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Thunder on the Mountain
August 26, 2008 | permalink
A lot of the people that I work with, and nearly all of my crew, are in this business because the hours are flexible, and it pays well, and the work can be fun; but really they want to be doing something else. By which I mean really they are doing something else, they just haven't figured out how to make a living at it. But once they do, they are soooo out of here.
I've been thinking about this lately, reflecting on the magnificent variety of people that working in this business has allowed me to meet and interact with. I have had the pleasure of working with a shockingly large number of brilliant and creative people over the years. Of course there have been lighting and scenic designers; that's a no-brainer, given the nature of the work. But there have also been several painters, a sculptor, writers and playwrights, two glass-blowers, several photographers, a lawyer, a doctor, a couple of scientists, a dancer or two, musicians, magicians, a card shark, a librarian, a computer programmer, a few filmmakers, a trapeze artist, cooks and bakers, and a genuine bearded lady. And those are people that I know (or knew) personally, most of whom I counted as a friend.
Some of them have moved on, of course; the nature of their calling not being compatible or leaving them with the time or desire to load in shows; some are still with me, still not quite ready for whatever reason to take the plunge. And some of them are mostly gone, but come back every once in while to play. But no matter where they are, I feel honored to have had the opportunity to work along side them.
Posted in Musings & Working(1) Comments
Standing on the Shoulders of Giants
August 8, 2008 | permalink
I am continually fascinated by the way the mind works, by the way it processes all kinds of things in the background. How you can know things you are not conscious of knowing, and be aware of things you don't realize you are aware of. Like, say, waking up at the right time even though the electricity went out and your alarm clock is kaput; how do you know what time it is?
I know that there are a lot of theories and models about the way the conscious and the subconscious interact and share information, but the way I like to picture it is like a boat on a deep, dark lake. Not scientific, to be sure, but it's a visualization that works for me and that I like. So take that, science!
The way I see it, the people on the boat do their thing; navigate, go fishing, have picnics- what ever. Thoughts and dreams and memories all sometimes bubble up, and are taken into account and incorporated into the plans of the people on the boat or discarded as it pleases them. They go where they like and do what they want, floating on top of the lake of the sub-conscious. Most of the time.
But sometimes the lake has something that it really wants you to pay attention to, so it drives you where it wants, with wave and wind. You can try to ignore it, or even fight it, but eventually you will have to go in the direction it wants. You see, the lake, even though it is usually content to let the boat do as it pleases, is much, much stronger. So if it wants your attention at a certain spot, it is going to get you there one way or another.
Posted in Musings(2) Comments
The Busy Girl Buys Beauty
June 10, 2008 | permalink
When I was young, The Old Man took us ('us' being whatever collection of siblings, cousins, and relatives more removed that made up the family at any given time... it is strange to me, even now, how such a big and diverse group could have been so closed and insular... but that is another musing, for another time...) camping and hiking and boating quite often. These outdoor excursions are some of my favorite memories.
We had a couple of swimming holes that we liked to frequent; one had a wide, shallow stone shelf and a deep and fast moving center channel- it was good for really hot days, because the water was always so shockingly cold. There was another place we went often, a river medium wide and medium deep, with an old bridge that we would leap off of into the water. The river was probably too shallow, really, for the height of the bridge. It's a wonder we never cracked our skulls open.
There was another place we went a few times, a really wide, slow moving bend in a river. I learned to snorkel there, and once we found and cooked and ate river mollusks. I remember that there was the rusted out wreck of a car in one place, and I used to wonder how it had ended up on the bottom of the river.
I wonder what those places are like, now... I haven't been to any of them in over 20 years. Are they still as remote as I remember, as pristine? I doubt it. Likewise, the leap from the bridge that felt so death-defying would probably be revealed as only 10 or 12 feet, and the wide expanse of the river bend is likely nothing special to look at. I know where they are, and how to get there- I could go look, and see what has become of them.
But I think I prefer to keep them as they were.
Posted in Growing Up & Musings & The Old Man & The Past(1) Comments
Sundialing
May 15, 2008 | permalink
I have been in Miami all week, installing the lighting for a poolside fashion show. Being as it is out of town, I have been working with a crew made up of locals that we hired through a Miami based lighting company (save The Director, who came down with me to help me run things). There are a lot of differences between my crew and this crew, some of them very frustrating.
A lot of it, of course, is that most of the people that I work with in New York are people that I have known for a long time. We have a common vocabulary and experience working together; I knew that this would not be the case here. Indeed, I have gotten a lot of blank looks this week for the simple reason that Miami and New York are far enough apart that things are referred to with different words.
Another source of frustration (and I don't want to sound snobbish; it's just the truth) is that the base standards here are just not what they are in New York, in terms of neatness or consistency in work. And I knew that this was the case going in, but I hoped that with a little guidance they would do things my way. I am not saying that my way of doing things is the best way, mind you; but it's a pretty good way, and it works for me, so...
Sadly (and frustratingly) for me, most of the crew, when presented with the option of doing something the way they were instructed to or the easy way, they chose the easy way. Every time.
As far as I am concerned, it's not about the easy way. It's about making it look good and be right. I cannot tell you how many times I have uttered the phrase, 'I know this is going to be a pain in the ass, but I need it done like this...' My regular crew trusts me, and knows that I am not making it difficult for no reason. And I trust them not to take shortcuts for their own convenience. It was all very irritating. But it happened nonetheless, Gentle Readers, and is going off without a hitch as I type.
Next time, though. I think I will bring a few more of my own people, to help steer the work in the right direction...
Posted in Musings & Out of Town & Working(1) Comments
How Did We Get This Far?
May 9, 2008 | permalink
Hello, Gentle Readers. Remember me?
You may recall, many moons ago, that I wrote about how this blog had served its original purpose, and that I needed to strike out in a new direction. I realized that I no longer needed to exorcise the darkness so much, because there was much less of it in me. And this left me a little short on inspiration. I had been writing with that purpose for so long, I wasn't sure how to proceed in a more positive light. Kind of funny, eh?
Of course, like most things we (or at least I) look for too hard, it was right in front of my face the whole time. I have spent the last several months consumed by baking, brewing, herb growing, and cheesemaking. I have awakened to how much happier and more satisfied I am when I am consuming things that I have made with my own two hands. I realized how very badly I want to eventually raise everything I eat. I have a real life goal, which is something I have been operating without for a long, long time. It's a nice feeling.
That is not to say that I am going to become a one story pony; I still have plenty of really fucked up stuff going on with The Old Man, and there will still be my random observations about whatever strikes my fancy. Just in case you were worried.
See you soon, Gentle Readers....
Posted in Blogging & Musings & Out of Town(2) Comments
The Waves at Night
February 19, 2008 | permalink
I realized this week why I have been having so much trouble writing here lately.
It's not that I don't want to write- I most certainly do. And it's not that I am burnt out on the internets, or blogging, or any of the other internal things that sometimes causes a writer to stop writing in the public forum, though I did examine that possibility. The problem I have been having, Gentle Readers, is that the reason I started this blog is no longer valid.
Wait, that's not quite right. What I really mean is that it has served it's purpose, and helped me to air out a great deal of the darkness that was in me. Now that that has been done, I have to approach it, and the writing, in a different way. Which I haven't been doing, because it took me a while to catch on.
I am not saying, by the way, that there is no darkness left; those of you that have been with me for a while must know that that would be very unlikely. What I am saying is that it is no longer the driving force in my life. Which is a pretty fucking awesome realization, let me tell you.
So I need to strike out in a new direction, or at least have a new focus. And I am not sure what that will be. But I think now that I have stopped approaching it in the old way, the defunct way, the words will flow and the direction will become clear.
Thank you, Gentle Readers, for coming along for the ride thus far, and for continuing on with me.
Posted in Blogging & Musings(1) Comments
The Light is Silver in the Morning
January 6, 2008 | permalink
Happy New Year, Gentle Readers (belated as it might be). How are you? Doing well, I trust...
I have really fallen out of the habit of writing. Which sucks, because I miss doing it. Well, you might say, you should just write more. And I agree. The problem I seem to be having is that I write a post, and then it's a week and a half later, and I don't know where the time went. It's the old time dilation in full effect, I guess. At least, that's what I was letting myself think.
But sitting here thinking about it some more, I know that there is more to it. I feel a little... disconnected, maybe. Things are going really well for me; yet I feel a vague dissatisfaction that I can't really pin down. I have no reason for it. I have less than no reason. And yet...
I don't know. Maybe part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for something to start going badly. That doesn't sound exactly right to me either, though. I have certainly felt like that at other times, and this isn't quite the same.
I have to think about it some more, I guess...
Posted in Musings(2) Comments
Never Said
December 2, 2007 | permalink
Hello, Gentle Readers... It's been a while, hasn't it? More than two months, which I believe is the longest break in my writing to date. Which really was not a good idea. I let myself forget how much of a stabilizing and sanity inducing influence this writing is, and only now looking back at the last couple of months do I see how much I probably would have benefited from being diligent about writing.
Not that you should get the impression that these last many weeks have been full of unbridled misery; far from it, there have been some really fantastic high points, and I have no complaints about my personal life and relationships. It was the job. I did a gig in October that broke me, and I have been feeling a little less confident, a little less extroverted (or more introverted, I suppose, would be more accurate, since extroversion is not really a strong trait of mine), and a little more passive since then.
The job in question started out fine, but slowly turned into a grueling clusterfuck. Some of it was foreseeable, and just not noticed in time by me (though I am assured that this is far less true than I think it is), some of it unforeseeable, and some of it was just bad luck. Towards the end I reached a real low point, and my morale broke.
I do not mean that I was feeling discouraged, or frustrated, or even depressed; I mean my morale really broke. I gave up. I ceased to be leading the crew, I ceased to be the boss. I ceased to be the motivator and the encourager and the example that a leader is supposed to be. All I wanted to do was slink away and hide in a corner, alone with my misery.
After a few hours (which seemed eternal, I assure you) of despair, I pulled myself together and took charge again, rallying the crew as I rallied myself. Which is good; judging by how crappy I still feel over my temporary lapse, I have trouble imagining how terrible I would be feeling if I had not managed to get my shit together and salvaged that job.
I have never, in my entire life (which, if you have been reading, you know has encompassed some difficult challenges) felt so completely defeated and broken. And frankly, I would not have believed that I could feel such despair. I always thought that I was too tough, too tempered by previous challenges. But it seems that I was wrong.
Even now, writing this, I feel a deep shame for having so unequivocally surrendered. Which I suppose is the real reason I haven't written in so long; I didn't want to really admit out loud my surrender and the resulting shame I felt. But I wasn't able to write about anything else, either. It seemed too disingenuous to just let it slide away and not acknowledge it here, to you.
So that's my story, Gentle Readers. And now that I have aired out the room, so to speak, the writing at regular intervals will resume...
Posted in Blogging & Musings & Working(4) Comments
The Promise of Shadows
September 23, 2007 | permalink
My ex-wife got married a few weeks ago.
I found out about a week ago, at a bar, from a mutual friend. He let it slip because he thought I knew already. Apparently, a lot of people thought I knew. My sisters The Rockette and The Star both knew, but didn't talk to me about it because they thought I knew already, and was keeping it from them. I found that out yesterday.
I felt... weird, is the best I can come up with, about it at first. Not exactly sad, not angry or betrayed, not exactly happy for her; but some strange combination of those emotions, and maybe more besides. It was a little confusing, and I felt a little dazed, for a bit. It was truly a unique sensation, and I am not altogether sure I could describe with any fidelity.
The next morning, when I woke up, that confusing, dazing emotion was gone, and I realized that what I felt was a little bit of relief, and a little bit of lightness. For a long time after we split, we each remained the focus of the other's emotional life, only in terrible, hurtful ways. A little under a year ago, we had a civil, honest discussion for the first time in I don't know how long. There were several others after that, and it seemed to me that we had reached a truce, and maybe a little bit of understanding. We haven't spoken in months, and I didn't (and don't) expect that we will again. Our emotional lives are no longer connected, and I am glad for it.
That is not to say, Gentle Readers, that I am not happy for her; I am. I bear her no ill will. But we tore each other apart, once upon a time, and we will never be friends.
Posted in Musings & The Past & WomenOverpowered by Funk
September 21, 2007 | permalink
I am having trouble, Gentle Readers, getting back in the habit of writing. I have mentioned how disruptive Fashion can be in the past; how it is, for all intents and purposes, non-time for those of us involved (much like the extra days and weeks that the ancients would insert into their calendars as festivals outside the normal flow of the year). This season was worse than others, as I had a gig right before and right after, which effectively made my normal two weeks of fashion nearly a month long. Nearly all of my routines and habits have been suspended, and I feel a little adrift today, as I try to resume living in real time (as opposed to the Fashion non-time).
Of course, all I really need to do to get back in the swing is to actually do the things I am used to doing. Tonight I will bake bread (for the first time in I can't remember how long... six weeks, at least, which is the longest its been since I started in earnest 20 months ago). I am writing this post (obviously), and it is flowing better than I feared it would. Certainly better than the two or three I have tried to write in the last few days. And I am back in the office, and have done some of the close-of-show paperwork that I need to do, instead of drifting aimlessly around my desk. It's an interesting sensation, though... kind of like coming off of a tour, or returning from Spoleto.
One notable absence of my post-Fashion, though, is my customary serious case of the blues, which is nice, to say the least. There is a touch of them, to be sure... there always is, after a big project. But that's really all it has been- a touch. It's a lot better this way, to actually be able to enjoy the feeling of a job well done (even if it was completely life-disrupting), instead of well, not.
Posted in Blogging & Fashion Week & Musings & Working(1) Comments
I've Seen the Sun Set the Sea on Fire
September 14, 2007 | permalink
Well that was a hell of a week.
Even now, only a day and a half after I closed the door on my last truck, it seems hazy and indistinct. That might have something to do with how little sleep there was to be had this season (not that I am complaining, mind you- I got less sleep than ever before, and I was getting off easy. There were shows where a lot less sleep was had than on mine), coupled with the large and then gigantic shows I did, back to back. So, yeah, it's all kind of a blur. But there was one notable highlight.
One night, backstage while the first of my events was going on, I had a very stereo-typically male conversation with The Sorta-Rican. Not stereo-typically male in its subject matter; we weren't talking about tits and ass. What I mean is, it was kind of an emotional conversation, but conducted with gigantic under-statement. It really struck me later how much was being left unsaid, though at the time there was never really a question about what we were talking about.
The gist of the spoken conversation was this: He is seriously considering leaving the business and doing something else, and he was saying that he didn't want me to feel like I was being left in a lurch (he is my number one guy, as they say). I assured him that this wasn't the case, and that I would be thrilled for him to find something that he liked better, and that was pretty much the end of it.
What was really going on though, was more like this: He was asking me if we were really and truly friends, or just work friends, and he wanted to know and be prepared if we were going to not see each other socially, because he doesn't really have a lot of people that he feels close too; he counts me as one of them, but if he's wrong, he wanted to know. He's not wrong- I count him as a brother, in every sense of the word, and I made sure that he knew that I loved and respected him and wasn't going to drop him like a hot potato. And all of that happened without any of it being said, and we both knew it.
The vast amount and great subtlety of information that can be contained within a superficially inane conversation between two people who know each other well is truly amazing, isn't it?
Posted in Fashion Week & Musings & Social Life & Working(2) Comments
Quiet as a Mouse
August 7, 2007 | permalink
What do you do, Gentle Readers, when you have a knotty problem you need to solve? Do you sit and pick at it, peering for any weakness or chink, searching for the first step and meticulously picking it apart thread by thread until you've unraveled it? Or do you set it down, and circle it from a distance, examining the whole thing, trying to hold the shape of it in your mind and understand it, and wait for it to tell you what the solution is?
I'm thinking about this because it is nearly Fashion season again, which is of course my busiest and most hectic time of year. The entire month of August is pretty much consumed with The Boys (and by The Boys I mean our design staff) designing and re-designing our shows, while Smacktalk and I, in our roles as the production department, try to figure out the least stupid way to implement the aforementioned designs. Sometimes the shows are relatively simple and straightforward, without any major challenges (even the simplest has minor challenges). And sometimes there are major challenges, but they are similar enough to something that one of us has encountered before that it isn't too long until we find an acceptable solution. Every once in a while, though, something comes up that really stumps us.
Which, really, is part of the fun of the job. I like the challenges that come up, a lot. What I find endlessly fascinating (aside from the problems themselves, of course) is how Smacktalk and I will consistently approach these problems in such completely different ways. He is far more methodical than I am, and will worry the problem apart by sheer stubbornness. Sometimes it is almost like the fact that the problem exists is a personal affront to him, and he cannot rest until it is resolved.
I, on the other hand, am content to mull it over and let it percolate in my head for a while. Often, while I am doing something else, the answer (or an answer, at least- I'm not claiming to be the be-all end-all here) become clear to me. I have a lot of Eureka! moments in the shower.
It's funny, too, because his way of doing things will often drive me nuts. And vice-versa- I know that it makes him crazy that I will seemingly ignore the problem that is driving him insane, just as it makes me crazy that he wants to talk the problem to death rather than let it sit for a bit.
So how about you? Are you a picker or a percolator?
Posted in Fashion Week & Musings & Random & Working(4) Comments
You'll Have Time
August 3, 2007 | permalink
The other day was my one year anniversary at my full time job. I can't believe how fast it went by. I can't believe how fast time seems to be going by as I get older, period.
In fact, I think the sensation that the passage of time is accelerating is the thing I most notice as I get older. Not that I'm saying I am an old man, mind you; but there are definitely some changes. My eyesight is not quite as good as it was when I was twenty, for example. I have some grey hair. I ache more than I used to the morning after a hard day's work. None of that makes me feel old, though. I still feel strong as an ox (or a bear, if you like) and in the prime of health and heartiness and virility. Hell, I even like the grey hair. It's dignified. But the way time seems to go by... that makes me feel old. My sense of time kind of sucks anyway, which I am sure isn't helping; it just seems to go by so much faster thank it used to. It's a little disconcerting, at times.
I am sure you will be surprised, Gentle Readers, to hear that I have some theories on this phenomenon. Well, maybe not. Be that as it may, everyone I have mentioned this to say that they have the same sensation of time speeding up as they age, so I feel secure in laying out my theory and making broad statements about how everyone's brains work. It might all be crap, of course, but it makes sense to me.
I think there are two things happening, both of which contribute to the sensation of time accelerating. The first is that as you get older, each successive year is a smaller fraction of your life experience than the one before, and so each one gets less and less real estate in your memory. The summer you were five was 5% of your life up to that point; when you get to be 30, those same three months are 0.8% of your life. And the numbers only get smaller from there...
Additionally, I think that new experiences make much more of an impact on your memory than something that has become normal or routine. I'm sure all of you can remember every detail of your first kiss. What can you remember about a kiss you had last month? I also think that we use the things that stick out in our memories as milestones. As you live your life, an ever smaller proportion of the things that you do are new experiences; they simply have less impact. There are fewer things to break up the monotony, so to speak, and as a result time seems to go by faster than it used to.
Anyway, that's my take. Like I said, it might be crap, but it makes sense to me.
Posted in Musings & Random(3) Comments
Street Corner Ambassador
July 31, 2007 | permalink
Some days I just don't know what to write.
Sometimes, of course, I stare at the blank screen and just can't think of a single thing that I find interesting enough to write out even just for myself, let alone for you, Gentle Readers. It doesn't happen too terribly often, though- I have a really low fascination threshold (ooo, bright shiny thing!), and of course I do like expounding on my views and opinions on a wide variety of subjects, as you have no doubt noticed.
What happens more often is that I cannot narrow down what I want to say into any kind of cohesive or sensible narrative. I sit at the screen, positively bursting with things to say, and yet I cannot find the words to express any of them in a way that does any justice to the thoughts in my head. It's especially bad when I am feeling crappy and want to talk about why I feel that way.
Maybe it's because I am not clear, myself, on how to express some of my ideas. Or maybe I have too many things running through my mind at once, and I cannot focus enough on any one line of thought long enough to make it clear to anyone but me. I suppose if I knew the answer I wouldn't be here writing about how I can't write.
Isn't that a fun little paradox?
Posted in Blogging & Musings & Random(1) Comments
The Layout of the Apartment
July 23, 2007 | permalink
I heard an NPR radio show the other day, and they were talking about morality. One of the things they talked about was the 'trolley test,' which goes like this:
A trolley is running out of control down a track. In its path are 5 people who will be run down. Fortunately, you can flip a switch which will lead the trolley down a different track to safety. Unfortunately, there is a single person who will be run down on that track. Should you flip the switch?
Most people think that the best course of action is to flip the switch under these circumstances; one person is killed, but five are saved. But check out this variation:
As before, a trolley is hurtling down a track towards five people. You are on a bridge under which it will pass, and you can stop it by dropping a weight onto the switch. The only thing on the bridge with you that you could push over the side is another person. So, the only way to stop the trolley is to push him over the bridge and onto the track, killing him to save five. Should you proceed?
Most people here say no, that they couldn't, even though the result is the same. Your actions would end one person's life but save five in both cases. So why is it different? What do you think it is that makes people act this way or that in a given situation? What is it in them that makes an act acceptable in one set of circumstances, while at another time the very same act is unthinkable?
I suppose I answer my own question there, don't I? It is the circumstances we find ourselves in that make something okay now and not then (or vice versa). Each moment, I think, brings it's own baseline that we must judge our possible actions against. In the examples above, the difference is in the perception of who is killing the unlucky sixth person- you or the train.
If it is true that each unique moment and set of circumstances serve as a base for us to make our decisions, it follows that there are no absolutes in our behavior, no absolute right answer. No one is always honest or always deceitful, no one is always generous or always selfish, and no one is always brave or always a coward. People may, by their upbringing or personality, be more disposed towards one thing or another, but the circumstances of the moment, and how we perceive them, play a big role in why we chose to do or think or say the things that we do, and how we feel about them later.
My Ex-Wife wanted everything to be black and white. She constantly held herself and others to impossible standards of behavior. And what's more, she was rarely able to separate how she felt about a person from how she felt about their actions. It was very hard for her to see the distinction, and to say, 'I like you, but not what you are doing right now.' It was all or nothing for her. Anyone who fell short (which was nearly everyone, eventually) was likely to be written off, and this caused her a lot of unhappiness and loneliness. To her credit, she was able to approach nearly everyone with an open and trusting attitude, at least at first. She believed in the black and white world, and wanted people to be worthy of her expectations.
I see the world a lot differently than she did. In the first place, as I am sure you know, I have a lot more trouble than that being open and trusting to people, especially at first. But the big difference is that I don't think you can divide the world up into black and white like that. To my mind, there are an infinite number of shades of grey, and everything must by necessity be judged in relation to other things, and not in a vacuum. I'm not saying this is any better, mind you; this is my opinion, and the way I see the world. I can see that not everyone can or will or wants to see things this way.
Which I think is simultaneously the big advantage and disadvantage to my way of thinking. When my Ex-Wife was in an argument, it was pretty much her way or the highway. She was sure was in the right, without question. It made her quite formidable. I, on the other hand, have no problem seeing things from another's point of view, for the most part; it makes me more compassionate, I think, but also less certain of the correctness of my own position*. If I am in an argument, a lot of the time I can see the other person's position so clearly that it makes it difficult for me to stay angry, or sometimes to even hold my ground. It's hard to sit in judgment on someone and truly believe that they should have done this or shouldn't have done that when you can imagine the circumstances that brought them to that particular junction.
I suppose that's why I will never make it as a fundamentalist preacher.
What do you think, Gentle Readers? Are there absolutes in the world? Or is it all shades of grey?
(6) Comments
E-Ticket Ride
July 19, 2007 | permalink
I am on vacation this week from my full time gig. I am terrible at vacationing.
Not only did I not go leave town due to a lack of funds for such an endeavor, I actually took other work, and have spent a great deal of my vacation, well, working. Which will generate some extra cash, and as such, is a good thing, but... well, I feel kind of lame about it anyway. My big excitement is that I defrosted my freezer.
Did I mention that I am terrible at vacationing?
Posted in Musings & The Home Front(1) Comments
Fixin' to Die
July 10, 2007 | permalink
I know this is kind of a tired and boring subject, but can I talk about the heat for a minute? Because, really, this is too much. I swear if it keeps up like this the temperature is going to send me into a psychotic break. No, really- I am just not built or equipped to handle temperatures this high, and the last couple of days I have been the very picture of misery.
There are a couple of things going on, I think, that combine to make me so miserable in the heat. In the first place, I am not exactly a waif (or even close), and as we all know from 8th Grade Biology, larger animals lose heat slower than smaller ones. Which might be okay, except for the second factor, which is that I generate a lot of heat.
I am one of those people who is always warm- it is rare that I think it is cold enough for more than a sweater or maybe a fleece vest and light jacket. I don't use more than one light blanket except on the very coldest nights of winter, and the windows in my apartment are open even in January. The body heat just pours off of me. I've been told I am better than an electric blanket, even.
The last thing that I think is a factor in my heat-induced misery are my scars. (This is conjecture on my part, but it makes sense to me, so bear with me a second.) We sweat to lose heat and cool down. I, however, lack sweat glands (and thus the ability to sweat and cool down) on a fairly large percentage of my surface area, and I think this helps to make me so unhappy in the warmer weather. I mean, what do you think it would feel like to you if 20 or 25% of your cooling system didn't work? Like the song says, I heat up, and I can't cool down. So, if we could just turn the sun down, that would be great.
Thanks ever so.
Posted in Current Events & Musings(2) Comments
Fretless
July 5, 2007 | permalink
I'm reading Jules Verne's classic Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, and I have to tell you that I am finding it fascinating. Not in the way that you probably think, though.
I mean, yes; it's a masterwork of science fiction, and an adventure story of the highest caliber, and on those levels it is a great and worthy book. But I expected as much going in. While I have never read it before, I have seen (albeit many years ago) the movie adaptation, and I am familiar with the plot. What I didn't expect was this amazing cultural juxtaposition that I am seeing as I read it.
A lot of the plot, if you are unfamiliar with it, hinges on the technological marvel that Captain Nemo has created in his ship, The Nautilus, and its support devices: electric motors and lights, taser guns, and scuba gear, to name a few. Most of this technology was only theory and guesswork at the time the book was written, and completely foreign to the average reader. For example, there is a passage accurately describing the workings of an arc lamp- carbon points, separated by a small gap, sealed in a vacuum to prolong the life of the points and to enhance the brightness and steadiness of the light thus emitted- that pre-dates Edison's first successful light bulb by a decade. The workings of the submarine and scuba gear are described with a similar visionary accuracy.
To compensate for the probable lack in his readers' knowledge about such things (things that the modern reader is already familiar with, and therefore needs no explanations for), Verne worked clear and excellent explanations of the theories and methods involved in building and using these devices into the narrative. This allowed a much wider audience to enjoy the novel.
You with me so far? This is where it gets good.
The copy of the book I am reading is one of the Barnes and Noble Classics editions. I am sure you are familiar with them- they are cheap and designed for the student, with footnotes and endnotes, discussion questions, and a decent introduction to give the reader a solid context for the story. As such, all of the classical and historical references in the narrative, which all of Verne's audience would have grasped without question, are footnoted with an explanation for the modern reader, who is presumed to be ignorant of such things. It's really wild, to me, to see these two methods for filling in the presumed ignorance of two very different groups of readers used side by side at the same time.
I realize that this might be a boring story to you, Gentle Readers, and if it is, I apologize. But this is the kind of thing that really tickles the Bear's grey matter...
Posted in Musings & Random(2) Comments
Double Team
June 15, 2007 | permalink
Remember when I said that I hadn't been writing because I was so busy? Well, that was true to a point, but I must admit that I deceived you a little, Gentle Readers, by implying that my being busy was the only reason I hadn't been around.
You see, the whole story is that while I have been insanely busy, I have also been fairly unhappy as of late as well; so even when I had free time, I was feeling too down to do anything constructive with it. Like keep you, my wonderful and inspiring readers, abreast of the meanderings of my mind.
What, you ask, could be getting me so down?
Well, a lot of it is just me. Chronic crap floating around in my head that won't let me be. The constant struggle between wanting to connect with my friends and peers and my near inability to do so. At least lately. It's exhausting. I haven't even been able to bring myself to go out after work for a couple of beers. I feel so closed off and disconnected that I can't even imagine what I would say in the way of conversation; I cannot fathom being able to participate and interact, and sitting there watching everyone else converse just makes me feel worse. So I have been begging off.
So, that's where I am at, my friends. Sad but true. But fear not! I will persevere and overcome. Luckily that is something that was instilled in me by The Old Man even before the lesson on how people suck and you should always always always be on your guard.
*sigh*
Posted in Musings & Working(1) Comments
Never Said Anything
June 8, 2007 | permalink
Sorry to have been absent for so long, Gentle Readers. I know that the half dozen of you that come here must be terribly distraught at my lack of writing. Or at least mildly disappointed.
I wish that I was about launch upon some great story that would make amends, but I am only jumping in to say I have been insanely busy, and that while I have lots on my mind, I have no time to make it readable at the moment; I am afraid you will have to bear with me a little longer.
Yours in all affection and exasperation,
The Ursine Calamity
(2) Comments
Last Day of Summer
April 26, 2007 | permalink
I had an idea this morning, while being buffeted and elbowed by jackass commuters who were running to catch a train that they couldn't possibly make. I think that my idea would help relieve stress and reduce the possibility of falls and injuries during rush hour, as well as cut down on the number of unintentional elbows to the ribs from our fellow travelers.
I think there should be a series of lines painted on the floor of stations, color coded based on their distance from the platform, to help people make rational decisions about whether or not bolting through the station at the sound of that approaching train is a good idea or not. Maybe a green line to indicate that yes, from here, any healthy adult (traveling alone or with other healthy adults) familiar with the station should be able to make the train. Then maybe a blue one a little closer in, for tourists and those unfamiliar with the station. One closer to the platform still for people traveling with children, or the infirm. And maybe one way out there, a point of no return that indicates you shouldn't even bother unless you are an Olympic athlete.
Don't you think that would help?
Posted in MusingsRelentless Sun
April 10, 2007 | permalink
I think a lot about myself. I don't mean in a totally ego-centric 'enough about me, darling- what do you think of my dress?' kind of way; I mean that I spend a lot of time examining my thoughts and feelings, and actions and motivations, trying to figure out what makes me tick. Trying to understand what I want and what I am, and what I'm doing and why.
You would think at this stage in my life (being nearly thirty-five) that this would be clear to me. Maybe it should be, and I am hopelessly behind my peers in terms of self-awareness and understanding. Which is a notion that kind of depresses me, to be quite honest. But since I have no way of knowing, I suppose it is equally possible that no one ever really understands themselves as well as they would like. When I am feeling reasonable (and reasonably together), I think that both things are probably true; I should have more understanding of myself by now, but no matter how much I understand, there will always be something else. Perhaps complete understanding of oneself is unattainable, or nearly so; the quest what the Buddhists would call Nirvana, or the Shaolin concept of Enlightenment, for example, were both lifelong quests.
But on reflection, after trying to continue with this post, I think that perhaps I do understand myself more than the above passages would imply. I just don't like what I see.
I suppose that the basic problem I have, if I boil it down to its simplest components, is that what I think is my innate nature (which I obviously cannot change) is in direct conflict with the things that I was taught about the world when I was young (and we all know, I think, how hard those childhood lessons are to shake). And I don't know how to reconcile the two, and resolve the conflict.
If I had to describe my basic nature (the parts of it relevant to this discussion, at least), I would say that in my heart of hearts I was basically an honest and trusting person, who greatly desired to be close to people, and open with them, and all the things that entails- trust in others and faith in the future among them. Not a bad set of traits, I think. Except...
Except that anyone who knows me can tell you that I fall pretty short of this, in reality. Especially in the trust and faith and openness parts. These are things that, even though I have always yearned for, I didn't really know existed outside of fiction. If I had to sum up the lessons of my childhood, they would go something like this: Everyone is out to get you, if they can, so the less you give away the better; keep everything possible to yourself. And you can't count on anything that you have today being here tomorrow, so don't get attached to anyone or anything.
Pretty bleak, eh? Those ideas seem inescapable to me, and color everything I do. And I hate them. I wish I could say that nothing has ever happened in my later life that reinforced them, and that I have managed to escape them, but I can't. The first friend I had set me on fire. My favorite uncle molested me. My father is (as I have mentioned before) paranoid and pretty much crazy, and consistency and stability are things I never knew until I left the house to go to college. (I lived in something like 15 or 16 different places before I graduated high school- on one occasion, we came home from school on a Friday to find out we were packing to move on Saturday.) My mentor killed himself. And I won't even talk about my ex-wife.†
Sometimes it feels like a lot to bear, and my worst fear is that I will never overcome the circumstances of my upbringing. That I will be stuck in conflict, always yearning for things I will not allow myself to have. I don't want you to think I am sitting here feeling sorry for myself; I'm not. I have survived all these things, and I'm not a total basket case. I feel certain that I can get through anything that life throws at me, one way or another. I am a success in my chosen field, and even if I am suspicious of people in general and tend to hold myself back and be a tad anti-social, I do have people that I love and trust.
I guess I just wish it were easier. I would like to be able to let go of all the crap and be able to be open and expressive to the people I care about. I would love to be able to not think of the worst things that could happen, all the time. (Not feeling like a complete cynic would be quite nice, I think).
I suppose the only thing to do is to persevere. I haven't gotten this far by giving up, and I don't guess I will start now. But like I said: I wish it were easier.
† I don't want to give the impression that I am being all 'woe is me, I am a poor sad helpless victim' here... I'm not a saint, and I have certainly done some things I am not proud of. And there are of course people who I have trusted who were indeed worthy of it. I am only trying to illustrate my point with my own experiences. I hope that makes sense...
Posted in Family Matters & Growing Up & Musings & Social Life & The Past(0) Comments
Paper Kitten Nightmare
April 3, 2007 | permalink
I had a bunch of weird dreams last night. Not bad ones, mind you, which is kind of a switch; just weird.
Each one taken separately wasn't so odd, as dreams go. What was so strange was that they were dreams within dreams, veritable Russian nesting dolls of my subconscious. As they changed from one to the other, I kept thinking to myself, 'That was such a strange dream I was having!' and I would seek someone out, to tell them about it. In each case though, I got interrupted or distracted by one thing or another, and before I knew it I was dreaming a new dream, but thinking that I was awake; and in the middle of something mundane I would suddenly remember that I had just had the strangest dream... It went on like that all night.
Aside from remembering that I was constantly dreaming about dreams, I only remember a very few details of any of them now. Just a few isolated, disjointed bits and pieces: getting caught in bed with a woman I know by her children (a woman I hardly ever see, have never slept with, and who does not have children, by the way); sitting in on a board meeting with people from a production company I work with, sitting next to Turtalia and Smacktalk; panicking over unpaid bills for a credit card I don't have; being at a big party in a barn, where I could hear a lot of people, but could see no one.
I know there were more things that happened- I remember remembering them, this morning. But those few bits are all that I can recall, now. The rest are just out of memory, like a word at the tip of my tongue.
Posted in Musings & Random(1) Comments
It Wasn't a Pretty Picture
March 12, 2007 | permalink
One of the things that I constantly have trouble with is maintaining a fair and accurate picture of myself in my own head. Even in my heart of hearts, when it's just me and no one else, I tend to over-emphasize my faults and weaknesses and under-emphasize my my good qualities and strengths. In some ways, I suppose, this could be seen as somewhat positive; I do strive harder to overcome what I perceive as the meaner parts of my nature than I might otherwise, since they seem exaggerated to me. But that is small benefit, I think, and overall I would rather have a more balanced view of myself.
Some friends of mine were recently on vacation, and in the middle of the week I got a 'Missing You!' camera phone postcard from them. I am a little ashamed to admit that I was actually surprised to get it, surprised that I was in their thoughts. Which, let me clear, is not at all a reflection on the people in question- I think the world of them, and I know in my head that the feeling is reciprocated. But in my heart, well... I was surprised. And thrilled. And then sad that I was surprised that the people that love me would be thinking of me.
*sigh*
I wonder if anyone truly sees themselves clearly, though. Other people judge us by our actions, and if we are decent people and try to do right, then it follows that they will see us in a good and positive light. But when it comes to ourselves, we are bound to not only judge ourselves by our actions, but by the thoughts and fears and temptations that shape them as well. Only we know how close we come to not doing what we should. But perhaps that is the point- to help us to be better. The Greeks believed that the gods set obstacles in paths of mortals not to toy with them or torment them, but so that men might come to understand the choices they make, and know themselves in the process.
Not an altogether bad way to look at things, I suppose...
Posted in Musings(0) Comments
High Centurions
March 9, 2007 | permalink
I set up a birthday party yesterday. I can't say who it was for, but for our purposes here let's just call the guest of honor the Prodigal Daughter, and say that her mother, who threw the party, is someone very wealthy and famous, and let it go at that. And let's just say that it must be nice, being wealthy and famous; no one ever threw me a party like that.
Picture lots of low couches and tables, the couches upholstered in red and orange and gold damask, covered in over-sized pillows of the same stuff. The tables were inlaid with exotic wood and mother of pearl, or else had ornately carved wooden legs with beaten brass tops, and silk banners hung from the rafters dividing the loft into a half dozen semi-contained areas. Candles, of course, covered the tables, and more flowers than you would see in an average New York florist's shop were artfully arranged in five foot vases. The lighting (which is what we were there to do, of course) was dim and golden and mottled, rounding out the ambiance of opulence. Think opium den chic, and you have it spot on.
There was food, of course, and what must have been a $500 cake, and I'm sure it goes without saying that there was a fully stocked, four-sided bar in the center of the room- an open bar, mind you. Not to mention the $1000 tins of caviar at the vodka stations, which were carved from blocks of ice.
It got me thinking about my own birthday. I'll be thirty five later this year; if any of you want to contribute to my Birthday Fund so that I can have a properly extravagant party, well, I promise to put your funds to good use.
Posted in Musings & Working(2) Comments
The Old Account
March 6, 2007 | permalink
I've had a couple of conversations with my Ex-Wife in the last week or so. The first one (which was initiated because of a financial matter) was really exhausting. It lasted about 40 minutes or so, and the first half was pretty much a quick re-cap of all the terrible things we did to each other. After that, though, with some of the tension relieved, it was a lot more civil and in some ways even a little nice. For a long time she was my closest friend, and I guess some remnant of that is always there. I'm not saying it was all roses and giggles, of course; far from it. But there was something... comfortable, maybe, is the right word; but then again that's not quite right... but talking to her, in a real conversation and not just a barrage of acrimonious accusations was, well, it was alright. Which is better than I thought it would be.
The second was this morning, for about ten minutes. Civil the whole time, and even more of the strange sensation of familiarity and comfort overlaid with tension and mistrust. A weird, confusing combination. This conversation was mostly about that. We haven't spoken at all in well over a year, and we haven't had a civil conversation (let alone two!) since I can't tell you when.
I don't claim to have been the perfect husband. I think anyone I have been involved with can tell you that I am overly reserved with my feelings and emotions and give an impression of indifference. And after she left, and I found out about Whats-His-Face, I was so angry and hurt, I could hardly stand it. I froze her out, eventually, rather than deal with it. Which, no matter how angry I was, was shitty; I'm not proud of how I behaved, no matter the provocation.
I don't know where I was going, Gentle Readers; I lost my train of thought. Which, I suppose, sums it up. The whole thing has been weirdly unsettling and confusing. I don't want to be with her, or indeed, even meet up for coffee... but the past is all stirred up, runnign around in my head and part of me, despite all the betrayal, actually misses her, which I find simultaneously completely understandable and completely galling.
*sigh*
I don't know how it could be any different, though, really. I'm beginning to believe that no one ever truly leaves, that once the threads of people's lives are woven together they never truly unravel completely, and the colors and patterns that they introduce stay with you, in some fashion at least, until the end. So you had better figure out a way to incorporate them and live with it.
Posted in Musings & The Past & Women(3) Comments
Play Something Sweet
February 28, 2007 | permalink
I've been so apathetic and unmotivated lately. Downright lazy, even. As much as I like the winter and enjoy the cold weather, that I am ready for sunshine, longer days, and warmer weather. I think the lack of sunlight has been getting me down. Blaaahh...
Posted in Musings & Random(4) Comments
Tangled
February 16, 2007 | permalink
One of the things that I like best about people is their amazing capacity to create new things from the works that have come before them, re-imagining or re-interpreting an idea in such a way as to simultaneously create something wholly new and pay homage to their source of inspiration. Painters, musicians, and poets have been doing this practically forever, and when I see it done well it never fails to move me.
One of my favorite examples of the form is a good cover song. I'm not talking about note for note renditions; any competent musician can do that. I'm talking about genre-busting, re-arranged, re-interpretations that blow your mind, and make you wonder how the artist ever extracted that from the original version. My music library is full of them. The Gourds' bluegrass version of Snoop Dogg's Gin and Juice, Cat Powers' stripped down rendition of The Rolling Stones' Satisfaction, Johnny Cash's slow and soulful delivery of Trent Reznor's Hurt. If you aren't familiar, you really should listen to them. Really.
But music is of course not the only place that you see this circle of inspiration and re-interpretation, and sometimes the results can be very surprising. Way back in the day of High School English, one of my favorite poems was William Blake's The Tyger. Surely you remember:
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
It's a fantastic piece of literary work, and certainly worthy of tribute. I came across an amazing variation of The Tyger, listening to the webcast of The Cowboy Cultural Society a couple of years ago, and that god-awful panther mirror reminded me of it. This is an excerpt from the 1st runner up of the 20th Annual National Cowboy Poetry Gathering, held in Elko, Nevada, in January of 2004. Sadly, I cannot find the poet's name, but here it is:
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forest of the night,
how'd you get to cowboy plains
and what is it you're stalking?Have you come to feed on me,
or is it the peyote talking?
Sheer genius, Gentle Readers, sheer genius.
Posted in Musings & RandomDreaming My Dreams With You
January 22, 2007 | permalink
I have bad dreams.
I have them often, more often than it seems to me that most people do, and I've had them since I was a kid. I have them is fits and spurts and cycles; none for a few weeks and then every night (sometimes several in a night) for a few days or a week. When it's really bad, I will have them for a couple of weeks straight. They range from the unclear and unremembered, filling me with a vague unease when I wake and a jaw sore from being clenched, to the vivid and unspeakable, from which I wake up thrashing and yelling, leaving me out of sorts for days. Most, though, are solidly between the two extremes- vivid and memorable, disturbing but not horrifying, full of tension instead of terror, and mostly shaken off by the time I get to work.
While I don't have recurring dreams very often (though it has happened on occasion) the vast majority of them fall into two broad themes- one where there is something terrible about to happen that only I can prevent, and no matter how hard I try I know that I don't have enough time and my efforts are futile; and the other where I am being pursued by something horrible that even as I attempt to evade know I cannot escape from. In the recent past I have a couple instances of a new type of nightmare, where, for reasons unknown to me, I am being beaten and tortured. I find these much worse than the others, and on all three occasions have woken up literally screaming.
Mostly my nightmares are populated by my family, and a wide assortment of monsters and beasts. Sometimes my family become the monsters and beasts, but mostly they are the people I am trying to save by preventing the terrible something that is about to happen. But always, whether pursuing or pursued, running free or in someone's thrall, I am on my own, with no one to help me complete my task or escape from danger.
I'm bright enough, I think, connect the dots between the circumstances of my upbringing and my nightmares, and to draw some conclusions about what it all means and where they come from. I clearly fear not being in control of my life, and with being at the whim of forces outside myself. I fear that I will fall short of the tasks that need doing, that I am not good enough or smart enough. I am afraid that I will be all alone in the world when I need help the most.
In case you were wondering, Gentle Readers, it's about as much fun as it sounds.
Posted in Growing Up & Musings & The PastRoom 712, The Apache
January 18, 2007 | permalink
The Star and I were talking the other night while sitting in the waiting room at Inkstop for Jose to finish up with his previous appointment. She was asking me about my experiences getting tattooed, and dealing with tattoo artists. Not that I have a ton of experience, mind you- I only have a few tattoos. But that's more than she had, and she was feeling nervous about communicating what she wanted and second guessing herself regarding whether or not she had picked the right guy to do the work. I asked her if she had like Jose when she met him the first time to talk to him, and she said yes, immediately. I told her that she had made the right decision, then, and that if she hadn't felt that way she should wait. Then I told her this story about my dealings with an artist named Spider, who at the time was working at Bay City Tattoo, in Erie, PA, to distract her from being nervous.
A little backstory: I was in a fire when I was but a young lad, and was quite badly burned. My right leg is mostly one big scar, and my right side has a veritable constellation of large and small sccars. The unburned parts of my right leg (which consists of my upper and inner thigh) and all of my left leg are covered with skin graft scars, where they harvested skin to patch me up, as the fire completely consumed the upper layers of flesh in the aforementioned areas. (There was a time while I was in the hospital, after all the burned tissue had been removed, but before I was strong enough for the skin graft surgeries, when I could see my own muscles and tendons and bone- gruesome, eh?) The end result is that the lower half of me is a patchwork of scars, and I was terribly self-conscious and embarrassed about my appearance for a very, very long time.
About fifteen years later, while I was in college, I finally got to a good place with myself about this. To celebrate, and as a badge of my acceptance of myself, I decided that I wanted to get a tattoo on the outside of my right calf, firmly in the middle of the biggest section of scarring. (That's the end of the backstory. We can now rejoin the present day, and the story that I was telling The Star, who knew all of that, of course.)
I went into two places before I went to Bay City and met Spider. Once they saw the scar and what I wanted done, they were very reluctant to do the work. Apparently the structure of scar tissue makes tattooing difficult and the results unpredictable, as well as more prone to infection and other problems. One guy actually said to me that he didn't think I should have it done in that spot, but he would, if I insisted.
Their reluctance did not fill me with confidence, Gentle Readers, and rather than proceed with misgivings, I decided to wait and and find someone who was as enthusiastic about this as I was, and understood how important the symbolism was to me.
A couple of months later, I accompanied a friend to Bay City where she had an appointment of her own, to go down and talk to them and see what they had to say. While she was getting her tattoo, I started talking to Spider, a tattooed, leather-clad mountain of a man, about what I was looking to have done. I have this scar, I said, that I want to have a tattoo done on. He immediately rolled his eyes, a little, and I realized that he saw me as some soft college kid and thought I meant some pansy-assed little scar from a cut or the like that I was trying to cover it for cosmetic reasons, and wasn't at all getting that this was tantamount to a spiritual quest of self-acceptance for me. I was indignant, and instead of trying to explain any more, pulled up my pants leg to show him the scale of what I was talking about.
His eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas. He came around the counter and pulled up a chair, and sat down to take a closer look. Then he asked me if he could call his buddy who was in the back to come out and have a look. I said that he could, and yelled back to John that he should come out and have a look at me. It was a bit strange- I'd been so self conscious for so long about my scars, and this guy was excited about them. It was like I was an instant celebrity, and Spider's attitude changed from one of veiled derision to total respect, all because of those same scars. Heady stuff.
John rolled out from the back room. Literally rolled. Like Spider, he was very much the stereo-typical tattooed biker, but unlike Spider he was missing one arm and one leg and was in a wheelchair, and like me was covered in burn scars. He was also excited about my scars, and they asked me what had happened to me. I told them the whole story of how I had come to be burned and why I wanted the tattoo there and why (and since they asked me, and so clearly thought that I was some kind of badass by virtue of the scars, I asked John what had happened to him- motorcycle crash, followed by coma), and I asked Spider about the concerns the other tattoo artists I had spoken to mentioned. He said, yes, there can be problems, but that he had lots of experience, at which point John began excitedly shoeing me some of the work that Spider had done on him and his scars.
I was totally sold. Spider's work was beautiful, and these guys completely got what I was after and why, and were totally into it to boot. When I asked about making an appointment to come back, Spider told me we could do it right then- he would ask his next appointment to wait. So we did it then and there. It turned out exactly as I wanted it, and to this day still stands as one of the best things I have ever done for myself.
By the time I was done with my story, it was The Star's turn under the gun. The desired effect was achieved, though, and instead of being overly nervous she was really excited to get started.
Posted in Family Matters & Musings & The Past(2) Comments
Somebody Told Me
January 5, 2007 | permalink
To live in a big city like New York, you have to become a practitioner of the fine art of Not Noticing if you want to keep your sanity. There is just too much of everything to pay attention to all of it all the time; too many people, too much dirt, too much despair, too much waste, too much wealth, too much noise. Seeing it all, all the time, would drive you mad, and make New York unlivable. That's why tourists and newcomers have that wide-eyed look of dazed confusion and wonder on their faces all the time- they're not just amazed, they are over-stimulated (while there haven't been any studies on the subject, I think if you hooked them up to an MRI you would find evidence of brain-damage, little seizures or the like running through their gray matter).
Eventually, though, you learn to pay attention only to the things that are directly impacting you at that moment. A New Yorker can completely miss a fire engine roaring down the avenue while they manage to sidestep a pile of dogshit that they can't even see because their arms are full of groceries. And this kind of tunnel vision doesn't just benefit the individual and protect their brain from leaking out of their ears; everyone's collective tunnel vision combines, and along with the inherent anonymity of living among so many other people becomes a kind of buffer. It's what lets us pretend that we have some privacy and go about our lives in a normal fashion. It's why we can walk around our apartments undressed without worrying that our neighbors are watching through the windows, or have intensely personal conversations while walking down a crowded street, or relax and read the paper during rush hour.
Now, all that said, if you do pay attention to what is going on around you (which I do try to do), you can see a lot of strange and funny things in this city, things that only happen because most people are Not Noticing. I saw something just this morning, while I was riding the subway to work, that really illustrates my point. I know that some of you will not believe me, Gentle Readers, but I swear it's true.
I was sitting on the train, alternating between reading the paper and people watching. It was one of the older trains, and I was sitting on one of the forward-facing benches. There was a couple in front of me, on one of the benches facing into the train. Well, she was on the bench, in the middle seat with strangers on either side; he was standing in front of her.
He shuffled closer. She leaned forward and put her forehead against him, just about where his belt buckle would be, her hands hooked into his pants pockets. He arranged his jacket (which was oversized and long) so that it hung open on either side of her face, obscuring her. They were like that for a long time.
Now, I can't say that I actually saw her performing oral sex on him in the middle of the rush hour train- as I say, she was pretty well hidden by the very careful arrangement of his coat. What wasn't hidden, however, was the expression on his face, and I can tell you for a fact that I have never enjoyed the morning commute as thoroughly as he was.
I looked around to see if anyone else seemed to see what was going on, but I'm pretty sure I was the only one. Everyone else seemed to me to be very busy Not Noticing what anyone else on the train was doing.
Posted in Around New York & Musings & Random(2) Comments
Testify
January 2, 2007 | permalink
Happy New Year, Gentle Readers. I hope that this turn of the calendar finds you happy and healthy, and not too terribly hung over from any New Year's Eve libations you may have enjoyed. Furthermore, I hope that 2006 was a success for you, and at its closing you are filled with hope and excitement for the coming year.
Here, mostly for my amusement and because I like lists, is a brief, by the numbers recap of my year, as near as I can recall. Something light and fun to start the year with. Perhaps you will also find it amusing, or barring that, at least mildly interesting. Or at least not so boring that you leave before you even finish the post.
I wrote 86 posts in this venue last year, and published 84 of them for your perusal. Well, 85 but one I later took down. I'll buy a beer for anyone that knows which one!
I added 908 songs to my music library, from the 5, 6, 7, 8's to the Yeah Yeah Yeah's. According to iTunes, the ten artists I most listened to this past year are, in no particular order: Bob Dylan, The White Stripes, Johnny Cash, Gang of Four, Gym Class Heroes, Michael Penn, Rhinocerose, The Gorillaz, and LL Cool J.
I don't watch too much television, and there are only a couple of shows that I really care if I see or not. This year, for whatever reason, I was unlucky enough to get hooked on shows that air on channels I don't even get! (I don't have cable- I came across them while out of town on gigs, while I was in hotels, if you were wondering how that happened...) Battlestar Galactica and Robot Chicken have claimed little pieces of me for their very own, and I just. can't. get. enough. It's torture.
I saw 21 movies in the theatre last year, near as I can recall: King Kong, Munich, Brokeback Mountain, Underworld: Evolution, The Hills Have Eyes, V for Vendetta, Thank You for Smoking, Silent Hill, The Sentinel, Over the Hedge, X-Men: The Last Stand, Prairie Home Companion, Nacho Libre, Superman Returns, Miami Vice, Snakes on a Plane, Saw III, Borat, Casino Royale, For Your Consideration, and Pan's Labyrinth. I think the best of the bunch was Pan's Labyrinth.
I acquired somewhere in the neighborhood of 40 new books, though I confess I have only managed to read about half of them. I don't feel the need to list them all here, but the highlights were Fledgling by Octavia Butler, His Excellency by Joseph Ellis, a collection of Robert E. Howard's Conan short stories and novellas, Captain Bluebear by Walter Moers, Bear by Robert Bieder, and the Gastronomique, by Larousse.
I took 884 photographs.
I saw several dance pieces at the Ailey School, the Dada Exhibit at the Whitney, the Russian Portraiture and Spanish Paining exhibits at the Guggenheim, and The Magic Flute at the Met.
I drank a lot less alcohol than I did the year before, in general, and I stopped smoking cigarettes altogether. Not that I smoked a ton, but still...
I ate a lot of good food with Turtalia, and a lot of good chocolate. Max Brenner's, especially, was a big hit. I cooked a lot, and a year ago this week is when I started making my own bread instead of buying it from the store.
I was less social last year than I should have been, or wanted to be, for a whole slew of reasons that I won't lay out here. It's the one thing I want most to be better at in the coming year. That said, I did have the honor and pleasure of meeting three of my fellow bloggers last year: Jess at Blindcavefish, A Lover and a Fighter at Hobocamp, and Curly McDimple at Ham and Cheese on Wry. They are every bit as charming and delightful in person as they are on the page.
I was trying to avoid work talk, but I would be remiss if I didn't mention that I ended eleven years of freelancing this year, and took a full time job, the second officially full time gig that I have ever had. (There was one that wasn't technically full time, but might has well have been).
And that, Gentle Readers, is my overview of the past year as I recollect it, standing here at its end.
Posted in Holidays & Musings & Random(1) Comments
Fairy Tale of New York
December 18, 2006 | permalink
I'm having One of Those Weeks, Gentle Readers, already. I'm just not with it today; my disappointing and lackluster weekend has bled into an unmotivated Monday that, despite my best efforts to focus and improve my attitude, is creeping by so slowly that I swear I can hear the second hand tick.
What's my problem, you might ask? I wish I knew. I have a lingering headache that was quite unpleasant this weekend, but that's really nothing new. It kept me from some social engagements, which is contributing to my general malaise, but that's not the whole of it. My ex-wife called me and left me a voicemail, regarding some things that she had stored in my mother's basement; even though the message didn't rise to the level of being civil, it's not like I had to actually speak to her, so that wasn't so bad either. I'm feeling a bit of a financial pinch, what with the holidays and traveling and whatnot, though that is not terribly overwhelming or unusual either. I guess it's a combination? Or, a possibility that didn't occur to me until now- something is bothering me more than I want to admit. Hmm... I'll have to think about that a bit. I'll get back to you, Gentle Readers.
Posted in Musings(1) Comments
Any Type of Way
December 7, 2006 | permalink
I went to the movies the other night, and saw Casino Royale (which was awesome). Afterwards, while using the restroom, I noticed a vending machine in there. It was full of basic stuff like Tylenol and antacids and eyedrops. Except for the last slot. The last slot was full of Body Play's Tattoos for Two - The Ultimate in Fun and Fantasy.
Now, I have a pretty good imagination, and I fail to see how that claim holds up, with the exception of teh '...for Two' part. Presumably we are talking about a pair of temporary tattoos, one for him and one for her, that are applied somewhere in the region of the respective erogenous zones. Presumably. If I had had four quarters, I assure you I would have bought them, just to see what the deal is. Because from this point on, as I play this out in my head, it gets ugly.
All I can imagine is ending up with some big, blurry, blue-green stain that looks like gangrene or some other unsavory condition. I don't see that being fun at all, let alone the subject of fantasy. To say nothing of being the ultimate in either category.
Am I misreading this? Am I applying my admittedly gutterbound mind to something completely innocent and going down the wrong path? Help me out, Gentle Readers.
Posted in Around New York & Musings & Random(1) Comments
Phantom 309
November 30, 2006 | permalink
I bought my first piece of real art this weekend ('real' as in, an original piece, signed by the artist...), and I'm very excited about it. It's something I've thought about a lot; I really like the idea of having art in the house. I have a couple of reproductions of paintings I especially like, of course, and a bunch of my own photography (ranging from snapshots of friends and family to prints that I would say have some small artistic merit) is hanging on the wall. But... maybe it's silly, but this feels different. More satisfying, somehow.
When I saw it, I knew I had to have it. Something about the washed out quality of the color, and the mechanical typewriter, so out of date and out of context lying in the grass captivated me. I guess partly because I learned to type on a very similar machine, which I used to crank out endless reams of bad stories and poetry; but also because part of me has a definite yearning for the past.
Not exactly in the way that is stereotypical of old men, longing for bygone days when everything was better. In general I think progress is a good thing, and I am filled with amazement when I think about the advances in technology and medicine and science that have occurred so far in my lifetime, and I am excited to see what comes next.
What I do wish, though, is that people still spoke with more of the elegance and wit and formality of years past. It just seems so much more refined, and I think that the more complicated language forces one to think more about what they are saying, and what they really mean to say. Even insults sound better. Doesn't 'scandalous cur' invoke so much more animosity than 'son of a bitch'?
I try, in my own poor way, to carry on those rich lingual traditions here, but I am afraid I must admit that I do not do nearly so well a job of it in person. Not that I won't keep trying... maybe I will start a movement.
(2) Comments
Music for When the Lights Go Out
November 22, 2006 | permalink
Gentle Readers, I'm off for lovely Upstate New York in mere moments. The fudge is made, the bread is baked, the car is rented and my work is as done as it's going to get. However, I couldn't leave without delivering one last missive before I go places where the internet is a luxury, and not a basic necessity. Like my Mother's house.
Actually, I'm very much looking forward to getting out of town for a few days, and to not having any real responsibility for anything. I'll play line cook for my Mother and chop vegetables and whatnot, and help out Red by splitting some firewood for him. Other than that, it's pretty much a life of leisure. I won't get to sleep late, because everyone else who will be at the house gets up at the crack of dawn every day (and I, unfortunately, will be sleeping in the living room); but I will have the place to myself after about 9:30 each night, because they all also go to bed ridiculously early.
I hope that you all have a lovely holiday, Gentle Readers. I hope that you eat too much (but not too too much), drink just enough, and have a great time with your families, friends, and loved ones. Thank you so much, all of you, for reading and for your comments. I feel immensely proud and at the same time immensely humbled that you keep coming back to read my words.
Posted in Holidays & Musings & Random(0) Comments
If Things Were Perfect
November 17, 2006 | permalink
I can't believe that Thanksgiving is just next week. I swear it was six weeks away the last time I thought about it... and that only seems like a week ago, to me. I guess that's what happens when you get busy; the time just slips past. Though it seems to me that as I get older time slips past faster and faster. My theory is that this effect is a combination of encountering fewer new things (which catch your attention and break up the flow of routine), and the fact that each year is a smaller and smaller proportion of your life as you age, and so is allocated less and less of your brain power. That might all be a crock, but it makes sense to me.
Anyway, Thanksgiving-
I'm headed up to my Mother's place this year, with The Star and Rockette. We're leaving Wednesday afternoon, which is a little bit of a bummer, as it means I will miss the Wednesday Before Thanksgiving Gathering at the Edge Bar for the first time in years. The WBTG got started something like twelve years ago because The Director needed an event to take a date to. The girl is long gone, but the gathering still draws a good crowd. It's all people from our Off-Broadway days at the Public and the New York Theatre Workshop, people that I don't get to see very often anymore. Beer and darts- what could be more fun?
Despite missing the gathering, I'm looking forward to going upstate. My Mother makes a mean bird, and most of the family will be there. And of course, being a cook, I enjoy Thanksgiving on lots of levels. I had a conversation with my Mother yesterday, figuring out what I should make- I'll be making the bread for dinner, and a batch of fudge for dessert. Yum!
Never Fail Fudge
This recipe is not my original creation. However, it is so damn good and easy that I cannot, in good concience, keep it to myself. It was created by Durkee-Mower, Inc., the manufacturer of Marshmallow Fluff.- 5 Cups of Granulated Sugar
- 1 12 oz. Can of Evaporated Milk
- 1 Stick of Butter (or Margarine)
- 12 oz. Marshmallow Fluff
- 1 tsp. Salt
- 1 tsp. Vanilla
- 1 Cup Walnuts (if you like)
- 2 12oz. Packages of Semi Sweet Chocolate Chips
Combine the first five ingreedients in a large saucepan over low heat, stirring constantly, until blended. Gradually increase heat, still stirring, until you are at a moderate flame. Bring the mixture to a boil.
NOTE: This mixture is ridiculously hot! Don't use plastic utensils! (I know this because I melted a rubber spatula once while making this) Don't stick your finger in for a taste! (I know this because I burned myself) Also, don't mistake escaping air bubbles (Fluff is mostly air, after all) for boiling.
Boil for five minutes, then remove the mixture from heat. Stir in the chocolate, vanilla, and nuts. The chocolate will melt (and use up most of the heat; NOW you can have a taste) fairly quickly. Once you are thoroughly blended, pour the mixture into two 9 x 9 buttered pans and cool. Yield: Approximately four pounds.
I'm telling you, this is the good stuff.
Posted in Food and Drink & Holidays & Musings & Recipes & The Home Front(0) Comments
The Strangest Party
November 3, 2006 | permalink
I love the change of the seasons. I don't think that I would be completely content in a place without them, though I am willing to sip cocktails in some tropical place for a while to see if this were really true or not. Because I'm scientific like that, willing to endure hardship in the interest of fact finding. But I digress...
This time of year, late autumn into winter, is my favorite. The crispness of the air and the cool temperatures are invigorating, and seem to make everything smell and taste better. The gourds and apples are at their best, perfect for cooking with, and everyone seems rosy-cheeked as they bustle about. It just makes me happy.
Posted in Around New York & Musings & The Home Front(3) Comments
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(Standing on the Shoulders of Giants)