Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Washington Square
Perfect Night. Sixty-Two Degrees. No Pollen. Insanely mild and pleasant. More please.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
More Please
Washington Square
Perfect Night. Sixty-Two Degrees. No Pollen. Insanely mild and pleasant. More please.
Columbus Circle
Perfect Night. Sixty-Two Degrees. No Pollen. Insanely mild and pleasant. More please.
Columbus Circle
Monday, May 09, 2011
Drafts and Drafts and Drafts
Writing about writing can be very uninteresting---unless, of course, it is in the name of helping others.
So let me help you. A little.
First of all---no matter how long you think it’s going to take you to write something in the long form, multiply by that by about sixty. No exaggeration. It takes about sixty times as long to write something as you think it will when you start out. Sure, anyone can text, make a blog entry, poke off an email, you name it, real quick. But if you want to write something that will be publishable or producible, you have to go over it again and again, with your own eyes, the eyes of people you trust, the eyes of people you don’t trust, and then some. And the thing you thought you were going to write, by the end, is something, usually, much more streamlined and much clearer and hopefully deeper and better than that first draft you zipped through.
Writing songs is a quicker process than writing scripts or books. But songs are short. I am starting to think that songs are more fun. But they cannot possibly cover as much ground in the idea department. Of course, they can go much deeper in the feelings department. But funny, not everyone who hears it can feel it.
If you are going to write in a long format---just write. Start writing out a little paragraph of an idea or not even the idea. Just start writing. If it grabs you---go for a bigger thing. You have to weave story, character and growing needs into a climax and some sort of resolution. Or not. You can just do the shaggy thing. But if you do the shaggy thing, well, good luck. That’s hard.
Stories, very simply, imitate the life flow. Birth, life, death. It can be the birth, life and death of any person, place or thing and even better, a little tiny piece of any of those. It is simpler and harder than you think.
I used to want to be sweeping and throw a very large net. I am starting to think a very small net is the way to go.
Perhaps it is time that we all reread To the Lighthouse.
So let me help you. A little.
First of all---no matter how long you think it’s going to take you to write something in the long form, multiply by that by about sixty. No exaggeration. It takes about sixty times as long to write something as you think it will when you start out. Sure, anyone can text, make a blog entry, poke off an email, you name it, real quick. But if you want to write something that will be publishable or producible, you have to go over it again and again, with your own eyes, the eyes of people you trust, the eyes of people you don’t trust, and then some. And the thing you thought you were going to write, by the end, is something, usually, much more streamlined and much clearer and hopefully deeper and better than that first draft you zipped through.
Writing songs is a quicker process than writing scripts or books. But songs are short. I am starting to think that songs are more fun. But they cannot possibly cover as much ground in the idea department. Of course, they can go much deeper in the feelings department. But funny, not everyone who hears it can feel it.
If you are going to write in a long format---just write. Start writing out a little paragraph of an idea or not even the idea. Just start writing. If it grabs you---go for a bigger thing. You have to weave story, character and growing needs into a climax and some sort of resolution. Or not. You can just do the shaggy thing. But if you do the shaggy thing, well, good luck. That’s hard.
Stories, very simply, imitate the life flow. Birth, life, death. It can be the birth, life and death of any person, place or thing and even better, a little tiny piece of any of those. It is simpler and harder than you think.
I used to want to be sweeping and throw a very large net. I am starting to think a very small net is the way to go.
Perhaps it is time that we all reread To the Lighthouse.
Sunday, May 08, 2011
Exhausting Death
Beyond the sadness and the travel and the early mornings and all that comes with a funeral, it seems to me that death is so tiring because your brain has to do all this work to get the reality of someone moved from alive to no-longer-alive. And we resist big new ideas, now, don’t we?
Bob, my fine father-in-law-if-right-wing-conservatives-would-stop-their-prejudice, is dead. Strong word, dead. The three biggest words on earth, really, are alive, love and dead. They are the basis to all stories. Getting the brain to move someone you know so well to transition in between those words is quite something, especially if you are resistant to change like I am.
I think by tomorrow I will begin to approach the dead thing as if it’s real. Dead. Bob is dead. It’s weird to type it.
I only feel warmth when I type it, though. It’s the word Bob that does it.
Bob, my fine father-in-law-if-right-wing-conservatives-would-stop-their-prejudice, is dead. Strong word, dead. The three biggest words on earth, really, are alive, love and dead. They are the basis to all stories. Getting the brain to move someone you know so well to transition in between those words is quite something, especially if you are resistant to change like I am.
I think by tomorrow I will begin to approach the dead thing as if it’s real. Dead. Bob is dead. It’s weird to type it.
I only feel warmth when I type it, though. It’s the word Bob that does it.
Monday, May 02, 2011
Death Comes in Three Flavors
I am alone in my apartment in New York listening to a Pandora channel that has lots of Joni and Redbird and Nick Drake…and facing death and time. Fine. This is living. They say death comes in threes. For me, it is coming in three flavors.
Sweet:
My Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner’s-father died. Though it is sad, and it is sad, it is also sweet since my feelings for Bob, my future-father-in-law-if-they-ever-allow-him-to-be-called-that, which of course will be in the past, are sweet feelings. Bob was dry and funny and a scientist, three things I enjoy, the remove. That easy, inquisitive remove. In the later years he suffered from Lewy Bodies Dementia, not a fun thing, so it is also with a certain sweetness that I feel relieved for Bob since, you know, who the hell wants to barely walk around barely not knowing what the hell is going on? Especially if one likes to inspect and inquire—
Bob was a Dupont physicist by way of Yale, having spent a portion of his career working on the spectrum properties and applications of the color yellow. Truly. This happens in research careers. He was a true Quaker pacifist, a bike rider, a sailor and above all in my life, a warm and wry presence who naturally made me smile. I liked to make him laugh and he liked to laugh, something about busting through his propriety into his inner whoopee cushion was very satisfying. I wanted to take him to Greece but he got too ill for that. We once took him to the Queen Mary in the Long Beach Harbor. I’ve traveled with him to national parks, to Kauai, throughout California and a bit in the East. Old fashioned in manner and modern in thought, Bob was a great combo. He always brought out feelings of tenderness in me. Always. I will miss him. I feel sad, but I feel sweet about it. Time is passing.
Confusing:
Osama is dead, long live Obama. I feel good that the job is done and that this bad dude is gone. But I do not feel anything close to closure, prideful or victorious. Okay, I do feel victorious---only because “my guy” got the job done in a smart way as opposed to “that other guy” who swaggered around in battle fatigues, succumbing to shoulder shaking smirks, having the tiny enough balls to stand on a boat declaring “Mission Accomplished”—like some bad late night cable access hawker dressed up in aspiration-wear. Fuck that guy, really. Outside of my competitive nature in politics, I do not know what this means.
I don’t care so much that there’s a new extremist corpse disposed of. I mean, better his corpse than yours or mine. But what does it mean? Really? Will Iran ever become modern? Will Israel forge a representative government inclusive of ALL people within its borders? Will someone (okay I’ll do it!) come up with a religion called Worldishness that mergers the greatest hits of Judaism, Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, Hindu, Confucianism, what-have you? Then water it down a bit to make it palatable to reasonable moderns? Something? What will time bring?
Funny:
The Nanuet Mall is being torn down. This is something else. It was built in 1969. I remember when it opened. I remember taking the bus there and shoplifting at Expressions and Bambergers at Christmastime with my brother and friends. (I was both a very good and very bad kid.) I remember the two curvy sculptures at one end on the upper level---you could sit in them. They were highly polished yet distressed metal so you could slide some. Brushed aluminum? I used to wonder. I got too old too quickly to fit in them and whenever I would see kids playing in them when I was older, I grew wistful for when I could fit inside, too. Eventually, Paramus Park became much more enticing---with its huge fountains and zig-zag construction and trees and carousel and large bird sculpture, being ridden by a Native American, was it?
I used to take my grandmother to the Nanuet Mall. But she preferred Alexanders, also closed.
Stores close. Time passes. Paul Simon, now on Pandora, has admitted he has lost any edge he had. I grow gray and fat. I better laugh. Have another clam roll at Friendly’s.
Sweet:
My Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner’s-father died. Though it is sad, and it is sad, it is also sweet since my feelings for Bob, my future-father-in-law-if-they-ever-allow-him-to-be-called-that, which of course will be in the past, are sweet feelings. Bob was dry and funny and a scientist, three things I enjoy, the remove. That easy, inquisitive remove. In the later years he suffered from Lewy Bodies Dementia, not a fun thing, so it is also with a certain sweetness that I feel relieved for Bob since, you know, who the hell wants to barely walk around barely not knowing what the hell is going on? Especially if one likes to inspect and inquire—
Bob was a Dupont physicist by way of Yale, having spent a portion of his career working on the spectrum properties and applications of the color yellow. Truly. This happens in research careers. He was a true Quaker pacifist, a bike rider, a sailor and above all in my life, a warm and wry presence who naturally made me smile. I liked to make him laugh and he liked to laugh, something about busting through his propriety into his inner whoopee cushion was very satisfying. I wanted to take him to Greece but he got too ill for that. We once took him to the Queen Mary in the Long Beach Harbor. I’ve traveled with him to national parks, to Kauai, throughout California and a bit in the East. Old fashioned in manner and modern in thought, Bob was a great combo. He always brought out feelings of tenderness in me. Always. I will miss him. I feel sad, but I feel sweet about it. Time is passing.
Confusing:
Osama is dead, long live Obama. I feel good that the job is done and that this bad dude is gone. But I do not feel anything close to closure, prideful or victorious. Okay, I do feel victorious---only because “my guy” got the job done in a smart way as opposed to “that other guy” who swaggered around in battle fatigues, succumbing to shoulder shaking smirks, having the tiny enough balls to stand on a boat declaring “Mission Accomplished”—like some bad late night cable access hawker dressed up in aspiration-wear. Fuck that guy, really. Outside of my competitive nature in politics, I do not know what this means.
I don’t care so much that there’s a new extremist corpse disposed of. I mean, better his corpse than yours or mine. But what does it mean? Really? Will Iran ever become modern? Will Israel forge a representative government inclusive of ALL people within its borders? Will someone (okay I’ll do it!) come up with a religion called Worldishness that mergers the greatest hits of Judaism, Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, Hindu, Confucianism, what-have you? Then water it down a bit to make it palatable to reasonable moderns? Something? What will time bring?
Funny:
The Nanuet Mall is being torn down. This is something else. It was built in 1969. I remember when it opened. I remember taking the bus there and shoplifting at Expressions and Bambergers at Christmastime with my brother and friends. (I was both a very good and very bad kid.) I remember the two curvy sculptures at one end on the upper level---you could sit in them. They were highly polished yet distressed metal so you could slide some. Brushed aluminum? I used to wonder. I got too old too quickly to fit in them and whenever I would see kids playing in them when I was older, I grew wistful for when I could fit inside, too. Eventually, Paramus Park became much more enticing---with its huge fountains and zig-zag construction and trees and carousel and large bird sculpture, being ridden by a Native American, was it?
I used to take my grandmother to the Nanuet Mall. But she preferred Alexanders, also closed.
Stores close. Time passes. Paul Simon, now on Pandora, has admitted he has lost any edge he had. I grow gray and fat. I better laugh. Have another clam roll at Friendly’s.
Sunday, May 01, 2011
You Decide
I would like to say that this is ALMOST as good as falling down and knocking yourself out while choking on a pretzel, but it will have to do.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Trumped
Sometimes you just need the long form birth certificate and the game is over.
“I know that there’s going to be a segment of people for which, no matter what we put out, this issue will not be put to rest,” Mr. Obama said. “But I’m speaking to the vast majority of the American people, as well as to the press. We do not have time for this kind of silliness.”
Obama, 2012. I'd bet my next baby on it.
“I know that there’s going to be a segment of people for which, no matter what we put out, this issue will not be put to rest,” Mr. Obama said. “But I’m speaking to the vast majority of the American people, as well as to the press. We do not have time for this kind of silliness.”
Obama, 2012. I'd bet my next baby on it.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Two Very Beautiful, Natural Things
The law firm that was going to represent the Republican lunatics who want to enforce the Defense of Marriage Act (A.K.A. Hate a Fag for Lunch Club) has backed out. No one wants to defend that law, or slavery or the Shoah.
And the Cherry Trees really mean it this year up at the Jackie O. reservoir in Central Park.
And the Cherry Trees really mean it this year up at the Jackie O. reservoir in Central Park.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Fast Trains Please
Lots of talk in the news lately about the high speed trains that are not really taking off.
Friends, have you ever been on a high speed train? Almost nothing feels better. You are going so fast, but you are on the ground. Sure, you could possibly hit a cow or a log, but chances are you won’t and you can get from city center to city center so fast and you can read a book!
Note: Right Wingers hate the idea of schedules and fewer cars. They fear that having to adhere to a train schedule will reduce their freedom. Plus, it’s a collective thing, these trains, and anything that smacks of being-with-others freaks them out. I gather this from what I can tell by reading about their distaste for these trains. They talk about the cost of the trains, too---but really, they talk about the cost of everything so nothing new here. (You don’t often hear them talk about the cost of defense, though.) It’s like having a father around who, no matter how great the future might possibly be according to optimistic views, just continually says no and continues his sour life of duty bound imprisonment that he thinks is something else.
If the United States is so great, and if France and China can do it, why can’t we?
Righties—listen up. We are being left behind. You are holding onto old ideas of freedom---Please let them go and join the rest of the world. You’re going to be fine. You can sit in a train with someone else. It will cost a whole load to build the whole thing, but won’t it be fun to have something TANGIBLE that we all did together?
Will ONE Right Wing person reading this, just ONE respond and say, “Sure, I’d love to jump on a high speed train. Let’s do it.”
Friends, have you ever been on a high speed train? Almost nothing feels better. You are going so fast, but you are on the ground. Sure, you could possibly hit a cow or a log, but chances are you won’t and you can get from city center to city center so fast and you can read a book!
Note: Right Wingers hate the idea of schedules and fewer cars. They fear that having to adhere to a train schedule will reduce their freedom. Plus, it’s a collective thing, these trains, and anything that smacks of being-with-others freaks them out. I gather this from what I can tell by reading about their distaste for these trains. They talk about the cost of the trains, too---but really, they talk about the cost of everything so nothing new here. (You don’t often hear them talk about the cost of defense, though.) It’s like having a father around who, no matter how great the future might possibly be according to optimistic views, just continually says no and continues his sour life of duty bound imprisonment that he thinks is something else.
If the United States is so great, and if France and China can do it, why can’t we?
Righties—listen up. We are being left behind. You are holding onto old ideas of freedom---Please let them go and join the rest of the world. You’re going to be fine. You can sit in a train with someone else. It will cost a whole load to build the whole thing, but won’t it be fun to have something TANGIBLE that we all did together?
Will ONE Right Wing person reading this, just ONE respond and say, “Sure, I’d love to jump on a high speed train. Let’s do it.”
Thursday, April 21, 2011
An Optimistic View of a Comet at These End of Days
Polls show that people have reached their bottom of pessimism.
All sorts of art (and I include movies here) are apocalyptic or post apocalyptic.
The Right and the Left are in a huge fight---but even so, most people cannot even listen to it any longer.
These are the days when everything is dead---but even worse, stale.
We fly back into the sun and let ourselves burn to a crisp. It’s over.
All logic fails. All attempts are thwarted. It seems.
People hate each other. Groups hate each other. Small towns hate big cities. Big cities hate small towns. San Francisco hates L.A. New York hates L.A. (But funny, L.A. hates no one.)
Rich people resent the thievery and thuggery of the poor. Poor people resent the thievery and thuggery of the rich.
Education has failed.
American babies are sicker than ever.
Bridges fall. Nothing works.
And that’s the good news.
I am once again thrilled about the state of affairs. I believe the only way out is up. And it’s going to be so creative and lovely. I’m putting on my Nikes. Hale-Bopp, come get me.
(But I’m going alive.)
All sorts of art (and I include movies here) are apocalyptic or post apocalyptic.
The Right and the Left are in a huge fight---but even so, most people cannot even listen to it any longer.
These are the days when everything is dead---but even worse, stale.
We fly back into the sun and let ourselves burn to a crisp. It’s over.
All logic fails. All attempts are thwarted. It seems.
People hate each other. Groups hate each other. Small towns hate big cities. Big cities hate small towns. San Francisco hates L.A. New York hates L.A. (But funny, L.A. hates no one.)
Rich people resent the thievery and thuggery of the poor. Poor people resent the thievery and thuggery of the rich.
Education has failed.
American babies are sicker than ever.
Bridges fall. Nothing works.
And that’s the good news.
I am once again thrilled about the state of affairs. I believe the only way out is up. And it’s going to be so creative and lovely. I’m putting on my Nikes. Hale-Bopp, come get me.
(But I’m going alive.)
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Thoughts, Full On
Never trust a beagle with a fake paw.
When falling in love, understand it is only temporary and something else will take its place.
Shopping is fun if you do it infrequently.
Rodents are who they are.
Orange is the color of possibility and discomfort.
Small boats are cute but large boats are safer, depending.
Los Angeles is the Perth of North America. That’s fine.
Upon seeing a dog erection for the first time, one always thinks of bleeding.
Old friends are wonderful until they calcify. Stay with the ones who keep loose.
Do not read Cheever and expect to be happy.
Flat Screen televisions are destroying movie theaters. Fine with me.
People used to know how to behave in public. Now they all have diabetes.
Being born in Bronxville, NY is strange since I have never been there since, only passed through.
Jungles are fascinating. I would like to actually see one.
I have not had one day in my life when I was completely healthy. I guess I’ll live.
Sometimes a woman over 40 will suddenly become a lesbian. Let her be.
Hunchbacks are people, too.
Cut flowers are worth the money.
When falling in love, understand it is only temporary and something else will take its place.
Shopping is fun if you do it infrequently.
Rodents are who they are.
Orange is the color of possibility and discomfort.
Small boats are cute but large boats are safer, depending.
Los Angeles is the Perth of North America. That’s fine.
Upon seeing a dog erection for the first time, one always thinks of bleeding.
Old friends are wonderful until they calcify. Stay with the ones who keep loose.
Do not read Cheever and expect to be happy.
Flat Screen televisions are destroying movie theaters. Fine with me.
People used to know how to behave in public. Now they all have diabetes.
Being born in Bronxville, NY is strange since I have never been there since, only passed through.
Jungles are fascinating. I would like to actually see one.
I have not had one day in my life when I was completely healthy. I guess I’ll live.
Sometimes a woman over 40 will suddenly become a lesbian. Let her be.
Hunchbacks are people, too.
Cut flowers are worth the money.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Just Do the Math
I listen to Right Wing people sometimes…talking about the distribution of wealth (or in their irate words—the redistribution of wealth) and how horrible it all is. Their angered pleas are often self righteous, but more to the point, they simply believe that taxing and spending the gathered tax money is theft, is inefficiently handled and supports sloth.
There is not much math behind these emotional outcries. I always push the issue and ask, “Can you show me the numbers on that?” And they never can. They just have a gut feeling.
And then they rant on and I calmly ask for real samples, real numbers and none are forthcoming.
As I stood my ground one weekend at someone’s over tiled dacha, he finally said to me, “I guess I’m just a selfish asshole.” And I responded, “Maybe.”
What most right wing people do not understand is money. It’s sort of hilarious, but they just don’t understand that you need to keep it moving around or the system dies. It is agreed in all scientific journals that any system, in order for it to thrive, needs to be greatly diversified with resources spread very evenly. If this is true in nature, why would it not be true for us, since what we are is, gulp, some sort of ultimate expression of nature?
With this, I bring you some real numbers. I am happy to blog this so if I am ever confronted again, I can just do a search and hand this over. Of course, in a fit of rage, the unrelenting tax-hater will simply respond, “These numbers are not right.” And then I will ask again. “Then show me yours.”
The Current Economy
There is not much math behind these emotional outcries. I always push the issue and ask, “Can you show me the numbers on that?” And they never can. They just have a gut feeling.
And then they rant on and I calmly ask for real samples, real numbers and none are forthcoming.
As I stood my ground one weekend at someone’s over tiled dacha, he finally said to me, “I guess I’m just a selfish asshole.” And I responded, “Maybe.”
What most right wing people do not understand is money. It’s sort of hilarious, but they just don’t understand that you need to keep it moving around or the system dies. It is agreed in all scientific journals that any system, in order for it to thrive, needs to be greatly diversified with resources spread very evenly. If this is true in nature, why would it not be true for us, since what we are is, gulp, some sort of ultimate expression of nature?
With this, I bring you some real numbers. I am happy to blog this so if I am ever confronted again, I can just do a search and hand this over. Of course, in a fit of rage, the unrelenting tax-hater will simply respond, “These numbers are not right.” And then I will ask again. “Then show me yours.”
The Current Economy
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Not Gonna
The Four Seasons of a Weekend House in the Northeast:
Snow, Pollen, Bugs, Leaves.
Forget it.
Snow, Pollen, Bugs, Leaves.
Forget it.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
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