Friday, January 12, 2007
Thursday's Quote by Daniel Kaufman
Someone said to me today, "It's a good thing you aren't suicidal." I said, "I am, just lazy."
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Can it Be?
Is The Terminator the man we’ve been waiting for?
Does he have Messianic tendencies?
Did breaking his leg shake his soul?
And why does he care about the air?
I think our governor is one of those middle-Europa practical guys. We know them well. They can fix the broken door, make the sausage, work all day at the plant and then get up early the next morning for swimming. Because it has to be done that way.
The guy is downright grounded. Even with the imperfect healthcare-for-all scenario, he really is going for it. And California is ready.
Plus—encouraging the market to come up with new fueling---completely gets my vote. You can make an economy based on anything. Why not base it on the future? (Who are these people who say things like, "You can't do that! It'll upset business!" whever someone wants to make changes. Are they morons?) We can always do better and the Kahuna in Sacramento knows it. Schwarzenegger---you may not have loved him in Rabbit Test—but the guy sees where things are going and really does run there first.
I hated the whole “Oust-Gray-Davis-with-a-bunch-of-signatures” thing. But here we are. And Arnold is going at it very well.
I am so optimistic about the future. I just, I have to be. The earth is pulsing with positive change.
Does he have Messianic tendencies?
Did breaking his leg shake his soul?
And why does he care about the air?
I think our governor is one of those middle-Europa practical guys. We know them well. They can fix the broken door, make the sausage, work all day at the plant and then get up early the next morning for swimming. Because it has to be done that way.
The guy is downright grounded. Even with the imperfect healthcare-for-all scenario, he really is going for it. And California is ready.
Plus—encouraging the market to come up with new fueling---completely gets my vote. You can make an economy based on anything. Why not base it on the future? (Who are these people who say things like, "You can't do that! It'll upset business!" whever someone wants to make changes. Are they morons?) We can always do better and the Kahuna in Sacramento knows it. Schwarzenegger---you may not have loved him in Rabbit Test—but the guy sees where things are going and really does run there first.
I hated the whole “Oust-Gray-Davis-with-a-bunch-of-signatures” thing. But here we are. And Arnold is going at it very well.
I am so optimistic about the future. I just, I have to be. The earth is pulsing with positive change.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Words, Philosophers, Mythology
I am curious. Beyond that, I am compulsive. Lastly, my memory is good for the basic underpinning of anything, but not the exact fact. Eg. Hume is in the empirical camp of philosophers--which is not quite right. He was a skeptic, influenced by Locke and Berkeley, who were empiricists.
Desultory means random, not quite connected. I often think it means half-assed.
Avuncular means uncle-like. I often think it means “cheery”.
The ancient Gods: Odin, Norse. Jupiter: Roman? Zeus—Je pense Grecque.
One wants to know. And which plays did Euripides write? Which ones were written by Aeschylus? And how about Sophocles? I think Sophocles wrote the Oedipus ones. Yes, that is true.
I read most of them. I forget them, for the most part.
Avatar? Acolyte?
Yes, I finally know the meanings of these words.
But meretricious? Is that something good or bad? I say bad. In fact, it means something sort of whorey, showy.
I do not know much about the history of China.
And I know very little about the Bible. Though I could name the twelve apostles, most likely.
It seems so essential to know things. Especially now. In this day of information.
And though I just took a break from writing this blog to read about Greek playwrights in the Wikipedia, I know that it will be hard to remember it all. Not that I want to impress...but I do want a grasp. To know where we fit now. To be in the river of time-ideas.
I would like to commit to harboring greater exact knowledge, while resisting becoming an annoyance. Why we want this, or why certain people want to fill their heads with these kinds of things, I do not know.
In the end...I want these things to make me feel alive...I do not want the dry facts to dry me out.
Maybe I should sing in a field instead.
Desultory means random, not quite connected. I often think it means half-assed.
Avuncular means uncle-like. I often think it means “cheery”.
The ancient Gods: Odin, Norse. Jupiter: Roman? Zeus—Je pense Grecque.
One wants to know. And which plays did Euripides write? Which ones were written by Aeschylus? And how about Sophocles? I think Sophocles wrote the Oedipus ones. Yes, that is true.
I read most of them. I forget them, for the most part.
Avatar? Acolyte?
Yes, I finally know the meanings of these words.
But meretricious? Is that something good or bad? I say bad. In fact, it means something sort of whorey, showy.
I do not know much about the history of China.
And I know very little about the Bible. Though I could name the twelve apostles, most likely.
It seems so essential to know things. Especially now. In this day of information.
And though I just took a break from writing this blog to read about Greek playwrights in the Wikipedia, I know that it will be hard to remember it all. Not that I want to impress...but I do want a grasp. To know where we fit now. To be in the river of time-ideas.
I would like to commit to harboring greater exact knowledge, while resisting becoming an annoyance. Why we want this, or why certain people want to fill their heads with these kinds of things, I do not know.
In the end...I want these things to make me feel alive...I do not want the dry facts to dry me out.
Maybe I should sing in a field instead.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
January 9, 1974 Snow Day
There wasn’t any school. I got play-dough today. I made pies and stuff. I played a lot in the snow. I went sleigh riding. We tried to build a snowman but the snow is too soft. I had a GREAT day.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Children of Men
Children of Men
We went.
First of all...this thing is smart. Directed by Alfonso Cuaron and based on the novel by P.D. James—you have this sci-fi chase movie, expertly realized.
Julianne Moore takes on a tiny role as a revolutionary. Michael Cain is brilliant as this old hippie guy in the woods hiding out as civilization is ending.
You see, what has happened is embryos are no longer viable. So extinction of the species has arrived. And the human race is living out its last days knowing the gig is up.
And how do they choose to spend this time? Well, Great Britain does it by setting up a xenophobic fascist state. There’s an uprising. There’s Clive Owen, all hero-like. But truly, the best thing is the filmmaking itself.
Gorgeous shooting of incredible art direction with a scoring that is unique, disturbing and hits it so right.
I love it when a movie knows exactly how to handle vision AND sound.
This is a huge experience into a nasty world. It’s very fucking grim. So don’t go see it if you aren’t in the mood for something like this. But do go see it if you can handle it.
Dead cows burning in fields.
Human Beings at their worst.
Sad, sad, end-of-days racism.
But ultimately, poetic. Oh, and there’s something very positive about it. But it cannot be named without destroying an early-on surprise.
People. Blech. But movies can be very good. Great film maker. If you want something easier on the system, you could rent his brilliant Y Tu Mama Tambien with hot little Gael Garcia Bernal.
We went.
First of all...this thing is smart. Directed by Alfonso Cuaron and based on the novel by P.D. James—you have this sci-fi chase movie, expertly realized.
Julianne Moore takes on a tiny role as a revolutionary. Michael Cain is brilliant as this old hippie guy in the woods hiding out as civilization is ending.
You see, what has happened is embryos are no longer viable. So extinction of the species has arrived. And the human race is living out its last days knowing the gig is up.
And how do they choose to spend this time? Well, Great Britain does it by setting up a xenophobic fascist state. There’s an uprising. There’s Clive Owen, all hero-like. But truly, the best thing is the filmmaking itself.
Gorgeous shooting of incredible art direction with a scoring that is unique, disturbing and hits it so right.
I love it when a movie knows exactly how to handle vision AND sound.
This is a huge experience into a nasty world. It’s very fucking grim. So don’t go see it if you aren’t in the mood for something like this. But do go see it if you can handle it.
Dead cows burning in fields.
Human Beings at their worst.
Sad, sad, end-of-days racism.
But ultimately, poetic. Oh, and there’s something very positive about it. But it cannot be named without destroying an early-on surprise.
People. Blech. But movies can be very good. Great film maker. If you want something easier on the system, you could rent his brilliant Y Tu Mama Tambien with hot little Gael Garcia Bernal.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Hints from Hell-Louise
We had a party. We have new white chairs.
You can imagine.
Not red wine...just the black sole of a little girl’s shoe...black and gray from living.
Big dirt stain.
I used water to try to get rid of it. The water dried. It left a brown water mark. I knew better than to let water sit on material all night.
The material is made from canvass. It has that very light speckled brown in the white.
Adam, my recognized-by-the-state-of-California-Domestic-Partner, brought home two spot removers. One turns things brownish. One bleaches--but you have to rub.
Together, a lot was accomplished...but then there was a bigger problem.
Some sort of batting exists under the white canvass. The more I worked the fabric, the color came up from the batting and stained the chair, right in the middle of the seat...far away from the original dirt. A whole new problem: Reddish-purple-brown. Like dried blood. In a few spots right in the middle.
Oh my goodness.
So I used hydrogen peroxide and a blowdryer. This helped, but not nearly enough.
Bleach on a cotton ball took out the red-brown stain.
But then, I had this big bleached spot.
So today, I made tea...used a toothbrush to apply the tea to calm down the bleached area.
Sprayed the browner stain remover, mixed with hydrogen peroxide. Speckled in a fine spray. Blowdryer.
Eventually, I ended up with a very decent looking chair except for two darkish brown spots...I continued to use a spray bottle of hydrogen peroxide and the blowdryer to get to the right color on those spots. Sometimes I used a toothbrush to really scrub in the hydrogen peroxide. But you have to be careful---because you can get brown lines...so speckle-spraying is better.
It went on and on...but it appealed to my perfectionist tendencies.
This was brilliant physical therapy between eight hours of reworking my television pilot. One feels guilty for procrastination. But people who create with the mind need to do things with their hands. It frees you up. And you end up with the chair how nature intended it to be.
In my television pilot (because the agents told me to do it)—I have more death and mayhem. Someone actually gets run over by a Brinks Truck. And the maid, running away from the I.N.S., eats the Virgin-Mary-Quesadilla that her daughter was trying to sell on ebay as the maid escapes through her kitchen window. Because in the world of television, these are the kinds of things that happen, so I’m told.
I think I’ll do a few more coats of Hydrogen Peroxide tomorrow. The chair is so close to being back to perfect. Control—anything to control.
You can imagine.
Not red wine...just the black sole of a little girl’s shoe...black and gray from living.
Big dirt stain.
I used water to try to get rid of it. The water dried. It left a brown water mark. I knew better than to let water sit on material all night.
The material is made from canvass. It has that very light speckled brown in the white.
Adam, my recognized-by-the-state-of-California-Domestic-Partner, brought home two spot removers. One turns things brownish. One bleaches--but you have to rub.
Together, a lot was accomplished...but then there was a bigger problem.
Some sort of batting exists under the white canvass. The more I worked the fabric, the color came up from the batting and stained the chair, right in the middle of the seat...far away from the original dirt. A whole new problem: Reddish-purple-brown. Like dried blood. In a few spots right in the middle.
Oh my goodness.
So I used hydrogen peroxide and a blowdryer. This helped, but not nearly enough.
Bleach on a cotton ball took out the red-brown stain.
But then, I had this big bleached spot.
So today, I made tea...used a toothbrush to apply the tea to calm down the bleached area.
Sprayed the browner stain remover, mixed with hydrogen peroxide. Speckled in a fine spray. Blowdryer.
Eventually, I ended up with a very decent looking chair except for two darkish brown spots...I continued to use a spray bottle of hydrogen peroxide and the blowdryer to get to the right color on those spots. Sometimes I used a toothbrush to really scrub in the hydrogen peroxide. But you have to be careful---because you can get brown lines...so speckle-spraying is better.
It went on and on...but it appealed to my perfectionist tendencies.
This was brilliant physical therapy between eight hours of reworking my television pilot. One feels guilty for procrastination. But people who create with the mind need to do things with their hands. It frees you up. And you end up with the chair how nature intended it to be.
In my television pilot (because the agents told me to do it)—I have more death and mayhem. Someone actually gets run over by a Brinks Truck. And the maid, running away from the I.N.S., eats the Virgin-Mary-Quesadilla that her daughter was trying to sell on ebay as the maid escapes through her kitchen window. Because in the world of television, these are the kinds of things that happen, so I’m told.
I think I’ll do a few more coats of Hydrogen Peroxide tomorrow. The chair is so close to being back to perfect. Control—anything to control.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Alumni Newsletter: Trying to Forget the Elephant
Alumni newsletters upset me, yet I read them. Why should I care that Rob Burnett from my graduating class was honored at Tufts University for an “outstanding career in the entertainment industry,” as executive producer of the David Letterman show?
I knew Rob very well. He lived on my floor freshman year. He arrived the second semester along with Nancy Jajinski from Ohio. They were both wait listed at Tufts and I guess a couple of freshman must not have made it back from winter break giving these two B+ students a crack at one of the universities in the “Most Competitive” column of the Barron’s.
Rob was a clown. A high energy, nonstop clown. I was also a clown but not so relentless. Plus, I had this darker brooding thing going on. And, I was best friends with Joe and Ed, and Rob tried to horn in.
Rob was not so much funny as he was bossy. And, he was non-handsome yet extremely confident. All that bad hair and a firm belief in the self? How did he do it?
Junior year of college, I studied in Paris for one semester. Nancy Jajinski was also there...in her cape. Rob, though not with the Tufts-in-Paris group, but with the American University in Paris, was living right around the corner from me. We went for a walk together one day through the Bois de Vincennes. He treated me to his very strong views on art. He was against anything abstract. He felt that the only true measure of an artist was whether or not he could paint someone’s face to likeness. No matter what I said about all other forms and styles of art, he would say loud and definitively, “But that’s not as good as someone who can really paint a face or a place that really looks like a face or a place.” A complete literalist, I just rolled my eyes and thought, “Fuck. This person is bullying me with his opinion and he just won’t see my point of view at all. And we all know that the amazing art that was made since the impressionists onward is so important. I mean, come on.”
Deaf to me, we ended our walk and he went back home to his apartment on Boulevard Picpus. And I went back to mine on Boulevard Soult. And I did not see him again for the rest of the semester. But I did see Nancy...in her cape. She hated me. Being one of those very serious blond haired, blue eyed Jewish girls from Ohio, holding on tightly to the idea that she was a proper WASP, shunning anything expressive or vulnerable or creative, in her eyes I was but a riff raff.
So, Rob and Nancy, those wait listed slide-ins, do not figure positively in my life. And there on the cover of my Department of Drama and Dance, Tufts University newsletter, “In the Round” (Our theatre was The Arena Theatre, thus the name), I have to look at Rob’s face with his hand clutching a metal elephant with four other honorees (the elephant is the Tufts mascot—P.T. Barnum gave Tufts his dead elephant, Jumbo, which was stuffed and placed in the Biology building lobby. When the Biology building burned down, so did the taxidermy pachyderm).
I rail. Of course, I’m just jealous.
I knew Rob very well. He lived on my floor freshman year. He arrived the second semester along with Nancy Jajinski from Ohio. They were both wait listed at Tufts and I guess a couple of freshman must not have made it back from winter break giving these two B+ students a crack at one of the universities in the “Most Competitive” column of the Barron’s.
Rob was a clown. A high energy, nonstop clown. I was also a clown but not so relentless. Plus, I had this darker brooding thing going on. And, I was best friends with Joe and Ed, and Rob tried to horn in.
Rob was not so much funny as he was bossy. And, he was non-handsome yet extremely confident. All that bad hair and a firm belief in the self? How did he do it?
Junior year of college, I studied in Paris for one semester. Nancy Jajinski was also there...in her cape. Rob, though not with the Tufts-in-Paris group, but with the American University in Paris, was living right around the corner from me. We went for a walk together one day through the Bois de Vincennes. He treated me to his very strong views on art. He was against anything abstract. He felt that the only true measure of an artist was whether or not he could paint someone’s face to likeness. No matter what I said about all other forms and styles of art, he would say loud and definitively, “But that’s not as good as someone who can really paint a face or a place that really looks like a face or a place.” A complete literalist, I just rolled my eyes and thought, “Fuck. This person is bullying me with his opinion and he just won’t see my point of view at all. And we all know that the amazing art that was made since the impressionists onward is so important. I mean, come on.”
Deaf to me, we ended our walk and he went back home to his apartment on Boulevard Picpus. And I went back to mine on Boulevard Soult. And I did not see him again for the rest of the semester. But I did see Nancy...in her cape. She hated me. Being one of those very serious blond haired, blue eyed Jewish girls from Ohio, holding on tightly to the idea that she was a proper WASP, shunning anything expressive or vulnerable or creative, in her eyes I was but a riff raff.
So, Rob and Nancy, those wait listed slide-ins, do not figure positively in my life. And there on the cover of my Department of Drama and Dance, Tufts University newsletter, “In the Round” (Our theatre was The Arena Theatre, thus the name), I have to look at Rob’s face with his hand clutching a metal elephant with four other honorees (the elephant is the Tufts mascot—P.T. Barnum gave Tufts his dead elephant, Jumbo, which was stuffed and placed in the Biology building lobby. When the Biology building burned down, so did the taxidermy pachyderm).
I rail. Of course, I’m just jealous.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
January 2 is a tired Day
After weeks of flying, eating, buying, dining, drinking, eating, snacking, visiting and eating some more, the holidays finally end.
The Christmas tree is in the green can. (Green cans are for LA clippings. Blue-recycling. Black-Garbage. Can you imagine that meeting?)
Some bills are paid. Some are not.
The big question on January 2 is, “Can we get back to normal, now?”
Finally, for one day, you get to slow down (even though you are actually gearing up). The day has arrived when the whole shebang has been put away for another year. And you realize, “This holiday stuff is exhausting!”
And then you put on your work outfit.
The Christmas tree is in the green can. (Green cans are for LA clippings. Blue-recycling. Black-Garbage. Can you imagine that meeting?)
Some bills are paid. Some are not.
The big question on January 2 is, “Can we get back to normal, now?”
Finally, for one day, you get to slow down (even though you are actually gearing up). The day has arrived when the whole shebang has been put away for another year. And you realize, “This holiday stuff is exhausting!”
And then you put on your work outfit.
It's a Little Hot Outside
Welcome to the new year. 2007
Beyond my understanding.
Let’s talk about global warming. The next ten years are very exciting because right now, in garages and labs across the country (and in the greatest numbers in California), creative, ambitious people are figuring out how to make very efficient engines; how to easily use bio-refuse as fuel; how to creative a true mathematical model that gives the answer to the world’s troubles in X=trees planted + feet used – burned fuel + anything else that is good.
We were in New York City for two weeks. And it was unseasonably warm. I am not going to say it wasn’t freaky, but it was also not unheard of. As a temperature observant child, I remember some very warm December days. Not for ten days straight. But for maybe two days at a time. Okay, fine—
So I wasn’t so upset about the temperature being so springy while I was there. Many days in a row, strange. But warmish in December, not the worst thing to happen to a person. But there was something going on in New York that was straight out of Science Fiction: Pussy Willows.
You never saw pussy willows in December in th 70’s.. No matter what. December--No Pussy Willows!
But there they were, all silvery and fuzzy, pushing out all along the tips of thin branches.
Pussy Willows were always the first sign of spring. It was so exciting. In December, not so.
Dear Pussy Willows:
I’m sorry we are upsetting your world.
(Note: Great Britain has experienced its warmest year since records have been kept. They started keeping record in 1659.)
But I am optimistic. People are going to figure this out. It’s exciting.
Beyond my understanding.
Let’s talk about global warming. The next ten years are very exciting because right now, in garages and labs across the country (and in the greatest numbers in California), creative, ambitious people are figuring out how to make very efficient engines; how to easily use bio-refuse as fuel; how to creative a true mathematical model that gives the answer to the world’s troubles in X=trees planted + feet used – burned fuel + anything else that is good.
We were in New York City for two weeks. And it was unseasonably warm. I am not going to say it wasn’t freaky, but it was also not unheard of. As a temperature observant child, I remember some very warm December days. Not for ten days straight. But for maybe two days at a time. Okay, fine—
So I wasn’t so upset about the temperature being so springy while I was there. Many days in a row, strange. But warmish in December, not the worst thing to happen to a person. But there was something going on in New York that was straight out of Science Fiction: Pussy Willows.
You never saw pussy willows in December in th 70’s.. No matter what. December--No Pussy Willows!
But there they were, all silvery and fuzzy, pushing out all along the tips of thin branches.
Pussy Willows were always the first sign of spring. It was so exciting. In December, not so.
Dear Pussy Willows:
I’m sorry we are upsetting your world.
(Note: Great Britain has experienced its warmest year since records have been kept. They started keeping record in 1659.)
But I am optimistic. People are going to figure this out. It’s exciting.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Puss On Earth
Have a wonderful holiday season. The blog returns January 2, 2007.
Meow for World Peace, Joy and Understanding. Love. Rest. See. Hear.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Spending Money in a Big City
My Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, Adam, and I went on a binge today. We decided to rip out our old kitchen (Oh, how we’ve suffered) and put in customized cabinets (necessary, always) and all new appliances (most of the old ones are leaking water and oil).
The excitement is ludicrous.
First stop was a few miles south of downtown. This enormous cabinet place. They make beautiful custom cabinets for a price that is half most other places. All we had to do was get our asses there. Almost a full industrial city block of buildings sawing wood into future Trader Joe’s sundries holders, for the people.
Then, north up Alameda, through downtown, through Chinatown, up San Fernando Road to the Sears in Glendale to go appliance wild. Say what you want about Glendale---the whole city is worth the appliance department at Sears. One guy did the fridge. One woman did the washer/dryer. One fresh Armenienne did the stove, dishwasher and garbage disposal. Everyone was very friendly. And there was the big sale. Plus, we don’t have to pay anything until February of 2008. That’s a lot of free meals.
After ordering all this stuff and feeling elated with the purchases...all we got to go home with was the garbage disposal. It sits in the garage.
Walking the dog tonight and feeling the endorphins still pulsing, I heard the usual rustle at the corner near the opening of the storm drain. It was one of the friendly neighborhood raccoons who lives in the drain. He (or she) often pokes up to say hello when I’m with Louise. Raccoons, no matter how annoying, are very cute.
Lucky for Los Angeles. Lucky for the new kitchen stuff. Lucky for Louise and the raccoon.
I can’t wait to grind garbage in the bowels of my new sink.
The excitement is ludicrous.
First stop was a few miles south of downtown. This enormous cabinet place. They make beautiful custom cabinets for a price that is half most other places. All we had to do was get our asses there. Almost a full industrial city block of buildings sawing wood into future Trader Joe’s sundries holders, for the people.
Then, north up Alameda, through downtown, through Chinatown, up San Fernando Road to the Sears in Glendale to go appliance wild. Say what you want about Glendale---the whole city is worth the appliance department at Sears. One guy did the fridge. One woman did the washer/dryer. One fresh Armenienne did the stove, dishwasher and garbage disposal. Everyone was very friendly. And there was the big sale. Plus, we don’t have to pay anything until February of 2008. That’s a lot of free meals.
After ordering all this stuff and feeling elated with the purchases...all we got to go home with was the garbage disposal. It sits in the garage.
Walking the dog tonight and feeling the endorphins still pulsing, I heard the usual rustle at the corner near the opening of the storm drain. It was one of the friendly neighborhood raccoons who lives in the drain. He (or she) often pokes up to say hello when I’m with Louise. Raccoons, no matter how annoying, are very cute.
Lucky for Los Angeles. Lucky for the new kitchen stuff. Lucky for Louise and the raccoon.
I can’t wait to grind garbage in the bowels of my new sink.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Disney Hall--A Treat
Finally, we went to Disney Hall.
That Gehry is a true genius. The place is beautiful.
The front display pipes of the organ are at crazy angles. They look like huge cartoon tube worms.
The acoustics are so amazing that someone rustling his program from ten seats over and three rows down, sounded like he was right next to me. Spooky, really.
I have never been inside a room with this kind of sound. I loved it. Hearing such clear tones gave me that incredible brain clarity that fast, intricate music can give you. Lines you all up. You feel so smart, like you just ate two tunas.
The organ concert was Christmas and populist. At times silly and at times pretty great. I preferred the more modern, brave, dissonant pieces. A strange new introduction to Joy to the World by Craig Phillips and a funky variation on the eighteenth century French Noel by Dupre were my favorites. I really need to go back and hear a concert of Hungarian Twentieth Century composers. I love the modern Easterns.
Though not an amazing night of music, the beauty of the organ and of the concert hall---in soft wood and curving lines everywhere and the entire building---it was so worth the traffic snarl to get there. (If I had time, I would have taken the red line to Pershing Square.)
And the outside of the curvy, wavy nutty thing, way up high, has an aerial walkway between the curves. It’s like walking through a titanium cavern with occasional openings and wonderful views in the middle of Los Angeles.
I have never been in any building like this. I have never heard sounds like I heard sound inside this.
That wife-of-a-mouse-man really did something amazing. And soon---they're building an entire new downtown below it. Let's see how that turns out.
That Gehry is a true genius. The place is beautiful.
The front display pipes of the organ are at crazy angles. They look like huge cartoon tube worms.
The acoustics are so amazing that someone rustling his program from ten seats over and three rows down, sounded like he was right next to me. Spooky, really.
I have never been inside a room with this kind of sound. I loved it. Hearing such clear tones gave me that incredible brain clarity that fast, intricate music can give you. Lines you all up. You feel so smart, like you just ate two tunas.
The organ concert was Christmas and populist. At times silly and at times pretty great. I preferred the more modern, brave, dissonant pieces. A strange new introduction to Joy to the World by Craig Phillips and a funky variation on the eighteenth century French Noel by Dupre were my favorites. I really need to go back and hear a concert of Hungarian Twentieth Century composers. I love the modern Easterns.
Though not an amazing night of music, the beauty of the organ and of the concert hall---in soft wood and curving lines everywhere and the entire building---it was so worth the traffic snarl to get there. (If I had time, I would have taken the red line to Pershing Square.)
And the outside of the curvy, wavy nutty thing, way up high, has an aerial walkway between the curves. It’s like walking through a titanium cavern with occasional openings and wonderful views in the middle of Los Angeles.
I have never been in any building like this. I have never heard sounds like I heard sound inside this.
That wife-of-a-mouse-man really did something amazing. And soon---they're building an entire new downtown below it. Let's see how that turns out.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Fusion
Religions are absorbed. All the time.
They change. All the time.
Isn’t it time for a big change? One world religion? Just start paring them all down. Keep the best parts. Like a restaurant that serves the greatest foods of the world. (Mole from Mexico. Crepes from Brittany. Dumplings from China. Beer from Munich.)
Add it all up. Everyone feasts. Together. Same table situation.
Then, let it keep paring down. Keep focusing on eating the tasty things and let God creep out of the situation.
And all that is left is a bunch of people, eating. A spiritual food court.
The evolution of religious thought, heading in the following direction, is my vote:
Many fairy tales with many Gods. (Formed not long after consciousness/speech...the Cromagnon years)
Many distinct fairy tales with one God each. Each fairy tale, vain and hungry for supremacy. (Where we are right now and have been for two-thousand years)
One fairy tale with one God. (Maybe Bill Clinton can pull this off?)
One fairy tale with a diminishing God but a strong code of positive behavior. (Five-hundred years from now?)
One fairy tale with a strong code of positive behavior. (Soon after that)
A strong code of positive behavior. Worldwide. (By the year 3000)
And there we’ll be. Facing each other. As mysterious little mammals, embracing the mystery of life, taking good care of our big home, together at last as a species.
And death, well, it will be accepted as a simple end to all the good living. Sayonara.
They change. All the time.
Isn’t it time for a big change? One world religion? Just start paring them all down. Keep the best parts. Like a restaurant that serves the greatest foods of the world. (Mole from Mexico. Crepes from Brittany. Dumplings from China. Beer from Munich.)
Add it all up. Everyone feasts. Together. Same table situation.
Then, let it keep paring down. Keep focusing on eating the tasty things and let God creep out of the situation.
And all that is left is a bunch of people, eating. A spiritual food court.
The evolution of religious thought, heading in the following direction, is my vote:
Many fairy tales with many Gods. (Formed not long after consciousness/speech...the Cromagnon years)
Many distinct fairy tales with one God each. Each fairy tale, vain and hungry for supremacy. (Where we are right now and have been for two-thousand years)
One fairy tale with one God. (Maybe Bill Clinton can pull this off?)
One fairy tale with a diminishing God but a strong code of positive behavior. (Five-hundred years from now?)
One fairy tale with a strong code of positive behavior. (Soon after that)
A strong code of positive behavior. Worldwide. (By the year 3000)
And there we’ll be. Facing each other. As mysterious little mammals, embracing the mystery of life, taking good care of our big home, together at last as a species.
And death, well, it will be accepted as a simple end to all the good living. Sayonara.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
December 12, 1974
I went to the mall today for Christmas shopping. What a rip off! I bought mommy a jeanie lamp incense burner, daddy a plaque that says “Never trust a man that doesn’t drink.” Sally a Capricorn band, and Greg a flash light. In a store called “Mexico” in town I got Wendy a blue pig, Chris an onyx frog and Nanny this clay pot. The TV specials were on tonight for x-mas.
What a rip off! Is diary code for shoplifting. I remember stealing most of the things in the store in town, Mexico. It was a gift shop filled with Mexicrap. It smelled good.
I remember by sister’s Capricorn band---it was a bracelet, leather, with the word and the goat embossed. I still have a red version of Wendy’s blue pig. Wendy and Chris were my closest friends. Chris was a year older. Wendy was two years older.
I loved the Christmas specials.
What a rip off! Is diary code for shoplifting. I remember stealing most of the things in the store in town, Mexico. It was a gift shop filled with Mexicrap. It smelled good.
I remember by sister’s Capricorn band---it was a bracelet, leather, with the word and the goat embossed. I still have a red version of Wendy’s blue pig. Wendy and Chris were my closest friends. Chris was a year older. Wendy was two years older.
I loved the Christmas specials.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Carbon Mine
Simple Math. Seems to me the only way to go is simple math.
And complete equality.
Let’s do the Buckminster Fuller thing---and have everyone start out with the exact same amount of resources, but in this case, it’s not money, but Carbon Allowance.
This could be very interesting.
So, each child is allotted 100 carbon credits per year. For personal use.
Each adult, at eighteen, is allotted 1000 carbon credits per year. For business use.
Credits can be sold, traded, used, stored, donated, etc.
What a great market it would be!
Now, what is a carbon credit worth?
I don’t know. But taking into consideration:
1) Total carbon on earth
2) The amount of carbon fixable by a leafy, full grown tree
3) The amount of carbon used in any given action (driving, raising cattle, flying, etc.)
4) What percentage of the total carbon on earth a particular country is entitled to---again, through bargaining within a carbon market based world.
5) How quickly carbon can be fixed by other sources
6) Anything else that has to do with the lifecycle of a carbon molecule.
One can come up with what a carbon credit is worth. The trick is, the credits used per person per year both personally and professionally all added together, must not exceed the rate that carbon is returned, fixed into living things. Of course, one can increase the amount of things that can fix carbon...which could lead to more trading.
It’s just math. And though there is much chaos on earth, we have managed to manage water. So why not waste?
There’s a huge game in all this. It can be thrilling. Have a baby, plant twenty trees.
Hate driving? And flying? Sell your carbon credits to someone who likes those activities!
Corporate welfare can spring up by buying out personal carbon credits every year.
Importantly, everyone must be allotted the same amount of credits to begin with each year. Basing the credits on total population and fixable carbon rates makes it a usable system—the gold standard.
For true regulation, one must measure. And it has to be a little bit of a challenge to keep our busy monkey minds interested.
Carbon—control it. Master it. Or it will choke us to death.
And complete equality.
Let’s do the Buckminster Fuller thing---and have everyone start out with the exact same amount of resources, but in this case, it’s not money, but Carbon Allowance.
This could be very interesting.
So, each child is allotted 100 carbon credits per year. For personal use.
Each adult, at eighteen, is allotted 1000 carbon credits per year. For business use.
Credits can be sold, traded, used, stored, donated, etc.
What a great market it would be!
Now, what is a carbon credit worth?
I don’t know. But taking into consideration:
1) Total carbon on earth
2) The amount of carbon fixable by a leafy, full grown tree
3) The amount of carbon used in any given action (driving, raising cattle, flying, etc.)
4) What percentage of the total carbon on earth a particular country is entitled to---again, through bargaining within a carbon market based world.
5) How quickly carbon can be fixed by other sources
6) Anything else that has to do with the lifecycle of a carbon molecule.
One can come up with what a carbon credit is worth. The trick is, the credits used per person per year both personally and professionally all added together, must not exceed the rate that carbon is returned, fixed into living things. Of course, one can increase the amount of things that can fix carbon...which could lead to more trading.
It’s just math. And though there is much chaos on earth, we have managed to manage water. So why not waste?
There’s a huge game in all this. It can be thrilling. Have a baby, plant twenty trees.
Hate driving? And flying? Sell your carbon credits to someone who likes those activities!
Corporate welfare can spring up by buying out personal carbon credits every year.
Importantly, everyone must be allotted the same amount of credits to begin with each year. Basing the credits on total population and fixable carbon rates makes it a usable system—the gold standard.
For true regulation, one must measure. And it has to be a little bit of a challenge to keep our busy monkey minds interested.
Carbon—control it. Master it. Or it will choke us to death.
Friday, December 08, 2006
War Profiteer
George W. Bush should be put in prison.
All this? And then everyone just goes home?
There is no call for his part in this? Everyone puts it on Rumsfeld? Cheney?
Where is the accountability?
All this? And then everyone just goes home?
There is no call for his part in this? Everyone puts it on Rumsfeld? Cheney?
Where is the accountability?
Thursday, December 07, 2006
December 7, 1974
Mom and dad went to a cocktail partie at 5:00. It's 10:15 now and they just came home. Mommy was sicker than a fucking dog. I think she's drunk.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
TITS!
I decided, since winter is coming, that I needed to join the gym, again.
I hate the gym. They play rap music. The machines are dirty. I wonder if there is staph in the ducts.
But, the rain will come and I won't be able to do five mile walks outside. And the family-friends plan means I only have to pay nineteen bucks each month. Nothing really. One visit and a one Yoga class a month, I'm even.
But this is the thing---there's all these televisions playing videos. Now, I do recognize some of the girls---Lindsey and Jennifer. But man--they aren't kidding. It really is all about sex.
Not that I'm a prude. But like, if everyone is showing their stomach and wearing colorful dancer bras--doesn't it get a little dull?
I have to say, I've never been into soft porn. And, I'm really not into it in public. But ultimately, I guess these girls (and boys) really want to shake their shit and people really want to watch it.
Wild. I find it so dull. I would rather watch polka dancing. In fact, tonight I did. Our good friend Bradford gets high and watches Lawrence Welk. He has them all Tivoed. Friends, if you get a chance, you just have to. It's hilarious. And I wasn't even high. So joyful. And all that accordion music!
Ah. The innocence.
I hate the gym. They play rap music. The machines are dirty. I wonder if there is staph in the ducts.
But, the rain will come and I won't be able to do five mile walks outside. And the family-friends plan means I only have to pay nineteen bucks each month. Nothing really. One visit and a one Yoga class a month, I'm even.
But this is the thing---there's all these televisions playing videos. Now, I do recognize some of the girls---Lindsey and Jennifer. But man--they aren't kidding. It really is all about sex.
Not that I'm a prude. But like, if everyone is showing their stomach and wearing colorful dancer bras--doesn't it get a little dull?
I have to say, I've never been into soft porn. And, I'm really not into it in public. But ultimately, I guess these girls (and boys) really want to shake their shit and people really want to watch it.
Wild. I find it so dull. I would rather watch polka dancing. In fact, tonight I did. Our good friend Bradford gets high and watches Lawrence Welk. He has them all Tivoed. Friends, if you get a chance, you just have to. It's hilarious. And I wasn't even high. So joyful. And all that accordion music!
Ah. The innocence.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Rebecca Waring Sells It
Congratulations are in order for Rebecca Waring, my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner-Sister-in-Law, for two big things.
One, she submitted work into a Maryland Art show and this painting won first prize in the Oil and Acrylic category.
And two---It promptly sold for One-Thousand bucks!
Isn't life sweet?
Congratulations. What a joyful day it is.
Do what you want or a reasonable version of it. There's nothing else.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Paranoid Nut
At a birthday party last night for a good friend, we had the pleasure to meet Claire. A nut.
At first I was intrigued, like I am by all nuts. She was direct. Chatty. Ready to tell me whatever was on her mind. A journalist and political commentator, at first she seemed very informed and professional.
I mentioned Ebay and Claire went off on how Ebay collects information about me and how Americans need to rise up. The government has no right to invade our privacy like that.
She then went on and on about the internet, credit cards, banks, etc. I agreed with her. But the emphatic nature of it eventually lead to Claire telling me that she truly felt we are living in a fascist state. No irony. No seeing the moderate side. She meant it. She also did not seem to be someone who was open to any reasoning since she seemed to have a hard time believing in anything other than the thoughts in her head.
At one point, making a joke about how ready I was for something new in my life, I said, “We don’t know what we are going to do next. Maybe go to Nepal?”
Claire told me why it was not a good time to go to Nepal. Above all, the weather this time of year. The commercialized cities. The bad government. I even explained to her that I was just making a joke. And she continued about the problem with Nepal. Odd duck.
She was either heavily medicated or had a mild form of autism. She told us she was a journalist, but left her latest job because she was having trouble with them. I asked her, “What is your outlet? Where can I hear you?”
She vaguely mentioned a podcast. So, I imagine she is doing her “show” or her “column” from her home. (No judgment there...)
So, I figured she was just this wacky type, like me, sending out opinions and blurbs on the internet to a small audience. But oddly, she had an intern. An assistant, who was there at the birthday mix, too. A young woman. This was her first “cocktail party.” She wasn’t drinking because she was too young. And, it appeared to me she was the driver for the night.
Such an odd relationship. This young woman hitching her wagon to this wacky, older loon. The assistant was cute. She had a little purple hair action growing out. She seemed sort of normal. But I think the hair was the tip of some odd iceberg. I didn’t get to talk to her too much. But, she did seem disaffected by her short past. Who knows!
The interesting thing about Claire, like many nuts, is that she was very intelligent. And she did say something I found very fascinating. “You and I are nice people. We think everyone else is that way. We don’t think there is evil out there. But there is. Both families that Bush comes from, the mother’s side and the father’s side, have been involved in war profiteering since the middle of the nineteenth century.”
From the mouths of nuts---comes the truth. I like meeting these kinds of nuts.
At first I was intrigued, like I am by all nuts. She was direct. Chatty. Ready to tell me whatever was on her mind. A journalist and political commentator, at first she seemed very informed and professional.
I mentioned Ebay and Claire went off on how Ebay collects information about me and how Americans need to rise up. The government has no right to invade our privacy like that.
She then went on and on about the internet, credit cards, banks, etc. I agreed with her. But the emphatic nature of it eventually lead to Claire telling me that she truly felt we are living in a fascist state. No irony. No seeing the moderate side. She meant it. She also did not seem to be someone who was open to any reasoning since she seemed to have a hard time believing in anything other than the thoughts in her head.
At one point, making a joke about how ready I was for something new in my life, I said, “We don’t know what we are going to do next. Maybe go to Nepal?”
Claire told me why it was not a good time to go to Nepal. Above all, the weather this time of year. The commercialized cities. The bad government. I even explained to her that I was just making a joke. And she continued about the problem with Nepal. Odd duck.
She was either heavily medicated or had a mild form of autism. She told us she was a journalist, but left her latest job because she was having trouble with them. I asked her, “What is your outlet? Where can I hear you?”
She vaguely mentioned a podcast. So, I imagine she is doing her “show” or her “column” from her home. (No judgment there...)
So, I figured she was just this wacky type, like me, sending out opinions and blurbs on the internet to a small audience. But oddly, she had an intern. An assistant, who was there at the birthday mix, too. A young woman. This was her first “cocktail party.” She wasn’t drinking because she was too young. And, it appeared to me she was the driver for the night.
Such an odd relationship. This young woman hitching her wagon to this wacky, older loon. The assistant was cute. She had a little purple hair action growing out. She seemed sort of normal. But I think the hair was the tip of some odd iceberg. I didn’t get to talk to her too much. But, she did seem disaffected by her short past. Who knows!
The interesting thing about Claire, like many nuts, is that she was very intelligent. And she did say something I found very fascinating. “You and I are nice people. We think everyone else is that way. We don’t think there is evil out there. But there is. Both families that Bush comes from, the mother’s side and the father’s side, have been involved in war profiteering since the middle of the nineteenth century.”
From the mouths of nuts---comes the truth. I like meeting these kinds of nuts.
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