Yesterday we covered the FDNY Metal Day at City Hall, on the steps, with the Mayor handing out metals. Pretty much you had to save a life to get a medal. Lots of medals. everyone acted like they were over 9-11, including myself, when it was so clearly not the case.
BTW, the fire commissioner did not get any applause from the boisterous audience, the guy were were following for Dateline got the most, some sort of roof rope rescue
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
crisis or not
Gone for the weekend. last time I tried remote post it didn't work, so ...
Should I be worried? I was supposed to go flying tomorrow morning (Gary pilots and then we go to work.) Instead, I have to work early with Sal - on an impossible schedule, and THEN i am going to miss the Teenage Prayers at Lakeside 9pm that I was going to record. PLUS El Sharon from LA says now she's not coming. Case of nerves no doubt.
Or: Cornelius has returned. So I can hang with him, and the movie Jason and I are working on is almost done ... It just needs one more shot and then a sound edit. If El Sharon does not come, I can record Teenage Prayers rehearsal, cancel on night at Montauket, go out Sat and Sunday instead -- and write or else try to get busy out there.
My piano playing is better but I want to be really good right now, and I'm not. Got guitar lesson from Rob on the clock today. Wondering whether to call Hala or Judy or Atlantis. or the next girl.
or I'm having a crisis I dunno
Should I be worried? I was supposed to go flying tomorrow morning (Gary pilots and then we go to work.) Instead, I have to work early with Sal - on an impossible schedule, and THEN i am going to miss the Teenage Prayers at Lakeside 9pm that I was going to record. PLUS El Sharon from LA says now she's not coming. Case of nerves no doubt.
Or: Cornelius has returned. So I can hang with him, and the movie Jason and I are working on is almost done ... It just needs one more shot and then a sound edit. If El Sharon does not come, I can record Teenage Prayers rehearsal, cancel on night at Montauket, go out Sat and Sunday instead -- and write or else try to get busy out there.
My piano playing is better but I want to be really good right now, and I'm not. Got guitar lesson from Rob on the clock today. Wondering whether to call Hala or Judy or Atlantis. or the next girl.
or I'm having a crisis I dunno
Friday, May 27, 2005
Business
I have a million things to do, a variety of projects started, in medias res, near completion. For whatever confluence of reasons I find myself blocked on all of them. My only desire is to be a social businessman. To manage those within my sphere of influence, making them more productive as they do the work I wish to have done.
This realization makes me quite nervous. Getting old is a killer (ha ha) but now I fear I have lost the creative energy necessary to do virtually any project. Will I be reduced only to being a middle-man? Which is not to say that position is not perhaps more powerful than that of the artist. When you are young you believe in the unique qualities of your work. Past 40, hell, it really is was and for ever shall be virtually all the same. Just as valuable to collaborate, to be in charge, to direct. This is my future. Delegation. Control.
Yesterday I spent mostly with Hala - a Syrian princess (of sorts). But like having a child! Tempermental, drastic, high maintenance, needing attention. Typical arabic behavior. My lord. She does paint well, incredibly well. So I engaged her, challenged her to think like a business person. At the same time my manager, Remy Weber, sent me to Matthew Guy gallery. To sell my films, not as movies, but as art. Much smarter, hence he is my manager. They were quite receptive at the gallery. Bully for me, bully for my business.
This realization makes me quite nervous. Getting old is a killer (ha ha) but now I fear I have lost the creative energy necessary to do virtually any project. Will I be reduced only to being a middle-man? Which is not to say that position is not perhaps more powerful than that of the artist. When you are young you believe in the unique qualities of your work. Past 40, hell, it really is was and for ever shall be virtually all the same. Just as valuable to collaborate, to be in charge, to direct. This is my future. Delegation. Control.
Yesterday I spent mostly with Hala - a Syrian princess (of sorts). But like having a child! Tempermental, drastic, high maintenance, needing attention. Typical arabic behavior. My lord. She does paint well, incredibly well. So I engaged her, challenged her to think like a business person. At the same time my manager, Remy Weber, sent me to Matthew Guy gallery. To sell my films, not as movies, but as art. Much smarter, hence he is my manager. They were quite receptive at the gallery. Bully for me, bully for my business.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
The Opposite of Evil?
This is a bit of a story, so hang in there.
So, I've having a sight unseen Internet date at French Roast, 11th St at Sixth Av. One pm. I arrive. I get a table by the door. Date is late. Other woman, comes in, older than date, VERY HOT. Comes right up to me. " Hi, are you waiting for me?" - with a very appealling I want to sit here smile. I say, well, I actually am expecting someone - and she goes "Oh, you have an appointment, so do I!" My God, she was hot. Maybe 55, but didn't look a day over 40. So I go, why not sit down there, pointing to the next table. You know how close the next table is in New York.
So before my date comes we talk. and talk and talk. She's not American, she's european. She lived in Paris. She draws naked models. I instantly got her phone number. No bra, plenty of exposure. She stayed and smile as my date came. Thank God my date more then held her own. I will, I'm sure see my date in the future. I go to see older woman today, at 1pm. Her place.
Not what you think! You dogs. We are going to the galleries together. I have to sell my movie, which Remy Weber - keyboardist for the Teenage Prayers- says is not a movie, and hence will not sell as a movie. It is a work of art, for galleries. So off I go. He can be my business manager. He has good instincts. Plus, he knows all the people who sell their "movies" in the galleries.
Then I play music tonight with Chris on the sax. After that, I have to go to the Stain Bar, everyone is invited, in Brooklyn, to hear my friend Chiam's band, Benecio and the Del Toro's.
Do you really think we will make it to the galleries?
So, I've having a sight unseen Internet date at French Roast, 11th St at Sixth Av. One pm. I arrive. I get a table by the door. Date is late. Other woman, comes in, older than date, VERY HOT. Comes right up to me. " Hi, are you waiting for me?" - with a very appealling I want to sit here smile. I say, well, I actually am expecting someone - and she goes "Oh, you have an appointment, so do I!" My God, she was hot. Maybe 55, but didn't look a day over 40. So I go, why not sit down there, pointing to the next table. You know how close the next table is in New York.
So before my date comes we talk. and talk and talk. She's not American, she's european. She lived in Paris. She draws naked models. I instantly got her phone number. No bra, plenty of exposure. She stayed and smile as my date came. Thank God my date more then held her own. I will, I'm sure see my date in the future. I go to see older woman today, at 1pm. Her place.
Not what you think! You dogs. We are going to the galleries together. I have to sell my movie, which Remy Weber - keyboardist for the Teenage Prayers- says is not a movie, and hence will not sell as a movie. It is a work of art, for galleries. So off I go. He can be my business manager. He has good instincts. Plus, he knows all the people who sell their "movies" in the galleries.
Then I play music tonight with Chris on the sax. After that, I have to go to the Stain Bar, everyone is invited, in Brooklyn, to hear my friend Chiam's band, Benecio and the Del Toro's.
Do you really think we will make it to the galleries?
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Oh My God
My world is collapsing. My comedy career is being whipped and beaten by the cancellation of Delfino's show on Sunday at the reasonable hour of 8. Substitute venues are later, past my bedtime. Last night I tarried to the Bowery Poetry Club for the open mic show at 10. It's a great show, but I was slated to go up at 2am and I hung on till after midnight - unfulfilled. This entire day will encapsulate my punishment - nausea, tired, cranky.
My LA gf seems not to like sex. This is going to be a problem. The symptoms were all there before during and after our hook-up in LA. She kept saying, that's too much sex - this just hours after saying "I haven't had sex in over a year!" There's more, but it's nobody else's business. Anyway, this is crushing my little LA/NY routine about girls. The blush is off it. Am being to reassess european babes. No jokes, but at least they like sex. Comedy does not translatee, which, actually, may make my routine easier. She'll never come to the shows.
Am thoroughly unemployed for like the next 3 weeks. might as well go file. Meanwhile, committed to spending money as fast as I can. Go figure.
Piano playing is better, but when I listen to it recorded, it's not there yet. for a minute or two every now and then.
My editor is abandoning me.
I could go on, but why?
My LA gf seems not to like sex. This is going to be a problem. The symptoms were all there before during and after our hook-up in LA. She kept saying, that's too much sex - this just hours after saying "I haven't had sex in over a year!" There's more, but it's nobody else's business. Anyway, this is crushing my little LA/NY routine about girls. The blush is off it. Am being to reassess european babes. No jokes, but at least they like sex. Comedy does not translatee, which, actually, may make my routine easier. She'll never come to the shows.
Am thoroughly unemployed for like the next 3 weeks. might as well go file. Meanwhile, committed to spending money as fast as I can. Go figure.
Piano playing is better, but when I listen to it recorded, it's not there yet. for a minute or two every now and then.
My editor is abandoning me.
I could go on, but why?
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Day Off
Blog blog blog. Who really cares besides me? Anyway, I hate writing. boring, unless I'm deep into a story and cranking away and really only writing. Still boring - and tiring! - but at least then gratifying. You sit down, you see results. That simple.
I am tempted almost to write about my personal life here. It's just - well, I lived it. do I want to recount it now? Isn't that a waste of time, rephrased, a waste of opportunity that now, this moment, I could be doing something else? Fresh, new, unknown, unlike a rehash of yesterday's band concerts, piano playing -unfortunately I still think it sounds better when I'm playing it, dinner with friends at a Thai place, etc. Phone calls. Fill in the blanks.
Each day I play the piano I get better. so what I want to have is an affair with an Aries woman (per Chaim) who wants to come over and play the piano. Like today, I played the melody line of a Led Zepplin song, the first little bit. They did not write that melody. It is a much older melody, very beautiful, the work of many hands. It was old when it got to Willie Dixon.
I had a teacher who said you could get an A two ways. Either the paper everyone writes all the time, but do it better, or write a new one. Zep is the first example - all great bands start there, and morph to the second. Gotta go, gonna put on Jumping Jack Flash, live c 1973 and see what it sounds like.
I am tempted almost to write about my personal life here. It's just - well, I lived it. do I want to recount it now? Isn't that a waste of time, rephrased, a waste of opportunity that now, this moment, I could be doing something else? Fresh, new, unknown, unlike a rehash of yesterday's band concerts, piano playing -unfortunately I still think it sounds better when I'm playing it, dinner with friends at a Thai place, etc. Phone calls. Fill in the blanks.
Each day I play the piano I get better. so what I want to have is an affair with an Aries woman (per Chaim) who wants to come over and play the piano. Like today, I played the melody line of a Led Zepplin song, the first little bit. They did not write that melody. It is a much older melody, very beautiful, the work of many hands. It was old when it got to Willie Dixon.
I had a teacher who said you could get an A two ways. Either the paper everyone writes all the time, but do it better, or write a new one. Zep is the first example - all great bands start there, and morph to the second. Gotta go, gonna put on Jumping Jack Flash, live c 1973 and see what it sounds like.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
All I want to do is yell at peopl
All I want to do is yell at people
You first! Fuck you to everyone who makes my life miserable. Either you are on my side or you are not. Ha Ha. Think that will quiet the audience? You decide when your silence is a necessary antidote, or just another realization that I am always right.
Why can I say that? Because I can back it up.
Here’s the opening of my comedy routine.
I come out with a piano. I go. Pianos blah blah blah. But I’m not good on that filler yet, I tend to get right to the point. The piano is racist. You got your black keys and your white keys. Totally different. You can play one set but not the other. No one can. So you have to decide: Black or white. Okay, you decide, black or white?
and then you play the audience until you get them yelling
and then you play the choice.
and yes, peopl
You first! Fuck you to everyone who makes my life miserable. Either you are on my side or you are not. Ha Ha. Think that will quiet the audience? You decide when your silence is a necessary antidote, or just another realization that I am always right.
Why can I say that? Because I can back it up.
Here’s the opening of my comedy routine.
I come out with a piano. I go. Pianos blah blah blah. But I’m not good on that filler yet, I tend to get right to the point. The piano is racist. You got your black keys and your white keys. Totally different. You can play one set but not the other. No one can. So you have to decide: Black or white. Okay, you decide, black or white?
and then you play the audience until you get them yelling
and then you play the choice.
and yes, peopl
Shant is a Word!
Well, what lengths one must go to, just to rile people. But you know it's all true.
Why would I spend time and considerable energy going on about my faults? No one cares but me. Your faults, whoever you are in this nameless placeless god-forsaken dump -- your faults are comedy. Should I go on that some people think I am irrythmic on the piano (or really, irrythmic in general?) No. If I was getting laid, I would talk about it. If stand-up tonight had worked, if the entire crowd of 23 year old filipinos had given me their wallets (since I came on as NYPD and said GIVE ME ALL YOUR WALLETS but only got like 6), if if if if if if if
whatever, go steal your mom's identity, you know her maiden name for christ sake
and remember - I only do Safe Comedy. Imagine what I really could be saying . . .
Why would I spend time and considerable energy going on about my faults? No one cares but me. Your faults, whoever you are in this nameless placeless god-forsaken dump -- your faults are comedy. Should I go on that some people think I am irrythmic on the piano (or really, irrythmic in general?) No. If I was getting laid, I would talk about it. If stand-up tonight had worked, if the entire crowd of 23 year old filipinos had given me their wallets (since I came on as NYPD and said GIVE ME ALL YOUR WALLETS but only got like 6), if if if if if if if
whatever, go steal your mom's identity, you know her maiden name for christ sake
and remember - I only do Safe Comedy. Imagine what I really could be saying . . .
Friday, May 20, 2005
Last Weekend's Woes
I hope this weekend is better for me. Last weekend was no action for me. A lot of sort of maybe their might be action, just like they might be giants. The german girl on the block – I have to have a german gf! – I saw her with one of her other lovers. I had an uncontrollable negative reaction, but then I stifled it, like hey! I’d better get used to it! She has many lovers, I just want her a once a week, every other week kind of thing. Lying in bed and kissing. She’s hot!
Why do women scoff at the thought that men get pleasure from the sensation of touch?
My Los Angeles gf I talked into coming to NY ostensibly to see me. But not till June 4th. So we had to do the phone thing to coordinate. She’s hot, and needs it. But she doesn’t get into the kissing thing, and blow jobs, to give a blow job she would really have to be “deeply, madly in love.” I tried to explain to her exactly why it is she wasn’t married. And that, whether she likes it or not, since she has all these student loans, and if anyone marries her they get her debt, she’d better be on her knees a lot!
I did buy a slew of candles for our little time together. While she is here, I plan to keep her very, very happy. That’s my MO. Keep the customer satisfied. Hey, you never know, so enjoy every moment, esp with the women!
I still need a NY gf. The iraqi girl I met online – ah ah, that’s me whining, is so hot. But she’s like, I don’t want to be in a relationship, I’m not paying attention to my personal life, don’t get hooked on me, and our mutual friend says she gets hit on by every guy she meets. I plotting the slow approach – I told her she needs to get hooked on me, but I’m still plotting. Hoping. Dreaming. It does not look overly promising.
Had another CL date. I’ve discovered a new exotic disease among fat chicks: they think men will fall in love with them for their mind! I won't even fall in love with a skinny girl for her mind!
Why do women scoff at the thought that men get pleasure from the sensation of touch?
My Los Angeles gf I talked into coming to NY ostensibly to see me. But not till June 4th. So we had to do the phone thing to coordinate. She’s hot, and needs it. But she doesn’t get into the kissing thing, and blow jobs, to give a blow job she would really have to be “deeply, madly in love.” I tried to explain to her exactly why it is she wasn’t married. And that, whether she likes it or not, since she has all these student loans, and if anyone marries her they get her debt, she’d better be on her knees a lot!
I did buy a slew of candles for our little time together. While she is here, I plan to keep her very, very happy. That’s my MO. Keep the customer satisfied. Hey, you never know, so enjoy every moment, esp with the women!
I still need a NY gf. The iraqi girl I met online – ah ah, that’s me whining, is so hot. But she’s like, I don’t want to be in a relationship, I’m not paying attention to my personal life, don’t get hooked on me, and our mutual friend says she gets hit on by every guy she meets. I plotting the slow approach – I told her she needs to get hooked on me, but I’m still plotting. Hoping. Dreaming. It does not look overly promising.
Had another CL date. I’ve discovered a new exotic disease among fat chicks: they think men will fall in love with them for their mind! I won't even fall in love with a skinny girl for her mind!
Thursday, May 19, 2005
PR Men? Lazy?
All Puerto Ricans men are lazy! Look at Asian men, then work, they have jobs. You go to Chinatown, and you see 90 year old men, shuffling down the street after work. In their house slippers, a cigarette in their mouth, happily contributing their little bit to society. Puerto males live at home. They don’t answer the phone, ever. Be it welfare or lazy, you decide. Grandmother answers the phone. Grandmother cooks and cleans, and then GOES TO HER JOB. I know 20 PR’s. Granted Kiki has a job (or so I thought yesterday, but maybe I'm wrong), and so do a couple of others, Fat Felix, probably. But they are passing for white now!
Jermaine used his mothers tax return to buy a piano! He rarely works. His asian fetish gf comes over and sends out resumes on Jermaine’s computer. Once Jermaine is ready, he can move out and live with his Asian gf! She can support him. Jermaine plays the guitar and basketball. Jesus, who would name their kid Jesus? plays video games. All these kids say, I’m broke, and they have $$$$$$$thousands of dollars of games, big screen TV’s, DVD’s. I bust Jermaine’s balls he says “You Jealous! I have the life you want!” What can I say? And Jason, bless his heart, is coming to edit a film we just started, but somehow the thinks this task, that would take a fast industry professional 6-8 weeks of 50 hours a week will somehow get done doing 4 hours a week. Jason’s like, if he has one thing to do that day, he can’t come in. Call it the 12 hour phone call. I don’t get it. I’d call Jason, but he doesn’t answer the phone, so unless his grandmother answers the phone …
(under direct threat from Jason, that maybe, If I'm lucky, he will answer the phone. Generally, now he is saying, consider yourself lucky when he calls back.)
Jermaine used his mothers tax return to buy a piano! He rarely works. His asian fetish gf comes over and sends out resumes on Jermaine’s computer. Once Jermaine is ready, he can move out and live with his Asian gf! She can support him. Jermaine plays the guitar and basketball. Jesus, who would name their kid Jesus? plays video games. All these kids say, I’m broke, and they have $$$$$$$thousands of dollars of games, big screen TV’s, DVD’s. I bust Jermaine’s balls he says “You Jealous! I have the life you want!” What can I say? And Jason, bless his heart, is coming to edit a film we just started, but somehow the thinks this task, that would take a fast industry professional 6-8 weeks of 50 hours a week will somehow get done doing 4 hours a week. Jason’s like, if he has one thing to do that day, he can’t come in. Call it the 12 hour phone call. I don’t get it. I’d call Jason, but he doesn’t answer the phone, so unless his grandmother answers the phone …
(under direct threat from Jason, that maybe, If I'm lucky, he will answer the phone. Generally, now he is saying, consider yourself lucky when he calls back.)
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Alanis Morrisette
I tell you this is one hot girl. Not to be a snob or anything, but the supply of vastly intelligent people on this planet is highly limited, and even more so on the female side. My friend Jason was talking about this just yesterday. So before I go off on Alanis, let me explain why there are more male "geniuses" then female. Yes, it is genetic.
The why of it all is this: males, being the surplus DNA that we are, are not as valuable as women, from a historical evolution reproductive standpoint. The female reproductive system is more complex, more sensitive, from a design and structure standpoint. Change one variable, and your female does not reproduce. Bad, and clearly not a self-selecting attribute. Men, on the other hand, don't matter. Men have more genetic variation, more "mutations" to use a word now that now longer actually is correct. Before you get your bra in a tussle, there are significantly more male geniuses for the same reason there are significantly more male morons. We get both sides of the bell curve.
Alanis M. - interview subject, I'm just the observer - but a tight little mind, able to process (her word) her copious observations, which she says she loves to make. Who even likes to observe people these days? For the first 15 minutes she was a joy to listen to. all I could think was, that's the kind of mind I want sleeping next to me!
You can see it all on TV, but it won't be as good as live! I was thinking, I don't own a TV, but I love it so much, that I'm willing to work in TV just to see it first, live!
20/20 June 10th
The why of it all is this: males, being the surplus DNA that we are, are not as valuable as women, from a historical evolution reproductive standpoint. The female reproductive system is more complex, more sensitive, from a design and structure standpoint. Change one variable, and your female does not reproduce. Bad, and clearly not a self-selecting attribute. Men, on the other hand, don't matter. Men have more genetic variation, more "mutations" to use a word now that now longer actually is correct. Before you get your bra in a tussle, there are significantly more male geniuses for the same reason there are significantly more male morons. We get both sides of the bell curve.
Alanis M. - interview subject, I'm just the observer - but a tight little mind, able to process (her word) her copious observations, which she says she loves to make. Who even likes to observe people these days? For the first 15 minutes she was a joy to listen to. all I could think was, that's the kind of mind I want sleeping next to me!
You can see it all on TV, but it won't be as good as live! I was thinking, I don't own a TV, but I love it so much, that I'm willing to work in TV just to see it first, live!
20/20 June 10th
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
It's Just a Blog, What Do You Expect?
Decided that Rob Sharpiro, the comic, was going to solve all my problems. Had met him at DelFino’s open mic at Apocalypse Lounge – he had gone up and done like 1o minutes, very professional, no jokes really, just ranting about his gf – at least he had one. And professsionalism goes a long ways. Give me stage presence and a racing mind, and all you need is a good audience to be funny. So I thought, well, why don’t I open for him, now that I don’t have a comedy open mic to attend on Sunday?
So on Friday, I saw he had a show at Bowery Poetry Club. I went all excited, Jason was back at the ranch, editing, and wanted me to go with him and Pete and god knows who else to Bay Ridge for some baccanal (is that a word?). But comedy before alcohol and dreams of … Of course the show was cancelled. I was distraught. Floundering, I spotted Big Mike inside the door. He clued me in. I was going to talk to Rob and volunteer, but Mike said this was Rob’s twin, Rick, doing the show! Imagine, when Rick goes who the fuck are you? Plus, Mike went on, Rick and Rob are feuding. They don't speak to each other, being identical twins and all. Perhaps each is jealous in his own way.
Mike went off for a good 20 minutes. He’s funny. I read his book 81 Pounds. Violence, waste and beauty in the Bronx, circa 1971. So Mike’s telling me all the open mics to go to. Teabag – 30 Mott St on Friday. Collective Unconcious on Wed or something. The one Mon night at the Bowery Poetry Club. Look for me at Teabag!
So on Friday, I saw he had a show at Bowery Poetry Club. I went all excited, Jason was back at the ranch, editing, and wanted me to go with him and Pete and god knows who else to Bay Ridge for some baccanal (is that a word?). But comedy before alcohol and dreams of … Of course the show was cancelled. I was distraught. Floundering, I spotted Big Mike inside the door. He clued me in. I was going to talk to Rob and volunteer, but Mike said this was Rob’s twin, Rick, doing the show! Imagine, when Rick goes who the fuck are you? Plus, Mike went on, Rick and Rob are feuding. They don't speak to each other, being identical twins and all. Perhaps each is jealous in his own way.
Mike went off for a good 20 minutes. He’s funny. I read his book 81 Pounds. Violence, waste and beauty in the Bronx, circa 1971. So Mike’s telling me all the open mics to go to. Teabag – 30 Mott St on Friday. Collective Unconcious on Wed or something. The one Mon night at the Bowery Poetry Club. Look for me at Teabag!
Monday, May 16, 2005
new look new blog
well, a new look and a new outlook. Perhaps I will start my blog again. Establishing an email base will help. Feedback helps. Rumor has it people come here every day. Let me know. The best blogs all are dialogs, not diatribes. Be part of the picture. Especially you playas! Not naming names, you know who you are.
Clearly the expectation that I have a back-blog of writings to post is true. So, here we go again.
Clearly the expectation that I have a back-blog of writings to post is true. So, here we go again.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Travel Ho
Travel writing seems to be taking off. Perhaps it is that we have enough of a shared world yet still enough variance to make observations compelling. Or it could simply be the power of meeting strangers. One meets strangers all the time, in today’s urban conglomerations, whether that be Des Moines, Huntington Beach, CA, or Huntington Station, NY. Yet we take little interest in these people, and they in us, less. Our shared experiences are too great, too close, too uninteresting. Travel and the world still seems different, not nearly as much as even 50 years ago, but great variance in sights, smells, customs, sounds, cityscapes, even genetics.
I should like to post in the near future some travel writings that involve travel for work. These journeys, where I do not control the timetable, destination, or even cuisine, still allow me observational platforms, and, at times, provide opportunities to engage - socially, culturally - that would not be possible were I a tourist.
That's my plan. And perhaps one allure of New York City, unlike orange county or Fort Worth is that it is possible still to be surprised in the city, to go a handful of blocks and actually travel.
All this was kicked off by VS Prichett, a master of english travel writing, and stoked by Pico Ayer's 2004 Best American Travel Writing
I should like to post in the near future some travel writings that involve travel for work. These journeys, where I do not control the timetable, destination, or even cuisine, still allow me observational platforms, and, at times, provide opportunities to engage - socially, culturally - that would not be possible were I a tourist.
That's my plan. And perhaps one allure of New York City, unlike orange county or Fort Worth is that it is possible still to be surprised in the city, to go a handful of blocks and actually travel.
All this was kicked off by VS Prichett, a master of english travel writing, and stoked by Pico Ayer's 2004 Best American Travel Writing
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
New York: it's a helluva town
Walking through the town, call it a city if you want, but the east village is more of a town, a shaggy town, with shaggy people, not on the glitz of 2nd Av at St. Mark's Church, but going up B before the bar crowd hits -- but I digress.
So many people, so many opportunities at every moment, and so many narratives, good or bad to be launched into, some as deadly as death itself - living nightmares of your worst fear inflicted meaninglessly by someone you don't know, never met, could care less about, or maybe someone you really do inflicting worsee (though of course that nightmare is universal) and all the good, the fun, the sex, the food, the smiles, the joys of kids - all visible on the street in 4 blocks. Still I digress.
The sun came out at 3. The clouds slid to the east. For the first time in weeks you could relax outside. Spring has been dreadful in New York. I blame a colder ocean, but I don’t hear anyone talk about it. I will ask Al Roker if I see him. My response to the chilling wet has been to leave. Brief forays to LA, Cancun, DC for work, all enlivening helped.
Work takes the mind off the weather. But at all other times, I have simply retreated to my apartment, a nice little sunbox if there ever was one in this town. I digress, but the mood of seeing the sun, after a few jokes about maybe not till May, flavors the day.
Jason writes too much, I don’t write enough, I thought as I walked around.
Is it the act of writing that drives observations?
Or, should I credit my recent chiropractic adjustment? I swear to God I could barely feel my nervous system before?
Medical marijuana? The new chiro says I have a deficiency of adrenaline. I know have a lot less now. Can marijuana give me more adrenalin? Or do I need adrenal pills? Anyway, maybe more adrenalin is dangerous.
Has playing the piano rewired my body, physically, in some way?
People say I have been acting different lately. I know I have, perhaps it’s the comedy routine on Sundays, or the semi-retirement from work, or just the spring of spring.
* * *
What colored my mind when I saw the children’s book section and this flashed: there was at one time a great resentment by certain parents that their kids were reading books. The books they were reading were teaching them to talk differently, and worse think differently. But most of all, it was a loss of parental control: now there was a new voice competing with you for your child’s mind. This war for the child’s mind goes on today, expanded a from every media and direction. This war gets some attention, but the influences seem to be inexorable now. The world, or some particular slice of it, radically influences your child.
Why, on some days, do I just see a book, and other days, I have an associative string of thought that I know, at the deepest level, is correct?
Outside now, the top of Union Square, NW corner, is a close quarter dance of skateboarders, their urban obstacle course, and a stream of pedestrians, both predictable and unpredictable. What a great course it is. Flat road like surface unused, an island big enough to jump up on and do a variety of moves, complete with center flag pole. The surge of pedestrians are regulated by a traffic light. The boarders, accomplished all, and desiring an urban course, do the curb, the island, tricks on the flats, with a long straight for speed. The most intricate dance involves the boarders who like navigate the crowd surges. A boarder will see their lane, start, and then, a helper will jump off the island, clearing a lane that the boarder can surf through. These are the best in the city at what they do.
A discussion with a skater involved the words “destination” “place” and a sense of a “working city”. What makes a destination? Because a destination establishes a place, just like the skateboarders had created in the spot where the farmer’s market is. A place is somewhere someone can go, for so many reasons: and any of these mundane reasons (any bodily need, really), the working city is a mechanism, a beast, a living breathing unit that satisfies needs.
So many people, so many opportunities at every moment, and so many narratives, good or bad to be launched into, some as deadly as death itself - living nightmares of your worst fear inflicted meaninglessly by someone you don't know, never met, could care less about, or maybe someone you really do inflicting worsee (though of course that nightmare is universal) and all the good, the fun, the sex, the food, the smiles, the joys of kids - all visible on the street in 4 blocks. Still I digress.
The sun came out at 3. The clouds slid to the east. For the first time in weeks you could relax outside. Spring has been dreadful in New York. I blame a colder ocean, but I don’t hear anyone talk about it. I will ask Al Roker if I see him. My response to the chilling wet has been to leave. Brief forays to LA, Cancun, DC for work, all enlivening helped.
Work takes the mind off the weather. But at all other times, I have simply retreated to my apartment, a nice little sunbox if there ever was one in this town. I digress, but the mood of seeing the sun, after a few jokes about maybe not till May, flavors the day.
Jason writes too much, I don’t write enough, I thought as I walked around.
Is it the act of writing that drives observations?
Or, should I credit my recent chiropractic adjustment? I swear to God I could barely feel my nervous system before?
Medical marijuana? The new chiro says I have a deficiency of adrenaline. I know have a lot less now. Can marijuana give me more adrenalin? Or do I need adrenal pills? Anyway, maybe more adrenalin is dangerous.
Has playing the piano rewired my body, physically, in some way?
People say I have been acting different lately. I know I have, perhaps it’s the comedy routine on Sundays, or the semi-retirement from work, or just the spring of spring.
* * *
What colored my mind when I saw the children’s book section and this flashed: there was at one time a great resentment by certain parents that their kids were reading books. The books they were reading were teaching them to talk differently, and worse think differently. But most of all, it was a loss of parental control: now there was a new voice competing with you for your child’s mind. This war for the child’s mind goes on today, expanded a from every media and direction. This war gets some attention, but the influences seem to be inexorable now. The world, or some particular slice of it, radically influences your child.
Why, on some days, do I just see a book, and other days, I have an associative string of thought that I know, at the deepest level, is correct?
Outside now, the top of Union Square, NW corner, is a close quarter dance of skateboarders, their urban obstacle course, and a stream of pedestrians, both predictable and unpredictable. What a great course it is. Flat road like surface unused, an island big enough to jump up on and do a variety of moves, complete with center flag pole. The surge of pedestrians are regulated by a traffic light. The boarders, accomplished all, and desiring an urban course, do the curb, the island, tricks on the flats, with a long straight for speed. The most intricate dance involves the boarders who like navigate the crowd surges. A boarder will see their lane, start, and then, a helper will jump off the island, clearing a lane that the boarder can surf through. These are the best in the city at what they do.
A discussion with a skater involved the words “destination” “place” and a sense of a “working city”. What makes a destination? Because a destination establishes a place, just like the skateboarders had created in the spot where the farmer’s market is. A place is somewhere someone can go, for so many reasons: and any of these mundane reasons (any bodily need, really), the working city is a mechanism, a beast, a living breathing unit that satisfies needs.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Why Bother?
I have briefly abandond this blog, but due to the silence from the fans, I have started it up again.
I am so much faster mind than just that few weeks ago.
Now I can play the piano, and boy, does that involve memory, memory both visual, physical, and memory aurally for the song. At times, you memorize where your hands are when you look at the keys, at times you read the music and play, assuming your hands have memorized the keyboard in general with your peripheral vision (prompting you to throw you hands this far, or maybe turn a wrist.) Of course, you have to be able play the song without reading the music, which means you really have to memorize it. But then you play it, and you realize there are three or four more layers of physical memory – mostly in your hands: for instance, at one point you need to learn to move both arms and hands together, at times move this hand only, or more typical, change a previous pattern you just learned because it conflicts with something else, and something else trumps. Typically what trumps is how the piece has to sound, in which case you need to adapt your hand motion (s) to create the sound you need.
All of this has a positive effect on the mind. The last paragraph, to me, is clear when I read it at a certain pace, just like the song you are playing needs to be clear for whatever given speed you are playing. Eventually, you wish to be able to play freely at all speeds, fast when the tonal structure dictates fast changes so you don’t get muddy, loud in this passage to balance all the notes you are striking, or simply one of numerous notes needs to be accented just thusly because that’s how it sounds the best.
I am playing Joplin, and the beauty of his pieces are many. The hand motions are intuitive, and built for speed. They are easy, which is good because, for me now, the tonal aspects are challengingly beautiful and need to be treated foremost, they trump all considerations. A 7th chord with a third is a delicate beast and needs to be precisely. Joplin always rides the melody, so the song stays with you. Joplin was genius teacher, the pieces teach themselves to you. You can always reduce hard sections to the bare bones and they sound great. The pieces repeat each section, so you learn them faster, and when learned can play with two different effects for variety. The sections, once overwhelming to the player just a month ago, can be done in day or two of concerted effort. The entire piece sounds great, dissonance and resolution enough for even the greatest of players to stay involved. Plenty of sections can be made more difficult, adding complex tonal additions, that all must then be resolved. I am playing Solace, but before that I was doing the Entertainer. Solace has more color in the first section, The entertainer builds strength. Both can absorb a variety of hand techniques, for instance both demand you learn to throw your hands, and if skilled, could also be played by gliding lowly over the keys. But primarily Joplin teaches you class. If you sit up, hold your wrists high, strike down precisely with your fingers and go for it, the pieces always sound better. This physical action, it’s grace bestowed upon the player, that is what Joplin means by class.
By no means am I an accomplished pianist. My emotional colorings are still limited by my range of physical motions, or lack there of. But my renditions are spirited, I can play loud and carry the piece, and I can let it go and rip it – all at times either playing through mistake free, or else dealing properly with any mistake, that is, proper recovery.
What is missing here, only is the beauty of the song as it plays. It’s so wonderful.
I am so much faster mind than just that few weeks ago.
Now I can play the piano, and boy, does that involve memory, memory both visual, physical, and memory aurally for the song. At times, you memorize where your hands are when you look at the keys, at times you read the music and play, assuming your hands have memorized the keyboard in general with your peripheral vision (prompting you to throw you hands this far, or maybe turn a wrist.) Of course, you have to be able play the song without reading the music, which means you really have to memorize it. But then you play it, and you realize there are three or four more layers of physical memory – mostly in your hands: for instance, at one point you need to learn to move both arms and hands together, at times move this hand only, or more typical, change a previous pattern you just learned because it conflicts with something else, and something else trumps. Typically what trumps is how the piece has to sound, in which case you need to adapt your hand motion (s) to create the sound you need.
All of this has a positive effect on the mind. The last paragraph, to me, is clear when I read it at a certain pace, just like the song you are playing needs to be clear for whatever given speed you are playing. Eventually, you wish to be able to play freely at all speeds, fast when the tonal structure dictates fast changes so you don’t get muddy, loud in this passage to balance all the notes you are striking, or simply one of numerous notes needs to be accented just thusly because that’s how it sounds the best.
I am playing Joplin, and the beauty of his pieces are many. The hand motions are intuitive, and built for speed. They are easy, which is good because, for me now, the tonal aspects are challengingly beautiful and need to be treated foremost, they trump all considerations. A 7th chord with a third is a delicate beast and needs to be precisely. Joplin always rides the melody, so the song stays with you. Joplin was genius teacher, the pieces teach themselves to you. You can always reduce hard sections to the bare bones and they sound great. The pieces repeat each section, so you learn them faster, and when learned can play with two different effects for variety. The sections, once overwhelming to the player just a month ago, can be done in day or two of concerted effort. The entire piece sounds great, dissonance and resolution enough for even the greatest of players to stay involved. Plenty of sections can be made more difficult, adding complex tonal additions, that all must then be resolved. I am playing Solace, but before that I was doing the Entertainer. Solace has more color in the first section, The entertainer builds strength. Both can absorb a variety of hand techniques, for instance both demand you learn to throw your hands, and if skilled, could also be played by gliding lowly over the keys. But primarily Joplin teaches you class. If you sit up, hold your wrists high, strike down precisely with your fingers and go for it, the pieces always sound better. This physical action, it’s grace bestowed upon the player, that is what Joplin means by class.
By no means am I an accomplished pianist. My emotional colorings are still limited by my range of physical motions, or lack there of. But my renditions are spirited, I can play loud and carry the piece, and I can let it go and rip it – all at times either playing through mistake free, or else dealing properly with any mistake, that is, proper recovery.
What is missing here, only is the beauty of the song as it plays. It’s so wonderful.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Faux Post
I am addicted to buying clothes. Period. In fact, I give away clothes just so I can buy more. To make this economically feasible, while still attaining only the highest style, if the TV show changed one thing, I now, after a year, have top style again -- I primarily purchase from better thrift stores and Ebay.
Of course, if you don't know me, I'm not going to tell you what I am wearing these days. I'm not going to induce additional competition. If you've seen me you know. Of course the budget breaker is Icebreaker, but you can pay full retail for that too, just like I do.
Hey, everyday is Halloween. Just play who you wish to play. I'm playing very stylish characters now. I had style before, it just wasn't relevant to my lifestyle anymore. I 'm less active now, more urbane. But still practical, and still wool and cotton based 100%.
Of course, if you don't know me, I'm not going to tell you what I am wearing these days. I'm not going to induce additional competition. If you've seen me you know. Of course the budget breaker is Icebreaker, but you can pay full retail for that too, just like I do.
Hey, everyday is Halloween. Just play who you wish to play. I'm playing very stylish characters now. I had style before, it just wasn't relevant to my lifestyle anymore. I 'm less active now, more urbane. But still practical, and still wool and cotton based 100%.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Freddy Adu Must Wait
Fa seems like a good magazine article. Compare the cultures of soccer, where no one seems to care whether they go to college or not, vs basketball, where we know we need to civilize the brutes. Because basketball is a ghetto sport. I have been trashed talked by an 8 year old, who then looked at me to confirm he had been doing it right, once, and vociferously voiced his obscene disapproval of my game the rest of my time. No one would put up with that shit for more than 10 seconds, trust me. Cause no 8 year old had game, and if you did as an 8 year old, you would keep your mouth shut against anyone who didn't start it.
That's just one aspect of the game that's changed. Perhaps the difficulty here is finding the exact right audience. A solid knowledge of basketball, or at least a related team sport is necessary. Otherwise, the interested reader will be pegged in on my analysis, without questioning my observations, just that mine are validated by close parallels in general society. However, these days, general society is so fragmented, and maybe so for a long long time, the power of television (shared communal experience, so be it entertainment) notwithstanding ( I decline to discuss the thought of war as I died and so will you! although we just witnessed it).
Yet, when my thoughts turn to music, great music is multiple musicians playing together. What shall we say about rap, which is a single person speaking over a soundtrack typically made (the lingo is produced, but the word is made, by any means necessary). Where does great basketball fall into the operating together mode? Detroit? Yes. New Jersey 2001, 2, 3? Yes. Or is that the level, the low level, we now accept? Or has the game been physicallized, athleticized, defensitized, or simply fouled to a lower level than previously thought acceptable?
And, if it's worse right outside the door, what will the future hold? And what of the Asians practicing soccer? complete cohension, to the point it's more practice than game? Or, intelligent to practice 8 hours for 1 hour of play? And how do the asians appear to the observer on the basketball court? Organized gaming?
This and more, anywhere, on the direction of my mind. Yours too, I presume, although I think the depth of analysis increases with age, and the care for the detail, never my strong point, wanes. If I am wrong here or there, so what - I just want to right on the grandest scale.
this one, I did not read and fix, the others mostly I have. And I wonder now how good this free server is, because my posts take very long to show up, now 20 minutes and counting.
That's just one aspect of the game that's changed. Perhaps the difficulty here is finding the exact right audience. A solid knowledge of basketball, or at least a related team sport is necessary. Otherwise, the interested reader will be pegged in on my analysis, without questioning my observations, just that mine are validated by close parallels in general society. However, these days, general society is so fragmented, and maybe so for a long long time, the power of television (shared communal experience, so be it entertainment) notwithstanding ( I decline to discuss the thought of war as I died and so will you! although we just witnessed it).
Yet, when my thoughts turn to music, great music is multiple musicians playing together. What shall we say about rap, which is a single person speaking over a soundtrack typically made (the lingo is produced, but the word is made, by any means necessary). Where does great basketball fall into the operating together mode? Detroit? Yes. New Jersey 2001, 2, 3? Yes. Or is that the level, the low level, we now accept? Or has the game been physicallized, athleticized, defensitized, or simply fouled to a lower level than previously thought acceptable?
And, if it's worse right outside the door, what will the future hold? And what of the Asians practicing soccer? complete cohension, to the point it's more practice than game? Or, intelligent to practice 8 hours for 1 hour of play? And how do the asians appear to the observer on the basketball court? Organized gaming?
This and more, anywhere, on the direction of my mind. Yours too, I presume, although I think the depth of analysis increases with age, and the care for the detail, never my strong point, wanes. If I am wrong here or there, so what - I just want to right on the grandest scale.
this one, I did not read and fix, the others mostly I have. And I wonder now how good this free server is, because my posts take very long to show up, now 20 minutes and counting.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Freddy Adu, Soccer Moms, and Larry Johnson Pt.1
What tells us more about the state of American sports than the saga of Freddy Adu? Or rather, the differences between sports. Namely, between basketball and soccer. Soccer, or Futbol, is becoming more accepted by Americans, contemporaneous with the team solidifying themselves as a world power. Basketball is spreading, breakneck speed around the world, while here, in it’s founding land, a growing group perceive it as a wooden ship heading to the shoals in a storm, the floundering rocks visible under the fountains of cacophonous spray.
This poor writer had a pause at that word: cacophonous. For that is exactly the charge leveled at the sport of basketball by those who are predicting it’s demise, if not charting it. Painfully so in most cases, for the beauty of basketball, the balletic soaring, the grandeur of explosion, the swiftness and speed of the game seen in its changes of direction, of tempo, of momentum, those runs of pure confidence of insuperable swagger punctuated by the haughty shot from beyond the arc, a dagger announced by the ripple of the net – these beauties are the lure for those lovers of the game. In sadness they trumpet it’s impending doom.
How can this be? Has there ever been a greater time in basketball? The skills that named Magic, the utter ball control anticipation vision, and a winner, the Bird, McHale, Parrish triumvirate, the Jordenesqueing of the Bulls, as the leader demi-god makes all around him his equal? What have they over Duncan, Shaq, Stojakovic, Kidd, McGrady, Kobe, Nowitski, Iverson – Carmelo, LeBron, Dwayne when and where shall that list end? At what can we make of our new seasons- the jockeying back and forth, the wild playoff prelude that involves the entire league, a memento of the razor’s edge between fifty wins and 42 and 32? The sovereignty of the home court?
Yet a journey to the future, to the park outside my door where I plied the courts until at last the middle aged body refuses to elevate anymore, or rather, land in one piece, is a glum path. Basketball is no longer fun. The battle of competition is fresh, fierce, young – but remove the skills attendant and you have nothing more than the battle, the game, the mastery has been removed. It’s replacement, the thrill of the posterization, of the cross-over, the drive, the bounce off the backboard, the bounce through the legs, the you can’t stop me attitude have become elements in their own sake. Removed from the game. Some are even endlessly practiced – the dunk, for the enterprising short the dribble moves, others not. Today they are the essential elements of the game.
A trip to the past. When the game appeared to be less athletically demanding, less physical, when space was obtained and defended by stint of being there as opposed to today’s all out position wars, a reliance was made upon passing, ball motion, synchronized off the ball movement, and that greatest of lost arts, shooting. How can it be that the game has evolved to more talent and athleticism, that the drama and narrative between teams has never been higher, yet the game itself has devolved to merit it’s harbinger of doom? A simple peek at Freddy Adu will highlight the what’s and wherefores of this dilemma. But I am ahead of myself.
This poor writer had a pause at that word: cacophonous. For that is exactly the charge leveled at the sport of basketball by those who are predicting it’s demise, if not charting it. Painfully so in most cases, for the beauty of basketball, the balletic soaring, the grandeur of explosion, the swiftness and speed of the game seen in its changes of direction, of tempo, of momentum, those runs of pure confidence of insuperable swagger punctuated by the haughty shot from beyond the arc, a dagger announced by the ripple of the net – these beauties are the lure for those lovers of the game. In sadness they trumpet it’s impending doom.
How can this be? Has there ever been a greater time in basketball? The skills that named Magic, the utter ball control anticipation vision, and a winner, the Bird, McHale, Parrish triumvirate, the Jordenesqueing of the Bulls, as the leader demi-god makes all around him his equal? What have they over Duncan, Shaq, Stojakovic, Kidd, McGrady, Kobe, Nowitski, Iverson – Carmelo, LeBron, Dwayne when and where shall that list end? At what can we make of our new seasons- the jockeying back and forth, the wild playoff prelude that involves the entire league, a memento of the razor’s edge between fifty wins and 42 and 32? The sovereignty of the home court?
Yet a journey to the future, to the park outside my door where I plied the courts until at last the middle aged body refuses to elevate anymore, or rather, land in one piece, is a glum path. Basketball is no longer fun. The battle of competition is fresh, fierce, young – but remove the skills attendant and you have nothing more than the battle, the game, the mastery has been removed. It’s replacement, the thrill of the posterization, of the cross-over, the drive, the bounce off the backboard, the bounce through the legs, the you can’t stop me attitude have become elements in their own sake. Removed from the game. Some are even endlessly practiced – the dunk, for the enterprising short the dribble moves, others not. Today they are the essential elements of the game.
A trip to the past. When the game appeared to be less athletically demanding, less physical, when space was obtained and defended by stint of being there as opposed to today’s all out position wars, a reliance was made upon passing, ball motion, synchronized off the ball movement, and that greatest of lost arts, shooting. How can it be that the game has evolved to more talent and athleticism, that the drama and narrative between teams has never been higher, yet the game itself has devolved to merit it’s harbinger of doom? A simple peek at Freddy Adu will highlight the what’s and wherefores of this dilemma. But I am ahead of myself.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Consciousness Streams
Segments of my life are interesting in real time. Not necessarily my actions. Which is odd, in a way, because everyone thinks my actions are interesting in real time. Yes, Thursday I shook Drew Barrymore's hand and we matched smiles, in Cancun. Yawn. Much more interesting was driving uptown Friday night on 3rd Avenue conscious of the stream of thoughts in my mind and realizing that I was not devoting as much of my brain as I used to on the visual field in front of me. Liberating, as my thoughts now occupy more of my mind, allowing the vagaries of my attention to flow unimpeded: what would my life be in a warmer climate? BGCF and other musical patterns that I now recognize on the larger scale of measures and not just notes, the difficulties of abandoning oneself in conjuntion with another person, the roads are more dangerous on Friday nights when all the suburban people come in and drive too fast (yes Queens, BK, BX and SI are the burbs also) and anyone who whines about the skills of the cab drivers today certainly wasn't here 10 years ago when it was dangerous, if only they would pull out of the traffic stream to discharge, and that 15 seconds of realizing I was driving by Robin's place although I don't remember which building - all less interesting in summary, now passed, now stripped of the TONE of the voice, all less interesting than the stream at the time. Is it laziness, disinterest, or the loss of energy that has not trying to get recapture the tone (or at least manufacture a reasonable facsimile?) ....enough of the liberation. Dangerous in the diminished sensory input, or just a loss of touch with my surroundings. Danger!
I do need that recorder that captures my inner voice. Would someone mind making one? I can't imagine it's that hard. Easier now than it's ever been.
I do need that recorder that captures my inner voice. Would someone mind making one? I can't imagine it's that hard. Easier now than it's ever been.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
I'm Back
No one cares. If you are reading this after being told this is the best blog on the net, don't say that you discovered that. I'm the one that discovered that. I just happen to be sharing it with you.
You're like a New York baseball fan - a none native one.
Interesting that New York has two sets of baseball fans. I hope Roger Angell is still alive! Since that piece will be dedicated to him.
Apparenlty, due to a lack of popular response, I will be forced to continue my dialog of life with only the select few. Sorry.
You're like a New York baseball fan - a none native one.
Interesting that New York has two sets of baseball fans. I hope Roger Angell is still alive! Since that piece will be dedicated to him.
Apparenlty, due to a lack of popular response, I will be forced to continue my dialog of life with only the select few. Sorry.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Watergate Hotel Room 922
Helicopter city
what sense of empowerment is engendered
flying over
places as this
the monuments the river
piles of buildings humble jumble
red taillights
You in the sky with some thought
that what is was meant to be
-laughable to the rest of us - yet
central your relationship to the world here
Perhaps the thought flashed: this must be so I can rule
never realizing
the world does not need you to rule it.
Do you rule?
Choose and the world consorts?
Or do Life Death and swirl of events that
cover all that can and could be
diminish you in this world to
just another red taillight
in the line of the mundane to be soon forgotten
Comment: the choppers were so thick over the Potomac I thought I was in Iraq - maybe I was
what sense of empowerment is engendered
flying over
places as this
the monuments the river
piles of buildings humble jumble
red taillights
You in the sky with some thought
that what is was meant to be
-laughable to the rest of us - yet
central your relationship to the world here
Perhaps the thought flashed: this must be so I can rule
never realizing
the world does not need you to rule it.
Do you rule?
Choose and the world consorts?
Or do Life Death and swirl of events that
cover all that can and could be
diminish you in this world to
just another red taillight
in the line of the mundane to be soon forgotten
Comment: the choppers were so thick over the Potomac I thought I was in Iraq - maybe I was
Sunday, March 06, 2005
did this post
a test post of a remote system. someday this will be your brain.
Prepare or be vanquished.
Prospective Personal Ad
I need to get married soon. First decent girl though the door and that’s it. I meet a lot of people everyday, and I would say I can marry 1 out of 7. This shouldn’t take more than 15 dates: I’m blocking out Mar 17th to Apr 15. Tax day.
I have a few women I can refer to you in reference. Atlantis Black and Jessica Delfino. They will say whatever they want. I have no doubts. There are plenty of women out there.
I'm decent enough to look at and I’ve never been thrown out of bed. My japanese girlfriend threw me out, but it was a ploy, and she didn't go anywhere.
Whatever, I’m not here to be selling myself. If I was, I’d be doing documentaries on Tiger Woods and writing laughs about Hitler’s Parents. I’d rather be watching my kids. I was not put on this earth to make money. There are more important tasks.
So short, what I put down here, it could go on and on, this dialog, this dance, this sense of expectation and deliverance and creation. Forever.
Ages 26-33 get preference, no one younger can decide that fast, and if you’re older, you’d better have something to show for it. I already have a 74 year old gf, I’m not here to replace her.
I have a few women I can refer to you in reference. Atlantis Black and Jessica Delfino. They will say whatever they want. I have no doubts. There are plenty of women out there.
I'm decent enough to look at and I’ve never been thrown out of bed. My japanese girlfriend threw me out, but it was a ploy, and she didn't go anywhere.
Whatever, I’m not here to be selling myself. If I was, I’d be doing documentaries on Tiger Woods and writing laughs about Hitler’s Parents. I’d rather be watching my kids. I was not put on this earth to make money. There are more important tasks.
So short, what I put down here, it could go on and on, this dialog, this dance, this sense of expectation and deliverance and creation. Forever.
Ages 26-33 get preference, no one younger can decide that fast, and if you’re older, you’d better have something to show for it. I already have a 74 year old gf, I’m not here to replace her.
Managing My Girlfriend
Managing My Girlfriend
My girlfriend Ruth moved away last December, and now I am alone. Granted she is a bit older than me, not quite double, but just 7 years ago would have been, but a gf is a gf and so are the responsibilities.
So in the course of our phone conversation – New York to Truth or Consequences – I came up with a running stream of what she needs to do. Now. That’s my responsibility.
She shouldn’t be worried that she was a bit sad, out of sorts, down – it’s winter and everyone is. Butch said he was so-so. Jason went into radio silence, Jerry mopes, my neighbor simply left winter, even Cornelius’s ebullience, so bizarre a sight to begin with yet enduring for months, has taken a dive back to normalcy.
Losing a bit of her sensory edge? Take it from me, I said, my short term memory is drastically reduced from 5 years ago. My eyesight has stabilized to slowly fading. My right ear has fallen a notch, and really, the problem is I hear it but don’t decode it anymore – especially speak in a noisy environment.
Did she not know she was going out West – I suggested she read Richard Ford’s collection of short story malaise, 100% Western, and trust me I lived out West for a long time.
After a quick plug of the holes in the dike, we went forward, or I should say I leapt to the schemes available to her. Marketing schemes for her paintings. Call the newspaper. Nothing like a photo of the paintings to help. Extort a bit more out of her paying buyers already signed up. Make sure she knows how much material she is running through, and price accordingly. Play off her own customers against the gallery owners.
Of course, these are my fantasies, my involved schemes of manipulation that exist in a void. My own fantasies float up to be severed at will: a marijuana documentary? Try getting people to talk about that! A Tiger Woods documentary? Nice for me, but the last thing he needs. A job with Bill Delaney? Me as a comic? (it does seem so easy lying in the bathtub --). So to with Ruth. My directions for her perhaps are more fantasies, but these fantasies remark to reality. Do they guide it? Build it? Who is to say, unless you give one a spin.
Perhaps this is the concluding observation. Ruth has her own plans, although she excitedly listens to my scheming. As she adds details about her circumstances, my schemes perhaps lose an element of practicality, that is, they exist ever so slightly apart from the real world. In the end, Ruth’s initial course of action always seems to be the best course. My schemes effect this: the aim of her actions now are perhaps a little broader, that dream has another log under it, the worlds of fantasy and reality blur, and the reality of choosing your fantasy is one step closer.
My girlfriend Ruth moved away last December, and now I am alone. Granted she is a bit older than me, not quite double, but just 7 years ago would have been, but a gf is a gf and so are the responsibilities.
So in the course of our phone conversation – New York to Truth or Consequences – I came up with a running stream of what she needs to do. Now. That’s my responsibility.
She shouldn’t be worried that she was a bit sad, out of sorts, down – it’s winter and everyone is. Butch said he was so-so. Jason went into radio silence, Jerry mopes, my neighbor simply left winter, even Cornelius’s ebullience, so bizarre a sight to begin with yet enduring for months, has taken a dive back to normalcy.
Losing a bit of her sensory edge? Take it from me, I said, my short term memory is drastically reduced from 5 years ago. My eyesight has stabilized to slowly fading. My right ear has fallen a notch, and really, the problem is I hear it but don’t decode it anymore – especially speak in a noisy environment.
Did she not know she was going out West – I suggested she read Richard Ford’s collection of short story malaise, 100% Western, and trust me I lived out West for a long time.
After a quick plug of the holes in the dike, we went forward, or I should say I leapt to the schemes available to her. Marketing schemes for her paintings. Call the newspaper. Nothing like a photo of the paintings to help. Extort a bit more out of her paying buyers already signed up. Make sure she knows how much material she is running through, and price accordingly. Play off her own customers against the gallery owners.
Of course, these are my fantasies, my involved schemes of manipulation that exist in a void. My own fantasies float up to be severed at will: a marijuana documentary? Try getting people to talk about that! A Tiger Woods documentary? Nice for me, but the last thing he needs. A job with Bill Delaney? Me as a comic? (it does seem so easy lying in the bathtub --). So to with Ruth. My directions for her perhaps are more fantasies, but these fantasies remark to reality. Do they guide it? Build it? Who is to say, unless you give one a spin.
Perhaps this is the concluding observation. Ruth has her own plans, although she excitedly listens to my scheming. As she adds details about her circumstances, my schemes perhaps lose an element of practicality, that is, they exist ever so slightly apart from the real world. In the end, Ruth’s initial course of action always seems to be the best course. My schemes effect this: the aim of her actions now are perhaps a little broader, that dream has another log under it, the worlds of fantasy and reality blur, and the reality of choosing your fantasy is one step closer.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Timing
Timing.
We had met a man a few years ago, an oldtimer, who said his son sails to Cuba from Key West. So, Cornelius wanted to meet him again and sail to Cuba. Emails and phone calls to the museum left us empty handed. As a last resort we drove out to the Museum. Just as we pulled in, there he was walking on the driveway. Cornelius recognized the face, I sort of remembered the gait.
Now, perhaps a summer cruise to Cuba, only from New York.
Yesterday, called the Mahlerfest contact number at 8am and spoke directly to the president, at his home I’m sure. In search of a music right to use in my film. His words: Perfect timing. The artistic director Robert Olson is coming in from out of town tomorrow and we are having a full board meeting and can bring it up, and maybe even settle the issue right there.
What will happen when I walk out my door next?
We had met a man a few years ago, an oldtimer, who said his son sails to Cuba from Key West. So, Cornelius wanted to meet him again and sail to Cuba. Emails and phone calls to the museum left us empty handed. As a last resort we drove out to the Museum. Just as we pulled in, there he was walking on the driveway. Cornelius recognized the face, I sort of remembered the gait.
Now, perhaps a summer cruise to Cuba, only from New York.
Yesterday, called the Mahlerfest contact number at 8am and spoke directly to the president, at his home I’m sure. In search of a music right to use in my film. His words: Perfect timing. The artistic director Robert Olson is coming in from out of town tomorrow and we are having a full board meeting and can bring it up, and maybe even settle the issue right there.
What will happen when I walk out my door next?
What I sent to the New Yorker
Shouts and Murmurs Submission Number One
Fred Soffa
Jamie Foxx does not have a grandmother. Can you understand the magnitude of that performance now? Because it’s not just, Jamie’s Foxx’s grandmother is still alive, no ---
And the two of them are sitting at home later, laughing, just laughing –
Boy they thought you were crying up there!
He he he
We’ve got a lot to talk about tonight! That was acting, my boy, acting!
He he
Your old grandmother is dead
He he
She’s gonna live on forever now!
= = =
You have not heard my voice yet here in Shouts and Murmurs. Unless I’m completely unoriginal. Imagine.
Here I am famous, and I’m asked for this quote and this quote: thank God it’s always the same questions from reporters these days – can you imagine the questions HST might have said? Anyway, So what makes you a good writer?
I just write whatever comes into my head, it’s all about me, me me and only me, this is the me show, and that’s not you I don’t care how hard you try and sometimes I don’t care at all because for me it’s inescapable I only have to turn the spigot on and as you may or may not have just observed although your answer to that question, alone, is the fulcrum of our immediate future relationship . . .etc
None of your work is original, you take this from so and so, and this from someone else.
Everything I say has been said before.
But isn’t that an internal contradiction?
Babes, don’t tell me about the contradictions. I’m living the contradictions, and I think the difference in this world is that some people recognize the contradictions in life and speak out about them.
= = =
Tomorrow I meet Chris Rock: an actual reporting
Hey, Chris Rock, wow, that Oscar thing was great.
Yeah?
Absolutely. I remember the first time I saw your show like it was yesterday.
Come on.
Yeah, but I didn’t think it was that great, I walked out on it – oh, I remember now ….
The below was written beforehand, by actual experience
I was down in Florida on a shoot and somehow I ended up on a date, a real date, and I was sitting in the car with the cough much younger woman – wait that’s later, she worked at the movie theater so there I was to see movie (I might have mentioned my movie, otherwise we wouldn’t have been in the car with her after the show), actually I had just met her there, oh my God I sound like Charles Grodin and so we were talking what movie should I see and she said that one – I don’t remember! - so I chose like a killer thing, but in the first – oh, and it had some scatological bent, like videotaping this or that or anyways a series of most pointless murders - like, yawn, right – so that sucked and then I popped into a Chris Rock movie, but I didn’t think it was funny, it was vulgar but lots of people can be vulgar – anyway, I wasn’t the audience although the place was packed – but the academy show, that was brilliant.
Come on.
Yeah. You can be funny anytime you want on anything. Othertimes you talk, and just say exactly what you want to say, that’s a nice definition of genius, I’d say – it’s like music, rhythmic variation is the key to success.
= = =
Note to all Teenage Prayers: So you can do rhythmic variation within a set. So why settle for songs that don’t have any rhythmic variations.
Each song needs to have a developed narrative rhythmic variation. Or it could have a story, a dance between the vocals and the band, rhythmically and spatially, Examples, Stones (always an into, a verse, a chorus, a solo voicing, a return to the band.) Paul Simon – each song is a story –REM a group dance, vocals and band particularly Talking Heads – I don’t know what they do exactly – I know they only have 4 songs.
So four anthems. Parcel them out, one at a time.
My apologies to everyone for the last paragraph set, you may be entering that discussion at the end of the discussion. Unless you think you know what teenagers are praying for.
= = =
Bonus selection: Next time you get a chance to see a group of adults and a group of 10-12 year olds, notice how much more beautiful the 10-12ers are.
Fred Soffa
Jamie Foxx does not have a grandmother. Can you understand the magnitude of that performance now? Because it’s not just, Jamie’s Foxx’s grandmother is still alive, no ---
And the two of them are sitting at home later, laughing, just laughing –
Boy they thought you were crying up there!
He he he
We’ve got a lot to talk about tonight! That was acting, my boy, acting!
He he
Your old grandmother is dead
He he
She’s gonna live on forever now!
= = =
You have not heard my voice yet here in Shouts and Murmurs. Unless I’m completely unoriginal. Imagine.
Here I am famous, and I’m asked for this quote and this quote: thank God it’s always the same questions from reporters these days – can you imagine the questions HST might have said? Anyway, So what makes you a good writer?
I just write whatever comes into my head, it’s all about me, me me and only me, this is the me show, and that’s not you I don’t care how hard you try and sometimes I don’t care at all because for me it’s inescapable I only have to turn the spigot on and as you may or may not have just observed although your answer to that question, alone, is the fulcrum of our immediate future relationship . . .etc
None of your work is original, you take this from so and so, and this from someone else.
Everything I say has been said before.
But isn’t that an internal contradiction?
Babes, don’t tell me about the contradictions. I’m living the contradictions, and I think the difference in this world is that some people recognize the contradictions in life and speak out about them.
= = =
Tomorrow I meet Chris Rock: an actual reporting
Hey, Chris Rock, wow, that Oscar thing was great.
Yeah?
Absolutely. I remember the first time I saw your show like it was yesterday.
Come on.
Yeah, but I didn’t think it was that great, I walked out on it – oh, I remember now ….
The below was written beforehand, by actual experience
I was down in Florida on a shoot and somehow I ended up on a date, a real date, and I was sitting in the car with the cough much younger woman – wait that’s later, she worked at the movie theater so there I was to see movie (I might have mentioned my movie, otherwise we wouldn’t have been in the car with her after the show), actually I had just met her there, oh my God I sound like Charles Grodin and so we were talking what movie should I see and she said that one – I don’t remember! - so I chose like a killer thing, but in the first – oh, and it had some scatological bent, like videotaping this or that or anyways a series of most pointless murders - like, yawn, right – so that sucked and then I popped into a Chris Rock movie, but I didn’t think it was funny, it was vulgar but lots of people can be vulgar – anyway, I wasn’t the audience although the place was packed – but the academy show, that was brilliant.
Come on.
Yeah. You can be funny anytime you want on anything. Othertimes you talk, and just say exactly what you want to say, that’s a nice definition of genius, I’d say – it’s like music, rhythmic variation is the key to success.
= = =
Note to all Teenage Prayers: So you can do rhythmic variation within a set. So why settle for songs that don’t have any rhythmic variations.
Each song needs to have a developed narrative rhythmic variation. Or it could have a story, a dance between the vocals and the band, rhythmically and spatially, Examples, Stones (always an into, a verse, a chorus, a solo voicing, a return to the band.) Paul Simon – each song is a story –REM a group dance, vocals and band particularly Talking Heads – I don’t know what they do exactly – I know they only have 4 songs.
So four anthems. Parcel them out, one at a time.
My apologies to everyone for the last paragraph set, you may be entering that discussion at the end of the discussion. Unless you think you know what teenagers are praying for.
= = =
Bonus selection: Next time you get a chance to see a group of adults and a group of 10-12 year olds, notice how much more beautiful the 10-12ers are.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
My Day Off
A blog on my day off? Never.
Bill Delaney called me! (Can I die now?)
I cannot reach James Benning on the phone.
No one will interview for the marijauna documentary. Need strategy retooling.
My neighbor Peter Wilkinson threatens a slander suite vs the building management. I would be a witness called on to testify.
Wrote poem. Content is good. Look for it in the future.
After playing piano for 3 hours today, I recognize my skill level limits me to playing, at my best, with one finger only.
Can I make my open mic Sunday, or will I have to go to DC first?
Sent letter to Sabrina Tavernise.
And now, the Teenage Prayers .... more
Bill Delaney called me! (Can I die now?)
I cannot reach James Benning on the phone.
No one will interview for the marijauna documentary. Need strategy retooling.
My neighbor Peter Wilkinson threatens a slander suite vs the building management. I would be a witness called on to testify.
Wrote poem. Content is good. Look for it in the future.
After playing piano for 3 hours today, I recognize my skill level limits me to playing, at my best, with one finger only.
Can I make my open mic Sunday, or will I have to go to DC first?
Sent letter to Sabrina Tavernise.
And now, the Teenage Prayers .... more
Television Sex
1. Well all I did today was work so that’s all you get. And perhaps a different style off the cuff, a different rhythm, yes.
Today we listened to parents and kids 10-12 talking about tv. Tv and sex, really. TV is a presenter of sexual information. The parents were worried, the kids embarrassed, perhaps picking up on their parents emotional cues. Shows like Friends, The OC, Smallville.
There was much to be learned here. First, most 10-12 year olds do not instinctively try to break rules. That’s a few years ahead still. They are not interested much in sex, or the opposite sex. The hormones have not kicked in. For some reasons parents don’t want their kids to know that much about sex. Knowing perhaps deeply linked with doing.
The kids were played clips. Asked what they thought was going on. The 12 year olds understood adult situations, not from the sex standpoint, but more from an interactive standpoint. What the circumstances were. What the relationships were. Timeframe/history sometimes. The 10 year olds were only at reading the reactions of the characters – when X was not understood, what was the emotional reaction of the other person? A clear indication of graduated awareness of social complexity. And a brilliant use – rarely seen by me – of asking “What do you see?”. Critical. What is said, what is omitted, even physiological reactions – these open a window to the workings of a child’s mind. Here made clear by two different age groups. Again, the main difference, the older kids were able to construct or realize the social situations of the characters.
What was not answered was why sex was on TV, at 8pm, when kids were watching. Yes, ratings, yes, easy to construct humor, yes, adult audiences, yes, sex is interesting, yes parents need to monitor, yes, upset at sex on TV a bit – but it was never stated, nor directly asked, nor even hinted at: sex is a fundamental part of our lives. To remove sex, or a sexual element from even the most mundane events much less those events that for millennium have been the staples of drama – chronicled at least from Greek periods on up – to remove sex leaves only the artifice of the 50’s – a period now deemed absurd. Sex is a huge part of life. Let’s admit it, portray it in all it’s facets, and go on. If there is one lesson learned today, it’s that when kids aren’t interested in sex, they really aren’t.
2. Of course, now all I want to do is grab a girl and spend a week watching The OC, Friends, That 70's Show and making love at every possible moment.
3. I remember seeing Dawson's Creek for the first time and I thought, Wow, powerful stuff. Can I live this please?
Today we listened to parents and kids 10-12 talking about tv. Tv and sex, really. TV is a presenter of sexual information. The parents were worried, the kids embarrassed, perhaps picking up on their parents emotional cues. Shows like Friends, The OC, Smallville.
There was much to be learned here. First, most 10-12 year olds do not instinctively try to break rules. That’s a few years ahead still. They are not interested much in sex, or the opposite sex. The hormones have not kicked in. For some reasons parents don’t want their kids to know that much about sex. Knowing perhaps deeply linked with doing.
The kids were played clips. Asked what they thought was going on. The 12 year olds understood adult situations, not from the sex standpoint, but more from an interactive standpoint. What the circumstances were. What the relationships were. Timeframe/history sometimes. The 10 year olds were only at reading the reactions of the characters – when X was not understood, what was the emotional reaction of the other person? A clear indication of graduated awareness of social complexity. And a brilliant use – rarely seen by me – of asking “What do you see?”. Critical. What is said, what is omitted, even physiological reactions – these open a window to the workings of a child’s mind. Here made clear by two different age groups. Again, the main difference, the older kids were able to construct or realize the social situations of the characters.
What was not answered was why sex was on TV, at 8pm, when kids were watching. Yes, ratings, yes, easy to construct humor, yes, adult audiences, yes, sex is interesting, yes parents need to monitor, yes, upset at sex on TV a bit – but it was never stated, nor directly asked, nor even hinted at: sex is a fundamental part of our lives. To remove sex, or a sexual element from even the most mundane events much less those events that for millennium have been the staples of drama – chronicled at least from Greek periods on up – to remove sex leaves only the artifice of the 50’s – a period now deemed absurd. Sex is a huge part of life. Let’s admit it, portray it in all it’s facets, and go on. If there is one lesson learned today, it’s that when kids aren’t interested in sex, they really aren’t.
2. Of course, now all I want to do is grab a girl and spend a week watching The OC, Friends, That 70's Show and making love at every possible moment.
3. I remember seeing Dawson's Creek for the first time and I thought, Wow, powerful stuff. Can I live this please?
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Nascent Blogging
I’m new to this. Temptation sparks a discourse on whatever lies in front of my mind. Today’s work, Jermaine’s improvement as a musician, my next project. Minutia, tossed swiftly as the newspaper. Made lasting only by the construction of the writing, not the content. The goal chosen here is to surmount that challenge.
Help me in this resistance. Allow a journey through broad topics. Add associations unheard of in your comments. Prod and challenge me. For I feel blessed with skills of structure, of construction. Be it by curse (this blessing), by chance, by deep necessity, analytical talent, or by constant effort: the effort of seeking, observing, categorizing, remembering, emoting. Consumption of all, including time. Demand the response.
Without further ado, a salvo of the future here, topics to be gerrymandered, so to speak.
Destruction –genetic components, its role in the advancement of the species, hazards of destruction as we see them, youth and destruction, destruction and pleasure, “fuck it up” “get fucked” “be fucked” and reproductive necessity all in the same word, war and destruction, destruction and death, Sebold
Comic aside on point: recent article that says we are willing to take on responsibilities that we consistently underestimate future demands on our time (child-care, anyone?) Times
Title aspired to: Halo2: The Sword of Today’s Gordian Entanglement
also, and accompanying literary piece
Los Angeles – done, so I’m saving it for a rainy day
Travel in NY without leaving your neighborhood - research pending.
Alcohol vs Marijauna: The Final Debate
Well, I got so deep into destruction that all my other thoughts for that list 4 or 5 at least, now resist recollection. I suppose I have rewired my mind through those thoughts, destruction or construction?
Help me in this resistance. Allow a journey through broad topics. Add associations unheard of in your comments. Prod and challenge me. For I feel blessed with skills of structure, of construction. Be it by curse (this blessing), by chance, by deep necessity, analytical talent, or by constant effort: the effort of seeking, observing, categorizing, remembering, emoting. Consumption of all, including time. Demand the response.
Without further ado, a salvo of the future here, topics to be gerrymandered, so to speak.
Destruction –genetic components, its role in the advancement of the species, hazards of destruction as we see them, youth and destruction, destruction and pleasure, “fuck it up” “get fucked” “be fucked” and reproductive necessity all in the same word, war and destruction, destruction and death, Sebold
Comic aside on point: recent article that says we are willing to take on responsibilities that we consistently underestimate future demands on our time (child-care, anyone?) Times
Title aspired to: Halo2: The Sword of Today’s Gordian Entanglement
also, and accompanying literary piece
Los Angeles – done, so I’m saving it for a rainy day
Travel in NY without leaving your neighborhood - research pending.
Alcohol vs Marijauna: The Final Debate
Well, I got so deep into destruction that all my other thoughts for that list 4 or 5 at least, now resist recollection. I suppose I have rewired my mind through those thoughts, destruction or construction?
Monday, February 28, 2005
Value Pricing
Tough decisions confront me. Avowing to clean my apartment, Sunday, I stumbled upon certain zones, spots so to speak, that resist cleaning. Problematic, for a party downstairs may impose courtesy visits from strangers. The bed must be made, the floor swept (of large bulky items). Order, or its semblance, must be at first visual blush apparent.
One corner – unresolved, unresolveble, a stack of books around my bed, lingered. The compromise – this being New York, a studio apartment, most small, non-segregated kitchen and I, striving in vain, for open space (read spaciousness) – already dictated all books in ministorage. My collection gone in boxes, but of course still a small stack of current books remained on the floor, arm's length from the bed. James, Portrait of A Lady. VS Prichett. With an attendant suburb of items that have no home but the floor.
This problem clouding my mind, I passed the cluttered, secondhand store up the Avenue. Its stack of furniture outside, duly standing sentinel to uncovered desires or needs. And there it was. My solution.
A piano bench. Perfect for a bedside end table for books, bass strings, the clock now relegated to the floor, the floss from right before bed the night before. $20. I already had a bench like this that I had cut down and am using as a platform for my stereo and mixer. I balked.
For non-northeasterners, trust me, the price is right. The piano bench adds storage underneath, a plus. All wood, good, not frilly or overwrought. Stains, alright, but I could sand them out or cover them. No one would care but me. Transit? ½ block from my house. Done. Would it ruin my decorative scheme? Not really. So why did I balk? Responsibility.
To own that item, to be the owner, the proper owner, the useful owner, to use the bench properly: that is responsibility. Perhaps I was overwhelmed by the thought of ownership, typcially in regards to pets, children, bleeding edge electronics. But here? Did I not wish to admit the problem? Would the purchase signify a defeat in that corner of the room? My inability to clean it, to order it under the present set of circumstances. To admit intervention, in the form of materiality, is necessary? Do I believe items on the floor produces a greater sense of space, the ultimate end? No answer here.
Responsibility.
One corner – unresolved, unresolveble, a stack of books around my bed, lingered. The compromise – this being New York, a studio apartment, most small, non-segregated kitchen and I, striving in vain, for open space (read spaciousness) – already dictated all books in ministorage. My collection gone in boxes, but of course still a small stack of current books remained on the floor, arm's length from the bed. James, Portrait of A Lady. VS Prichett. With an attendant suburb of items that have no home but the floor.
This problem clouding my mind, I passed the cluttered, secondhand store up the Avenue. Its stack of furniture outside, duly standing sentinel to uncovered desires or needs. And there it was. My solution.
A piano bench. Perfect for a bedside end table for books, bass strings, the clock now relegated to the floor, the floss from right before bed the night before. $20. I already had a bench like this that I had cut down and am using as a platform for my stereo and mixer. I balked.
For non-northeasterners, trust me, the price is right. The piano bench adds storage underneath, a plus. All wood, good, not frilly or overwrought. Stains, alright, but I could sand them out or cover them. No one would care but me. Transit? ½ block from my house. Done. Would it ruin my decorative scheme? Not really. So why did I balk? Responsibility.
To own that item, to be the owner, the proper owner, the useful owner, to use the bench properly: that is responsibility. Perhaps I was overwhelmed by the thought of ownership, typcially in regards to pets, children, bleeding edge electronics. But here? Did I not wish to admit the problem? Would the purchase signify a defeat in that corner of the room? My inability to clean it, to order it under the present set of circumstances. To admit intervention, in the form of materiality, is necessary? Do I believe items on the floor produces a greater sense of space, the ultimate end? No answer here.
Responsibility.
Hello and Welcome
This is a huge responsibility, this power to change your world through contact with my world. But I accept. Trust me. In advance of the soon to be affirming comments. Blending Kenneth Patchen's sensibilities, VS Prichett's muscular terseness, and my own iminitable associative genius you will find here spontaneous reactions and observations. With more polished pieces prior to their publishing.
Like Chris Isaak said "The difference between this show and 5 years ago is 50 bucks".
Get ready. To ride the wave, the crest, or if not, to be dragged along the bottom of the ocean, the weight of the water, that weight of the world, holding you tight, praying that forced exhalation will take place with your head in the air.
The wave is coming.
Like Chris Isaak said "The difference between this show and 5 years ago is 50 bucks".
Get ready. To ride the wave, the crest, or if not, to be dragged along the bottom of the ocean, the weight of the water, that weight of the world, holding you tight, praying that forced exhalation will take place with your head in the air.
The wave is coming.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)