of easily identifiable single men. then, we herd them, corrall them, drug them, and subject them to tom hanks/meg ryan movies...just long enough until they understand what it is we want. then, we beat them into submission. and make them like it. then, we pick and choose as we please...maybe some sort of rental policy. except...not like an old blockbuster type rental...more of a netflix rental. as in, we can send them back when we're tired of them without penalty of late fees. but perhaps with the candy, popcorn, and cold drink option. :)

Her response:

A) Legally unavailable? Are you going after 12 year olds now? I suppose if you can't find a good man, raise one.

2) Interesting system you propose. Is there, at any time, an option to buy?

Banana) I wonder what kind of a comparable system guys would propose, if given the opportunity. I think it would be remarkably similar, only replace the tom hanks/meg ryan movies with adult films.

exchange 2:

From: Jenni
Sent: Thursday, August 30, 2007
To: Cynthia
Subject: who's tim
gunn?

her response:

Ah, you clearly have better things to do with your life than watch reality shows on Bravo. Tim Gunn is the mentor on Project Runway (he's also the dean or something of Parson's school for design). He's the most fabulously well dressed older gay man ever. He says things like "carry on" and "sturm und drang."

my response:

i'm over older gay men. even of the fabulously dressed variety. in fact, i'm over gay men in general. you do realize that i work with one straight man in an office of approximately 40? one. and he's the CEO. i'd even question his orientation if he didn't wear big belt buckles and drink shiner out of the bottle. i work in musical theatre for godssake! (jazz hands!) it couldn't get any queenier around here if elizabeth I walked in the damn door.

on the other hand, i AM indeed impressed with anyone who can throw around terms referring to late 18th-century german expressionist movements. and thanks to my music schooling, i didn't even have to wiki that. ;)

her response:

Oh, Jenni Rebecca. You are so educated and clever. ;)

I (only kinda) feel your pain. I was looking around the cafeteria today thinking about what NASA engineers are (incredibly intelligent, generally nice) and what they are not (attractive, socially adept, well dressed). I am wasting my youth on men who actually want me for my mind. How depressing.

my response:

clever? oh pish. thou doth possesseth a keen wit thrice the magnitude of mine own.

to be wanted for one's mind is nothing to sneeze at...it's a comfort when we start to sag in all the wrong places.

regarding NASA men, the fact that they are unattractive and can't dress should be secondary to the fact they can never be fired and probably have decent pension plans. find one with particularly thick bottle-cap glasses...perhaps one getting on in years...and who knows what you can get away with! you see, all of the above never stopped the NASA geeks from walking into the jewelry store at baybrook with astoundingly beautiful russian brides on their arms. i never once questioned the harmony of the universe when i could witness the sweet balancing forces of nature in action. and to take it one step further, these NASA men and their rusky counterparts are doing our dear world a favor. we mustn't get carried away with sharp intellect or a great pair of legs---no! we must do our part to even the playing field for the human race. no more is it necessary for the blind, pocket-protector-donning egg-head doomed to walk this lonely earth alone...or with the adult equivalent of the little girl in lil' miss sunshine. (mind you, i am not poking fun at that little girl---i looked just like her at 8 years old.) no! instead they have their pick of gorgeous, though intellectually confounded women to assist them in upping the ante for the gene pool. we owe them all our deepest gratitude. yay for mail order brides!

...now if only we could manufacture the mail equivalent.

her response:

Ya know, I see your point regarding NASA men, but the truth is that I, too, am a NASA employee and therefore can never be fired and have awesome health insurance, pension plan, etc. I also come with the added bonus of being attractive and dressing well. I guess what I'm saying is - where's my russian bride?

my response:

well, cynthia...you seem to be forgetting the options before you. nowhere does it say you can't have a russian bride. you will just have to go to hawaii or montreal to marry her, that's all.

and PS, i am not a LUSH...luscious perhaps. :)

mi familia loca

2008-02-17T07:55:00.000-08:00

my brother and i are in the kitchen. we are laughing so hard we are crying. the rest of the party is still in the dining room...the children have wandered back upstairs. the water in the sink is running, masking the sound of our laughter. we are dumping a full bowl of something down the drain... on the DL. we don't want anyone to see- especially not our great aunt. this is because we are dumping the entire bowl of what she called 'copper pennies' down the drain. indeed, we are destroying the evidence that not a single person touched the copper pennies she made over dinner. (to describe these 'copper pennies,' think of baby carrots swimming in a vat of brownish, congealed cinnamon syrup.)

alas, this is not the first time the family has had to adjust... compensate... act like my aunt's cooking is tolerable. one of my fondest memories of my family is one thanksgiving day, many years ago- i must have been eight or nine years old. we were standing around my grandmother's dining room table- maybe 30 people or more. (my grandmother was probably the most laid-back person i have ever known. always embodying a more-the-merrier attitude, our family dinners would not only include the extended family, but also the friends, dates, and even ex-husbands and ex-wives of all involved. once a part of my family, you never quite escaped.) so, we're all standing around the table in anxious anticipation of the holiday meal. my great aunt had been put in charge of the turkey cooking- now was time for the turkey carving. the turkey is brought in- collective 'oohs' and 'ahs' from everyone. my dad approaches the bird, knives in hand. he starts to cut it and .......................................................it bleeds.

flash forward almost ten years. my grandmother is gone and with her, the big family dinners with the extended family. my parents are divorced. my brother has three children and is also now divorced. my great uncle is gone. my aunt is now married and spends many holidays with her new family. and in so many ways, my family is the picture of dysfunction. nonetheless, i still can't help but count myself lucky to have the family i do.

yesterday, my mother prepared a belated birthday brunch for my father. my god-father was in town, so it made for a nice celebration. neither my brother nor my father were taking up the old family tradition of initiating religious or political discussions over the meal. (the other tradition being discussion of all things inappropriate, to which my grandma would usually shout, "no potty-talk at the table!") seeing that the men were falling down on the job, i took up the mantle and mentioned my recent visit to the new monica pope restaurant: 'beaver's.' (at this point, we can only hope the conversation was going over my great aunt's head.)

after dinner, my godfather (from hamburg, germany) zealously pulls out some sheet music and announces that he should play while we sing happy birthday... which we did. but let it be known that, at the stephenson household, when any one person sits down at the piano, a can of worms has been opened. (my brother and i seriously studied piano, and my father and i have always sung together... that was always the way he and i communicated best.) so, upon insistence from my mother, the piano singalong continued. i scrounged our sheet music collection for anything worthwhile (that i hadn't stolen and left at my apartment) and seated myself at the piano. suddenly, the whole room was tied together in song... a little gershwyn (porgy and bess, then showtunes), some standards, etc. the grand finale being a resounding chorus of annie's 'tomorrow'....shouted at the top of my father's and godfather's lungs and making us all laugh. and i sat there at the piano thinking i could ask for nothing better than moments like that.

once the singalong had concluded, my great aunt insisted that we cut the cake she brought. she explained that it was a greek cake with a coin baked into it, in a similar fashion as a king's cake- the recipient of the coin winning good luck for the year. we were all so full that no one was particularly interested in eating this cake... one that more closely resembled a loaf of bread... AND that turned out to be something she received BEFORE christmas. so, once again, the family was obliged to humor her. and following suit, we all cut large slices of cake, pretended to take a tiny bite, and then claimed to be too full to finish... my godfather was the only one to eat the whole thing, being the exceedingly good sport that he is.

and while i watched the family try to discreetly dispose of their stale piece of greek bread-cake, it was reaffirmed: being a family is not about being picture-perfect... what binds us together is what we endure together.

misadventures in narrative

2008-02-04T14:15:00.000-08:00

those that read this blog regularly are probably aware that i've gotten into a bit of fiction writing lately. most things are inspired by personal experiences, but i've used my own life as a point of launch more than as source material for my writing in its entirety. i've hesitated to post these compositions at a public URL, since many pieces have a very personal slant to them. i do not want them confused with my more typical blog entries, nor perceived as diary entries- they are fictional in nature.

however, if you happen to be interested in taking a gander, here they are: www.firstcourseinflight.blogspot.com.

dear miss n. thrope:

2008-01-28T16:47:00.000-08:00

i had a conversation last week about misanthropy that has resonated with me. a handful of my dearest friends voluntarily describe themselves as misanthropes, but i must admit that i don't necessarily buy into their seemingly candid self-analysis. this is not due to a distrust of my friends' judgement or awareness of themselves, but rather, the fact that the contrary is evidenced by their behavior... as well as their apparent tolerance of mine. i would call myself an anti-misanthrope. pollyannaish? no. panglossian? no. optimistic? not exactly. my standpoint is misunderstood so frequently that i feel the need to indulge myself...

Misanthropy is a general dislike, distrust, or hatred of the human species, or a
disposition to dislike and/or distrust other people. The term is also applicable to those who self-exile themselves or become loners because of the aforementioned feelings. The word comes from the Greek words for "hatred" and "man, human being". A misanthrope or misanthropist is a person who dislikes or distrusts humanity as a general rule.

so, i can read this definition and understand it. but the question that springs to my mind is 'why?' ultimately, the active and deliberate abhorrence of humanity seems like a terrible waste of energy. however, to take it one step further, it implies judgement. one may infer that in order to cast a definitive and condemning judgement on humanity, one must place him or herself in a position of opposition. and who really has the perspective to fairly do so? who really has the right? is this arrogance in the supreme?

we don't really need to reiterate the atrocities perpetrated by the human race, nor the terrible situations that occur daily...in our homes, our classrooms, our offices, or on the street outside. we don't really need the evening news to drive home the point that we're typically more interested in hearing about the armed robbery that occurred than the random act of kindness that saved someone's life. obviously, a misanthropic attitude is easily perpetuated.

but to me, there's a distinction that must be made between a condemnation of human nature and the recognition of humanity's potential and its capabilities- both good and bad. i do not condone the optimistic dismissal of our faults and negative tendencies, but i would prefer to live in a world in which they were not accepted as the status quo. i have seen, experienced, and learned enough about the reality of the world to know i would rather embrace the positive characteristics we possess as a species.

broadly speaking, in embracing a misanthropic attitude, what reason do we ultimately have to care about anyone? if we are all varying degrees of miserable, what motivation exists for us to strive towards something better? and where is our inspiration? indeed, we would be fighting NATURE. (involving religion inevitably complicates the issue, but this strikes me as an infuriatingly augustinian ethos. it is interesting that among my 'misanthropic' friends, i know only one who actively prescribes to the christian faith. so, if not saved through god's grace from a sinful predisposition, then by who? or what?)

furthermore, if we accept that we are all burdened with a flawed nature, where does that leave us as individuals? if not in an opposing position of judgement, where does the lone misanthrope fit into the picture? how does the individual escape the curse? and if they do not, what renders them capable of rationally judging humanity as a whole, since he or she is included within that whole? as a result, this seems to be a ridiculously solipsistic philosophy. (of course, i suppose the reverse may also be true.) yet, the point is that we suddenly find ourselves trapped within a self-perpetuated, incentive-less hell.

following this line of reasoning, the misanthropic attitude undermines our respect for the human condition. this, to me, is key. if our empathy for others is tempered by our distrust, how does that affect our own behavior? under extreme circumstances, how much easier is it to pull a trigger? to cheat on your taxes? to lie to your spouse? how can the distrusting be trustworthy? and vice versa. again, it's self-perpetuating...until it spirals out of control. and then, with this denigration of humanity, why must we ask how we've been conditioned to value the morbid and sensational over what we dismiss as hallmark sentimentality, the earnest? we are like the romans at the coliseum... and who can blame the religious fanatics for their frantic search for a savior.

to put it simply, i think that's a pretty miserable idea. (and the more i think about these things, the more i sheepishly realize that i am only scratching the surface of any meaningful discussion on the subject.) i suppose that i am some breed of humanist (albeit in my limited comprehension of the term). i'd like to think i possess a respect for the human condition in its breadth: our triumphs, as well as our failings. but more importantly, i have FAITH in humanity, though not necessarily with any certainty or expectation that it is on the right course. above all, i have faith in the ACT of hoping for something better, for i believe that, more often than not, it will yield a positive influence... though no promise of results. i believe in personal atonement through progress- to me, analytical observation is far more productive than judgement. why not own our flaws and move on with the intention of growth? luxuriating in a distaste for others seems myopic, selfish, and short-sighted... and ultimately to the greatest detriment of those who prescribe.

in my 28 years, my outlook on human nature has changed very little, despite the barrage of evidence to erode my faith. i do not presume to take credit for character traits i have inherited or those embedded in my makeup by my parents- surely, both have played a significant role in my development. still, i have never been capable of holding a grudge for very long, for i find that it takes more concentration and energy than is reasonable... and in my experience, more than the act of forgiveness. the act of tenaciously clinging to a grudge implies that i count myself innocent of perpetrating whichever transgressions have been inflicted upon me. and in some instances, that may be true, but i am certainly not blameless- and who am i (or anyone for that matter) to assign a value to pain and suffering? yes, this attitude certainly renders a person vulnerable in a variety of ways, but the choice to forgive should be made with one's eyes open. the simple act of looking inward and empathizing teaches us far more about ourselves than the decision to condemn... and regardless of whether the result is ideal, the lesson nonetheless remains. in either case, i submit to you that the unexpected gifts and lessons (not to mention friendships) are often well-worth the risks.

i think i know my friends. i may not fully understand what they mean when they call themselves misanthropes...but i KNOW they don't practice this variety of misanthropy. so, the next time you're around me and someone makes that claim, i'll be the one grinning....and clapping my hands in anticipation of tinkerbell getting her wings!

dean young, will you marry me?

2008-01-03T13:36:00.000-08:00

he may look like a dried-up fruit-cake or a clam pizza, but i'd endure to hear this sort of thing every day...

"Ode to Hangover"
By Dean Young

Hangover, you drive me into the yard
to dig holes as a way of working through you
as one might work through a sorry childhood
by riding the forbidden amusement park rides
as a grown-up until puking. Alas, I feel like
something spit out by a duck, a duck
other ducks are ashamed of when I only
tried to protect myself by projecting myself
on hilarity's big screen at the party
where one nitwit reminisced about the 39¢
a pound chicken of his youth and another said,
Don't go to Italy in June, no one goes to Italy in June.
Protect myself from boring advice,
from the boring past and the boring present
at the expense of an unnauseating future:
now. But look at these newly-socketed lilacs!
Without you, Hangover, they would still be
trapped in their buckets and not become
the opposite of vomit just as you, Hangover,
are the opposite of Orgasm. Certainly
you go on too long and in your grip
one thinks, How to have you never again?
whereas Orgasm lasts too short some seconds
and immediately one plots to repeat her.
After her I could eat a car but here's
a pineapple/clam pizza and Chinese milkshake
yum but Hangover, you make me aspire
to a saltine. Both of you need to lie down,
one with a cool rag across the brow, shutters
drawn, the other in a soft jungle gym, yahoo,
this puzzle has 15 thousand solutions!
Here's one called Rocking Horse
and how about Sunshine in the Monkey Tree.
Chug, chug, goes the arriving train,
those on the platform toss their hats and scarves
and cheer, the president comes out of the caboose
to declare, The war is over! Corks popping,
people mashing people, knocking over melon stands,
ripping millenniums of bodices. Hangover,
rest now, you'll have lots to do later
inspiring abstemious philosophies and menial tasks
that too contribute to the beauty of this world.

false-forwards and my thoughts on christmas...

2007-12-27T08:33:00.000-08:00

the italic text below was sent to me via a forwarded email message. my comments follow.

The following was written by Ben Stein and recited by him on CBS Sunday Morning Commentary.

My confession:

I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was Jewish. And it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful lit up, bejeweled trees Christmas trees. I don't feel threatened. I don't feel discriminated against. That's what they are: Christmas trees.

It doesn't bother me a bit when people say, "Merry Christmas" to me. I don't think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year. It doesn't bother me at all that there is a manger scene on display at a key intersection near my beach house in Malibu. If people want a Crèche, it's just as fine with me as is the Menorah a few hundred yards away .

I don't like getting pushed around for being a Jew, and I don't think Christians like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I have no idea where the con cept came from that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can't find it in the Constitution and I don't like it being shoved down my throat.

Or maybe I can put it another way: where did the idea come from that we should worship Nick and Jessica and we aren't allowed to worship God as we understand Him? I guess that's a sign that I'm getting old, too. But there are a lot of us who are wondering where Nick and Jessica came from and where the America we knew went to.

In light of the many jokes we send to one another for a laugh, this is a little different: This is not intended to be a joke; it's not funny, it's intended to get you thinking.

Billy Graham's daughter was interviewed on the Early Show and Jane Clayson asked her "How could God let something like this happen?" (regarding Katrina) Anne Graham gave an extremely profound and insightful response.She said, "I believe God is deeply saddened by this, just as we are, but for years we've been telling God to get out of our schools, to get out of our government and to get out of our lives. And being the gentleman He is, I believe He has calmly backed out. How can we expect God to give us His blessing and His protection if we demand He leave us alone?"

In light of recent events...terrorists attack, school shootings, etc. I think it started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found recently) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said OK.Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school. The Bible says thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as yourself. And we said OK.

Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem (Dr. Spock's son committed suicide). We said an expert should know what he's talking about. And we said OK.

Now we're asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves.

Probably, if we think about it long and hard enough, we can figure it out. I think it has a great deal to do with "WE REAP WHAT WE SOW."

Funny how simple it is for people to trash God and then wonder why the world's going to hell. Funny how we be lieve what the newspapers say, but question what the Bible says . Funny how you can send 'jokes' through e-mail and they spread like wildfire but when you start sending messages regarding the Lord, people think twice about sharing. Funny how lewd, crude, vulgar and obscene articles pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion of God is suppressed in the school and workplace.

Are you laughing?

Funny how when you forward this message, you will not send it to many on your address list because you're not sure what they believe, or what they will think of you for sending it.
Funny how we can be more worried about what other people think of us than what God thinks of us.

Pass it on if you think it has merit. If not then just discard it... no one will know you did. But, if you discard this thought process, don't sit back and complain about what bad shape the world is in.

My Best Regards.

Honestly and respectfully,

Ben Stein

*********************************************************

this was sent to me by family with the best of intentions. and immediately, this rubbed me the wrong way. on occasion, i have been a fan of ben stein, but some of these sentiments seem unlikely from someone as intelligent and erudite as he is. of course, a little research reveals that these aren't quite his words.

here is the REAL essay:
http://www.benstein.com/121805xmas.html

and the snopes article about it:
http://www.snopes.com/politics/soapbox/benstein2.asp

ben stein DOES assert that america shouldn't be an 'explicitly atheist country.' with all due respect, i don't think it is. yet, america SHOULD be an explicitly SECULAR country...though one founded on judeo-christian principles. and you're not going to hear me grumble about the fact that we have steered far from those principles...that much i don't dispute. but the last time i checked, this isn't a communist state- god is called down frequently in this country of ours... in our courthouses, in our ballparks, and yes, even in our schools. to suggest otherwise is ridiculous. indeed, the right to express one's religious views is, in some ways, more valued and respected than another's right to NOT hear them.

"I think people who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period."

interesting point. alas, this is a democracy, and the rules are created for all, whether they believe in god or not. no exceptions should be made either way. the question so frequently becomes not one of dictating the behavior of those believers, but allowing the same freedoms to those non-believers. to request the removal of all manger scenes and menorahs would be absolutely absurd... but to request their removal from public property is a constitutional right. perhaps we don't mind them, but it is not our right to begrudge those who do.

to address the forwarded message, i don't resent anne graham's response to the katrina question on the early show. in fact, i think it was a rather graceful answer to the question and one that echoes her personal sentiments on the matter. and isn't it lovely that a. that question was asked on national television and b. that she had the right to give that response?

the insinuations that god has abandoned o'hair and dr. spock and whoever else believes there should be a separation of church and state are barely worthy of reply. however, i will say that it doesn't make the most compelling case for a benevolent, all-loving god who (deliberately?) allows his children to be murdered. let it be noted that it's an interesting mix of old and new testament purportedly coming from the jewish stein.

i appreciate stein's remarks about not finding the christmas tree offensive... he is perhaps more progressive than i am, since even i can take offense to the christmas trees being erected the day after halloween. i CAN take offense. i can even protest its erection. i can yell and picket and rally...and isn't that great? and to take it one step further, isn't it great that, if they're on private property, i can be totally ignored?

to be honest, i love all the gaudy christmas decorations and menorahs for many of the same reasons stein relates, but i think the christmas trees lining the shopping mall parking lots are perhaps the best example of all. when "asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don't know right from wrong," we should ask not why we don't, as a country, call on god, but on WHICH god we call. and after seven years of working retail, i believe i know the answer. so often, christmas is less about honoring the birth of christ and more about worshipping the material gods. it is about desperate coupon-clipping, cutting in long check-out lines, and breaking your back with multi-colored shopping bags... the feverish rush to get 'something' for 'someone.' in the rare instances that i would get a break in the holiday rush at the jewelry store, i would sit back and watch the throngs of people flowing through the mall corridors, shaking my head at the sad state of a world in which people were running around shopping at 6PM on christmas eve instead of at home with their loved ones... if anything, to enjoy one of the few days we are ALL (regardless of religion) afforded to be together. and yet, with all my dissatisfaction and condemnation, i would quickly forget when i received my holiday pay-check. (and how sad and yet, how typical is that?) when asking our children 'why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves,' we should think about the newest wii or playstation video game we stood in line for two hours to buy... no doubt, two hours better spent teaching and guiding and nurturing them.
i have faith that people can and will do the right thing, if afforded a critical-thinking nature, the right tools, and a little compassion. and i'd love to live in a country in which others felt the same. maybe then, we could call down whichever gods we please together and at all times of year, instead of arguing over semantics less accountable for our country's downfall than the presents under our tree, the money in our wallet, and the issues under our noses. and regardless of whether we disgree about holiday decorations, i don't think ben stein and i would disagree about that.

roasted chipmunk

2007-12-26T08:39:00.000-08:00

what's a girl gotta do in order to meet the girlfriend of one her oldest friends?

apparently, poison her dogs. (not the girlfriend's...my own.)

so... if you've done much talking to me recently, you might know that i'm not in the most festive of holiday moods. it just doesn't feel like christmas this year.

in any case, the biggest plans i had for the day was to head out to sugar land to hang out with mom. while there, i was going to help prepare a few things for tomorrow's breakfast. (no christmas dinner for us this year.) and so, i'm hanging out in the kitchen with her while she's cooking some bacon. i sit on the counter and munch on a bagel before i decide it's kinda stale...at which point i open a can of black olives and am eating those out of the can. and suddenly i hear this 'crunch crunch crunch' sound...

and i see fidel coming out of the laundry room. and so, i follow fidel back into the laundry room to see what he's gotten into...whatever it is, it's behind the washer. (i'm figuring that, worst case scenario, he's gotten into some stray dog food that has worked its way under there.) and that's when i see the rat poison.

so, naturally, i freak out. and not a little. (sidenote: never, in my entire life, have we EVER had rat poison anywhere in our house. we were those people who would actually catch mice and let them go on the golf course. mice are among my favorite animals in the world...and mouse traps and rat poison are practically against my religion. i would NEVER expect for that to be an issue.)

so unfortunately, i'm wiggin out on mom...and pacing and not thinking clearly and thus, not knowing what to do. until finally, i have the presence of mind to look up the number for the emergency vet i know. (the one i know because fidel had a bad allergic reaction to a vaccine once upon a time when he was just a tiny puppy.) and i call them... and the lady on the other end of the receiver gets zero points for knowing how to calm someone down under the circumstances.

so, minutes later, i've got both dogs in my lap and i'm speeding to the emergency room... neither dog looking particularly distressed, aside from their concern at my irrational, hysterical behavior. and i get there...and again, the nurses make really grave faces when i mention rat poison... which just upsets me even more. and i fill out all the paperwork and sign all the forms that promise i'll mortgage whatever it is i can in order to pay for this vet visit (which is absolutely nothing, though i may have signed away my rights to my first-born) and they ask me which one ate the poison. and i say 'the one who eats everything,' figuring it will totally be obvious by just looking at them. so...they take fidel. meanwhile, faulkner is getting more and more anxious. and i'm hearing nothing from the stephenson household... which is highly suspect since i get calls from mom every 5 minutes under any other circumstances... my guess at why being that mom is feeling both really upset and very guilty.

and again, i'm getting more and more upset. and i think the nurses are starting to feel a little sorry for me, since they are handing me lots of tissue... and even the lady who is there in the waiting room with her soon-to-be-put-to-sleep cat is trying to comfort me. and adam is on the phone, honestly asking if mom would be willing to poison his cat too, since kat-owen has learned to turn on the faucet and has destroyed adam's bathroom. (adam is always good for the tasteless humor in moments like these.)

so, after deciding that the animal emergency room has got to be the most depressing place on the planet (especially on christmas eve), the nurse comes out and says that fidel has thrown up...and that he has thrown up A LOT of poison. and then, of course, she proceeds to tell me that had i not brought him in, he would have totally died. (was that detail really necessary? i mean, don't we all feel bad enough?!)

this is when mom finally calls...and she is so upset that the next few minutes are spent trying to apologize for freaking out on her, as well as relaying that fidel is fine. then comes the next question: did faulkner get into it, too? can't be sure one way or the other...and given all their frowny-faces and somber warnings about rat poison, i don't want to take a chance and opt to have faulkner treated as well.

so, both dogs are busy puking their guts out, while i'm still sobbing in the waiting room like an idiot... shocking even myself at how worried i am about these two animals (both having appeared perfectly fine before these vets got their hands on them).

when the whole ordeal is over, i bring them home and decide that i'm not moving off my couch this evening so that i can keep an eye on them. and fidel is acting A-OK...but poor faulkner has a more sensitive stomach and is still clearly affected by whatever they gave him to make him throw up. i finally decide i need a snack from the kitchen, so i go to grab some applesauce...at which point fidel, in usual form, starts patrolling the kitchen floor. (and i'm really wanting to smack him, since it is this compulsive behavior that led to the whole incident in the first place.)

a few hours later, i get a call from adam...and he is outside with his girlfriend. (mind you, i have not met her yet, despite the fact they have been dating for months... and this has been very deliberate.) and i'm thinking that, in some ways, it is slightly fortuitous that my dogs were poisoned today, since otherwise, adam would not be feeling sorry for me and i might not have had the opportunity to meet his woman. and at this point, fidel is obliviously playing with his new gorrilla toy, so i figure it's probably OK to leave for a little bit...

so, we go get thai food. at thai sticks... which is the only place that appears to be open at 9:30 on christmas eve. and the conversation runs anywhere from what a jerk mike myers is (she's a casting agent) to what a nice guy deepak chopra is to what movies (not yet released in the movie theatres, but available to us on DVD since she is an academy voter) we will be watching this week. and the music playing starts as some bad tejano version of jingle bells, then changes to what sounds like polish-villager christmas carols to what sounds like 'chestnuts roasting on an open fire.' but...now, get this...it is not in fact 'chestnuts roasting.' it sounds JUST like it...it even sounds like nat king cole...but the conversation dies down for one second and we clearly hear the lyrics "roasted chipmunk" at the point where "merry christmas" usually comes in the song.

seriously.

and we die laughing...despite the distinct possibility we may be in the twilight zone.

but the moral of the story is this:

the day didn't end up so badly. fidel and faulkner are both fine. i got to meet adam's girlfriend. and i will probably get to watch a lot of good movies before anyone else.

so....merry christmas, i guess.

this poem made my day:

2007-12-09T22:53:00.000-08:00

Clam Ode

One attempts to be significant on a grand scale
in the knock-down battle of life
but settles.
It is clammy today, meaning wet and gray,
not having a hard, calciniferous shell.
I love the expression "happy as a clam,"
how it imparts buoyant emotion
to a rather, when you get down to it,
nonexpressive creature: In piles of ice
it awaits its doom pretty much the same
as on the ocean's floor it awaits
life's banquet and bouquet and sexual joys.
Some barnacles we know are eggs dropped from outer space
but clams, who has a clue how they reproduce?
By trading clouds?
The Chinese thought them capable of prolonging life
while clams doubtlessly considered
the Chinese the opposite.
I remember the jawbreakers my dad would buy me
on the wharf at Stone Harbor,
every thirty seconds you'd take out
the one in your mouth
to check what color it turned.
What does this have to do with clams?
A feeling.
States of feeling, unlike states of the upper Midwest,
are difficult to name.
That is why music was invented,
which caused a whole new slew of feelings
and is why since
people have had more feelings than they know what to do with
so you can see it sorta backfired
like a fire extinguisher that turns out to be a flame thrower.
They look somewhat alike, don't they?
So if you're buying one be sure
you don't get the other,
the boys in the stockroom are stoners
who like to wear their pants falling down
and deserve their own Gulliver's Travels island.
The clam however remains calm.
Green is the color of the kelp it rests on,
having a helluva wingding calm.
I am going to kill you in butter and white wine
so forgive me, great clam spirit,
join yourself to me through the emissary
of this al dente fettuccini
so I may be qualmless and happy as you.

-Dean Young

this is brilliance. to me.

black or white

2007-11-29T13:38:00.000-08:00

along with old compositions, some old blog comments resurfaced today. naturally cautious about arguing hot-button topics, i think this was an interesting discussion on nicholas' blog. you can read the original post here:

http://www.candancealittle.com/2007/04/black-and-white-wrong-and-right.html

the discussion continued 25 comments later, ending with one if my own:

Jenni-beck said...
I have been following this exchange, and while I hesitate to jump directly into the discussion, I will comment on a few of the topics mentioned.

One exchange particularly caught my eye:
"The woman and the man are merely experiencing the consequences of their behavior, an important life lesson. Remember, over 50% of women would prefer to have the baby but have abortions due to pressure from the man or her parents."

As a woman, (and furthermore, as a woman who is acquainted with women who have had abortions), I couldn't disagree more with the above statements. Yes, I will concede that, in the majority of cases, the men and women who find themselves contemplating abortion are indeed experiencing the consequences of their actions. What I take issue with is the suggestion that over half those women would prefer to have the babies in question. First, where can the data be found on which that statement is based? I know Nicholas has already addressed this, and I admit that I will be using a far more emotional argument than either of you. However, I think you would be hard-pressed to validate that statistic, because it is not easily quantified. Due to the fact that the issue of abortion is tied to issues of morality, even the emotions/preferences/mindsets surrounding the act itself are not clear-cut, but similarly, lie in grey areas. The emotional questions lie in the very nature of femininity and a woman's role…and as a result, could be spun into at least a dozen tangential discussions on those subjects. On that note, I will say that it interesting to follow the arguments of two men arguing both sides of the debate, but what is woefully lacking in this discussion is a woman's voice. (I only wish I had more time to address the full discussion.)

Historically, reproduction (and the nurturing of offspring) has, for better or worse, been considered the primary role of a woman. Until the very recent past, women were as valued as the number of children they were able to produce. In some cultures, this remains the case to this day. This is obviously considered neither fair nor right to most contemporary women, but thousands of years of history (and a clearly embedded pattern in human nature and nature itself for that matter) cannot be undone so easily. Given that females host the offspring into life, the burden lies with us. It is for that reason that I oftentimes find it difficult to hear the matter argued by men. The issue, while delving into universal questions of morality, is a uniquely feminine dilemma. Infanticide may be committed by either a man or a woman. With abortion, however, the onus seems to fall on the woman. I digress…

Given the moral implications of abortion, a woman's role in society, and the women's role as reproductive enabler, how can this be an easy question for a woman? Of course, it is not, and thankfully, no one seems to be arguing that point. Yet, I question the ability to objectively define the preferences of a woman who has had an abortion. Think about it. Using Nicholas' war example, what soldier would not state that they would have preferred not to kill? If that soldier's primary function is to avoid killing civilians and it nonetheless occurs, where does the fault lie? Is that the soldier's burden or is it the burden of the state that sanctions the war? Would not that soldier, in retrospect, have a tendency to shift that burden off his or her own shoulders? Without use of that clumsy example, would not a woman similarly prefer to cite pressure from significant others or family as a reason for going through with an abortion? Isn't that only natural given what is at stake? We are only human. Can we really objectively define the appropriate female stance on the matter…especially when it becomes a question of morality and of a woman's very natural function? I do not think so. I am not arguing the validity of abortion; I am merely stating that a woman's feelings about abortion are going to transcend what I believe your average man can understand…with all due respect, of course. Perhaps that is why I find it absurd that we argue such things in our courts: laws that pertain to only half the population.

Anonymous said...
OK!!! my son....you have as usual created a wonderful dialogue with good thinking people....I have always been very proud of the fact that you are an intelligent thinker and I do appreciate that my values and ideas have been influential in your thinking process...after all I was the community health educator for Planned Parenthood of Central Oklahoma for eight years and I taught you well my son....And by the way Neil, the issue of termination and the right to choose for a woman....is similar to the Israeli/Arab situation ( if you would like to start a dialogue on that matter, I assure you it will be as everlasing as the termination right issue.....) But for now I would like for you and Neil to get into a discussion of what is Motherhood....with Mother's day approaching....let me hear some of your ideas about what is it to have a Wanted- Loved child that you can mother for the rest of your life..... Motherhood is a priviledge that no one should take if the resposibility is not present and available, because you can never return a child for credit ...please remember that......
Nicholas you are one of my shinning sons and I am a very proud mother.....I love you...(Nicholas') Mom

Neil said...
Good questions are motherhood. I'm a father - one of the great joys of my life - and I assume motherhood is swell as well. Being a parent is arguably the most important thing we'll do in life.Not surprisingly, I think motherhood begins before the baby's brief journey down the birth canal. Arguments used to justify abortion at, say, 7 mos. could easily be used to justify infanticide (economic conditions, privacy, freedom). Intuition isn't always right, but it often is. Ask an expectant mother what is inside her and she'll typically answer, "My baby." She is already bonding and caring for "it.""Motherhood is a priviledge that no one should take if the resposibility is not present and available, because you can never return a child for credit"Amen! You can give her up for adoption. But you can't un-abort a child. Abortion is forever. People change their minds all the time on important life issues - especially when circumstances change. I am completely in favor of children being wanted. But I am against the notion of destroying those that aren't currently wanted and in favor of changing hearts to want the ones that do exist.

Neil said...

Re. the historical perspective - I think it is interesting that someone like Susan B. Anthony would not have been running a PP clinic - see This is feminism?!

Jenni-beck said...

Regarding the historical perspective and the Susan B. Anthony reference, I don't think the Susan B. Anthony quotes really address the point I was endeavoring to make. First of all, I would prefer to see the quotes in their original context. Secondly, the below quote is working on the original assumption with which I took issue:

"[Is the woman] guilty? Yes. No matter what the motive, love of ease, or a desire to save from suffering the unborn innocent, the woman is awfully guilty who commits the deed. It will burden her conscience in life, it will burden her soul in death; But oh! Thrice guilty is he who drove her to the desperation which impelled her to the crime!"

I noticed that the last phrase was bold. This is precisely the type of statement that prompted my initial response. "He who drove her" assumes that it was not a decision the woman in question made herself. I am not arguing that this is not ever the case, but the supposition that women make that decision under male pressure the majority of the time is, to me, impossible to determine.

I respect Susan B. Anthony's position as a personal one. Due to the fact that this blog quotes her without including any particularly relevant arguments backing her remarks, I see her words as opinion. (An opinion to be respected, no doubt.) However, just because a feminist leader supports one idea, it does not make her words the gospel for all those who champion feminist ideals. It is a complex, pluralistic world...even within specific interest groups. I take issue with the contrary assumption on the same basis on which I take issue with so many religious groups. Prescribing whole-heartedly to a belief-system (whether religious or political) without taking the time to form one's own opinions seems only problematic to me. Does this make the task of law-making very complicated and difficult? Of course. Yet, we would be short-sighted and superficially addressing the issue (or any issue for that matter) if we endeavored to over-simplify and classify things as black or white. Alas, my problem with our current political system. Again, I digress!

Secondly, I take issue with the last statement on that webpage:

". . . abortion is the ultimate male chauvinism. . . . abortion rips off women as much as it rips off the unborn, and allows male chauvinists to run free. " -Rev. John C. Rankin

John Rankin? Not sure I consider him the authority on the female perspective, but I doubt anyone would argue that point. The thing that bothers me about his remark is that it doesn't make any sense to me. How is prohibiting the right for a woman to do with her body what she wants not a sign of male chauvinism? Are we to assume this is the case because sometimes, female fetuses are aborted? My opinion is that is a weak argument.

I also noticed the comments below the blog post.
"The ready availability of abortion also makes it easy for men to not even use birth control: 70% of women who abort were not using it at the time. I really don't see why allowing a man to not use a condom so that he enjoys it more, then having the woman abort so that he doesn't have to pay child support, is anything but the height of chauvanism."

I see mention of birth-control and child-support. Interesting alternatives indeed. The thing that I never quite understand is how oftentimes these alternatives are touted as genuinely easy things to obtain. This idea works on the false assumption that everyone is educated about birth control and is able to easily obtain it. The claim was made that birth control is frequently not used in an effort to make the sexual experience more pleasurable for a man. Does this happen? Sure. Yet, is it not as frequently the case that birth control is either not available to everyone, its use not fully understood, or the need for birth control not fully understood? I am thinking of the dozens of teenagers I knew having sex in high school. (Does this mean I associated with a crowd with lax morals? I do not think so. I think there is quite a bit of premarital sex occurring in all schools, parochial or public, to which many people prefer to remain ignorant.) Do all these kids understand how to use birth control? Do they fully understand that birth control is absolutely necessary to prevent pregnancy? Absolutely not. (I distinctly remember overhearing a teenage girl talk about using the rhythm method. I ask you if your average teenager can understand that.) Furthermore, imagine a teenager whose parents do not approve of her sexual activity. Is that child going to be likely to seek advice or support in obtaining birth control from her parents? Of course not. Will she get that guidance from her school? Probably not…and she shouldn't, according to the conservative viewpoint. Does this mean she won't have sex? No, of course she will. So, what is the right answer?

The greater contention I have with this statement is that it suggests that men won't want to use condoms due to the ready availability of abortions. The fallibility in this statement lies in that I would argue that most men (who don't use condoms) don't think about the resulting circumstances of unprotected sex at all. Most men (that don't insist on using condoms) simply assume that the woman is using oral contraceptives…or they are simply not thinking about it. More often than not, even the responsibility of birth control lies solely with the woman.

On child-support, I find the suggestion that, by not having a baby, the woman is saving the man from having to pay child support (and that it is the ultimate chauvinism) particularly absurd. How many women having both wanted and unwanted babies have a difficult time collecting child- support? Is someone suggesting that, if a man isn't thrilled about having a baby, he might be thrilled about paying for one? I doubt it. I can speak from my own mother's personal experience that child-support is not always easy to obtain, even when the child is wanted. In her case, she never received a cent. (Thank goodness my brother was both loved and wanted!) So, given this set of circumstances, a woman is not only burdened with a child, but with the responsibility of potentially caring for it on her own…in the name of stifling chauvinism perhaps?

The main point that I maintain is not that I support abortion, but that I do not believe men understand very much about the female dilemma. I am not shifting the blame to men. To the contrary, it would be ideal for women who choose abortion for themselves (excepting those few who are pressured into it) to boldly (notice I don't say proudly) take responsibility for their actions. Until they do, they form a quiet faction whose thoughts and feelings are allowed to be misinterpreted and miscommunicated. Yet, this is the root of the debate: an issue of privacy. How can a woman even fully explain that type of choice when the act itself carries such a stigma? Even cold-blooded murderers are innocent until proven guilty. Again, with all due respect, I am convinced that a man is ever going to have the full picture. Does this mean all women agree on these issues? No, and I realize that. However, I would be interested to see how a vote would turn out if women (not politicians with agendas) were left to determine these things for themselves.

mem'ries

2007-11-29T13:31:00.000-08:00

stuck at home today, i was cleaning out and organizing some files on my computer when i came across something i wrote 10 years ago for my junior english class. the assignment was to retell a fairy tale or well-known story in the style of an american author. and here is mine:

I saw the green thing in the distance. We walked toward the green thing. We walked toward it through the red flowers. They smelled good. Dorothy held my hand and we walked together. Then she let go and I tripped. I saw red shapes. I tried to stand, and I fell onto the grass with the red flowers. I felt tired and started to cry.
"Stop your snivellin." said the grey man with the ax. "Your stuffings comin out."
I stopped crying and got up. The lion looked at me and gave me a flower to play with. The flower was pretty and I liked holding it. Then I got tired and fell down again. I dropped the flower, and I tried to cry. I opened my mouth and made a noise.
Dorothy came to me. "What is it. Are you hurt." said Dorothy. I tried to say. She pulled me up and put straw in my sleeve. Dorothy held my hand again. Dorothy smelled like flowers. Dorothy held my hand and I stopped crying.
"I'll show you what I can do, my pretty." said the lady in the big black hat. I reached for the place where it was warm. I pulled my hand back and there was fire. Dorothy screamed.
"Put it out." Dorothy said. Her voice was loud. Then my voice was loud. The lady in the black hat laughed. She laughed and laughed, and then she went away.
"Hush now." Dorothy said. "You are alright. I'll take care of you."
"You are alright." Dorothy said. "I have to go away now, but I'll never forget you." Dorothy held me. She didn't smell like flowers and I started crying. Dorothy's eyes got red, and she let go and went to the big red balloon. I reached for her, but I couldn't touch her, and I cried and cried.
"Stop that moaning." said the grey man with the ax. "How can anyone get anything done with you whining all the time." The grey man with the ax glared at Dorothy.
Dorothy pressed my hand and I was quiet. She smelled like flowers. She picked up the flower I dropped and gave it to me. Dorothy yawned. We walked through the red flowers toward the green thing and I got tired. The man with the ax layed down in the flowers and tried to sleep. The grey man with the ax layed down, and then Dorothy layed down. She pulled me next to her. She smelled like flowers. The lion tried to pull Dorothy up. He tugged at her arm, and he couldn't keep her up. Then he layed down and went to sleep.
The birds screamed. The birds flew around my head and I got scared. Then Dorothy uncaught me, and she pulled me from the big stick I hung on, and the birds went away. I liked Dorothy. She was pretty and smelled like flowers.
"Who are you." Dorothy said. I tried to say. "Who are you." Dorothy said. I opened my mouth and tried to say. "You dont have a brain, do you." Dorothy said. I made a sound.
"Dont worry." Dorothy said. "I'll take you with me to the wizard. We'll take care of you." Her voice was like wind.
The wind was cold. I opened my eyes and mouth, and I felt something cold and wet go in. Then my mouth was cold. I looked and there was white on the red flowers. Then the white covered up the red, and I started crying. I couldn't smell the flowers.
"Get up, you idiot." said the grey man with the ax.
"Leave him alone." Dorothy said. She reached for me. "You've got to get up." Dorothy said. "It's too cold for you in the snow." She pulled me up.
The lion was already up. He looked at Dorothy. He looked sad.
I got up and we walked toward the green thing through the white.

I walked through the forest, and the shadows of the trees, casting some sort of divine judgement upon me, appeared to follow me wherever I walked. The wind was cold, and I remembered what I had done wrong. My paws were dirty, and I proceeded to clean them, but I couldn't get them clean enough. They were stained red. The red of poppies. Poppies. Poppies for anyone but her. Courage was not mine. It was the tin-man's. Let him have it. Do you have it? Do you?
I never had it. Because the wizard said he couldn't give it to me anyway. He said if I were to ever have it, I'd have to get it myself he said. He said men lie about being cowards.
The shadows followed me. Followed me out of the forest and into the field. Yes. That's what happened. The shadows followed me into the poppies. That's why she fell asleep. The shadows. No, I remember, the shadows came after the poppies.
I licked my paws again, but they wouldn't come clean. Only red. Red. Red.
Why did she lay down in the field and not in the palace? Why?
And after I watched my shadow on the leaves, I saw it. I saw him. The other lion leaped from the bushes and took his prey. What did I do wrong? I should have killed all of them. I did.
The witch hurt her, but I should have done it. I should have eaten her, but I couldn't. If only I could say Witch. We were all wrong to her. All four of us. But she said get Dorothy out of my land she said.
In the shadow of one particular tree, I saw a red apple. I took it in my paws. I knew it would taste good, but then the red became brighter, and I couldn't eat it. Couldn't eat it. The red. The red on her. Would she have eaten the apple?
I wanted to talk with you I said and he said he knew
he said he knew everything he said
I said wizard, why am I so afraid
and casually he said everyone is
But why am I a coward when I am a lion I said
he said you'll find out some day he said
and I please help me find strength and he strength is only yours to find and I why did she do it and he because it is like a woman to succumb to spells and I why couldn't I stop it and he you tried and I I just couldn't get her up and he I know and I I failed and he she's not your responsibility and I why couldn't I eat her then and he did you want to and I no and he you worry too much and I I only want to be what is expected and he there is your mistake
Red poppies. Red on my hands. Red. Red. Red.

Once a bitch always a bitch, what I say. She should work like me, cutting down apple trees all day long, instead of wearing those damn gawdy-looking, ruby-colored shoes. She goes tripping down that yellow-brick road with that idiot of hers and that feeble feline and expects me to believe in her schemes. I'll drink to that! I don't need a heart anyway. I'll get everything I need when I sell those apples of mine. Still she says,
"But you've got to come with us to see the wizard--"
"What do I need with a wizard?" I ask her.
She thought about it for awhile.
"If you don't have a heart, then you'll never love."
I reply that I don't need love either and that she better stop bothering me or I'm liable to knock her upside-the-head with the butt of my ax. You see, no one ever appreciates the simple fact that I need to work. I need to work all the time, and I don't need to be trapsing off to any damn Emerald Cities anytime soon.
I start to think about the witch, though. She's pretty old. Obviously, the old bag's gonna die soon. Moreover, she can't be too quick on her feet or with that broom of hers. If I were to go with the stooges, I may have myself a chance at the witch and her treasure.
So, I went with them. Mind you, it was irratating as hell. The fool was always moaning and crying and losing his straw-stuffing, and the lion was always worrying about his shadow or his dirty paws or something. I'll tell you something, though. Those paws were more worthless than dirty to me. That lion probably never worked a day in his life, let alone ever killed anything.
As we were making our way to Emerald City, it rained. Of course, you know that rain is just about the worse damn thing that can possibly happen to me. That's my luck for you. But that Dorothy didn't help my luck none too much, either.
I never did get any money from that witch, or even the heart that was promised me. I didn't get nothing at all, as usual. It just goes to show you that you've got to depend on yourself, 'cause no one else out there will be looking after you if you don't. I'm just happy that that girl is gone for good over that goddamned rainbow. Now I can get back to my own affairs.

*********************
it's fairly easy to guess which novel i was imitating. please be kind, as i was 17 when i wrote this...

the sage words...

2007-11-29T07:58:00.000-08:00

of mr. joe crump. future rockstar columnist. couldn't agree with him more.
reposted from his blog:

querulous conservatism

In 1962, after losing the California gubernatorial contest, Richard Nixon despairingly remarked to reporters (I like to imagine it with violin accompaniment), "You won't have Nixon to kick around anymore, because, gentlemen, this is my last press conference." Perhaps you are pondering- why would the press be so wicked and cruel as to "kick around" the Republican candidate running for Governor of California? If you are fortunate enough to own a radio, then you might tune into the Sean Hannity Show (or any other conservative talk radio) to satisfy your inquiry. Sean's answer is simply that "the press" or "the media" disproportionately targets Republicans because, being entirely comprised of liberals, it is invested in America's defeat. This line of reasoning is, of course, utter balderdash. That conservatives found the need to establish a right-leaning Wikopedia and Youtube, since the general public is now thought to have a liberal bias, is laughable. Nowadays, one thing that definitively characterizes the right, at least for the most part, is its Nixonian paranoia and antipathy regarding the news media.

True, the left controls most of the newspapers. And, the left will always have a monopoly on the arts- actors, comedians, musicians, and Kanye West. But I think we can all agree that the overwhelming majority of Americans get their news from that wondrous box of meretricious infotainment, where FOXnews reigns supreme. I would be remiss if I failed to mention talk radio, lest they should scream even louder in order to be noticed, where the right dwarfs the left. There are also conservative publications like the National Review, the Weekly Standard, Human Events, etc. In other words, the right has its own prodigious and formidable news media that is, for all intents and purposes, an endless fusillade aimed at the Democratic Party. Respectfully, it might behoove Mr. Hannity's constituency, before they decry the "omnipresent" and "inescapable" liberal media, to consider the innumerable avenues of thought controlled by Rupert Murdoch, not the least of which is FOXnews- "Real journalism: fair and balanced. That's why we're No. 1 — FOX News Channel." But does anyone really doubt that it leans to the right? It is also worth noting that, if FOXnews is, in fact, "No. 1", then they must be the "mainstream media" that the Hannitites bemoan so incessantly. According to Merriam-Webster's online dictionary, the word mainstream means: "a prevailing current or direction of activity or influence." Thus if FOXnews is the most watched news network, as its punditry often asserts, it is also "mainstream." Hannitites are kidding themselves if they think that their champion and his cohorts have aptly labeled themselves the "new" or "alternative" media. It is also more than a little remarkable that Sean Hannity and Bill O'Reilly can complain about the ubiquity of the liberal media and then, in the same sentence, boast their own exorbitant ratings. Let us hope that I don't need to explain why that is absurd.

I wish to stress that it is not the bias that I find irksome, it's the whining. Isn't it possible to be anti-gay marriage, anti-evolution, pro-life, pro-guns, pro-tax cuts, pro-Nascar, pro-small gov't, pro-death penalty, and pro-torture without being so querulous? Stop calling the media "liberal" or "elite" and start calling it what it is, indolent and sensationalistic. To the media en masse, Paris Hilton's profligate behavior is more newsworthy than 9/11 and all the right can do is whine about how they are out to destroy George W. Bush (as O'Reilly asserted in between his softball questions to Mr. Bush in a recent interview). Other than Bush's plan to privatize social security, has the liberal media stopped the Bush administration in any shape or form? Was the liberal media able to preclude the invasion of Iraq or Bush's re-election? No, but the conservative media has been a little more efficacious (i.e. immigration, Harriet Myers).

There are, of course, conservative intellectuals that choose not to blame the messenger. Incidentally, this is one of many distinguishing features that set George F. Will and David Brooks apart from Michael Reagan and Sean Hannity. This immeasurably small portion of the conservative mansion is acutely aware that we do not live in Russia and that everyone, ranging in ideology from the far left to the far right, is free to exercise astonishingly poor judgment when choosing their sources of info. The misinformed dolts on the left are free to imbibe and parrot Rosie O'Donnel's inane blather just as their counterparts on the right are free to trust Mr. Hannity. Many of you make it sound as if you are forced to read the NYTimes and watch CNN everyday when, in truth, you rely exclusively upon Rush Limbaugh's partisan interpretation.

If it's objectivity you seek, I have some discouraging news: Everyone is biased. "Fair and Balanced" is a trite and meaningless phrase that is, what Charles Dickens might consider to be, a "pretense of equity" (Bleak House). The only thing you can do to get both sides of the story is diversify your news sources by venturing outside of your comfort zone- an intellectual calisthenics, if you will. If you are a liberal, read George Will. If you are a conservative, read Frank Rich, or just read for God's sake. The problem today, and the left is equally guilty of this, is that many of us don't actively seek out opposing arguments or points of view. That most conservatives watch only FOXnews and most liberals read only the NYTimes, is truly lamentable. If we're to deal with the challenges we face as a nation, we cannot remain so firmly entrenched in our respective partisan ideologies.

True, there is a liberal media, and a big one at that. But are we supposed to blame liberals for getting jobs in the media and, come to think of it, in academia? Perhaps you should instead blame your fellow conservatives for pursuing career paths apart from the former and the latter. And while you're at it, go ahead and blame them (and yourself) for their monolithic support of Bush in 2004. His presidency will inexorably result in liberal control of more than just Congress. Undoubtedly, many of you have, by now, considered the looming spectre of a Hillary presidency; to say nothing of the "pinkos" she's likely to nominate to the Supreme Court. Then you'll really have something to cry about.

JCCrump 7-10-07

an open letter to my collaborator

2007-11-28T13:31:00.000-08:00

i have it. finally.

searching for my next project has been like finding inspiration in a can of split pea soup. but in a moment, it came to me:

i want to explore secrets.

i've been sitting here meditating on things...topics...thoughts. points to discover...points to ponder. things that interest me...things that make my blood boil. things that turn me on. things that thrill me...and things that wrap me up and under like buttermilk crusts.

i find myself checking postsecret.blogspot.com a thousand times over. just for distraction...and it hits me. i am fascinated by people's secrets. not even the sort that people divulge anonymously on some public forum, but with a voyeuristic fascination nonetheless. i want to know the tiny secrets people carry with them everyday. the insignificant and momentous motivations... drawn like a chord from that tiny locked door in our hearts and minds. the secret reason i can't stand the name 'amanda.' or why he has a scrawny blonde fetish. the secret reason he is driven to make his fortune. the reason she looks at pork and thinks of her first boyfriend. or why he cries when he sees his mother's slippers in the closet. the reason my kitchen floor is the saddest place on earth to me.

i want to create a piece about secrets. an exploration, if you will. an expedition. perhaps vignettes. perhaps extracted scenes riffing on the theme...presented together through some loose connections...ties that bind. ties that break. ties that...untie. or unite.

am i sometimes too busy concerning myself with my own secrets to listen to the secrets around me? yes. absolutely. when i stop...when i remain silent, i can usually hear them. i hear them clearly. but i've been creating so much white noise lately. static. internal chaos spit out onto the tabletop and thrust into the room like a walrus in an aviary. my distractions reflected back in on myself. i'm ready for some silence...and then, the hum. the hum accompanying the stifled silence in the air...the suspended sentiments. of others. of myself.

let's do this. i think you know what i want. i think you have the means to show...and feel...what i think...and need. let the hunt begin. who knows what we may find.

sublime

2007-11-20T13:41:00.000-08:00

would you like to hear sublime?

listen to chopin's Piano Concerto No. 1 In E Minor, Op. 11: II - Romance: Larghetto.

i've heard it time and time before... but currently, i'm listening to a recording of emanuel ax. absolutely stunning.

the recording is part of a compilation... a rather pedestrian collection entitled 'chopin for relaxation.' i think i may have bought it for my mother once upon a time... and then, subsequently stole it back as soon as i realized some of the pieces were performed exceptionally well.

however, i take issue with this recording of one of my favorite chopin pieces: Etude In A-Flat 'Aeolian Harp,' Op. 25 No. 1.

i used to play the 'aeolian harp.' it was one of the last pieces i learned before theatre distracted my attention from my piano studies. i do not know who is playing this particular version, but it is not how i hear the music in my head. too fast. too casual. too steady.

the first time i heard that piece was in the final credits of 'the turning point,' a movie with shirley maclain and anne bancroft centered around ballet (the other love of my life). in the final moments, leslie brown dances this beautiful solo in front of the footlights to the etude... so graceful and lovely. an orchestral arrangement was added for the movie soundtrack... and it is so very effective. rubato... overwrought... emotional... satisfying.

i fell in love with that piece the moment i heard it. i was a young girl at the time...perhaps 11 or 12. as this predated IMDB, there was no way for me to know the name of the piece without tracking down the soundtrack... which is even now only available on LP. once i found it, tucked away in a pile of records at the dance studio, i begged my piano teacher to play it and fortunately, she complied.

this piece is called an 'etude' for a reason, though i know its difficulty pales in comparison to some of the other etudes. nevertheless, i was still a child and never before had my hands hurt so much while playing. i was unprepared for the cramping and the pain...but it was so sublime. so wonderful. i have no words to adequately express how i felt as i poured every ounce of my being into those 6 pages of rapid arpeggiated figures. i can't begin to explain..........

i was not born with a desire to play. to the contrary, i was forced to take lessons by my mother. the hour of practice each evening was as important as the daily chores... if not more. it took years of being chained to the piano bench before a genuine appreciation took root in my heart. and then, with an introduction to chopin and debussy (romantic and impressionist), i discovered the dormant desire in my hands. i now thank my mother for offering me this gift.

i now know that i am a complete musical whore. i remember that rhythm was always my weakness. the intended played second fiddle to my idea of how it should be played. i saw no reason to learn the rhythm if i had heard it before... i needed only to see the notes, to know where to place my fingers...the rhythm was dictated by the sweep of my wrists, the surge in my breasts. disrespectful to the composer? perhaps. blasphemy? i know. surely i would be denounced by my teutonic peers... deemed tacky and overemotional. indeed. but what came from my fingertips was the purest expression of who i was at the time. innocent, tender, and sentimental. in retrospect, i sometimes long to play as i once did. utterly lacking self-consciousness. it almost makes me cry to think about it. my love of the piano was never about dexterity...only expression. perhaps an interesting parallel (or contrast) to my life.

as i write this, i realize that this must be what self-taught musicians and composers experience... those unable to read music. when the rigid notes and values are written in an unintelligble language, how can one be accused of disrespect? it then becomes 'interpretation.' how fortunate they are to escape the burden of this responsibility, unfettered by rules, staves, and note values. how liberating.

i have never envied other pianists. what i experienced was so personal...singularly satisfying and precious... and thus, invincible. it didn't matter what anyone else thought of my playing. good or bad, it didn't matter. in all my life, my piano was the one thing that was mine... for no one's benefit but my own. i don't mind playing for others, but i play best when alone. perhaps it is my secret.

i ask only that other pianists show reverence for my music... and it is indeed my music now. and will always be as it was ingrained in my heart and memory.

responsibility

2007-11-17T12:48:00.000-08:00

i am angry.

i am angry because i have a neighbor who is a complete jackass.

as i sat on my couch with my boys this morning, i thought to myself that i'd like to write about my dogs...how they bring me such happiness. how fidel's little velvet face makes me melt...and their games with the ball or their toy squirrel never fail to put a smile on my face. but then, i thought, 'no one really wants to read about my gushing over my dogs. we all love our animals. i don't need to brag.'

i take pretty good care of my dogs...sometimes to the point of indulgence. they are fairly obedient, with a few exceptions...most evenings when i open the gate to the yard, they do a quick romp to the end of the block and back before i can corral them inside. on the other hand, i can take them to memorial park and remove the leashes with no fear of their running away. still, i keep an eagle eye on them most of the time, and the few times they have escaped from the yard have nearly given me a heart attack.

sidenote: i have a severe weakness for animals. i can proudly say i have never hit an animal of any kind with my car...though i've nearly destroyed cars in an effort to avoid doing so. but in short, i'm a sucker. i get this from my father. as a child, my dad worked in an area surrounded by open fields, and every week, he would bring home a new stray he had caught...probably some dog the family no longer wanted, cast aside on the side of the road. (i will never understand how people have the heart to do this.) having 2 dogs and 3 cats already, we couldn't keep these animals... so dad would bring them not to the pound, but animal rescue centers where, with a contribution, you could prevent the animal from being euthanized before finding a home. so, one doesn't grow up in this environment without it rubbing off. whenever i see a dog running loose anywhere, i stop my car and try to make sure it's not lost and hurt, etc. (poor cynthia has been in the car with me at least 4 or 5 times in the last couple months when i've embarked on dog rescues...most of the time, in high heels. she drew the line the other day when i tried to shoo the raccoon out of the middle of the road.)

all that being said, my neighborhood is overrun with dog lovers. people are ridiculous about their dogs in southhampton. at any point, you can catch 4 or 5 people walking their dogs down north and south boulevards. i love this, though there are slight annoyances. (the dog park down the street is a tightly run ship...you are almost made to feel as though your dogs should pass some kind of inspection before they are accepted within the gates.) regardless, my dogs are very popular in my area, as they are left visible behind an iron gate on a heavy-traffic corner. they like some of the people who pass by the yard and dislike others. (i can't quite figure out the pattern, but i'm confident they are good judges of character.)

all that being said, i have a neighbor who has a dog that closely resembles mine. his is a miniature pinscher and mine are manchester terriers. it is not unusual for me to see this dog running in the middle of the street at night. alone. sometimes, driving home from an evening out, i can't clearly see the dog, and i momentarily panic that my dogs have escaped. i didn't know where this dog lived...if it was a stray...if it had a collar...why it was in the middle of the road. i have stopped many times, worried about this dog, trying to get him to come to me so that i could safely escort him home. aside from that, people have come knocking on my door several times now...asking if my dogs have gotten out of the yard, having just seen this little min pin. i've seen this dog scurrying around in the rain...at night. mind you, it's a small, BLACK dog. if any animal is aching to get run over, it is this one. so, one morning, i saw it running around, and i tried to follow it. (the comical part is that i followed this dog 2 blocks in my nightgown and robe.) finally, i saw it hop up the steps in front of this house around the corner. the man of the house opened the door (that was closed) and calmly let the dog inside, as if nothing was out of order. i was shocked.
'is that your dog?' i ask.
'yeah. i just let her run around the block. she always comes back,' he says.
'you're serious?' i ask.
'sure,' he says.

i am struck dumb. i am so angry, i don't even know what to say. so, i walk off.

today, i get another knock on the door. another random stranger.

'have your dogs gotten out? there is a little black down down the street, and he is limping,' the man says.

my dogs safely on the couch and knowing exactly which dog to which he was referring, i grab my keys and brush past the man, asking him to follow me.

as i walk the two blocks and around the corner, i explain the situation to him. i am livid. i am tired of this asshole letting his dog run around the neighborhood, leaving the rest of us to worry about hitting it. i am ready to give him a serious piece of my mind. and my partner in outrage(mark, who turns out to be another neighbor down the street) is equally ready to punch this guy's face.

so we knock on the guy's door, and he answers... the dog is somehow at his side, having run home immediately. mark explains that the dogs was limping, and the man says that the dog always favors one leg. (perhaps an injury from running haphazardly around the damn neighborhood?) but this time, his explanation is that his dog is an escape artist. he proceeds to explain that they just can't seem to keep the dog inside. he says that other neighbors have talked to him about this. (yeah...no shit.) and again, i find myself so mad that i can barely speak to this idiot. after hearing his pathetic excuse, mark and i walk back to my place, shaking our heads.

the moral of the story: the NEXT time i see this little dog running around (and i walk up to his house to see the door closed), i am catching that dog and instead of bringing him home, i am going to give it to someone who will take better care of it. and to the jerk who lives at 1622 milford, take responsibility for your animals.

me talk pretty online

2007-11-15T07:27:00.000-08:00

i am not fond of webspeak.

i appreciate that internet slang saves time...but i have a beef. we use words like 'awesome' and 'fabulous' all the time in our everyday speech, and i am just as guilty of this as the next person. but how many things are truly awe-inspiring? i choose not to get up in arms about this, because these words and phrases are firmly entrenched in our language along with any number of colloquialisms.

yet, the thing that really bugs me: LOL. i can't stand LOL. you might ask why. because! because when i write LOL, i had better be laughing out loud. like...for real. i had better get a hearty guffaw out of whatever it follows. because otherwise, it is a useless phrase. and believe me, writing something stupid and then, writing LOL after it does NOT make it more funny. to the contrary, it makes it LESS funny...or maybe just distracts me...because suddenly, it reminds me of a 13 year-old girl in a chat room. (not that 13 year-old girls should ever be in chat rooms.)

example of unsolicited myspace message from random stranger: 'miss jenni, you seem like a trouble-maker. LOL.'

okay, so i'm not laughing...are YOU laughing? i mean, is that funny? i know they are trying to be cute and flirty...but all they've made me do is think of goofy, socially-inept guys glued to their keyboards AND 'hello kitty.' AND it prompts me to change my settings to private.

men should NEVER use this phrase. repeat. men should NEVER use this phrase.

smileys, on the other hand, are completely acceptable. :)

NYer than you

2007-11-04T22:58:00.000-08:00

i vowed that i would not renew my new yorker subscription when my year was finished. why?

1. the articles are too long...7-10 pages a piece at times.
2. it comes every week, leaving me no time to finish one issue before the next arrived in the mail.
3. i'm convinced that the editors don't read through all the cartoon caption entries, as i've submitted countless captions far more clever than those that win.
4. i'm starting to feel both falsely validated (being one of the pretentious, self-important elitists who subscribe) to intensely inferior and inadequate because i can't manage to finish a single issue before either losing interest or getting frustrated by the esoteric ego-stroking evident in the articles (how's that assonance for ya?).

so, the last 4 or 5 issues have arrived with a dustcover announcing the impending doom of my subscription...'last issue before service interruption'...'don't miss your opportunity to stay up to date with the new yorker'...'no more cartoons?' and i've turned my nose up at each issue. 'i can take you or leave you,' i say casually. i toss it aside...to read later...IF i get around to it.

and so, i finally pick up the last few magazines. and there's this great article about the progress in criminal lie-detection utilizing fMRI technology...the area of expertise of the very friend who turned me on to the NYer in the first place. and then, this great article about the music industry's conundrum with the advent of easy downloads...and how it has actually benefitted the classical music portion of the business. (seriously, what layperson actually downloads schoenberg?) and there was also that great article about the new biography on charles schulz. highlights from the book, his cartoon, and his life outlined in the 10-page article, along with personal anecdotes (such as revealing the squawking, nonsensical speech of the adults in 'peanuts' to be reminiscent of schulz's first wife). not to mention an absolutely fabulous short story ('mr. bones') by paul theroux (of 'mosquito coast' fame), as well as a depressing, but fascinating article about babies with colic and the potential long-term effects it has on both child and parents....that i am both tempted and hesitant to share with the million pregnant friends i have currently. but if that wasn't enough, let me not forget the article on elizabeth lecompte...my hero. the OTHER person i want to be when i grow up...julie taymor being the first. (the founder of the wooster group in NYC, famous for experiemental theatre productions juxtaposing classical rep, pop references, and contemporary aesthetics in a dangerous multimedia blitz.) the feature outlining her childhood, her break-throughs, her relationships, and her recent production of 'hamlet'...all along with a great photo. her hopes, dreams, and fears in a 10-page spread.

and i'm annoyed. i'm annoyed because it seems as though the big guns were brought out in my honor. why, just when i'm content to let my subscription lapse into obscurity, i read the five or six best articles all year?! so, is this the MO? is this the grand plan? skate by with filler until my renewal time?

well, damn. you've won, NYer...you've won. my check is in the mail.

cheater

2007-10-11T23:24:00.000-07:00

anyone who has heard my description of last saturday's events knows that my little honda is undergoing some surgery at the moment. my poor car had a BIG scratch on its right side...but on the whole, its cosmetic appearance has been on the decline for a while. there's a dent from a friend opening my car door too quickly and too forcefully against a pole in my garage, some scratches on the front bumber where the dealership drive it against a curb, and the scratches on the back bumper where i backed into those annoying rocks with which people edge their yards to prevent parking, (i HATE those rocks) among other things. point being that i've been feeling a little self-conscious about the look of my fairly young car...this is same car that came back from the repair-shop once upon a time with teeny-tiny pockmarks in the paint, making me cry because my new baby had its first blemishes. so, when the rental car employee picks me up in a new aura, i immediately start to notice this sleek, new acquaintance. the adjustable seatbelt height...the ignition coordinating with the radio and the transmission coordinating with the doorlocks...the way i can open the sunroof and trunk with the push of the alarm button. i even like the more subtle click of the tune signal. suddenly, i sense myself starting to lust after this new car...i like it's smell...it's look in the driveway...the way i feel in the driver's seat. and the thing is, i HAD a saturn...and i HATED it. but i LOVE this car. and i am beginning to devise a plan for how i can keep this car, instead of my honda...some sneaky reason why i deserve the upgrade. it seems only reasonable that the garage and the rental place will go along with this plan.

but this afternoon, i made one observation: the aura's fuel gauge. in only two days, i have used over a third of a tank of gas. this is NOT normal. given my usual driving habits, i can drive over two weeks on one tank of gas in my honda. thus, the aura is flawed. and as i am sitting there, embraced by the cushions of this unfamiliar travel companion, i have this overwhelming feeling that i have been cheating on my car. and i genuinely feel guilty. do i admit this infidelity to my honda...or do i just pretend it never happened?

in any case, i miss you, baby. looking forward to having you back.

addicted

2007-10-09T22:11:00.001-07:00

so, i just got home from a fantastic show tonight. dashboard confessional. was a solo performance with chris carrabba (singer) and john lefler (guitarist). i grew up with john lefler's little brother and spent a fair amount of time at the lefler household back in the day. turns out pappa lefler was at the performance...was nice to stop and say hello. and the concert was fantastic. i mean, REALLY good. more on that later...

i get home and what's on TV but 'sleepless in seattle.' and i swear, i cannot see that movie on television without stopping to watch it. and every time i watch it, i cry bucketloads. doesn't matter if i see the whole thing or the last ten minutes, i cry...EVERY SINGLE TIME. i LOVE that movie. that's all.

morgan for president

2007-10-07T09:26:00.000-07:00

so, i've gotten more and more interested in video commentaries on film DVDs. i especially enjoy listening to the commentary by the directors...getting perspective on why a scene was shot this way or that. what that tiny little prop in the background meant to the scene, the actors in the scene, or even just the crew. the odd costuming choices...or the happy mistakes that become the moments of brilliance. basically, all the little details that don't even hit our register when first watching a film. the first time i really took the time to watch a director commentary on a film was several years ago with 'american beauty.' and the moment i knew these commentaries were invaluable to me even as a stage director was when sam mendes described one of the opening scenes in which lester (kevin spacey) is talking to a client on the phone at work while looking in his computer screen. the scene is shot from behind, so we see lester's face as a reflection on the screen. and mendes was talking about how the text on the screen originally ran horizontally... until he decided to try several narrow columns of text running across the screen. the effect? when you see lester's face reflected in the screen along with the text, he appears to be behind bars... imprisoned. this moment lasts for no longer than 2 minutes. i can't say i consciously noticed this choice when watching the movie, but these details surely resonate with us on a subconscious level. subtle, but brilliant.

so, last night, after getting home from a gala, i decided i would watch the brand new 'special edition/feature' DVD of 'se7en' i just bought. (perhaps not the best movie to watch after a stressful day and right before bed.) in any case, i am now watching the commentary involving morgan freeman, brad pitt, and david fincher, the director. and let me just say that i have always been a brad pitt fan...not because he's attractive (frankly, he's not my type), but because i think he is a really intelligent actor. especially in his smaller roles, he brings a depth of character that is fairly rare...i'm thinking 'snatch' or '12 monkeys.' david fincher is a bit less articulate than some of the other directors i've heard. i knew that he had directed 'fight club,' but what i didn't know was that he started out primarily as a video director in the 80's and 90's. sting, paula abdul, madonna, etc. interesting. suddenly, the opening titles of 'seven' (set to NIN's 'closer') make sense style-wise. still, fincher's very pragmatic approach is interesting to hear. BUT (and this is what makes this DVD worth every penny) morgan freeman is also included in this commentary...and actors, if you haven't listened to freeman talk about character development, you need to. every time i hear that man speak, i am convinced he is a genius. he IS indeed far closer to the character he plays in 'se7en' than one might think in terms of education. the first movies i remember associating with morgan freeman as a child were 'glory,' 'driving miss daisy,' 'lean on me,' and most significantly, 'the power of one.' (if you have not read or seen 'the power of one,' i suggest you do so. amazing story and film.) freeman has always struck me with this profound sense of wisdom and dignity...it's really pervasive in every character he plays. so, back to the commentary...

fincher and pitt are discussing the scene in which sommerset (freeman) puts it together that the murders are associated with the seven deadly sins. and he's listing the sins off his fingers to the others. and the way he does so is so deliberate and elegant. and both pitt and fincher remark on this...as well as the deep, resonant quality of his voice. 'the god voice,' so to speak. and fincher continues to say that he thought freeman was an excellent casting choice for president in 'deep impact'...and that he would vote for him. YES! some of you know i have been saying morgan freeman should run for president for YEARS. is this ridiculous? well, is it any more ridiculous than ronald reagan? ...or the clown we have in office currently? if i could any one person who, on image alone, could have a serious shot at randomly running for political office, it would be morgan freeman. so... why not? morgan for president!

interesting related fincher quote: "I don't know how much movies should entertain. To me, I'm always interested in movies that scar. The thing I love about Jaws is the fact that I've never gone swimming in the ocean again."

best quote from se7en: "just because the fucker has a library card doesn't make him yoda."

off the grid: my new thoughts on immigration

2007-10-06T14:56:00.001-07:00

let me preface this blog with the suggestion that some might find it offensive. that being said, i'm very upset. here is why:

today, i was involved in a hit and run accident. i was driving along travis street...a detour i took to avoid traffic on the way to help out with my friend's theatre company's gala. while driving in the far left lane, i get hit by a car to my right as we are crossing west alabama. as soon as i can take stock of what happened, the car had backed up and sped off down west alabama. this happened so fast that i couldn't get a good look at the license plate. not content with this injustice, my temper got the best of me, and i took off on a wild chase to catch up with this bastard. so, i started my car back up and followed him. he managed to get through a red light right before me...so he was quite a ways ahead. i suppose he thought he was safe, but i kept an eye on him as he drove away down alabama. i was able to see where he turned off...at some point, he became aware of my following him and started driving faster. but finally, i was able to trap him between two cars...at which point, i parked my car in such a way that he was blocked and couldn't drive away.

sidenote: i realize this was absolute insanity. had this man been violent, i could be dead right now.

so, he got out of the car. and i gave him a piece of my mind. of course, as soon as i stand up out of my car, my legs start to wobble and give out under me. (shock setting in.) but i am so angry that i will not get back in my car for fear of his driving off again. regarding the man who hit me...hispanic. didn't speak english. driving what appeared to be a fairly new potiac grand prix. all new stickers. we will call this man joe for the sake of discussion.

joe couldn't understand anything i was saying. i told him i thought it was pretty terrible that he hit me and then, drove away. blank stare. no response. fortunately, he wasn't angry. it was only when i told him that i was going to call the police that his ears perked up. 'policia?!'

'si.'

so, i call the police, because at this point, i become increasingly convinced that i am going to be out of luck in this situation. that joe won't have insurance...nor any way to compensate me for the damage done to my car. the whole right side of my car is smashed...what appears to be thousands of dollars of damage. how on earth will joe pay for it? in any case, i want a police report. i speak very slowly and make big gestures of getting his license plate number and pictures of the car. in other words, i wanted to make it very clear that he shouldn't try to leave again. the police operator suggests that i only get his license plate and file a report at the station later. i'm stubborn and don't accept this suggestion. the operator tells me it will be a bit, since there was a disturbance to which several officers were responding. i tell her that's OK...that i will wait. (honestly, i would rather the police potentially prevent someone from getting hurt before they come to me.)

so, eventually my dad shows up, as well as the police probably 30 minutes later. the first police officer who shows up gets all the basic information from me, but is at a loss since she doesn't speak any spanish. finally, a second officer arrives who does. he divines that joe:
a. doesn't have insurance
b. doesn't have a valid texas driver's license
c. has only an expired mexican license

in other words, there is a 95% chance joe is illegal. i ask the officers if he is. one gives me a dry look and said, 'what do you think? but, thanks to our dear mayor, we can't ask or we'll get fired.'

sidenote #2: i appreciate that joe is being cooperative. i also find out that he is only 23...although i would have guessed mid-thirties, as he looks much older. as mad as i am about my car and the fact that i will most likely be paying out of my pocket for something that wasn't my fault, a part of me feels very sorry for joe. he's probably just some young, stupid kid who is scared. however, i don't want to paint him as an unfortunate, as his clothes and car did not suggest that he was financially struggling in the dire sense.

anyways...the police are civil to joe, but ticket him on 3 accounts:
a. moving into my lane and colliding
b. failure to have insurance
c. failure to have a driver's license

i ask about fleeing the scene. the officer tells me that since i actually caught him, they can't ticket him for it. go figure.

at some point, the spanish-speaking officer tells me that joe has mentioned paying for the damages to my car. he suggests i take the offer, but that i be careful about how i handle it. the other officer gives me some 'off the record' advice...that i invoke the name of the police to get the payment from joe. i think it is probably unwise to get falsely hopeful. this was someone who tried fleeing the scene...is it likely this is necessarily someone who will fulfill his debts? in any case, the officer suggests i threaten to show up on his court date. i don't like this kind of game-playing, but i am also not keen on being held accountable for the whole accident. what is the right thing to do?

but the whole matter leads me to my bigger point: illegal aliens. folks, i am as sympathetic to the cause as i can be. i believe immigration should be possible for people of all extractions... from any country, etc. but this can be accomplished legally. i do not suggest it is easy, but can we really be tolerant of people living off the grid? i was just telling someone the other day about my affinity for mexico city. it's irrational, but i would have to say that i prefer dirty, crowded mexico city to any other place i've traveled. why? because i got this incredible rush being there. it was exciting...but profoundly scary. why was it scary? because standing in the crowded zocalo, i had the sensation that i could have been ripped off the street, dragged down a remote alleyway, and NEVER heard from again. in a lawless land like mexico, it is possible to fall completely off the grid. and while terrifying, i was fascinated by this feeling. it made everything immediate and amplified the feeling of being alive...survival.

having come back from mexico city, i tried to explain that sensation to my friends who had never been there. and i failed miserably, since i couldn't compare to anything else i had experienced. it was only when i watched the denzel washington movie 'man on fire' that i finally had any point of comparison. the first scene features someone getting abducted from the zocalo...and THAT feeling of terror is exactly what i was trying to express.

today's experience made me think of things in a different light. there is no easy solution to the illegal immigrant problem. but can we just be lenient? should houston be a refuge for illegal immigrants? i feel it important to stress that these sentiments are not influenced by prejudice. i strongly feel that the ethnic diversity of houston is part of what makes it so special. and furthermore, i have the utmost respect for those immigrants who go through the painstaking process of becoming legal. but had i taken the operators advice today, i would have had an absolutely meaningless license plate number. a license plate number that couldn't be connected to a driver's license...nor any person. why? because there was no driver's license. so, a person like myself is left with absolutely no recourse at all. no way to seek justice. mind you, this was a car accident...what if it had been a rape or murder? how can we pursue someone or punish someone who, according to our records, doesn't exist?

i think we should all think carefully about this situation before we get up in arms either way about the immigration problem. consider how you might feel the next time a 'nonexistent' person attacks you, steals your things, or hits your car and tries to run. i am left torn...not knowing how best to proceed. i have no desire to cause trouble for joe or his family...but should he not have some responsibility towards me? should he not have some responsibility to follow our city's laws, as someone enjoying the benefits of living here?

nothing in this world comes for free. if you leave one country for something better, that, too, comes at a price...should it not be the price of legally calling yourself an american?

houston arts: damn straight

2007-09-25T10:51:00.000-07:00

Arts have $600M effect on Houston

Houston Business Journal - by Christine Hall Reporter

Cultural arts may not bring in as much money as the oil and gas industry, but a report released Monday shows the sector is a valuable part of the Houston economy.

"The Business of the Arts: A Look into The Economic Impact of the Arts on the Houston Region" showed that in 2004, the nonprofit arts in Houston brought in $626.3 million, supported 14,115 full-time jobs and generated $69.5 million in local and state government revenue.

Mayor Bill White, at a luncheon, said Houston is one of the up-and-coming venues in the arts world. "We want people 50 years or 100 years from now to talk about the explosion in Houston arts," he said.

The study also found that the 9.2 million people who said they attended an arts and cultural event in 2004 was twice the number of people attending events related to Houston's three major league professional sports teams in 2005.

The 1.6 million visitors to Houston who attended cultural events in 2004 spent $132 million in addition to the cost of their tickets, the survey found.

"Houston is not just a good places for the arts, it is one of the best," said Larry Faulkner, president of Houston Endowment Inc., a philanthropic institution founded in 1937 by Jesse and Mary Gibbs Jones.

"The arts are a powerful business asset and one we need to have for Houston to remain a leading city in the future and to keep its extraordinary economic vitality," he said.
Volunteerism was also a big factor in Houston's cultural events, according to the study. More than 34,000 individuals volunteered for arts and cultural organizations in 2004, contributing more than 650,000 hours worth more than $11.2 million.

Funding for the project, consulted by St. Louis-based AMS Planning & Research, was provided by The Brown Foundation, Houston Endowment and The Wortham Foundation.

4 musings

2007-09-23T10:04:00.000-07:00

1. puppies:

so i get email updates from petsmart. i use banfield, the associated vet. a few days ago, i received an email from them entitled,' loving your pet to death.' thinking this was probably some inoocuous sale anouncement, i opened it to read a rather shocking email about pet obesity. apparently, not only are our children getting fat...so are our pets. the email goes on to illustrate the dangers of over-feeding your pets. and so, of course, i start to panic about poor fidel. i have tried to feed him smaller portions, but this is a rather undiscerning animal that will eat anything if he's hungry. (he has spit up full pecans before.) that being said, dieting is easier said than done for my little fuzzy. and even walking is difficult, because i have to take both dogs...and fidel can never keep up with faulkner for very long. so, must i resign myself to this? must i feel guilty every time i give him a biscuit? poor baby.

2. dancing around my apartment:

last saturday, i spent all morning dancing around my apartment. i had the music playing while i cleaned, and one tune just got me moving. and somewhere, mid-shimmy...i got a brilliant idea for an upcoming play project. that's always a wonderful feeling...when some light bulb goes off in your head and you suddenly have direction. i love that moment of sparked inspiration! now, if i could only remember my great idea....

3. stage mothers:

i am not so sure i enjoy stage mothers. by this, i am not necessarily talking about the women who put pressure on their kids to perform. i'm talking about the next level of stage mothers: the mothers whose children already perform and who might go on tour with their children for a given show. i respect the need for a child to be close to his or her mother, but this situation creates a new breed. so, last night, i'm at a party and these children are running around like comanches. screaming and yelling and playing tag in the middle of a reception for our major donors...with expensive glassware in hand and whatnot. and i am shocked...because these mothers just sat back obliviously as their kids wreaked havoc on the party....children aged 5 to 13. mind you, it is midnight! and the mothers are talking amongst themselves like nothing is out of order. and at one point, the children create a hideout near the coat-check and are yelling at one another...and one child screams at the top of her lungs. and i politely ask the kids to keep it down, when this one little girl screams again. it appears as though she is screaming back at me, and i give her a look that would freeze ice. (seriously... these children should really know better.) and thankfully, the girl looked terrified and got quiet...for a minute anyways. and throughout this experience, i come to 3 conclusions:

-touring with these children must be the best birth control method...EVER.

-it is indeed possible for people to be so removed from reality that they have no sense of propriety.

-these children have hard lives ahead of them. god have mercy on the show-biz kid.

4. bjork

this is random, but it must be said. on my drive yesterday, i came across 'dancer in the dark' on one of my mix CDs, and it reminded me of bjork's oscar performance...and the subsequent flurry of fashion gossips mocking her for her oscar garb faux-pas. but you know...i really, REALLY liked that swan dress. and i admire her for being enough of her own person to unabashedly wear it. i even liked the egg purse. so there.

true blue, madonna, i love you

2007-09-23T08:02:00.000-07:00

time. i never know where the times goes. this is certainly worthy of another blog at another time...surely one to explain why i've been a little MIA the last couple of weeks. but for today...i'll focus on this weekend. so, i found myself on an impromptu road trip friday night. i needed to decompress from the week, so i didn't mind the time to just focus on the road and drive. i grabbed two folders of my CDs...one containing soundtracks and compilations, the other containing mostly mix CDs i made many moons ago. after singing along at the top of my lungs to the first half of the first rent CD, i realized i was getting hoarse. (side note: i was surprised that i could still remember every single word to every single song...after not having listened to it in probably 6 years. gotta love angsty teenagers and their obsessions.)

so after a little 'rent' and 'chess,' i pop in the 'immaculate collection.' and i haven't listened to madonna in a setting when i was at liberty to think about it for years. but it brought back so many memories. when i was a little kid, i remember having this little pink radio. (ah, the 80's.) this radio went with me everywhere, and audio tapes were the invention of the gods! every weekend, i would go outside in my back yard...inventing stories with my yorkie, recording nature sounds, and documenting our adventures with this little pink radio. this little pink radio was also used for more practical purposes...like recording piano lessons. but most often, this pink radio was my ticket to pop star land. the first 2 tapes i ever remember having were madonna's 'like a virgin' and 'true blue.' my parents didn't buy these for me...i believe i must have confiscated them from my older brother, who was in high school at the time. (it's certainly not the last time i ever confiscated music from my brother. 'no, robert, i don't know where those sting and peter gabriel CDs are.') in any case, i remember dancing around my yellow bedroom and singing along to 'like a virgin,' complete with high-pitched yelps. let it be said that i am sure i am not the first nor only 6/7 year-old to have done that...madonna inspired a whole generation little girls to reminisce about our 'purer' days. and i remember thinking that she looked so pretty on the album cover...and yet, so bad. if only i knew what i was singing about at the time!

then came 'true blue,' and everything changed. in my childlike eyes, madonna seemed a bit more wholesome. for a minute perhaps...and despite 'pappa don't preach.' her voice was stronger, her songs more consistent...and she was now a blonde. this was indeed the beginning of a new era. whereas i only knew a few songs from 'like a virgin,' i memorized every single track on 'true blue.' every single one. i danced the salsa to 'la isla bonita,' imagining myself in some ruffled, off-the-shoulder peasant dress on some tropical island. (san pedro? where's that?) then, there was 'open your heart,' which i firmly believed captured my feelings about whatever crush i had at the time...my rendition of that was particularly heart-felt. and last but not least, there was 'live to tell,' which was one of my favorite songs for many years following. i remember performing my own dramatic interpretation of that song for my dogs and stuffed animals...they were the fortunate audience for a great many of my dramatic endeavors at that age. i used to re-enact TV commercials for them...i was determined i could be more convincing than whichever woman was pushing dawn dishwashing soap or campbell's soup. (did everyone do this? ...or was i just a strange little kid?)

regardless, the point is that, listening to these songs the other night, i was transported back to a time that i remember very vividly. back when my brother drove 'jack,' the white ford grenada. when he was in high school and i, elementary. when i was convinced every molly ringwald/brat pack movie was just like his everyday reality. when i played with 'my little ponies' and lusted after my neighbors 'jelly shoes.' (my mom never bought me jelly shoes...i think she thought they were tacky. of course, i was an odd kid who never asked for things, so i probably never told her i wanted them.) when all my stuffed animals had specific personalities and when i thought barbie was a little slutty. when places like 'federated' existed...and when my brother and i would spend the summer mornings mowing lawns, then the afternoons, at the neighborhood pool. (well, he mowed lawns, and i usually watched.) when garfield was cool and i had a pink rabbit phone, with red eyes that lit up when it rang. when i watched my brother's tape of back to the future everyday and thought leah thompson was the most beautiful woman in the world. when i wrote little stories about rabbits and mice... (i had an obsession with rabbits and mice at the time, due to my love for movies like 'the secret of nimh' and 'watership down.' i would write these little stories and bind them into make-shift books, and my mother still laughs about the earnestness of my 'diane and corey' books...yes, there was indeed a series.) when i wanted to be sarah jessica parker in 'girls just want to have fun.' when i would basically rewrite the story of 'girls just want to have fun'...except with mice and rabbits. (don't ask me how a child's logic works.)

ah...good memories.

i leave you with this, madonna: a tribute to you...

the rainbow connection

2007-09-15T08:52:00.000-07:00

rainbows. on wednesday, i was having a very bad day. no, it wasn't due to humberto and the impending deluge...other things were weighing on my mind.

so, i drove home with the expectation of a quiet evening on the couch to calm my nerves, and on the ride homeward, the clouds had parted in one corner of the sky to reveal a rainbow. and i think to myself, 'how can i be in a bad mood or feel sorry myself when i see something like this?'

how can a rainbow suddenly lift my mood? how can the appearance of the rainbow not put a smile on someone's face? why is this?

is it because it happens so rarely? is it because it is beautiful? a natural phenomenon? or is it what rainbows represent? or is it perhaps a reminder of a simpler time in our lives...when we doodled rainbows and suns and birds and hearts with big crayola crayons? (i was just coloring rainbows, per her request, with my dear 5 year-old niece a week ago.)

so, having just looked 'up 'rainbow' via wikipedia, i read:

In Greek mythology, the rainbow was considered to be a path made by a messenger (Iris) between Earth and Heaven.

In Christian and Jewish scripture, the rainbow is interpreted as a sign of the covenant between God and man, and the biblical God's promise to Noah that he would never again flood the entire Earth.

Historically, a rainbow flag was used in the German Peasants' War in the 16th century as a sign of a new era, of hope and of social change.

just what i imagined. it only makes sense that people have associated rainbows with heaven. but why? because they were once unexplainable and thus, attributed to the divine? because they are in the sky? i don't really think so. i see them and it's a different feeling that stirs in my breast...

faith.

when i see a rainbow, i think of faith. i think of my faith. faith not only in the divine, but faith in people...in situations...in things like love and goodness and truth. how can i be a realist (and periodically, a closet cynic) and yet, have so much faith in my life?

when people ask me about my favorite movie, i can say, without a doubt, that it is 'contact.' they are sometimes baffled by my answer as a thespian, as it is not known for being particularly artful. and then, after a moment's thought, they figure it is because of the sci-fi connection...which admittedly, plays a part. but i love that movie because it is about faith. it is about believing something so profoundly in your heart that you KNOW it to be true. to know god exists. to know aliens exist. to know you don't know everything. to know you could be wrong...but that it doesn't matter, because the act of having faith and expressing faith is quite possibly enough in and of itself.

so often, we allow ourselves to be swayed by the everyday trials...the routine...as well as by our fears, our jealousies, our petty concerns. how often are we stopped in our tracks by true expressions of faith?

i was watching the movie 'pay it foward' a little earlier. and dismiss it as sentimental or preachy if you must, but it illustrates such a wonderful idea. the concept is so simple and yet, so profoundly beautiful. to have faith in change. to have faith in people and to make an act in the good faith that the effort, the love, and the generosity will not stop with you. utopian? perhaps. but with only small steps, we may make big changes. it's the little things, as well as the big things.

there is one moment in the movie in which a junkie talks a woman down from a ledge. holding out his hand to this hysterical woman, he tells her that all he could think about was his next fix until he saw her about to jump. and he calmly says, "have coffee with me. you can save me. please...save my life."

yes, this is surely drama made for the movies. and perhaps we won't be saving someone's life. but maybe with that unsolicted smile to the stranger on the street, you have made some small difference. is that something to dismiss? we could all critisize ourselves for not doing more...not giving enough to charity, not volunteering enough or spending enough time in productive service of others...or simply not always being so considerate or kind. but a smile is not so difficult, is it? perhaps these small things might eventually coalesce into something indeed life-changing or live-saving.

[apparently, an attempt to implement this principle is being made by this organization: http://www.payitforwardfoundation.org/get_involved.html]

so, to address my original question...rainbows. to me, rainbows represent faith. and despite the fact rainbows have been explained by science, maybe i choose to believe they are a sign...in fact, on wednesday, i KNOW the rainbow was a sign. knowledge (scientific and otherwise), observation, and pragmatism are certainly valuable. there is no doubt that faith should come with questions...to be sure, it should be the questions that strengthen your faith. and yet, i have faith in my sign. don't let your own magic be taken away...

disjointed part 2: why whole foods bites

2007-09-12T17:00:00.000-07:00

whole foods.
man, i am starting to hate me some whole foods.
for real.
how is it that 2 people can go to whole foods for some lunch in the prepared foods section and leave $30 later? lunch for two? what? wtf. i have had a love/hate relationship with whole foods from day one. i LOVE the fruit section. just walking through inspires me to eat more greens...and their fruit always looks delicioso. so i buy a bunch of it and take it home...only to have that all-natural, pesticide-free, organic greenery turn brown before i have a chance to eat it. it's the equivalent of a produce prick-tease. not to mention the fact that you pay twice as much for it. and then, there's the prepared foods. in college, i used to love to make the trek to whole foods for the bento boxes. 3 sides and a main dish from their asian foods section in a box to go for $5.99. (the teryaki sweet potatoes are enough to send me reeling.) sound too good to be true? of course. because as soon as it became a habit, they discontinued the fresh bento boxes. to be replaced by the pre-packaged variety in which you get one or two of your favorite choices, but not all. of course. and why? 'consistency from store to store,' says the boy behind the counter. OK.

so, i resent whole foods for a while. i boycott. but the seed-duction bread and chipotle hummus lure me back. once again. (that and the bigger selection of 'ethnic gourmet' dinners.) so then, i get turned on to this sandwich there. roasted turkey, spinach greens, brie, and cranberry jam...on what? seed-duction bread. i would crave this sandwich...and would drive to whole foods during lunch for it. i campaigned in my office...endeavored to spread the gospel of this delicious turkey sandwich to my friends and coworkers. and suddenly, the sandwich suddenly disappeared off the shelves. this happens around february. 'ok,' i think. 'it's a winter-time sandwich. cranberry evoke memories of dressing. etc etc etc.' so, i imagine this sandwich is a seasonal thing and will magically appear come labor day. right? wrong!!!

so, today...i emerge from my kingdom of sick to get lunch. because i literally have the most batcheloresque fridge in existence at the moment. i don't even have cans of green beans to eat. and i get excited at the prospect of my beloved turkey sandwich in my belly. and yet again, empty shelf where they used to lie. so, perhaps a bit cranky and over-medicated, i march over to the sandwich counter and ask about it. something along the lines of 'when are you guys going to put the best sandwich you've ever made back on the shelves?' and this guy looks at me with this cold expression and says, 'like, never.' then, he smirks. and unsatisfied with this answer, i press further. 'why not?' i ask. he replies, 'because we were losing money on that sandwich.' it was $6.99, by the way. 'how so?' i ask. i mean, $7 seems reasonable, right? i mean, not a cheap sandwich by grocery store standards. he answers, 'in order to meet our profit margin, that sandwich would need to cost $14."

*pause*

ok, wtf?! i wasn't going to shoot the messenger, but what?! whole foods has done lost its mind. what kind of profit are we talking about at $14?! but the bigger point being this: i am kind of mad that i am not, at the very least, given a choice. so, i wouldn't spend $14 on a daily basis for this sandwich, but i wouldn't mind splurging on it every once in a while. i mean, it's up for debate on whether people would pay $14 for this sandwich. seriously...it was a really good sandwich.

how did this little escapade end? by my opting for a thai chicken wrap and some smart water. but the kicker? they no longer carry smart water...and have since replaced it with their own brand of lightly flavored water. bah humbug.

whole foods is the new walmart.

disjointed part 1: hamlet & local street artists

2007-09-10T16:56:00.000-07:00

so today's blog will be an amalgam of things. usually, i will see, hear, experience something that inspires me to write. but in this case, several days have passed in which things got me as far as *thinking* about blogging, but not actually writing. so...here goes. (if typos abound, it is my cold medicine kicking in. i am pretty sick.) in no particular order:

1. hamlet. as of today, 64 movies appear on imdb under the name of hamlet. 64. so i have never actually seen the version with ethan hawke. until this evening. mixed feelings. casting sam shephard as hamlet's ghost=brilliant. i buy ethan hawke as hamlet...he is surely capable. and julia stiles, fair enough. (although i prefer her in contemporary movies based on shakespearean themes...think 'O' and '10 things i hate about you.') but kyle maclachlan as claudius and bill murray as polonius? no. kyle maclachlan is about the most uncompelling claudius i have EVER seen. ever. and bill murray, god love him, should never ever do shakespeare again. his casual air completely works against the poetry of the language. i am not as schooled in the bard as i'd like, but that casting choice seems reasonable only in the most superficial way. (i see that this job fell right after rushmore and thus, he was still climbing the come-back trail.)

on the whole, i am typing this as the movie is playing, so it obviously hasn't successfully grabbed my attention enough to focus. from a directorial perspective, i do not believe the concept has been well-defined. i don't mind the updated angle, but everything has been rendered so casual and nonchalant that i fail to see the theatricality of the piece. the world of the play is not as dire or as extreme as it need be for the plot to seem plausible. it aims at edgy and lands at luke-warm. so angsty on hawke's part that it almost feels more like dawson's creek meets cruel intentions. (but without as much sex or eye-candy. sadly. even i can tolerate sarah michelle gellar for the glib ryan phillipe and a good soundtrack.) i digress. consider baz lurhmann's romeo and juliet, which i think is absolutely brilliant by comparison. sure, the psychadelic, ADD-inspired images and pace can grow a bit tiresome and at the time, i remember finding details (such as the engraved 'longsword' on the guns) a little clumsy. but i also was completely caught up in the world that lurhmann created...and all the elements worked together to reinforce the impact of the environment, despite a few missteps. (plus, mercutio as a drag queen was probably one of the most brilliant and yet, seemingly obvious choices i have ever seen. i have always found mercutio prone to queening out, especially in the nureyev/fontaine ballet version... mercutio takes about 20 minutes to die in one long, drawn-out roll around the floor.) point being, you either loved lurhmann's version or hated it. i can't say i find hawke's version particularly inspiring either way. (i now laugh b/c i call it hawke'sversion of hamlet versus lurhmann's version of r&j. where is the director? who is almereyda? directed...an episode of deadwood?)

*so i MUST pause here, as we have arrived at the play part. (i am clinging on to see jeffrey wright as the gravedigger, in hopes that he will redeem what is becoming an increasingly bad movie.) the play. or movie in this case. *sigh* i don't even know what to say in response to that almodovar meets fellini meets donna reed tidbit. the high point is when hamlet leaves the theatre and jumps into the taxi with r&g and the cab meows at them. (i REALLY missed the fact the cabs don't meow anymore and was totally disappointed the last time i was in NYC.)

*i do like ophelia's mad scene in the guggenheim. the primal scream over the balcony was a genuinely nice touch.

OK...one last thought before moving on to other topics. looking at the cast list for hamlet, it all seems like a decent idea...with the exception of kyle maclachlan. (seriously, his most memorable movie role was in showgirls. he should thank sex in the city for redeeming him to some degree.) one the whole, it appears as though the director had only a vague idea of what he wanted and failed to fully utilize some of the talent he had at his disposal. only hawke and stiles (and diane verona as gertrude) seem to have a full grasp on the gravity of the content. so far, i give it a D.

2. graffiti. i have become increasingly aware recently of some of the graffiti appearing in my neighborhood. mind you, i am not talking about tagging.

i have noticed 'give up' for years. then, i noticed knitta...then the little tile pac-mans (who does that, by the way? i LOVE it.) i now have noticed the toothy ghost faces on windows...and on some signs and walls. and i must admit that, though more crude in style and destructive in medium, i think they are pretty cute. (want to see one? look closely at the 'shoot em up' posters plastered on the side of the convenience store catty-corner to brasil.) apparently, these ghosts are the work of 'ack.' i have not seen these new faces on private property yet, so some questions arise. especially in light of the new developments on 'give up.' i have seen two of his razor blades covered over with what appears to be...a rabbit? at first glance, it looked like a bunny. then, just a blob to obscure the blade...then, after seeing a similarly shaped blob over another razor blade, i think a bunny again...? in any case, it adds 'never' to the 'give up' mantra. interesting. and i must say, i am totally intrigued. i want to know more. if you live/work in the montrose/museum district area and you haven't noticed these things, open up your eyes, friends! anyways, i find myself amused/interested/curious by all this, but i wonder where we draw the line. while i enjoy these little curiosities, i imagine they annoy others. and of course, i imagine city officials aren't loving these additions to the urban landscape. so, where is the balance? i would like the feedback of my friends on this one. what are your thoughts?

white linen nights

2007-08-05T17:01:00.000-07:00

perhaps i should move. this city can sometimes be claustrophobic. not sure if i like it or if it is suffocating. i think i like it, but i may sound peevish for the sake of this blog. if you're not in the mood for a self-indulgent recount of last night's happenings, stop here.
so last night: white linen night in the heights. whatever that means. in my case, it meant buying a little white and red linen number i would have never bought had there not been a dress code directive.

so M has a birthday today. we started our celebrations late afternoon...at the b-day party of a recent acquaintance of hers. i did not know said acquaintance, nor anyone mentioned when M is relating her chance meeting. so, i figure i won't know anyone...until i walk in and see a friend of an ex-boyfriend that i haven't seen in about 8 years. 1st random encounter.

we proceed to a series of galleries in the area. at the 3rd stop, run into miss N and gang, shoulder in sling and all...still looking astoundingly beautiful. (how does she do that?) didn't know miss N was going to be around, but not surprised, as i know N through the art set. as always, thrilled to see her. and meet her mom. (spoke with a fantastic collaborative artist...friend of M's. want one of his prints.) M and i part ways with miss N, and when waiting for the shuttle proves futile, M runs into two random friends of hers, and we catch a ride to 19th street with them. (we'll call these two gorgeous 1 and gorgeous 2. as is expected when meeting two dapperly dressed, GQ-inspired-if-it-weren't-so-cliched-not-to-mention-passe guys, they were a couple.) gorgeous 1 met M through a party i think. gorgeous 2 works for magazine. said magazine did feature last oct or nov on my theatre and partners. gorgeous 2 happened to work on that article. he also worked on recent article in same publication featuring M. random 2.

19th street. after 2 minutes, i see friend with whom i went to the music school. with wife. (fondest memory of music school friend was, after his systematically sitting next to me every day in theory and unmistakably hitting on me, finding out he had been dating a girl forever. coincidentally, his present wife. go figure.) that being said, s'all water under the bridge, but i nonetheless wasn't up to niceties, so M and i duck into a shop. where she runs into another acquaintance. exchange pleasantries with acquaintance and his side-kick in electric blue (apparently, he didn't get the white memo) and agree to meet for a drink next door at shade.

once next door at shade, we see not acquaintance and electric blue, but another friend of ours, S. didn't know S was going to be around. S is at the bar waiting for his entourage...i say this not due to S's pretense, but because S retains the sort of style that makes you wonder if he invented the white linen shirt. (although his was off-white... beige, if you will.) and furthermore, he also seems like a person who should have an entourage...mostly because of how the word sounds when said with his name. (i like to give S a hard time. he likes it.) since S is more or less stuck, we bid him farewell and continue our journey.

shortly thereafter, we run into acquaintance and blue-boy again. the crowds are getting thicker. it's becoming more and more difficult to navigate the aisles of the stores and innards of the galleries. M and i somehow run into the b-day posse again at M2. while there, i run into another unrelated person, kitty L. very happy to see miss kitty. (going to see her this eve.) we speak of perhaps onion creek later.

M and i depart M2 and make our way back the other direction, parting ways with all of the above. hear from D (i'll refer to him as brainiac) who i texted earlier that day. he's on his way to join. M and i are over 19th street at this point. crowded. like mardi gras, but significantly less colorful...

while waiting for shuttle, run into S again. and run into H, another friend of ours, who was also with her mother. (H is one of the coolest cats i know, but we are on our way out...so we bid her adieu.) brainiac swoops in and we make our way to onion creek...but not before stopping at the rockin party at coldwell banker. (seriously. who knew.) i, in a sudden fervor for exercise, suggest we walk to onion creek. (about 12 blocks, though i don't immediately realize this.) M suggests i make no more suggestions.

at onion creek, M runs into even more people she knows. i am more focused on my pizza. mister N finally arrives for the evening. (he promised to interrupt his med school apps for one drink with us.) mr. N and brainiac hit it off. of course. (why do all my guy friends have man-crushes on brainiac? really. it's an unexplained phenomenon.)

anyways...brainiac eventually ducks out and darling mister N brings M and i back to my car. we decide to cap the night off with a birthday drink. we end up at the social (the grand reopening). we see miss N there...by design this time, not chance. despite the good company, i remember why i so intensely disliked the social in the first place. (give me a good dive any day.) after being chatted up by one too many indistinguishable, jeans-and-button-down-clad guys, we lose track of miss N. M and i decide to make our escape while we can-we'll call miss N later. funny enough, miss N had the same idea-we reconvene in the parking lot and part ways for the evening.

M and i still haven't had our birthday libation. we stop by cobain. we leave cobain. like, 2 minutes later. it's like a cleaner social, but with no more character. equally difficult for us to digest. so, the journey continues. to poison girl...an old standard.

M and i sit on the back patio. we overhear a conversation about etymology. over beers. (etymology? seriously? ...at poison girl?) i can't help myself, so i lean over and ask what this heated etymology debate was about. as it was....about the word 'clue.' apparently, the origin of the word had something to do with yarn or disease or i-don't-know-what. in any case, this exceptionally nerdy guy (i normally find nerdy guys kind of attractive, but since he was one of those self-righteous, let-me-thrill-you-with-my-vast-knowledge-of-everything-including-but-not-limited-to-world-of-warcraft kinda guys, this 'nerdy' is not meant as a compliment) passionately rattled on to the point M's eyes started glazing over. i invited it. my bad.
i finally figure that asking this guy to get his crew to sing happy birthday to M might be an effective way to shut him up, so i do. to which he replies, 'i don't know.' (what?! are you kidding me?!) he and his emo-er-than-thou were too busy lamenting the folly of the uninitiated for a little good-natured birthday wish? lame. finally, we rally a birthday cry from the patio. good enough, i suppose.

at that point, this guy in what appears to be a velvet jacket shuffles by. (let me insert here that i have deep respect and admiration for anyone who will wear a velvet jacket outdoors in houston in august...a true sacrifice for fashion.) he walks inside..almost...but turns around to tell me he likes my dress. M and i think this is sweet. velvet-jacket-guy looks vaguely familiar. M and i finally decide to leave, but not after the obligatory nod at the etymology-police for their half-assed birthday song. as i am walking by velvet-jacket-guy, i realize i know where i knew him. myspace. (isn't it strange how you can know everything about someone without ever having met them? this periodically freaks me out, but it's a small price to pay in order to exercise some exhibitionist tendencies of mine. i mean, c'mon....let's be honest with ourselves.*) in any case, this guy had a particularly unusual facial expression in his profile picture and was, thus, memorable. as i pass him, i thank him for the compliment and he introduces himself. i think it might be fun to freak him out, so i pull the whole i-know-who-you-are routine. alas, he doesn't seem freaked out. i'm slightly disappointed. M and i leave, and i take her home.

(* i need to write a separate blog about my marvel at people refusing to post info on myspace or other blogs/websites etc. with the false notion that a good stalker won't find other ways to divine crucial information about you. particularly people thrust into the public eye for whatever reason. i mean, who are we kidding here?)

at this point, i don't feel like going home. i call J, lovely bartendress extraordinaire. a good friend of hers is there at the bar. i join them and chat with said friend, R. never met her. very fun and charming. R, as it turns out, has just passed the bar, moved to houston from austin, and is starting work as a lawyer. i joke that 90% of my childhood friends are lawyers...which is actually true. she tells me she's sorry. i tell her that it's actually a wonderful thing- i will be well-represented no matter who i murder or who sues me. (actually, now that i think about it, why is that? why ARE all my childhood friends lawyers? why am i such a loser?) anyways, i mention that my friend works for fulbright. well.......guess who else will be working for fulbright. "who is your friend? oh? really?! she was my recruiter. i know her really well. you've known her since you were 10? wow." we proceed to go through the laundry list of people we know in common. and so it goes.

R asks me what i do. i tell her where i work. random friendly guy at bar with girlfriend (who must be a cool cat if he's still there at 3 AM) overhears. "you work there? oh, i work at the alley." random. then, we proceed to go through the laundry list of people he and i know in common. and so it goes...and i start to think i'm living in the twilight zone.
and i like it most days. and nights. like last.
that's all.

my thoughts on NYC and houston

2007-07-10T17:05:00.000-07:00

having just returned from NYC, i must admit that i had an absolute blast. but while i was there, i spent a great deal of time meditating on the merits of the city as a whole...or more specifically, what i, personally, do or do not like about it. let me begin by giving a bit of backstory...i was born and raised in houston. sugar land to be exact, the heart of suburban life. in fact, of my friend's parents, 9 out of 10 of them actually owned suburbans. a cliche if there ever was one. (however, i would argue that sugar land is a lesser offender than some suburbs, for it was more common than not for my friends and neighbors to make frequent trips downtown for culture, shopping, adventure, etc...whereas many suburbs are isolating in their self-sufficiency.) i digress.

for as long as i could remember, i ached to get out of houston...and to leave texas altogether. as a kid, i hated everything about texas. i turned up my nose at cowboy hats and pickup trucks and country music. i even made a conscious effort (as a child, mind you) to avoid speaking with any type of texas drawl or twang. i literally did not say "ya'll" until I was 22 years old. (and hell will freeze over the day i say "fixin' to.") furthermore, my mother was from the north and always peppered my upbringing with a bit of yankee elitism. and through her acquaintances and work ties, she exposed me at a very young age to a side of houston that i think escapes even most natives. in the art scene, she became acquainted with the people responsible for the menil museum, the orange show, and a greater part of the work at the MFAH...along with visionary artists doing work that would make a large impact across the country. not mere dilettantes or neophytes, but cultured, sophisticated people with the world at their fingertips...who CHOSE houston as their home base. (lest we forget that houston's art collections are considered among the best in the world!) but i didn't appreciate any of this as an adolescent...

given my attitude, i was thrilled the first time i visited new york. i was fourteen, and in a way, i felt like i had found my niche. (again, another cliche.) i hated the tourist traps and found myself silently judging the people running around with cameras. i was a native at heart, of course. i walked the streets, doing my best to blend in...never betraying the fact that i was a texas girl. after several visits and spending a decent amount of time there, i had the act down well enough. i fit in. (i laugh about this now, as NYC is full of millions of people essentially acting as though they're not tourists.) and then, one day on the subway, in an effort to push past a crowd and find a place to stand, i clumsily elbowed a group of people. i turned around and apologized...just a small acknowledgement of the fact i could have seriously maimed someone...but not anything profuse. and the people just stared at me. coldly. and so, i just shrugged, figuring that they were simply rude. but not quite satisfied with that, i turned around and bluntly asked why they were just staring at me. (i guess it never occurred to me that they might not speak my language.) but they responded, "you're not from here, are you?" and i answered that i wasn't and asked if it was my accent or clothes that gave me away...and their response: "no, it's because if you were from here, you would have never apologized." interesting. i didn't think too much about that at the time.

somewhere along the line, decisions about college were made. i desperately wanted to run away to NYC, but for many reasons (financial ones being no small consideration), i remained here...in some ways, with a foot halfway out the door. but a few trips to NYC later, i remember walking the streets and suddenly being struck with a severe case of homesickness. initially dismissing it as depression or loneliness, i took a good look at the city before me and noticed that no one around me really looked happy. millions of people brushing past one another with barely a word spoken between them. how could one experience such a sensation of isolation standing in a square with a crowd of a thousand other people? was it my imagination? was it mere prejudice, ignorance, or inexperience? or is it a case of personal preference? i guess i will never really know. but it was at that moment that i decided i loved my home...that i loved texas and houston. that i loved the fact i could easily strike up conversations with people in line at the grocery store. that i could walk 2 blocks and see some of the greatest art in the world. that i could watch our opera with the knowledge that it is one of the best companies in the country. that i could spend time with some of the most brilliant minds our nation has to offer (NASA and the medical center). and that i don't need to feel like an outsider for being cordial, kind, and polite. today, i proudly say "ya'll"...and i even came to enjoy donning my cowboy hat and boots!

granted, i don't have the impression that all new yorkers are rude jerks. quite the contrary, i talked to plenty of natives over the last week who were very pleasant and polite. (one of the things i love most about nicky is that he will walk up to anyone and unabashedly start talking to them.) so, we chipperly embraced our (relative) tourist status and asked people where to go and what to do when my ideas and knowledge had exhausted itself...oftentimes being pointed in the best directions. most everyone was cordial...even the gangsters we asked for directions when we got lost in the bronx. sure, we took some big chances on getting mugged or taken advantage of...but the results were well worth it. and i finally found myself more amused by the other tourists than annoyed. they looked so happy and eager to take in the city...so why is it necessary or attractive to find that annoying? and then, it occurred to me: it's not that i don't like new york or new yorkers...it's that i don't like all the pretentious assholes PRETENDING to be new yorkers. those who flock to new york for their fifteen minutes who adopt an attitude and play the game to the extent that they feel they have the right to show disdain for those who don't. what a bunch of posers.

which leads me to my next point: why i doubt i will ever move to NYC. for as long as i can remember, people have told me that i need to move to NYC. perhaps this is what created my false admiration for all things new york in the first place. first, for my dance...then, my musical theatre...then, my opera...and now, my directing. "oh, if you really want to have a SERIOUS career, you HAVE to move to new york." blah, blah, blah. sure, i have no doubt that one is exposed to more opportunity in nyc. yes, the theatre scene is thriving and valued in a unique way...far more than it is here in houston. yes, you are surrounded by a creative buzz of activity and fascinating people. yes, working in nyc lends a certain degree of merit to one's work experience. yes, that can create opportunities elsewhere. i realize all this. BUT i have watched friend after friend pick up and move to nyc or LA. and i have seen friend after friend pick up and move back...with a few more credits on their resume, but no more happy or fulfilled than when they left. no doubt, they are picking up and moving these places with 3/4 of the population who does the exact same thing they do. every other young, attractive person you run into on the street in nyc is a singer, actor, dancer, playwright, director, etc. in some ways, it's as cliched as the tourist with the camera. and so, i started asking these people about their work...their work aside from their waiting job or bartending job, that is.

to one particularly attractive, svelte, and bubbly waitress:
"you're an actress, yes?"
"how'd you know?!"
"wild guess. so, what shows have you done up here?"
"on broadway?"
"sure."
"well, none...but i've been doing a lot of auditioning."
"that's great. best of luck with that. any work with any off-broadway theatres?"
"how off?"
"well, doesn't matter...i'm a huge fan of the vortex and the wooster group. but i'd love to hear about ANY of the smaller, more independent theatres..."
"well, i haven't really worked with anyone...recently...uh, yet. but i've been working with an acting coach. and taking dance classes."
"cool. there's so many great places to take class. so...how long have you been here?"
"3 years."
(silence.)

for a long, long time, i bought into this mindset. first it was financial reasons for staying in houston, then i figured it was fear keeping me here. fear of the unknown. fear of failure. and perhaps it WAS fear once upon a time...but not anymore. you see, i'm not judging these aspiring artists. NOT AT ALL. nor is it jealousy. to the contrary, i have the utmost respect for those who just pick up and go for it. i admire their courage and their stamina. and i'm sure there are incredible rewards from the exciting experiences, as well as having the chance to work where so much is brewing. indeed, one of my dearest friends has recently made the move...and he's already gotten work. and i have another on the eve of his move. BUT, on the other hand, i recognize that i'm not sure nyc is for me.

the realization came to me when i was in college that i had a different set of values than some of my peers. it occurred to me that fame really meant nothing to me. in my heart, there is no difference between my personally being at the top of my game and my having the broadway/professional credits or applause to affirm it. having battled periodic bouts with depression, i finally became certain that success by means of fame, fortune, and professional success (as defined by others) would never equal happiness for me. and i've done just enough contracting to know how i feel about being on the road directing. and granted, the very nature of the business dictates that it is necessary for an artist to be appreciated/recognized by others to get work to support his or herself. but to me, the most satisfying aspects of my journey as an artist are personal ones. and now, the only times i feel especially hungry for outside applause and recognition is when i'm not personally confident that my art was honest or well-conceived or well-executed. i need the pat on the back most when i need to compensate for something. my mentor taught to me to look inward in these instances...and i now see how right he was.

in retrospect, a great deal of these realizations came with big changes in how i view art...a shift in my perspective on aesthetics. with it, came a new appreciation for different types of art. abstraction and impressionism became more fascinating to me. but both deal with a more personal viewpoint, as opposed to a standard absolute. subjectivity is king...which leads me closer to my ultimate point: TO EACH, HIS OR HER OWN. i no longer feel like i need to make an excuse for why i am still living in houston. (in hindsight, BOO on the petty people who ever made me feel that way.) i LOVE houston. and i LOVE my friends...and i am meeting new, exciting people here at home every single day. people who exist with inspiration. who, for lack of a better expression, suck the marrow out of life. and furthermore, i have the best group of pals and partners with my theatre...people who don't live and breathe art alone, but instead, live full lives so that they have a fullness of spirit to bring to their art. whose interests range from philosophy to astrophysics to ballet, etc. we love each other; we hate each other; but we always have fun. one friday, a week or so ago, i was running off to rehearsal for our next show, and someone remarked that it sucked that i had rehearsal on a weekend...to which i replied that it didn't really matter, because i would want to hang out with my nova peeps anyways...and how lucky am i to have that! we are striving to do something HERE. for those that complain that our theatre scene in houston is not what it could be, let's work together to change it. i just recently had this conversation with an "experienced" actor/dancer/choreographer who did her time in nyc, and she just shook her head in judgement at me. i'm sure she thought i needed my head examined...but if you can forgive my honesty, she has always struck me as a bitter, small-minded person. and perhaps i am foolish, but if her experience has not filled her with joy and fulfillment, who is she (or anyone else for that matter) to judge what keeps my cup brimming? (of course, it's not my place to judge her either...it's quite possible she feels very fulfilled...with a mere propensity to be unpleasant.) to be sure, my peers (within nova and other companies) and i have a long way to go, but we're eager...and we fail and fall on our faces, but we're enthusiastic (and probably naive) and learning so much and enjoying every second. why would i leave what i have at my feet here? houston has SO much potential...it's like a field that's only been partially sown. i can understand leaving for more opportunities, but what about staying and CREATING those opportunities? sure, there is thrill in the struggle... but is it not equally exhilirating to struggle to create something new, expose new audiences, and open people's eyes to what's possible here? and what is already available in our back yards? i have many friends (my HYPA pals among them) who are committed to doing just that (developing and cultivating audiences)...which is why i will be the first one to smack you upside the head if you complain about houston in front of me OR tell me that there's nothing to do. a city is exactly what we make it. i take no issue with those who leave to seek greener pastures for themselves, but don't you dare tell me my city isn't worth the effort. remember, in the wise words of the shins: "you're not obliged to swallow anything you despise."

so, in conclusion, if you're going to be the 780th person to suggest that i move to nyc, save your breath. this girl's not budging just yet. it's not my severe claustrophobia or the fact i think nyc is filthy or even the nyc attitude-posers....nor is it that i don't realize i have something to learn and could benefit from journeying onward...it's that i enjoy all the gifts and blessings i have at my feet right now here in houston. and i haven't yet had my fill.

the end.

my joy luck club

2007-05-18T22:32:00.000-07:00

one of the most rewarding and enjoyable directing experiences of my life...

art on wheels

2007-05-13T22:12:00.000-07:00

so, i attended yesterday's art car parade with some pals. thanks to michael, the arts initiative, and the cart-bar! much, much fun!

were many fantastic cars, but the one that made me the happiest was this one, the sashimi tabernacle choir car:

brilliant! simply brilliant! kudos to the team that brought us a crustaceous beethoven's 9th!
250 fish and lobsters singing and moving in unison. priceless.

April

2007-04-18T16:50:00.000-07:00

April...a beautiful month. Flowers blooming everywhere. How lovely.

Especially these flowers:

Ah, ligustrum. How nice to see that normally plain (and rather dull bush) explode once a year into a pleasant bouquet of tiny, white flowers...

Would be even nicer if the damn things didn't give me a headache, puffy eyes, and a scratchy throat for the entire month of April.

Sometimes, I hate spring.

willingly and joyfully

2007-03-20T22:51:00.000-07:00

i am agitated.

for the last few months and especially the last few weeks, i feel like i have been in a good place. i am starting to think outside the box...or i should say, my box. i think, in the last year, i have grown so much as a person, and i can't help but be proud of myself. but with that, my outlook on so many things has changed. i have thrown so many preconceived notions about myself out the window...what i want in life, who i want, how i want my life to be. i am learning what it is to be self-sufficient. i am no longer sure that i want to get married. i am no longer sure that i want children. i am no longer sure i know what i want. and i believe i am coming to peace with this. or am i?

i had a conversation tonight with a friend that was jarring. nothing that was said in this conversation came as any surprise, but what did surprise me was how i felt about it. this person is lovely, and we have been seeing a lot of each other lately. and every time i see this person i smile, each time having learned new ways in which he is special. he is a free spirit. and i like that. i like that his mind moves in a dozen different circles...that he is eager to evolve and move onto the next adventure. knowing this about him, i resolved to enjoy him while i was lucky enough to have him in my life. i saw nothing beyond today...this moment. i sought no definition. i needed no boundaries.

somehow tonight, we got on the subject of relationships and inadvertently touched on questions of loyalty and honesty. i stated that loyalty was important to me...probably the most important aside from honesty. not that i can humor myself as being completely pristine in either area...though i strive to be. in any case, his reply was that he wasn't sure he agreed with the idea of 'monogamous' as a definition. mind you, we were not speaking about ourselves, but in a theoretical sense. i asked him to explain. he stated that if it came down to the difference between being in a defined monogamous relationship and meeting someone new and having to end the relationship in order to pursue the new possibility...or being in a relationship in which you had the freedom to explore the new possibility without the confines of traditional definitions...he preferred the latter. to this, i questioned whether this was possible due to potential jealousies...to which he replied that his theory was his notion of an ideal world. i suggested that the primary reason people seek definition is due to a fear of that which can be lost. it's not that we need to define ourselves...it's that we take definition as a measure towards protecting whatever it is we enjoy or have come to need. a free relationship is fine and good until that which you love drifts into another realm, leaving you behind. leaving one's options open is wonderful until you are no longer the option the other desires. perhaps a self-actualized person could handle this....but to those of us average folks, the danger is daunting. so we rely on conventions.

with my new outlook on life, i agreed with this. while i am not sure i feel the same way, i see the value in this freedom. how much more does it mean to have all the options in the world and to choose one person? of course, this means infinitely more. or does it? is it always tenuous? on the assumption that one is not tied to one relationship, where does the exploration end? is it an active exploration? or is it the openness to pursue a possibility should something incredible fall into one's lap? is there ever a time when someone can rest easy knowing the hand of a loved one will always be within arm's reach? i see potential problems in this new model. not to suggest that those problems don't always exist...

it makes me think of marriage. what does that mean anymore? if we are speaking in ideals, a marriage should be a deal between two people to stick together through thick and thin. even in an ideal world, relationships are not perfect...you are not always in love with your lover...you don't even like your lover all the time. is this when a new possibility swoops in? perhaps...but i believe, in marriage, the answer should be 'no.' an agreement has been made to endure each other. i used to think that extending the right to marry to homosexuals was only fair...among other reasons, in order to allow them this one convention that helps enable two people to commit. i am not suggesting it is necessary...i am merely suggesting that, in marriage, it is far more difficult to split when the going gets tough. i see value in this aside from the other accepted benefits of marriage. however, this 'agreement' is being thrown around all too easily these days. what difference does it make to get married when, within a year, you could just as easily be married to someone new. in this present system, why not throw out the convention altogether? but where does one draw the line?

back to our conversation...my friend stated an instance in which his heart was broken and that the most vexing aspect of the situation was the thought that he had allowed one person to have such an affect on him. (in this case, i imagine it was a negative one.) and as he said this, i could empathize. i know what he meant...to let one person shake you from your roots. i let one person do this to me. he was by no means the only person i have ever cared about, but he was the first person to tear me down to my core. he was the first person, aside from my family, that i allowed myself to need. and i recalled something this man's mother said to me...that she would never allow herself to need someone else ever again. she said this and was in one of the more successful relationships i have ever witnessed. in retrospect, i have often thought of what she said...as part of my new world view.

so as we are talking tonight, my friend continues to describe his family member's devastation at her divorce...his own devastation after getting his heart broken...the subsequent boundary between his heart and those he has since dated. and his words are upsetting, though not due to my own lost love...or even the new one. it is due to my lost desire to need someone. the fear that i have closed myself off from my need. the fear that i will never allow someone to move me like that ever again. and it terrifies me.

i push these things to the back of my head, but a line from steve martin's 'shopgirl' lingers in my mind. 'so i can either hurt now or later.' and suddenly, my free spirit, my new outlook seems distant. 'i can either hurt now or later.' but then, isn't that always the case? isn't it always a possibility that you can hurt later?

i come home to my own bed and lay awake. another line from the movie resonates: "as ray porter watches mirabelle walk away he feels a loss. how is it possible, he thinks, to miss a woman whom he kept at a distance so that when she was gone he would not miss her. only then does he realize that wanting part of her and not all of her had hurt them both and how he cannot justify his actions except that... well... it was life." so true. we can hurt now or later.

and so, i sit here releasing my thoughts...hoping that i will be able to sleep when i am done. and then, my thoughts are with gibran. i know i have quoted him before...and i will again. these are words i hope to live by:

"When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips."

i cannot resist letting someone move me...shake me. it is only natural for another person to be able to affect each of us in such profound ways...it is a question of natural law...it is a question of gravity. may i savor every moment of my collision with another...and may i bleed willingly and joyfully.

i am a sap

2007-02-28T22:55:00.000-08:00

i heart slurpy movies with tom hanks. really. i can't get enough of them. while i find most romantic comedies a little sickening, sit me down in front of a saccharine hanks film any day...i will sit mesmerized and tear up, almost as if on cue, every time there is a meaningful look between mr. tom and meg ryan or elizabeth perkins...i might even be able to recite the dialogue.

encore must be doing a feature, because as soon as 'big' ended, 'sleepless in seattle started.' and so far, i have only watched 30 minutes of either and have gotten misty about 5 times. what is wrong with me?!

just when i think i've gotten cynical and jaded, i find myself crying about meg ryan crying about 'an affair to remember.'

and i quote:

Annie Reed: Now that was when people KNEW how to be in love. They knew it! Time, distance... nothing could separate them because they knew. It was right. It was real. It was...

Becky: A movie! That's your problem! You don't want to be in love. You want to be in love in a movie.

exactly. i think i need a drink.

love you, precious...

2007-02-20T16:48:00.000-08:00

so i have known this guy for years. i encountered him when i was about 7 years old...or at least, that is my first memory of him. he was an older man...not from texas, but somewhere up north. he had this soothing, sonorous voice...and just hearing it made me think of campfires, plush leather chairs, and hot apple cider...or warm, worn quilts and the type of people who are always willing to drop everything for a good cup of coffee.

he was really a fun sort of fellow...always quick with a story...always something witty, but in an understated way. he would talk to my mother and i sometimes for an hour at a time. he mostly talked to us when we were in the car...and oftentimes, he would accompany us and share his stories on the way to my piano lessons. he would make my mom and i laugh out loud. more accurately, he would have us both in total hysterics...but he was the sort of fellow who would crack a joke, but not a smile. he would sing songs, but they were frequently silly...little diddies that either didn't make any sense, or were about things like biscuits and ketchup, or were the type of profound that hit you in the face when you weren't looking. in fact, there were so many things he said that were straight-forward and simple, but would wash back over you like a tide and leave you with a warm fuzzy in your tummy.

i loved this man. he was a part of my childhood. so many good times were had by the sound of his introspective purr. self-effacing humor of the best kind...the kind that makes you come to appreciate and even love our foibles...our folly. this man used to speak a great deal on the differences between the north and the south....how he was a sweetheart, a darlin', or precious once he crossed the mason-dixon line. his marvel at unabashed rustics was charming.a love of this man was something my mother and i shared as i was growing up. she still reminisces about some of the more clever stories he would tell. (i, too, giggle a little when i think of the frustrated chicken-author whose compositional toils involved a typewriter and the hunt-and-peck method.)

in any case, i met this man for the first time tonight. i almost had to remind myself that i had never met him before. it was like the first time i met my uncle, my mother's brother. i was eleven. and when i first met him, he immediately hugged me, patted my backside, and laughed...it was like i had known him all along.

and tonight, too, i felt like i had known this man all along.because i have. in terms of warm feelings, conjured recollections, inspired reflection, and the smiles put on my face, i have known this guy fairly well. and the beautiful thing is that i know i am not the only one who feels blessed to have had this man in their life...as part of their family. tonight, i watched this man sign over 150 books. he stood (not sat, though a chair and table were provided for him) and greeted a mass of people with all the warmth and cheer of a next-door neighbor. he visited with each and every one until eleven in the evening, knowing full well that he would have to rise in only a few hours at 3:30 to catch his early-morning flight. a picture? no problem. what's your name? what do you do? jenni rebecca? were you named after the song?

i was struck and amazed by how incredible this one human being must be to have such a following. in the almost 2 1/2 hours that he stood signing books and taking pictures, not one soul stepped out of line. it didn't matter that he seemed to be taking a few minutes for each of his 150 fans. people were patient. to be anything else would be a rejection of his outlook on life. he was owed much more respect than that.

it was silly. as i approached this familiar stranger, this uncle from the radio waves, my heart started beating. why was i so nervous? why was i almost about to cry? why? well, because it meant something to me...rather, it meant so much to me. i wanted the moment to last. i wanted to remember the instant in which i shook the hand of this man who i had known for so long, but had never seen. i was making up for 20 years in the spanse of a few minutes. and when he finally addressed me, i turned into the shy 7 year-old who first heard his show on the radio so long ago.to jenni rebecca and karen-love you, precious.garrison keillor

frida, taymor, and goldenthal...

2007-01-29T16:29:00.000-08:00

so, i am sitting here at my house...wine glass in hand (with a decent cabernet), script in hand (working on a cutting for an upcoming project), listening to elliot goldenthal's soundtrack for frida as i work...an unbelievable movie. a movie directed by one of my heroes...julie taymor...who i fully intend to be when i grow up.which reminds me of the movie...i grew up hearing all about friday kahlo from my mother, who worked with several people associated with the menil and other private collectors around town. every time i would hear the artist's name spoken, it was almost with a hint of jest...the self-deprecating artist whose self-portraits defied our notions of beauty, of self, of identity... i remember, when my mother brought home a book on kahlo's work, looking through it with a degree of horror. granted, i was only a child, but i found the images haunting, disturbing...

i had little reason to re-examine her work, so for years, my conception of frida kahlo was a negative one. but how thrilling was it to see taymor's movie and her brilliant imagery...to finally have some insight into kahlo's state of mind when she painted those pieces, the pieces ingrained in my mind as a child as the stuff of horror films...

and how funny that my absolute favorite place in mexico city was the area in which she lived... coyoacan.

thank you, frida kahlo, for being the visionary you were...and julie taymor, for being the woman capable of illuminating her...i no longer look at these works with disgust, but rather, appreciation for their honesty and rawness.

a challenge to my friends...

2007-01-19T16:25:00.000-08:00

i don't know why i've been so freakin' happy lately, but it's just as if everything is starting to make sense. for today anyways. and one thing i think is true: positive energy begets positive energy. anyways, your manic friend is hopin' this feelin' lasts...

but i thought i would share something that happened to me today...so, i am walking down the street during lunch and i see this guy in a business suit. he's young and polished... glasses and shined shoes and library books in hand. well, i look at him, just as i would look at anyone passing me on the street, and he flashes a grin a mile wide at me . it wasn't a flirty smile, but rather, a happy-to-be-alive sort of grin...but it was so big and sincere that it almost stopped me in my tracks. so, naturally, it put a big smile on my face. and the next person i saw on the street saw my wide grin and smiled back at me...which made me smile even more. and as i was walking through the tunnels, i simply could not wipe the goofy look off my face...and each person i would pass would exchange a smile with me. this is NOT NORMAL. the downtown tunnels, like subway stations, are a place where one can disappear in a sea of expressionless faces. but on this day, person after person would smile back at me... and as i am thinking about this, the next person i passed said 'hello, how are you doing today?' and it wasn't at all a typical, half-assed greeting...it was a genuine question. and of course, i responded 'fine! and you?' but the thing is, she wasn't the only one...i counted at least 10 people who said hello to me in the tunnels. complete strangers. again, not normal... but wonderful! shows me one thing: how much effort does it really take to spread a little happiness around? not much. so, i challenge you all (not to suggest that you might not be inclined to do this already) to smile at the next 10 strangers you encounter...to say hello to them all. you never know who's day might be turned around by that tiny gesture.... it's not a big deal. and this story may seem insignificant to you. and perhaps it is. but it made my day.

and my lunch destination? a little cafe called la dolce vita. how appropriate. :)

divine humor

2007-01-19T16:24:00.000-08:00

ah....the byzantine chapel. the one at the menil. if you haven't seen it, you must make plans to do so. immediately. simply beautiful. the frescos are lovely, but the place itself is magical. in my opinion, much more so than the rothko. i walked in and the only light in the room was that coming from the two candles flanking the pews....excepting that on the frescos themselves. the rest of the altar was simply glowing...an other-wordly translucent white halo against the stark black of the walls. i walked in and sat in the back pew and just stared. and stared. i felt almost paralyzed. i couldn't take my eyes from the fresco just above the altar. from where i was sitting, you only saw the image of an angel...an angel staring back at me with a face of sublime peace and gentleness. did i feel like the angel was looking at me? yes, i did. which is why i sat there silently for what must have been a half-hour. and in that time i felt so calm and satisfied.

how can one deny the existence of the divine? it was in the air...in the birds singing outside the chapel...the water dripping off the leaves in the trees outside...the glow of the altar...even in the squeak of the shoes worn by the people walking by my pew. i don't know exactly what that means...but i feel it is true with every inch of my being. i sat there and stared and couldn't help but cry...just a little. but not tears of sadness, but those of joy. of appreciation. i thought of my family...of my friends...of my life...and i just felt so very grateful and blessed. and content. with all of life's trials, could it be any sweeter than this?

and then, someone's cell phone rang. one of those generic nokia rings. and the woman, embarassed, rushed outside...rifling through her purse to grab and silence the offending device. and it put the biggest smile on my face. and instead of being annoyed, it made me laugh. here i am, having this intense moment when someone's cell phone rings....breaking the mood. but not really. isn't that what life is? isn't it the little surprises and problematic occurrences that make it that much more fun? i think so.

after watching the woman rush out of the room, i looked back at the angel looming above in the fresco....and i couldn't help but notice a hint of a smirk on her face.

Movie Music

2006-11-26T16:20:00.000-08:00

today's random thoughts:kevin costner is a hack. wait...not a hack-overwrought. the man needs to cease and desist with the sentimentality. it was acceptable in 'dances with wolves,' but it should have ended there. excepting that one, his best acting occurs in 'the big chill.' ........bet you didn't know he was in the big chill, right? yep. he is. he plays the dead friend that brings everyone together. that's right...a corpse. no joke. but seriously, costner picked up where michael landon left off...the man is the kenny G of movies. so, cut a christmas album and call it a day.

actually, i'm exaggerating. the man has made a few decent movies...all involving baseball. well...actually...i can only personally vouch for one being good: 'bull durham.' but i credit susan sarandon and tim robbins for making that movie what it was. (we'll forgive them for their political activism. just think of it: it all began with a baseball movie.)

so, back to costner...so i happen to catch a minute or two of 'message in a bottle' this morning. yikes. even paul newman and robin wright penn couldn't save that one. don't get me wrong, i remember crying the first time i saw it...but that is not saying much. i cried in 'honey, i shrunk the kids' when the ant died. seriously. i'm ridiculous. so i'm watching this movie, and all i can think of is the score. it's gorgeous. and it sounds familiar. sounds like something else i've heard...then it comes to me: 'city of angels.' turns out gabriel yared wrote both scores.

now, sidenote here: i have one useless skill. i am not afraid to boast about this: i have an uncanny ability to identify the composers of movie scores. i am almost never wrong. give me 5 minutes of a movie with an original score written by somebody whose music i've heard before...and i will be able to guess it. i might not even know who wrote it, but i will be able to tell you what other movies were written by that composer. seriously. try challenging me sometime. in fact, this can annoy people when they watch movies with me. because i usually obsess about the score until i figure it out. i realized it was a strange (and pointless) gift when i was sitting in the movie theatre watching 'the green mile.' and i think...wow, this sounds like 'up close and personal' and 'shawshank redemption' and 'american beauty' and 'corrina corrina.' i had never thought to look it up before. and as it turns out, all written by thomas newman. god love him. what a talent. now, mind you, thomas newman isn't difficult to identify....he's like james horner. very characteristic sound. except horner is more generic. no offense...some of his work is excellent. my favorites include: an american tale (yes, i love the score), swing kids, legends of the fall, and willow. now, i only own some of these scores...the rest just stick with me. like willow, for instance. i could hum the whole main title...and i haven't heard it in...well...probably 15 years.that's the thing with me and music….i almost never forget something once i hear it. this doesn't necessarily apply to lyrics or the like, nor does it mean that i could sit down and play it immediately…but melodic lines. chord progressions. characteristic licks or rhythmic patterns…like, for instance, james horner's horn rips. or thomas newman's lonely piano solos…he's always got that 3 and 5 chord motive. ....wanna know what i'm talking about? in a cool mix? check out the album 'ultra chilled' (one of those electronica compilation CDs) disc 2, track 2 (titled 'american dream'). it is snippets of thomas newman's score from 'american beauty' mixed by jakatta. very nice.

anyways...this musical score thing is something i inherited from my father. my dad has an amazing ear. astounding, actually. so, in middle school, i go to a jam session with some of my music pals. i'm on the keyboard. we have some brass involved....we are trying to put together some jazz stuff...inspired by a sting b-side 'i miss you, kate' from his 'ten summoner's tales' days. (in fact, the bridge of 'i miss you, kate' also appears in the middle section of 'st. augustine in hell.') anyways, so i have a cassette of 'i miss you, kate' and throw it on in the car...he listens to it and immediately says "that's 'spartacus.' " and mom and i are looking at each other like he's crazy. but he insists. and starts humming along to the song...a song i'm sure he has never heard before. so, we go home and he rummages through the shelf of old LPs...most of which hadn't been touched by anyone but me for the last 15 years. and it takes him all of perhaps 5 minutes to find the section in the love theme of 'spartacus' that utilizes the exact same progression as 'i miss you, kate.' crazy. sting totally ripped off alex north. totally.

how often do we rip people off without even knowing it? and how often are we ripping ourselves off? i mean, of course that is why i can recognize film composers...they aren't always very original. reinvention can be highly uncommecial. take, for instance, gabriel yared. so, i am curious, and i read up on him and his career. he apparently wrote the first score to 'troy'...and it was rejected approximately a month out from the world-wide release of the movie. a month out! so, good ol' horner churned out a new score in about a month. a score with...yeah, you guessed it, OODLES of his characteristic horn rips. go figure. the thing is, yared's score was supposed to be his best work EVER, but it was accused of being too old-fashioned. fancy that. a score to a movie about the greeks being too old-fashioned. and i am dying to hear it. but the thing is, he doesn't own it. and until the studio decides to release it, it will never be heard. criminal. just criminal.

speaking of ripping off...i just watched 'annie hall' for the first time with henning the other day. the last silly movie in which i cried. no surprise. and man...i had NO IDEA how much nora ephron ripped off woody allen! watch 'annie hall'...then watch 'when harry met sally.' basically, 'when harry met sally' is 'annie hall' with a happier ending. who knew.