Friday, August 31, 2007
I've been thinking about New York a lot lately. I don't want to give up The Farm, but Adam and I were talking about asking Mike if we could sublet for maybe 6 months, maybe longer, give Brooklyn a try.
I love New York. I love that neurotic, pill-popping, shaky Woody Allen city. It makes me feel sane and calm.
I must come off as though I loathe a good part of humanity. Hm, I wonder why.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
On Sunday night, Stevie Wonder sung "You and I" and followed it with "Overjoyed." It didn't take long for me to sink into a big old puddle of happy tears.
Here's to a lifetime of them. I love you, baby!
Monday, August 27, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
I love how Sohn is so self-aware -- at one point, she writes: "We had become Them." We see her wrestling with it throughout the piece, and that's awesome.
I like this quote too:
“There are two sects of people,” says Elora Cosper, a 33-year-old space designer in the East Village. “One group has children and adores them and expects everyone else to get onboard with how adorable the kids are, even when they’re being inappropriate in public places. The other group likes kids but can’t tolerate parents who can’t control them. No matter how disruptive the child is being, if you address the parent, she will jump down your throat.”
Sometimes there really is this tiered system. You're just expected to Understand.
Hey, look. I'm in awe of the job parents have to do. That's why I've chosen not to do it. And that's just it. I haven't chosen to be a parent. That means I shouldn't always be called on to understand.
Later Sohn talks more about the sharing of public space in a transforming city:
"Part of what is at issue in this tug-of-war is the changing nature of public space in the city. Self-employed freelancers can now earn a living entirely in cafés, conducting business on laptops and cell phones at the same Tea Lounges and Starbucks where new mothers congregate to discuss mastitis and Maisy books."
I have just as little tolerance for the freelancers who take up six tables and yammer on their cell phones while others are trying to find a place to relax. I really try to not be that person. I take one table, am courteous with my power cord and other tech acoutrements (not that there's many of them), and am well known by my friends for being just about unreachable by cell phone. And as Sohn notes in another article: the only thing worse than a loud-parent jerk (her words, not mine) is a loud cell-phone jerk.
I don't know. Maybe I have a weird funny bone about all this.
Of course, this is the same guy who dressed as a KKK member at Halloween (and was very proud of the blood on the bedsheet he wore as a costume -- yeah, he got the shit kicked out of him, all Fight Club-ish) and attended only one BGESS meeting before he pissed them all off enough to stop inviting him (he wore his sunglasses and sat in the back, not participating in the least), so it was par for his course.
He also is one the smartest people I ever met and, oddly, one of the most down to earth.
I miss David. He's a true original. Doesn't kowtow to anyone and doesn't give a fuck what anyone thinks. I like that.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
"The man spreads his arms defencelessly. 'Sorry. You're quite right.'
"'I know,' I say. I take the girls by the hand, tuck Rosie's coat under my elbow and march them to the door.
"'Kitty,' wails Emily. 'He was nice.'
"'You don't know that,' I say. Just before going through the door, I look back and he is standing watching us, not annoyed, a pleasant smile on his face. It's true, he does look nice. But you can't take chances on people. It's safer to assume they're hostile." - Clare Morrall, Astonishing Splashes of Colour
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Took a long stroll from College and Alcatraz (Rockridge area) back home. It was particularly heartening, seriously, to pass all the new freshmen with their Target bags, maps in hand ("Where's the Tang Center?") and suitemates who, within months, will become enemies or lovers or, more likely, both.
It's 80 degrees and I feel like I accomplished something today ... just by walking.
Monday, August 20, 2007
I love my past. I love my present. I'm not ashamed of what I've had, and I'm not sad because I have it no longer. - Colette
To love what you do and feel that it matters -- how could anything be more fun? - Katharine Graham
It is better to be hated for what you are than loved for what you are not. - Andre Gide
Trouble is part of your life, and if you don't share it, you don't give the person who loves you a chance to love you enough. - Dinah Shore
Let us hope that we are all preceded in this world by a love story. - Don Snyder
Saturday, August 18, 2007
It looks something like this, actually. Except less blurry. And a bit less level in places.
I particularly like the Travolta slam:
Which leads me to the third point—who the heck thought of casting John Travolta as Edna Turnblad! Every time he comes on the scene all you can think about is “Oh my god that’s John Travolta in drag and in a fat suit!” It’s stunt casting that’s so distracting that it pulls you out of the story. Now Waters has done his share of stunt casting but it was always slyly appropriate–like having Pia Zadora and The Cars’ Ric Ocasek as a Beatnik chick and cat. That was funny. As for Edna Turnblad, Divine owned role and was sheer perfection. No one could fill his shoes. On stage, Harvey Fierstein at least had the right sense of fun and a ridiculously gravely voice that he refused to cover up even though he was playing a woman. The problem with Travolta is that he’s a handsome Hollywood celebrity trying to milk laughs from the fact that he’s making himself fat and female. There’s a constant sense of wink-wink-nudge-nudge look at me I’m acting and I’m getting laughs from frumping my gorgeous self up.
And to make matters worse, the film changes Edna’s character from the Waters’ film so that she’s some kind of agoraphobic housewife who hasn’t come out of her home in ten years because she thinks she’s fat. Travolta’s Edna is crushed by the opinion of the sexy Velma who implies that she’s overweight and shouldn’t be eating an ice cream sundae. You’d never catch Divine crying over her weight or wondering what some establishment slut thought of her. Hell no. There’s nothing greater than the scene in Waters’ film where Divine’s plus size Edna and daughter Tracy (played by Ricki Lake) go strutting down the Baltimore street in their Hefty Hideaway frocks. There’s no sense of apology in them–they’re big, bold and beautiful–and they boast a refreshing bravado that only an outsider thumping his/her nose at the establishment can muster. Plus Travolta’s face looks like its been pulled tightly back so he looks oddly younger than usual, and he has a strange accent that often makes him sound like Mike Myers. All in all, this Edna is a disappointment.
I'm not (totally) nuts. Two links to back me up:
Salon on personal space.
And Bernhard Goetz. I remember this from when I was kid. More about crime than personal space, but interesting nonetheless.
In an ideal (or idealistic) world, we could all stand people in our laps, but really, I just need a little space to myself.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Monday, August 13, 2007
Sunday, August 12, 2007
ADAM: You'll be up in Heaven -- or really, down in Hell -- laughing and pointing and saying, That's funny! Because you know, you always point.
ADAM: Oliver will have his black fur on. He'll be doing the rending of collars.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Also, I'm going to New York in September to take a workshop with Mike Daisey! Wow!
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
I couldn't do what I'm doing without him. Baby, I love you.
That's what I'm writing my solo show about, and that's what I've been battling with visits to the doctor, with medication that may or may not help matters.
Some days just getting out of bed is the challenge. That's why I've learned to be a performer -- to try, anyway -- to draw attention to more than just what I suffer healthwise.
There's no point in not talking about it any more. There's no point in keeping secret what really isn't very secret anyway.
Oh, it could be worse. It could be so much worse.
Most days that makes me feel better. But only most.
I have a theory: Once someone dies, they are near-automatically eulogized as "popular" in the press. ("Popular dictator Idi Amin died ...") I wasn't aware the rule also applied to car washes in the ghetto. I'll sure mourn the fact that there's one less place to get my car's rocker panels scrubbed clean to the sweet sounds of Marvin Gaye.
Nothing against Marvin.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Check out Repo's blurbs:
("FUCK YEAH FREIGHT TRAINS!"-Burnout) so im a new-age hobo... makin my way across the country to sleep in YOUR houses/forgotten buildings, eat YOUR trash, and bum YOUR change for beer."
Am I getting older, or is the world getting sadder? Or both?
Speaking of sad, go no further than the murder of Chauncey Bailey or the bridge collapse in Minnesota. I really should stop reading the news.