on break
spring break for the bean. everyone is turning 120. four boys born in a span of forty days (it's biblical, i know), the division equally yields 30 each and throws in matching tatoos to boot. the playhouse on a cliff equipped with panaramic hot tub, a suprisingly easy to build sauna, a trapeze room, an all glass crow's nest bedroom, two kitties who liked us enough to bring and dissect some field mice, and a garden for the bean to tend to with a purple hose. playing house like this is fun.
yes, but won't leave the story of surprise boston tv time interview hung....spent the night before up up, barely up putting together a tight scenario for the mock-teen motorhead client. slept 2 hours then hightailed it to the chinatown to chinatown bus (at least it was only $10 each way).
walked into a room with 6 producer types and thrown before the camera and my mock-teen, mock-room to try to work the design chemistry.
pause: did i ever explain the premise here? likely not. ok, or even though i think i did, it probably is somewhat muddled for the reader who doesn't feel like parsing these phrases fourfold for the secret treasure. it is kind of like trading spaces for kids.
sherry accompanied me in my evening's homework- 5:30pm on abc family, "knock first"...none of our friends had cable. or tv really. what's next? bars! convincing the three leather clad baldies at the punk water tavern to turn off "texas chainsaw massacre" in favor of the family network featuring 13 year old girls with purple paint didn't go over as well as we thought. back room of the abbey with the sound off and hoegartens with lemon- a much better bet.
the show is really just a guise for these kids to assert their identity into their space- getting rid of the furniture their parents bought them from levitz when they were five and they stickered up by six and going to town with their two best friends to stake their grown-up territory (the parents get sent away for the weekend).
turns out too much focus on design and not enough on CHARISMA!
them: "what's your experience acting?"
bean: "i went to architecture school"
could have worn not the silver armor shirt, should have made more contact with the camera and kid, would have been brighter with sleep....but then i might have to keep doing that- like all the time- which is ultimately a lie. also, they were talking to the actress girl who had no design experience with much more interest than the rest of us designers. they were looking for a different sort of lie.
beantown soaked in by beaneyes for a couple of hours before heading back to my fair city with my fair lady amy. mo better time in confines to catch up.
now back to my sunshine break of going out doors and talking to people i like and everything.
we'll chat next week. ta ta!
"where's your head at?"
Fitz the art director to the Bean after said Bean says she can't become a boston baked varietal.
bean: "No can do, Fitz, my agent went over this with you right?"
ok, that last part didn't happen, but i did stand my ground pretty good on a moment's notice negotiation. and whaddaya know, tomorrow afternoon i'll be going over my design (still yet to get the homework) in boston with my teen client. if they like me, maybe i should suggest them relocating their studios to the big apple- so much juicier than beantown. tv folks, i tell you....i might be one.
emails i've been writing have been sounding pretty fictious to me. in fact, since i'm prone to the occasional elaboration/miscommunication (no, really it happens) i have to preface it as actually real and not at all facetious or fabulatory. and then i laugh my head off until i cry, get a case of vertigo take a deep breath and find the blinking cursor again.
break my legs at 3:15 est tomorrow!
Fitz the art director to the Bean after said Bean says she can't become a boston baked varietal.
bean: "No can do, Fitz, my agent went over this with you right?"
ok, that last part didn't happen, but i did stand my ground pretty good on a moment's notice negotiation. and whaddaya know, tomorrow afternoon i'll be going over my design (still yet to get the homework) in boston with my teen client. if they like me, maybe i should suggest them relocating their studios to the big apple- so much juicier than beantown. tv folks, i tell you....i might be one.
emails i've been writing have been sounding pretty fictious to me. in fact, since i'm prone to the occasional elaboration/miscommunication (no, really it happens) i have to preface it as actually real and not at all facetious or fabulatory. and then i laugh my head off until i cry, get a case of vertigo take a deep breath and find the blinking cursor again.
break my legs at 3:15 est tomorrow!
blushing
Getting some publishing stuff ready for the chess set debut- went over the proof with another Candy Queen in printing- check.... go over it with our dealer... logo use ok, looks good...only.....um.... not at ICFF. Party/exhibit (and here's the part the excited bean must not have heard because she likes those first two words so much) in conjunction with ICFF.
My mouth made an O.
for oopsie.
And then thinking sheepishly that those designery sorts weren't being snotty when I told them about it- they were genuinely nonplussed.
O.bean. O.O.bean. It reminds me of the time when, as a littler pinto bean, I came running into the house, "Mommy, mommy! Uncle Bob's here and he's got PRESENTS for evereeeebodeeeee!!" without quite understanding that my uncle was a truck driver and was simply adjusting his load.
Getting some publishing stuff ready for the chess set debut- went over the proof with another Candy Queen in printing- check.... go over it with our dealer... logo use ok, looks good...only.....um.... not at ICFF. Party/exhibit (and here's the part the excited bean must not have heard because she likes those first two words so much) in conjunction with ICFF.
My mouth made an O.
for oopsie.
And then thinking sheepishly that those designery sorts weren't being snotty when I told them about it- they were genuinely nonplussed.
O.bean. O.O.bean. It reminds me of the time when, as a littler pinto bean, I came running into the house, "Mommy, mommy! Uncle Bob's here and he's got PRESENTS for evereeeebodeeeee!!" without quite understanding that my uncle was a truck driver and was simply adjusting his load.
funnies
funny thing 1 part a:
I wake up every morning to an angry young black man. Huey from the Boondocks comic strip has prime time seating in my yahoo world. He (hyper-conscious semi-militant) and his brother Riley (thug for life at 7) moved to a white suburb from the streets of Chicago to live with their granddad. Lately the strip has been a bunch of pot shots at the Bush Administration- though there are still moments of genius in this attack- like the time the boys tried to save America by placing a personal ad to get Condi Rice laid, "Maybe if there was a man in the world who Condoleezza truly loved, she wouldn't be so hell-bent to destroy it."
The post:
"Female Darth Vader type seeks loving mate to torture"
"High-ranking government employee with sturdy build seeks single black man for intimate relationship.
Must enjoy football, Chopin, and carpet bombing."
May I suggest checking it out for yourself, daily? here's one place to start
funny thing 1 part b:
The New Yorker interviews Aaron McGruder, the Boondock's creator- hot damn, he's raw and keeps it real-er than the liberal white folks who invite him to speak at big events count on. The Condi strip came after she personally asked him to put her in the strip. It was banned from the Washington Post for a week because of it. Personal revelation came when the article revealed McGruder's inspiration for the suburbanal: he grew up in the same 'utopia' as my main man ezpei- Columbia, Maryland (which poses as a town but is really a corporation espousing utopian values - no town hall or civil servants, just the benevolent authority of the Rouse Corporation governing in conjunction with the almighty 'convenant' each homeowner signs their souls off to).
At any rate, the article will suck you in and prolly inspire some backtalk to people demanding respect without earning it- don't say I didn't warn you.
funny thing 2:
The romper room design show called me back.
funny thing 1 part a:
I wake up every morning to an angry young black man. Huey from the Boondocks comic strip has prime time seating in my yahoo world. He (hyper-conscious semi-militant) and his brother Riley (thug for life at 7) moved to a white suburb from the streets of Chicago to live with their granddad. Lately the strip has been a bunch of pot shots at the Bush Administration- though there are still moments of genius in this attack- like the time the boys tried to save America by placing a personal ad to get Condi Rice laid, "Maybe if there was a man in the world who Condoleezza truly loved, she wouldn't be so hell-bent to destroy it."
The post:
"Female Darth Vader type seeks loving mate to torture"
"High-ranking government employee with sturdy build seeks single black man for intimate relationship.
Must enjoy football, Chopin, and carpet bombing."
May I suggest checking it out for yourself, daily? here's one place to start
funny thing 1 part b:
The New Yorker interviews Aaron McGruder, the Boondock's creator- hot damn, he's raw and keeps it real-er than the liberal white folks who invite him to speak at big events count on. The Condi strip came after she personally asked him to put her in the strip. It was banned from the Washington Post for a week because of it. Personal revelation came when the article revealed McGruder's inspiration for the suburbanal: he grew up in the same 'utopia' as my main man ezpei- Columbia, Maryland (which poses as a town but is really a corporation espousing utopian values - no town hall or civil servants, just the benevolent authority of the Rouse Corporation governing in conjunction with the almighty 'convenant' each homeowner signs their souls off to).
At any rate, the article will suck you in and prolly inspire some backtalk to people demanding respect without earning it- don't say I didn't warn you.
funny thing 2:
The romper room design show called me back.
the longest five minute interview ever
how i ended up at a screen test in studio 400, i'm still not quite sure. sherry found me afterward on the street clutching the garbage can and talking to strangers and fed me beer and hot dogs to untangle my nerves.
ok, so i understood abstactly that the position i was applying for would eventually mean being on screen... in my version of the knock-off 'trading spaces' for teens, we'd be busting ass for 24 hours with their two best friends trying to turn their pad into megadethatron or a delux smell-proof-sound-proof smoking lounge where teen party u.s.a. would climb through the window into the little hours of the summer nights.....in my version, i'm the designer encouraging them to be bold and push the limits of freedom (and design) whilst their parents are under the public eye and unable to object. sherry (who keeps telling me how cool being eaten by the almighty television will be) reminds us how cool and rare a teenage client would be and i set up the interview and do my best to muster a 'head shot' but do better mustering a design sample page.
in their version, i'm in front of the camera pumping up my ten year old audience, who may at any time be distracted by cheezits or kids playing outside. the other girl in the waiting room said her 6 year old niece watches it and it's "bouncy, like romper room". so much for the discreet condom dispensers.
danielle: "you be natural you. let me do an example for you. 'hi my name is danielle, i'm the host of abc's knock first and we're in eric's room. stay tuned for more COOL STUFF DONT TOUCH THAT DIAL!!!!' high energy in the beginning, higher energy in the end. we don't want that kid to go outside do we?"
(quick question: do people really have dials any more? do kids even know what the dial was? i mean radios don't even have dials anymore.)
bean: "right. natural. high energy. that other stuff. hi we're abc television in eriks room....er"
danielle: "it's ok- (does an example again, this time including what not to do)"
bean: "hi everybody!! this is knockfirstabctelevisionfamily erik likes cars today!!!"
danielle: "ok, start with your name. i know you know your name"
bean: "(yes! i do know my name, i'll start there. good idea. what name to go by? ray ray?) oh, ok, lets do it- "hi guys (think this is gender biased to myself and totally stumble again and end with) crap... oh fuck, you can't say crap"
danielle: "ok, i know you can put the sentence together, let's try once more and then i turn the camera on"
magically i got a complete sentence and even a little hand gesture out once the camera was on...like i knew that was the only way i'd get out of the situation. (i wanted to clap for myself like i just made a poopy in my special pot) i give bean screen test a B-. i may have sounded like my speech impediment took over my brain, but at least i looked damn good.
how i ended up at a screen test in studio 400, i'm still not quite sure. sherry found me afterward on the street clutching the garbage can and talking to strangers and fed me beer and hot dogs to untangle my nerves.
ok, so i understood abstactly that the position i was applying for would eventually mean being on screen... in my version of the knock-off 'trading spaces' for teens, we'd be busting ass for 24 hours with their two best friends trying to turn their pad into megadethatron or a delux smell-proof-sound-proof smoking lounge where teen party u.s.a. would climb through the window into the little hours of the summer nights.....in my version, i'm the designer encouraging them to be bold and push the limits of freedom (and design) whilst their parents are under the public eye and unable to object. sherry (who keeps telling me how cool being eaten by the almighty television will be) reminds us how cool and rare a teenage client would be and i set up the interview and do my best to muster a 'head shot' but do better mustering a design sample page.
in their version, i'm in front of the camera pumping up my ten year old audience, who may at any time be distracted by cheezits or kids playing outside. the other girl in the waiting room said her 6 year old niece watches it and it's "bouncy, like romper room". so much for the discreet condom dispensers.
danielle: "you be natural you. let me do an example for you. 'hi my name is danielle, i'm the host of abc's knock first and we're in eric's room. stay tuned for more COOL STUFF DONT TOUCH THAT DIAL!!!!' high energy in the beginning, higher energy in the end. we don't want that kid to go outside do we?"
(quick question: do people really have dials any more? do kids even know what the dial was? i mean radios don't even have dials anymore.)
bean: "right. natural. high energy. that other stuff. hi we're abc television in eriks room....er"
danielle: "it's ok- (does an example again, this time including what not to do)"
bean: "hi everybody!! this is knockfirstabctelevisionfamily erik likes cars today!!!"
danielle: "ok, start with your name. i know you know your name"
bean: "(yes! i do know my name, i'll start there. good idea. what name to go by? ray ray?) oh, ok, lets do it- "hi guys (think this is gender biased to myself and totally stumble again and end with) crap... oh fuck, you can't say crap"
danielle: "ok, i know you can put the sentence together, let's try once more and then i turn the camera on"
magically i got a complete sentence and even a little hand gesture out once the camera was on...like i knew that was the only way i'd get out of the situation. (i wanted to clap for myself like i just made a poopy in my special pot) i give bean screen test a B-. i may have sounded like my speech impediment took over my brain, but at least i looked damn good.
irresistable
nephew loves foam too
niece (not actually baby bjork)
who will tell you she wants to be
a herpetologist when she grows up
because she loves frogs
mommy says that's what happens
when you have geeks for parents
nephew chases the 'dat'
so so cute, but after two naps in two days still into the 'coolest aunt ever' plan of disposable income and leisure time.
nephew loves foam too
niece (not actually baby bjork)
who will tell you she wants to be
a herpetologist when she grows up
because she loves frogs
mommy says that's what happens
when you have geeks for parents
nephew chases the 'dat'
so so cute, but after two naps in two days still into the 'coolest aunt ever' plan of disposable income and leisure time.
an hour?
hmm, so an hour and i'm on the upswing. no parts of my situation have repositioned themselves in any way except for me. time out was borrowed from one task and deposited into another. a quick chat with sherry. an orange pelligrino with an orange flexistraw.
and i'm posting pictures of the cal poly slo rodeo with a "love for what's in front of you"
borrowed from omar + lizbeth.
even alright with the united states of dodge. for the moment.
hmm, so an hour and i'm on the upswing. no parts of my situation have repositioned themselves in any way except for me. time out was borrowed from one task and deposited into another. a quick chat with sherry. an orange pelligrino with an orange flexistraw.
and i'm posting pictures of the cal poly slo rodeo with a "love for what's in front of you"
borrowed from omar + lizbeth.
even alright with the united states of dodge. for the moment.
grr
last night i couldn't go to sleep because i was so enamored with my life- a weekend full of small smart children followed by a formidable feast and lots of loving eyes with my man... and then today, like the story of the chalkboard schizo graph up downupdown (i'd draw it but a. i'm too frazzled b. it's not so hard to imagine)....getting the feeling that many people being defrosted from hibernation are also going through the up down up down up down drama.
today i want to throw a tantrum and yet i have so much shit to do, i don't have the time for one. today i want to complain about the logistics of all the things i ultimately love.
i'd rant about both my housemates leaving at the same time... this same time being the time that i'm most busy preparing for exhibitions....this same time being booked with a brief birthday hiatus for the boy...this same time being a period of universal non-cooperation on the part of people i'm trying to hire for good money to make it all happen on time...this time being totally fucking nuts and being the time when i'm questioning my ability to deal with everything on my plate effectively and not turn into megabitch when someone suggests giving up on the dream if it's making me crazy and looking damn near impossible to boot.
i usually dwell in impossible, really it is the periods of smooth that are unnatural and disturbing in a much deeper way. which is maybe why glowing in them keeps me up at night.
but i dont have time for this rant proper. or for pictures to make me happy. i definitely need a time out. but i don't have time for out.
last night i couldn't go to sleep because i was so enamored with my life- a weekend full of small smart children followed by a formidable feast and lots of loving eyes with my man... and then today, like the story of the chalkboard schizo graph up downupdown (i'd draw it but a. i'm too frazzled b. it's not so hard to imagine)....getting the feeling that many people being defrosted from hibernation are also going through the up down up down up down drama.
today i want to throw a tantrum and yet i have so much shit to do, i don't have the time for one. today i want to complain about the logistics of all the things i ultimately love.
i'd rant about both my housemates leaving at the same time... this same time being the time that i'm most busy preparing for exhibitions....this same time being booked with a brief birthday hiatus for the boy...this same time being a period of universal non-cooperation on the part of people i'm trying to hire for good money to make it all happen on time...this time being totally fucking nuts and being the time when i'm questioning my ability to deal with everything on my plate effectively and not turn into megabitch when someone suggests giving up on the dream if it's making me crazy and looking damn near impossible to boot.
i usually dwell in impossible, really it is the periods of smooth that are unnatural and disturbing in a much deeper way. which is maybe why glowing in them keeps me up at night.
but i dont have time for this rant proper. or for pictures to make me happy. i definitely need a time out. but i don't have time for out.
milano e nader
Milan Furniture Fair snippets are up for review at the NYT. This year = more glowing stuff. Surely we will tire of it one day, alas that day is not today. This is the sister fair to the ICFF in NYC. Holy smokes, last year I totally cut school (by which I we always mean work, but that's not as nice a way to look at the world now is it?) to go to a forum at the ICFF hosted by Metropolis and try to glean what I could about the way that world worked. This year we'll be debuting the chess set there. I'm a gonna be all smiles and spittel the weekend of May 15-17 if you want to come and poke me with a dingbat.
The sun comes out one day and the streets are flooded with spiffsters. With the coats off for a couple of hours, we've collectively decided to look at ourselves in the mirror before leaving the house and inverse the golden quick look rule to add a little something extra before the sunny side of the sidewalk dance began.
Debate in the head at the moment goes like this: Got a solicitation from a friend for folks who voted Nader in 2000 who won't do it again this year given the fucked up state of our country. That's me says me. Yada yada, will I be flown down to DC in the next couple of days to record a statement for a commercial to be aired on CNN to that effect?
....
on the one hand, it is actually my opinion and why shouldn't I stand behind it, on the same hand this election is crucial and does seem to be riding on a set of swing votes (which defectees could tilt just so)... but on the other hand, I'm still in support of third party candidates and believe they should have a continued and heightened presence on the ballot. This same hand thinks that in the end anyone going to vote for Nader either knows damn well what they are doing or are stubborn in a blindness that wouldn't be swayed by some 30 second spot anyhow. Same hand resents the swaying of voters in general. Ok, this blog turned therapy for a spell that walk-talking in my head couldn't resolve. Perhaps I was more taken with the idea of virtual bean silly on CNN than I'd thought, since here and now it shore seems like the beans are heavier in that last hand.
Milan Furniture Fair snippets are up for review at the NYT. This year = more glowing stuff. Surely we will tire of it one day, alas that day is not today. This is the sister fair to the ICFF in NYC. Holy smokes, last year I totally cut school (by which I we always mean work, but that's not as nice a way to look at the world now is it?) to go to a forum at the ICFF hosted by Metropolis and try to glean what I could about the way that world worked. This year we'll be debuting the chess set there. I'm a gonna be all smiles and spittel the weekend of May 15-17 if you want to come and poke me with a dingbat.
The sun comes out one day and the streets are flooded with spiffsters. With the coats off for a couple of hours, we've collectively decided to look at ourselves in the mirror before leaving the house and inverse the golden quick look rule to add a little something extra before the sunny side of the sidewalk dance began.
Debate in the head at the moment goes like this: Got a solicitation from a friend for folks who voted Nader in 2000 who won't do it again this year given the fucked up state of our country. That's me says me. Yada yada, will I be flown down to DC in the next couple of days to record a statement for a commercial to be aired on CNN to that effect?
....
on the one hand, it is actually my opinion and why shouldn't I stand behind it, on the same hand this election is crucial and does seem to be riding on a set of swing votes (which defectees could tilt just so)... but on the other hand, I'm still in support of third party candidates and believe they should have a continued and heightened presence on the ballot. This same hand thinks that in the end anyone going to vote for Nader either knows damn well what they are doing or are stubborn in a blindness that wouldn't be swayed by some 30 second spot anyhow. Same hand resents the swaying of voters in general. Ok, this blog turned therapy for a spell that walk-talking in my head couldn't resolve. Perhaps I was more taken with the idea of virtual bean silly on CNN than I'd thought, since here and now it shore seems like the beans are heavier in that last hand.
peace
"Peace is possible when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable. When we discover the reality that our happiness is boundup in the happiness of the other. We are bound up together in the bundle of life and no one is free unless all are free." Part of a message from Desmond Tutu for the Parents Circle (the benefitees of the concert) April 13,2004.
mmmm hmm. up up up to st. john the divine up up up at the north west end of the park. the parent's circle is the brilliant collection of both palestinian and israeli parents who have lost children to the endless fighting and have vowed to work together for peace.
patti smith seems to have taken up their cause and put together a collection elcetic enough to gather middle agers who reminded us of the socially conscious set of northern california to the carefully understated indie kids staring at their rare vintage sneakers...
the range:
they lower the lights of the huge damp gothic cathedral and a man with a horn fills the space- listen here ,
-to christian harmonizers like our good muslim girl sherry sings with,
chan marshall oh! her haunting voice filled the space so that i almost wished the rest of the concert were silent reverberations in the head - instead her understated performance (she sang two songs in succession on the piano and ran off stage) was followed by a self-aggrandizing horrible poet who wouldn't stop rhyming every other word
bright eyes perked everyone up with claims to the wisdom 22 years, talk of making love, pissing an burning the preacher followed by angsty screaming - we watched the menopausal ex-hippies in front of us cracking up and proclaiming that they'd never seen such a thing-
eroica trio, who are more than hot babes with violin, cello + piano- they rock the modern tip
the israeli poet pop singer
and a vibrating patti smith i wish i could have connected with more
ok, so the crowd was massively confused by the collection and that heavy incense made my throat drip, but the space became more charged with beauty, sincerity and spirituality than most any temple of worship and i left with a sober sense of ecstacy- so of course i had to share.
"Peace is possible when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable. When we discover the reality that our happiness is boundup in the happiness of the other. We are bound up together in the bundle of life and no one is free unless all are free." Part of a message from Desmond Tutu for the Parents Circle (the benefitees of the concert) April 13,2004.
mmmm hmm. up up up to st. john the divine up up up at the north west end of the park. the parent's circle is the brilliant collection of both palestinian and israeli parents who have lost children to the endless fighting and have vowed to work together for peace.
patti smith seems to have taken up their cause and put together a collection elcetic enough to gather middle agers who reminded us of the socially conscious set of northern california to the carefully understated indie kids staring at their rare vintage sneakers...
the range:
they lower the lights of the huge damp gothic cathedral and a man with a horn fills the space- listen here ,
-to christian harmonizers like our good muslim girl sherry sings with,
chan marshall oh! her haunting voice filled the space so that i almost wished the rest of the concert were silent reverberations in the head - instead her understated performance (she sang two songs in succession on the piano and ran off stage) was followed by a self-aggrandizing horrible poet who wouldn't stop rhyming every other word
bright eyes perked everyone up with claims to the wisdom 22 years, talk of making love, pissing an burning the preacher followed by angsty screaming - we watched the menopausal ex-hippies in front of us cracking up and proclaiming that they'd never seen such a thing-
eroica trio, who are more than hot babes with violin, cello + piano- they rock the modern tip
the israeli poet pop singer
and a vibrating patti smith i wish i could have connected with more
ok, so the crowd was massively confused by the collection and that heavy incense made my throat drip, but the space became more charged with beauty, sincerity and spirituality than most any temple of worship and i left with a sober sense of ecstacy- so of course i had to share.
contagious poetry postings
Danse Russe
IF when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,--
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
"I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!"
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,--
Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?
William Carlos Williams
Danse Russe
IF when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,--
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
"I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!"
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,--
Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?
William Carlos Williams
our own koolhaas
Seattle Public Library visitors look like they will soon be in for a treat. I always wanted to spend more time at the library, but San Jose's was always such a dismal place it made want to turn all the shelves on their side and splee belly first acros the piles of books just to inject some joy. This must have been one of the few American projects of Rem's not to be cancelled before he called it quits and went Asian on us.
and on a totally non-related note...
camera phones can sometimes capture so much...omar snapped this of lizbeth in her hometown. you can dig lots of contextual details (the parking lot cafe framed by her elegance) from just this handful of pixels. got to use the camera phone more. particularly since i'm not as fond of talking to it lately.
* * * * should maybe have said this lovely lady comes from the other other california- Turlock! The landier land of the Golden State sure seem to be having their commupance lately...Grandaddy is blowin up, New York Time's travel section featured Bakersfield, Sacramento's got more than the Kings- they've got a monkey and very nearly a Calatrava, Dave Egger's be waxing his windshield about it and good old Fresno has got Jillian the raspy voiced Bulldog seductress herself.
Seattle Public Library visitors look like they will soon be in for a treat. I always wanted to spend more time at the library, but San Jose's was always such a dismal place it made want to turn all the shelves on their side and splee belly first acros the piles of books just to inject some joy. This must have been one of the few American projects of Rem's not to be cancelled before he called it quits and went Asian on us.
and on a totally non-related note...
camera phones can sometimes capture so much...omar snapped this of lizbeth in her hometown. you can dig lots of contextual details (the parking lot cafe framed by her elegance) from just this handful of pixels. got to use the camera phone more. particularly since i'm not as fond of talking to it lately.
ftp is back
i fed the typewriter some new ribbon and gave it some love. it accounted for a respectable portion of the 70 lbs of treasure i initially hauled from california to new york. one bag of clothes, the other of books, the typewriter and the roller skates i'd hoped would make either make me new friends or a roller derby queen.
after snapping many loveshots of this analog friend, i decided to take up witold riedel's offer of fetishizing the government's fear campaign. typewriters will fulfill duty of the mind and hand, completely off the grid, uncensored and unsurveilled.
happy ishtar! christina the butterfly came bearing eggs and bulgarian tradition of smashing them against one another until we find the beholder of the mightiest egg. no surprise ezzie had the egg of power, uncracked after half a dozen battles.
ok, back to the typewriter, but only to illustrate my own personal foray into vertigo. i realize that this may not quell the concern my more maternal friends have taken to my new condition...i can't even look at this photo without immediately swooning into that counterclockwise space....but i can't help but share all the same.
i've figured out that the 'swirling' of yesterblog's complaints was actually a case of vertigo left over from a meeting with the common cold. apparently some stuff can ossify in your ear/equilibrium zone and leave you with a temporary case of vertigo (i'm scheduled for the next 6-8 weeks to have my world left shifted each time i move my head just so or spend too much time in front of a flickering screen). it's somewhat amusing and at the same time nauseating. kp just so happened to show me an accupressure point she uses for car sickness that shortens these spells too.
you may need it for viewing this picture or taking boat rides or .... put two fingers on your (left) wrist in order to measure where your thumb should go to apply pressure. works like a charm.
i fed the typewriter some new ribbon and gave it some love. it accounted for a respectable portion of the 70 lbs of treasure i initially hauled from california to new york. one bag of clothes, the other of books, the typewriter and the roller skates i'd hoped would make either make me new friends or a roller derby queen.
after snapping many loveshots of this analog friend, i decided to take up witold riedel's offer of fetishizing the government's fear campaign. typewriters will fulfill duty of the mind and hand, completely off the grid, uncensored and unsurveilled.
happy ishtar! christina the butterfly came bearing eggs and bulgarian tradition of smashing them against one another until we find the beholder of the mightiest egg. no surprise ezzie had the egg of power, uncracked after half a dozen battles.
ok, back to the typewriter, but only to illustrate my own personal foray into vertigo. i realize that this may not quell the concern my more maternal friends have taken to my new condition...i can't even look at this photo without immediately swooning into that counterclockwise space....but i can't help but share all the same.
i've figured out that the 'swirling' of yesterblog's complaints was actually a case of vertigo left over from a meeting with the common cold. apparently some stuff can ossify in your ear/equilibrium zone and leave you with a temporary case of vertigo (i'm scheduled for the next 6-8 weeks to have my world left shifted each time i move my head just so or spend too much time in front of a flickering screen). it's somewhat amusing and at the same time nauseating. kp just so happened to show me an accupressure point she uses for car sickness that shortens these spells too.
you may need it for viewing this picture or taking boat rides or .... put two fingers on your (left) wrist in order to measure where your thumb should go to apply pressure. works like a charm.
fasting
in reconfiguring the computer i haven't found a free ftp source so no new picties...except for these that were waiting to be dusted off.
this line smells of girl, i'd be surprised to find out otherwise
some kids playing ball
Last night's resonating frequencies lecture (musicians + architects) really pointed out some big differences in the fields that then shape the people in them. Thom Mayne is a great talker- his processors run at a very high speed and after talking to countless fawning students, blurry eyed interns, nonplussed clients, and righteous but architecturally illiterate design review boards- he's perceptive to his audience and decisive in his eloquence. Philip Glass, despite the myriad collaborations we've known him to participate in, could benefit from getting out more....or talking to people who don't just take his genius for granted. The effects of much time being in one's own head were spotlighted in this format. The Bean is going to make efforts to find more conversation out of the loft.
Perhaps this just reveals an arrogance I feel about architecture. It eats all the other arts. It is not flat. It is not neutral. It is not quiet. It is not linear in time or space.
in reconfiguring the computer i haven't found a free ftp source so no new picties...except for these that were waiting to be dusted off.
this line smells of girl, i'd be surprised to find out otherwise
some kids playing ball
Last night's resonating frequencies lecture (musicians + architects) really pointed out some big differences in the fields that then shape the people in them. Thom Mayne is a great talker- his processors run at a very high speed and after talking to countless fawning students, blurry eyed interns, nonplussed clients, and righteous but architecturally illiterate design review boards- he's perceptive to his audience and decisive in his eloquence. Philip Glass, despite the myriad collaborations we've known him to participate in, could benefit from getting out more....or talking to people who don't just take his genius for granted. The effects of much time being in one's own head were spotlighted in this format. The Bean is going to make efforts to find more conversation out of the loft.
Perhaps this just reveals an arrogance I feel about architecture. It eats all the other arts. It is not flat. It is not neutral. It is not quiet. It is not linear in time or space.
weird dreams
wtf? brad pitt wants to take a year off of movie making to learn 3D computer programs? Here's a pictie of him + Frank Gehry. With the meager stipends offered by so many high and low profile firms in exchange for their indentured servants to work thanklessly into the little hours of the night.... I've often wondered why more millionaires didn't take the position. Why only their children? Did California get weirer once I left or is it just more visible from a distance.
oh crap, there's Condi on NPR- it cuts both ways. Guiseppi + Pinochio are going to talk from their wood carver's shop with the catch (presumably for the benefit of Pinochio's 'sensitive' nose) that they don't have to promise to tell the truth. They sent Oli North, er, I mean Colin Powell, oh, no, I mean the other.. Condi Rice to take the ... ahem.... to testify under oath before the nation she serves.
wtf? brad pitt wants to take a year off of movie making to learn 3D computer programs? Here's a pictie of him + Frank Gehry. With the meager stipends offered by so many high and low profile firms in exchange for their indentured servants to work thanklessly into the little hours of the night.... I've often wondered why more millionaires didn't take the position. Why only their children? Did California get weirer once I left or is it just more visible from a distance.
oh crap, there's Condi on NPR- it cuts both ways. Guiseppi + Pinochio are going to talk from their wood carver's shop with the catch (presumably for the benefit of Pinochio's 'sensitive' nose) that they don't have to promise to tell the truth. They sent Oli North, er, I mean Colin Powell, oh, no, I mean the other.. Condi Rice to take the ... ahem.... to testify under oath before the nation she serves.
Eostre
It's the season that every religion seems to celebrate in some way. Back to the days of worshipping the fertility godesses responsible for the earth's rebirth from winter. The Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans all had mythologies that predate Christianity by several centuries that mimic each other in the 3 day tale of death and resurrection.
A longing to have my own meditations on the topic is culminating as a Pagan Spring Feast this saturday. I want it to be about light + darkness- might have to turn the loft into a big dark cave with candles and say farewell to the sun as it sets over Manhattan, and find some midnight maurauding mischief after we eat our ethnic roots foods. In the meantime, a little googling gives us some other snippets.
a small sampling:
Easter - Christian holiday of resurrection arguably based on the predated
Passover is more a celebration of personal freedom and not really fertility oriented, but one can't disregard entirely the synched timing of the celebrations.
Ostara (celtic)
Feast of the Serpent (gypsies)
Lady Day
Spring Feast
Vernal Mysteries (spring heathen rites) like those of Tammuz, and Osiris and Adonis flourished in the Mediterranean world
(clear where the root estrus - so inherently female derives from)
parsing the term Easter:
from the names of female figures such as Babylonian Astarte, the Assyrian Ishtar and Queen Esther from the Purim celebration... and also from sun rising in the east (this really being about the light/warmth of the sun coming back after the equinox- hence the returning theme of resurrection.).
"It is said that there were no calendar months between the end of December (its name comes from the word for ten, since there were only ten months) and Ostara" I like this idea of a timeless darkness during this interrum. A hibernation during which our actions don't seem to count. The roots of this idea of a free-for-all under the cloak of the northern winter darkness (Mardi Gras) and the need to regulate it with a period of meditational reflection (Lent + Ramazan).... and the very human desire to give the earth a birthday party (no coincidence that earth day is in the beginning of spring).
Vaso, our beloved greek, answers some questions about the Greek Orthodox version:
greek easter.
candles. lights are turned off and we sing the same thing over and over...for 10 minutes.
and no.
we don't card people at the door.
so anyone can go.
so yes.
it's a good service. the best part is that if you go around 11.30, you are ready to leave around mindnight. then you take your lit candle at home and burn a cross in front of your door. Imagine me doing that last year. Carrying the flame in a cab and then taking it to Christopher Street on a Saturday night and burning crosses on doorways. I thouht my apt would burst into flames. NON-COMBUSTIBLE ? I think not.
and then we break eggs and eat till 4am
The Germans also observe this element of predawn bonfire, a ritual I'm quite drawn to... Is all this leading up to a longing for rituals of mine own to observe with my fellow Church of Life parishoners?
It's the season that every religion seems to celebrate in some way. Back to the days of worshipping the fertility godesses responsible for the earth's rebirth from winter. The Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans all had mythologies that predate Christianity by several centuries that mimic each other in the 3 day tale of death and resurrection.
A longing to have my own meditations on the topic is culminating as a Pagan Spring Feast this saturday. I want it to be about light + darkness- might have to turn the loft into a big dark cave with candles and say farewell to the sun as it sets over Manhattan, and find some midnight maurauding mischief after we eat our ethnic roots foods. In the meantime, a little googling gives us some other snippets.
a small sampling:
Easter - Christian holiday of resurrection arguably based on the predated
Passover is more a celebration of personal freedom and not really fertility oriented, but one can't disregard entirely the synched timing of the celebrations.
Ostara (celtic)
Feast of the Serpent (gypsies)
Lady Day
Spring Feast
Vernal Mysteries (spring heathen rites) like those of Tammuz, and Osiris and Adonis flourished in the Mediterranean world
(clear where the root estrus - so inherently female derives from)
parsing the term Easter:
from the names of female figures such as Babylonian Astarte, the Assyrian Ishtar and Queen Esther from the Purim celebration... and also from sun rising in the east (this really being about the light/warmth of the sun coming back after the equinox- hence the returning theme of resurrection.).
"It is said that there were no calendar months between the end of December (its name comes from the word for ten, since there were only ten months) and Ostara" I like this idea of a timeless darkness during this interrum. A hibernation during which our actions don't seem to count. The roots of this idea of a free-for-all under the cloak of the northern winter darkness (Mardi Gras) and the need to regulate it with a period of meditational reflection (Lent + Ramazan).... and the very human desire to give the earth a birthday party (no coincidence that earth day is in the beginning of spring).
Vaso, our beloved greek, answers some questions about the Greek Orthodox version:
candles. lights are turned off and we sing the same thing over and over...for 10 minutes.
and no.
we don't card people at the door.
so anyone can go.
so yes.
it's a good service. the best part is that if you go around 11.30, you are ready to leave around mindnight. then you take your lit candle at home and burn a cross in front of your door. Imagine me doing that last year. Carrying the flame in a cab and then taking it to Christopher Street on a Saturday night and burning crosses on doorways. I thouht my apt would burst into flames. NON-COMBUSTIBLE ? I think not.
and then we break eggs and eat till 4am
The Germans also observe this element of predawn bonfire, a ritual I'm quite drawn to... Is all this leading up to a longing for rituals of mine own to observe with my fellow Church of Life parishoners?
National Everything Month
At lunch yesterday, in honor of National Backpack Safety Month, we did our part to illuminate Backpack Safety Awareness. As a public service, I'd like to extend some ideas to my readers, lest they unwittingly be mangled in this, the heighth of Backpack Season.
1. Always wear your pack across both shoulders if given two straps. Casually slinging both straps across one shoulder is dangerous and should never never ever, under any circumstances be risked!!! They're called backpacks for crying out loud, they come with two straps for a reason (and the waist band is there for a reason too). Igor the hunchback learned his lesson the hard way.
2. Try not to cross borders with your pack stuffed with drugs. Your pack may feel like a physio-psychic extension of your cosmic being, but dogs can still smell your stank. Especially when leaving Switzerland, the Netherlands, Pakistan, Burma, or Turkey.
3. Despite the strong weight the lobbyists for Backpacker's United holds internationally, entering countries au pied with nothing but the pack on your back is often cause for high suspicion and not the time to test the humor of those weilding guns.
4. Always double check your buckles attaching your straps to the pack. Most backpack failure lawsuits are due to negligence in this area. Just think of what havoc a loose backpack slipping willy-nilly can cause.
5. Are your zippers working properly? All of them? Do you have locks for them? Yeah, I'd go check too.
6. Using a backpack as an emergency pillow is not a good idea for the following reasons:
a. it's not designed ergonomically for the neck
b. you can crush your twinkies
7. Though it ALWAYS sounds like a good idea...storing chocolate in the small pouch should be avoided. Same goes for loose razor blades. Trust me.
An incomplete list, I know, but the duty was to raise Backpack Safety Awareness.
---------------------------------------------
In honor of National Poetry Month, we had a little reading in the red room. Darin at the keyboard, deep breathing while my computer refused to cooperate with the reformating surgery. Bean helping by reading Walt Whitman aloud and handing the appropriate OS discs as needed.
This one is longish (it's poetry month afterall), but as he writes, he breathes the continuity of experiencing this slice of space between Manhattan and Brooklyn. Our ferries may not be above water anymore, and the soaring birds we watch are now scurrying in the tracks (I certainly wouldn't 'bathe in the waters around' Manhattan), but the living crowd and greater sense of crossing is much the same.
Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.
Crossing Brooklyn Ferry
1
FLOOD-TIDE below me! I watch you face to face;
Clouds of the west! sun there half an hour high! I see you also face to face.
Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes! how curious you are to me!
On the ferry-boats, the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning home, are more curious to me than you suppose;
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence, are more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose. 5
2
The impalpable sustenance of me from all things, at all hours of the day;
The simple, compact, well-join’d scheme—myself disintegrated, every one disintegrated, yet part of the scheme:
The similitudes of the past, and those of the future;
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings—on the walk in the street, and the passage over the river;
The current rushing so swiftly, and swimming with me far away; 10
The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them;
The certainty of others—the life, love, sight, hearing of others.
Others will enter the gates of the ferry, and cross from shore to shore;
Others will watch the run of the flood-tide;
Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the heights of Brooklyn to the south and east; 15
Others will see the islands large and small;
Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half an hour high;
A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence, others will see them,
Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring in of the flood-tide, the falling back to the sea of the ebb-tide.
3
It avails not, neither time or place—distance avails not; 20
I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many generations hence;
I project myself—also I return—I am with you, and know how it is.
Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt;
Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd;
Just as you are refresh’d by the gladness of the river and the bright flow, I was refresh’d; 25
Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift current, I stood, yet was hurried;
Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships, and the thick-stem’d pipes of steamboats, I look’d.
I too many and many a time cross’d the river, the sun half an hour high;
I watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls—I saw them high in the air, floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies,
I saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies, and left the rest in strong shadow, 30
I saw the slow-wheeling circles, and the gradual edging toward the south.
I too saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water,
Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams,
Look’d at the fine centrifugal spokes of light around the shape of my head in the sun-lit water,
Look’d on the haze on the hills southward and southwestward, 35
Look’d on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet,
Look’d toward the lower bay to notice the arriving ships,
Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me,
Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops—saw the ships at anchor,
The sailors at work in the rigging, or out astride the spars, 40
The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender serpentine pennants,
The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilot-houses,
The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of the wheels,
The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sun-set,
The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the frolicsome crests and glistening, 45
The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of the granite store-houses by the docks,
On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flank’d on each side by the barges—the hay-boat, the belated lighter,
On the neighboring shore, the fires from the foundry chimneys burning high and glaringly into the night,
Casting their flicker of black, contrasted with wild red and yellow light, over the tops of houses, and down into the clefts of streets.
4
These, and all else, were to me the same as they are to you; 50
I project myself a moment to tell you—also I return.
I loved well those cities;
I loved well the stately and rapid river;
The men and women I saw were all near to me;
Others the same—others who look back on me, because I look’d forward to them; 55
(The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to-night.)
5
What is it, then, between us?
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?
Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails not.
6
I too lived—Brooklyn, of ample hills, was mine; 60
I too walk’d the streets of Manhattan Island, and bathed in the waters around it;
I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me,
In the day, among crowds of people, sometimes they came upon me,
In my walks home late at night, or as I lay in my bed, they came upon me.
I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution; 65
I too had receiv’d identity by my Body;
That I was, I knew was of my body—and what I should be, I knew I should be of my body.
7
It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall,
The dark threw patches down upon me also;
The best I had done seem’d to me blank and suspicious; 70
My great thoughts, as I supposed them, were they not in reality meagre? would not people laugh at me?
It is not you alone who know what it is to be evil;
I am he who knew what it was to be evil;
I too knitted the old knot of contrariety,
Blabb’d, blush’d, resented, lied, stole, grudg’d, 75
Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak,
Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly, malignant;
The wolf, the snake, the hog, not wanting in me,
The cheating look, the frivolous word, the adulterous wish, not wanting,
Refusals, hates, postponements, meanness, laziness, none of these wanting. 80
8
But I was Manhattanese, friendly and proud!
I was call’d by my nighest name by clear loud voices of young men as they saw me approaching or passing,
Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent leaning of their flesh against me as I sat,
Saw many I loved in the street, or ferry-boat, or public assembly, yet never told them a word,
Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laughing, gnawing, sleeping, 85
Play’d the part that still looks back on the actor or actress,
The same old role, the role that is what we make it, as great as we like,
Or as small as we like, or both great and small.
9
Closer yet I approach you;
What thought you have of me, I had as much of you—I laid in my stores in advance; 90
I consider’d long and seriously of you before you were born.
Who was to know what should come home to me?
Who knows but I am enjoying this?
Who knows but I am as good as looking at you now, for all you cannot see me?
It is not you alone, nor I alone; 95
Not a few races, nor a few generations, nor a few centuries;
It is that each came, or comes, or shall come, from its due emission,
From the general centre of all, and forming a part of all:
Everything indicates—the smallest does, and the largest does;
A necessary film envelopes all, and envelopes the Soul for a proper time. 100
10
Now I am curious what sight can ever be more stately and admirable to me than my mast-hemm’d Manhattan,
My river and sun-set, and my scallop-edg’d waves of flood-tide,
The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the twilight, and the belated lighter;
Curious what Gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with voices I love call me promptly and loudly by my nighest name as I approach;
Curious what is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man that looks in my face, 105
Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you.
We understand, then, do we not?
What I promis’d without mentioning it, have you not accepted?
What the study could not teach—what the preaching could not accomplish, is accomplish’d, is it not?
What the push of reading could not start, is started by me personally, is it not? 110
11
Flow on, river! flow with the flood-tide, and ebb with the ebb-tide!
Frolic on, crested and scallop-edg’d waves!
Gorgeous clouds of the sun-set! drench with your splendor me, or the men and women generations after me;
Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers!
Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta!—stand up, beautiful hills of Brooklyn! 115
Throb, baffled and curious brain! throw out questions and answers!
Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solution!
Gaze, loving and thirsting eyes, in the house, or street, or public assembly!
Sound out, voices of young men! loudly and musically call me by my nighest name!
Live, old life! play the part that looks back on the actor or actress! 120
Play the old role, the role that is great or small, according as one makes it!
Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in unknown ways be looking upon you;
Be firm, rail over the river, to support those who lean idly, yet haste with the hasting current;
Fly on, sea-birds! fly sideways, or wheel in large circles high in the air;
Receive the summer sky, you water! and faithfully hold it, till all downcast eyes have time to take it from you; 125
Diverge, fine spokes of light, from the shape of my head, or any one’s head, in the sun-lit water;
Come on, ships from the lower bay! pass up or down, white-sail’d schooners, sloops, lighters!
Flaunt away, flags of all nations! be duly lower’d at sunset;
Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys! cast black shadows at nightfall! cast red and yellow light over the tops of the houses;
Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you are; 130
You necessary film, continue to envelop the soul;
About my body for me, and your body for you, be hung our divinest aromas;
Thrive, cities! bring your freight, bring your shows, ample and sufficient rivers;
Expand, being than which none else is perhaps more spiritual;
Keep your places, objects than which none else is more lasting. 135
12
We descend upon you and all things—we arrest you all;
We realize the soul only by you, you faithful solids and fluids;
Through you color, form, location, sublimity, ideality;
Through you every proof, comparison, and all the suggestions and determinations of ourselves.
You have waited, you always wait, you dumb, beautiful ministers! you novices! 140
We receive you with free sense at last, and are insatiate henceforward;
Not you any more shall be able to foil us, or withhold yourselves from us;
We use you, and do not cast you aside—we plant you permanently within us;
We fathom you not—we love you—there is perfection in you also;
You furnish your parts toward eternity; 145
Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the soul.
At lunch yesterday, in honor of National Backpack Safety Month, we did our part to illuminate Backpack Safety Awareness. As a public service, I'd like to extend some ideas to my readers, lest they unwittingly be mangled in this, the heighth of Backpack Season.
1. Always wear your pack across both shoulders if given two straps. Casually slinging both straps across one shoulder is dangerous and should never never ever, under any circumstances be risked!!! They're called backpacks for crying out loud, they come with two straps for a reason (and the waist band is there for a reason too). Igor the hunchback learned his lesson the hard way.
2. Try not to cross borders with your pack stuffed with drugs. Your pack may feel like a physio-psychic extension of your cosmic being, but dogs can still smell your stank. Especially when leaving Switzerland, the Netherlands, Pakistan, Burma, or Turkey.
3. Despite the strong weight the lobbyists for Backpacker's United holds internationally, entering countries au pied with nothing but the pack on your back is often cause for high suspicion and not the time to test the humor of those weilding guns.
4. Always double check your buckles attaching your straps to the pack. Most backpack failure lawsuits are due to negligence in this area. Just think of what havoc a loose backpack slipping willy-nilly can cause.
5. Are your zippers working properly? All of them? Do you have locks for them? Yeah, I'd go check too.
6. Using a backpack as an emergency pillow is not a good idea for the following reasons:
a. it's not designed ergonomically for the neck
b. you can crush your twinkies
7. Though it ALWAYS sounds like a good idea...storing chocolate in the small pouch should be avoided. Same goes for loose razor blades. Trust me.
An incomplete list, I know, but the duty was to raise Backpack Safety Awareness.
In honor of National Poetry Month, we had a little reading in the red room. Darin at the keyboard, deep breathing while my computer refused to cooperate with the reformating surgery. Bean helping by reading Walt Whitman aloud and handing the appropriate OS discs as needed.
This one is longish (it's poetry month afterall), but as he writes, he breathes the continuity of experiencing this slice of space between Manhattan and Brooklyn. Our ferries may not be above water anymore, and the soaring birds we watch are now scurrying in the tracks (I certainly wouldn't 'bathe in the waters around' Manhattan), but the living crowd and greater sense of crossing is much the same.
Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.
Crossing Brooklyn Ferry
1
FLOOD-TIDE below me! I watch you face to face;
Clouds of the west! sun there half an hour high! I see you also face to face.
Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes! how curious you are to me!
On the ferry-boats, the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning home, are more curious to me than you suppose;
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence, are more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose. 5
2
The impalpable sustenance of me from all things, at all hours of the day;
The simple, compact, well-join’d scheme—myself disintegrated, every one disintegrated, yet part of the scheme:
The similitudes of the past, and those of the future;
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings—on the walk in the street, and the passage over the river;
The current rushing so swiftly, and swimming with me far away; 10
The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them;
The certainty of others—the life, love, sight, hearing of others.
Others will enter the gates of the ferry, and cross from shore to shore;
Others will watch the run of the flood-tide;
Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the heights of Brooklyn to the south and east; 15
Others will see the islands large and small;
Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half an hour high;
A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence, others will see them,
Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring in of the flood-tide, the falling back to the sea of the ebb-tide.
3
It avails not, neither time or place—distance avails not; 20
I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many generations hence;
I project myself—also I return—I am with you, and know how it is.
Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt;
Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd;
Just as you are refresh’d by the gladness of the river and the bright flow, I was refresh’d; 25
Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift current, I stood, yet was hurried;
Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships, and the thick-stem’d pipes of steamboats, I look’d.
I too many and many a time cross’d the river, the sun half an hour high;
I watched the Twelfth-month sea-gulls—I saw them high in the air, floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies,
I saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies, and left the rest in strong shadow, 30
I saw the slow-wheeling circles, and the gradual edging toward the south.
I too saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water,
Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams,
Look’d at the fine centrifugal spokes of light around the shape of my head in the sun-lit water,
Look’d on the haze on the hills southward and southwestward, 35
Look’d on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet,
Look’d toward the lower bay to notice the arriving ships,
Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me,
Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops—saw the ships at anchor,
The sailors at work in the rigging, or out astride the spars, 40
The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender serpentine pennants,
The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilot-houses,
The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of the wheels,
The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sun-set,
The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the frolicsome crests and glistening, 45
The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of the granite store-houses by the docks,
On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flank’d on each side by the barges—the hay-boat, the belated lighter,
On the neighboring shore, the fires from the foundry chimneys burning high and glaringly into the night,
Casting their flicker of black, contrasted with wild red and yellow light, over the tops of houses, and down into the clefts of streets.
4
These, and all else, were to me the same as they are to you; 50
I project myself a moment to tell you—also I return.
I loved well those cities;
I loved well the stately and rapid river;
The men and women I saw were all near to me;
Others the same—others who look back on me, because I look’d forward to them; 55
(The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to-night.)
5
What is it, then, between us?
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?
Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails not.
6
I too lived—Brooklyn, of ample hills, was mine; 60
I too walk’d the streets of Manhattan Island, and bathed in the waters around it;
I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me,
In the day, among crowds of people, sometimes they came upon me,
In my walks home late at night, or as I lay in my bed, they came upon me.
I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution; 65
I too had receiv’d identity by my Body;
That I was, I knew was of my body—and what I should be, I knew I should be of my body.
7
It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall,
The dark threw patches down upon me also;
The best I had done seem’d to me blank and suspicious; 70
My great thoughts, as I supposed them, were they not in reality meagre? would not people laugh at me?
It is not you alone who know what it is to be evil;
I am he who knew what it was to be evil;
I too knitted the old knot of contrariety,
Blabb’d, blush’d, resented, lied, stole, grudg’d, 75
Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak,
Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly, malignant;
The wolf, the snake, the hog, not wanting in me,
The cheating look, the frivolous word, the adulterous wish, not wanting,
Refusals, hates, postponements, meanness, laziness, none of these wanting. 80
8
But I was Manhattanese, friendly and proud!
I was call’d by my nighest name by clear loud voices of young men as they saw me approaching or passing,
Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent leaning of their flesh against me as I sat,
Saw many I loved in the street, or ferry-boat, or public assembly, yet never told them a word,
Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laughing, gnawing, sleeping, 85
Play’d the part that still looks back on the actor or actress,
The same old role, the role that is what we make it, as great as we like,
Or as small as we like, or both great and small.
9
Closer yet I approach you;
What thought you have of me, I had as much of you—I laid in my stores in advance; 90
I consider’d long and seriously of you before you were born.
Who was to know what should come home to me?
Who knows but I am enjoying this?
Who knows but I am as good as looking at you now, for all you cannot see me?
It is not you alone, nor I alone; 95
Not a few races, nor a few generations, nor a few centuries;
It is that each came, or comes, or shall come, from its due emission,
From the general centre of all, and forming a part of all:
Everything indicates—the smallest does, and the largest does;
A necessary film envelopes all, and envelopes the Soul for a proper time. 100
10
Now I am curious what sight can ever be more stately and admirable to me than my mast-hemm’d Manhattan,
My river and sun-set, and my scallop-edg’d waves of flood-tide,
The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the twilight, and the belated lighter;
Curious what Gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with voices I love call me promptly and loudly by my nighest name as I approach;
Curious what is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man that looks in my face, 105
Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you.
We understand, then, do we not?
What I promis’d without mentioning it, have you not accepted?
What the study could not teach—what the preaching could not accomplish, is accomplish’d, is it not?
What the push of reading could not start, is started by me personally, is it not? 110
11
Flow on, river! flow with the flood-tide, and ebb with the ebb-tide!
Frolic on, crested and scallop-edg’d waves!
Gorgeous clouds of the sun-set! drench with your splendor me, or the men and women generations after me;
Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers!
Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta!—stand up, beautiful hills of Brooklyn! 115
Throb, baffled and curious brain! throw out questions and answers!
Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solution!
Gaze, loving and thirsting eyes, in the house, or street, or public assembly!
Sound out, voices of young men! loudly and musically call me by my nighest name!
Live, old life! play the part that looks back on the actor or actress! 120
Play the old role, the role that is great or small, according as one makes it!
Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in unknown ways be looking upon you;
Be firm, rail over the river, to support those who lean idly, yet haste with the hasting current;
Fly on, sea-birds! fly sideways, or wheel in large circles high in the air;
Receive the summer sky, you water! and faithfully hold it, till all downcast eyes have time to take it from you; 125
Diverge, fine spokes of light, from the shape of my head, or any one’s head, in the sun-lit water;
Come on, ships from the lower bay! pass up or down, white-sail’d schooners, sloops, lighters!
Flaunt away, flags of all nations! be duly lower’d at sunset;
Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys! cast black shadows at nightfall! cast red and yellow light over the tops of the houses;
Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you are; 130
You necessary film, continue to envelop the soul;
About my body for me, and your body for you, be hung our divinest aromas;
Thrive, cities! bring your freight, bring your shows, ample and sufficient rivers;
Expand, being than which none else is perhaps more spiritual;
Keep your places, objects than which none else is more lasting. 135
12
We descend upon you and all things—we arrest you all;
We realize the soul only by you, you faithful solids and fluids;
Through you color, form, location, sublimity, ideality;
Through you every proof, comparison, and all the suggestions and determinations of ourselves.
You have waited, you always wait, you dumb, beautiful ministers! you novices! 140
We receive you with free sense at last, and are insatiate henceforward;
Not you any more shall be able to foil us, or withhold yourselves from us;
We use you, and do not cast you aside—we plant you permanently within us;
We fathom you not—we love you—there is perfection in you also;
You furnish your parts toward eternity; 145
Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the soul.
"Holy shitbox cookie nuts" jon cooper at dish #13
Last weekend Jon asked where the best sushi in Manhattan was to be found. "New Haven!, the Wilson's are friends with a chef who's truly an artist. Must go." Certainly, my last experience at Miya's was tough- Level 3 shellfish plated to a girl who's barely on the fish eating tip at all and has never even tried shrimp and has a fear of land mollusks to boot.
This weekend though, I was mentally prepared and not about to let such a rare gift pass my lips unparted. Strategies for taking on the unknown-
1. Baby Bite Sizes. This way you know you're unlikely to be overwhelmed by texture/flavor/koodies.
2. Sake/ water/ rice/ napkin close at hand. Just in case.
The Menu:
We felt like 7 tasters on Iron Chef at a loss for words. "Heroic" seemed most appropriate. Our enthusiasm must have baited Chef Bun Li into truly outdoing himself. He's been known to change people's orders he finds too mundane in an effort to pull them out of their culinary shell. How many California rolls can you make/eat?
(I know moms, you really won't believe what your picky little girl ate. I think it might mean I've officially conquered my finickies.)
1. miso soup
2. Sea Cucumber sizzled in sesame seed oil w/ toasted sunflower seeds
3. Salmon tartar/tostada with salmon roe + capers
4. Oysters w/ daikon radish
5. Sundried Squid w/ almond oil (crunchy and so tasty)
6. Jellyfish w/ cilantro. "would you please pass the jellyfish?" (yes, pink + jellylike)
7. Giant clam in a creamy sage + shitake sauce
8. 7 Spice Snapper (I think I actually cried it was so good)
9. Spring rolls w/ shredded veggies (the chef's mom made them)
10. Blowtorched spiced beef dumplings
11. Potato wrapped shrimp w/ blowtorched fontina + dill cream sauce
12. Soft shell crab w/ wild rice + zuchini roll
13. Ginger salmon pate w/ blue corn tortilla strips (so smooth)
14. Raw Squid w/ Purple + Green Basil Roll "Don't Use Soy Sauce" - it tasted like tea
15. Seaweed seared tuna flavored w/ ginger + sake + pickled plum
16. Salmon/Tuna pieces seared and rubbed with kim chi chili
17. BBQ'd eel wrapped in eggplant in szechuan garlic sauce
18. Green Tea Agar (Seaweed/tea/jello- so refreshing)
Washed down with Honey infused ginger lime sake. We lost Kathryn, whose eyes rolled to the back of her head around dish #10. The rest of us did belly rubs and deep breathing. For me, the sea cucumber was the gateway slippery slope.
Last weekend Jon asked where the best sushi in Manhattan was to be found. "New Haven!, the Wilson's are friends with a chef who's truly an artist. Must go." Certainly, my last experience at Miya's was tough- Level 3 shellfish plated to a girl who's barely on the fish eating tip at all and has never even tried shrimp and has a fear of land mollusks to boot.
This weekend though, I was mentally prepared and not about to let such a rare gift pass my lips unparted. Strategies for taking on the unknown-
1. Baby Bite Sizes. This way you know you're unlikely to be overwhelmed by texture/flavor/koodies.
2. Sake/ water/ rice/ napkin close at hand. Just in case.
The Menu:
We felt like 7 tasters on Iron Chef at a loss for words. "Heroic" seemed most appropriate. Our enthusiasm must have baited Chef Bun Li into truly outdoing himself. He's been known to change people's orders he finds too mundane in an effort to pull them out of their culinary shell. How many California rolls can you make/eat?
(I know moms, you really won't believe what your picky little girl ate. I think it might mean I've officially conquered my finickies.)
1. miso soup
2. Sea Cucumber sizzled in sesame seed oil w/ toasted sunflower seeds
3. Salmon tartar/tostada with salmon roe + capers
4. Oysters w/ daikon radish
5. Sundried Squid w/ almond oil (crunchy and so tasty)
6. Jellyfish w/ cilantro. "would you please pass the jellyfish?" (yes, pink + jellylike)
7. Giant clam in a creamy sage + shitake sauce
8. 7 Spice Snapper (I think I actually cried it was so good)
9. Spring rolls w/ shredded veggies (the chef's mom made them)
10. Blowtorched spiced beef dumplings
11. Potato wrapped shrimp w/ blowtorched fontina + dill cream sauce
12. Soft shell crab w/ wild rice + zuchini roll
13. Ginger salmon pate w/ blue corn tortilla strips (so smooth)
14. Raw Squid w/ Purple + Green Basil Roll "Don't Use Soy Sauce" - it tasted like tea
15. Seaweed seared tuna flavored w/ ginger + sake + pickled plum
16. Salmon/Tuna pieces seared and rubbed with kim chi chili
17. BBQ'd eel wrapped in eggplant in szechuan garlic sauce
18. Green Tea Agar (Seaweed/tea/jello- so refreshing)
Washed down with Honey infused ginger lime sake. We lost Kathryn, whose eyes rolled to the back of her head around dish #10. The rest of us did belly rubs and deep breathing. For me, the sea cucumber was the gateway slippery slope.
900 hands
even keyboards have beautiful skeletons.
Long Island City, where one bean worked once upon a time, is probably poised to be the next Williamsburg. It is just north of us and has the same relationship to Queens as we have to Brooklyn, hardly any. More to point, both are situated close to important bridges into the city and one stop away on the subway- when Manhattan overflows, it looks closeby. This process has already started there with a more liveable commercial street developing between converted lofts and warehouses, but lacks the critical mass for amenities like grocery stores. One would be well advised to buy property now.
It is also home to the (Silvercup studios where various hit HBO series are filmed), MOMA's experimental cousin PS1, and the Steinway Piano Factory. I've long wanted to tour the factory, but I think access is limited and costly.
Alas, the Times gives us a little bit of love following one piano's quest to be concert graded. The interactive feature is a nice listen to various musicians giving the newby a test spin. Piano number 565,700
progress report:
even keyboards have beautiful skeletons.
Long Island City, where one bean worked once upon a time, is probably poised to be the next Williamsburg. It is just north of us and has the same relationship to Queens as we have to Brooklyn, hardly any. More to point, both are situated close to important bridges into the city and one stop away on the subway- when Manhattan overflows, it looks closeby. This process has already started there with a more liveable commercial street developing between converted lofts and warehouses, but lacks the critical mass for amenities like grocery stores. One would be well advised to buy property now.
It is also home to the (Silvercup studios where various hit HBO series are filmed), MOMA's experimental cousin PS1, and the Steinway Piano Factory. I've long wanted to tour the factory, but I think access is limited and costly.
Alas, the Times gives us a little bit of love following one piano's quest to be concert graded. The interactive feature is a nice listen to various musicians giving the newby a test spin. Piano number 565,700
progress report:
sources
The NYTimes may be the most commercially motivated news source I pluck from...this morning I found a new source Air America which is the counterpoint to the Loud Right Radio. In the last fifteen minutes I heard Chuck D.'s cohosting cohorts, the editor from Salon.com (an even more excellent source for real reporting) talking about his latest huge story unearthed from the White House and picked up by British press, and Gloria Steinem talking about why women these days are reluctant to call themselves feminists. I'm staying tuned for the Profile in Courage featuring Jerry Falwell who has the courage to say things no other Americans would dare say.
Warning!, listening/reading from sources other than Murdoch's Fox News may make it difficult to carry on conversations with most of the American public.
war for drugs
So last night I thought I'd have to turn off ABC's report on Ecstasy (because it's ABC). Damn, they actually had the courage to represent it honestly. Props for covering the cross section of people who've taken it: the woman with terminal cancer who used it to open up and connect with her loved ones, the priest who said it was his closest approximation to a talk with God, the mother who was a walking post-rape shell, the old folks who just smiled brightly calling it the best experience of their life, and of course teams of young folk (and yes, the rave scene).
Most folks agree that it breaks the artificial veils imposed by the shackles of civilization/regulation and enables you to see the world as beautiful and connected as it really is. As one drug policy analyst from UCLA points out, no one on Methamphetamines says it changed their life for the better. Same for people who've taken coke."
I thought this would lead up to the big hammering government sponsored fear-trip. But then they not only covered the hasty and unsubstantiated ban, but the subsequent discredited science from government sponsored studies and the repercussions of lost credibility from telling out right lies (the famous picture of a swiss cheesed brain with claims that a single use would cause Parkinson's or brain damage in 50-85%- when you know thousand who've taken it and none have any visible adverse affects, you rightly throw this info out the window).
Of course we still don't know the long term effects, blah blah blah (reminder that every time you get in a car you very realistically risk your life)...but this show reminded me how amazing this drug truly is and that I should take it at least once a year to wash the muck muck build-up off my soul.
fun facts
NYC which takes an est. 110 million pills of E a year and had 19,000 deaths over a 3 year period found only 2 deaths directly caused by ecstacy.
85% of American counties do NOT have abortion facilities.
54.6% of West Virginia participates in the labor force (which represents a huge disparity from the way they calculate unemployment)
If you give coffee to a spider, it will weave a crooked web, as if drunk.
Had to snap this with the camera phone while walking down my street. The best part is that it isn't hipster irony, no it's too good for that. The lady who lives here changes her (what is this, cross stitch?) window adornments seasonally. Seems like she's in high spirits... or Danish. It's all the rage in Denmark. I should note that her brownstone doesn't actually have access to the backyard in case you were wondering.
The NYTimes may be the most commercially motivated news source I pluck from...this morning I found a new source Air America which is the counterpoint to the Loud Right Radio. In the last fifteen minutes I heard Chuck D.'s cohosting cohorts, the editor from Salon.com (an even more excellent source for real reporting) talking about his latest huge story unearthed from the White House and picked up by British press, and Gloria Steinem talking about why women these days are reluctant to call themselves feminists. I'm staying tuned for the Profile in Courage featuring Jerry Falwell who has the courage to say things no other Americans would dare say.
Warning!, listening/reading from sources other than Murdoch's Fox News may make it difficult to carry on conversations with most of the American public.
war for drugs
So last night I thought I'd have to turn off ABC's report on Ecstasy (because it's ABC). Damn, they actually had the courage to represent it honestly. Props for covering the cross section of people who've taken it: the woman with terminal cancer who used it to open up and connect with her loved ones, the priest who said it was his closest approximation to a talk with God, the mother who was a walking post-rape shell, the old folks who just smiled brightly calling it the best experience of their life, and of course teams of young folk (and yes, the rave scene).
Most folks agree that it breaks the artificial veils imposed by the shackles of civilization/regulation and enables you to see the world as beautiful and connected as it really is. As one drug policy analyst from UCLA points out, no one on Methamphetamines says it changed their life for the better. Same for people who've taken coke."
I thought this would lead up to the big hammering government sponsored fear-trip. But then they not only covered the hasty and unsubstantiated ban, but the subsequent discredited science from government sponsored studies and the repercussions of lost credibility from telling out right lies (the famous picture of a swiss cheesed brain with claims that a single use would cause Parkinson's or brain damage in 50-85%- when you know thousand who've taken it and none have any visible adverse affects, you rightly throw this info out the window).
Of course we still don't know the long term effects, blah blah blah (reminder that every time you get in a car you very realistically risk your life)...but this show reminded me how amazing this drug truly is and that I should take it at least once a year to wash the muck muck build-up off my soul.
fun facts
NYC which takes an est. 110 million pills of E a year and had 19,000 deaths over a 3 year period found only 2 deaths directly caused by ecstacy.
85% of American counties do NOT have abortion facilities.
54.6% of West Virginia participates in the labor force (which represents a huge disparity from the way they calculate unemployment)
If you give coffee to a spider, it will weave a crooked web, as if drunk.
Had to snap this with the camera phone while walking down my street. The best part is that it isn't hipster irony, no it's too good for that. The lady who lives here changes her (what is this, cross stitch?) window adornments seasonally. Seems like she's in high spirits... or Danish. It's all the rage in Denmark. I should note that her brownstone doesn't actually have access to the backyard in case you were wondering.
morning indulgence
miss sickypants is about to leave the computer terminal- especially sensitive to the monitor's flickering ever since my swirling vision spells- but not before i finished reading and sharing this tidbit.
The Guardian has a captivating article on the estate of one Stanley Kubrick.
While I was in Paris, I worked for the biographer John Baxter who is quoted in the article. I thought his library with verticle piles of books and original pressings of remarkable works accompanying the caves of storage below his St. Michel batiment was impressive at the time. I rather enjoyed the hunt for a specific article or nugget of rare information on our subject of the time, the evasive Robert De Niro. While I'm not much of a star worshiper myself (mm, ok, arguably I'm a bit Bjork obsessed, but only because I'm looking for hints as to what planet she came from and how I get there), but the job was interesting as it lead me to many of the backsides of archival Paris. Looking for R.Crumb rare publishings in french. Specific Henry Miller correspondences. The dirt on DeNiro's run in with a Parisienne prostitute, the law, and his declaration of self-banishment from France. Admittedly, this work with Baxter draws me to his subjects (especially when we get to riffle through their enigmatic archives) more than I otherwise would.
At any rate, the obsessiveness revealed in this artilce rekindled those memories and was a good way to start the opening the boxes of this day's junk. The little exchange below also touched an incriminating nerve for me- if Ezpei and I have discussed any point more than another lately, it is my obsessive manner of working and the comparatively low yield for the effort put in. I'd like to be more efficient- I saw how Miss Hailey who sat behind me in studio would finish up early and reward herself with massage, dinner, and a movie while I agonized over now pointless details- I'm just not sure how.
"But if he hadn't allowed his tireless work ethic to take him to unproductive places, he'd have made more films," I say.
"That's a completely theoretical and obsolete observation!" replies Jan, in a jolly way. "That's like saying had Vermeer painted in a different manner, he'd have done 100 more paintings."
"Of course I wish he had made more films," says Jan
Sifting through boxes marked Fan Letters breaks are writer's heart a bit, so many filled with the same unanswerable plea for a big break. For me this recalls one such desparate/inspired mission- Over cocktails with a friend in the Meatpacking district, she pulls out a well worn letter she's sworn to carry with her at all times. It is from a young Danish actress. It is addressed to Woody Allen. She would like to watch him make his next movie to learn by observation how to be an amazing director. She's included a list of likely places to find him in New York to ease the task of this friend. I somehow doubt that Woody has as intricate a filing system, if only because he lives in space-starved Manhattan instead of an English manner.
In the end, who will benefit from his years of Napoleonic reseach, his fastidious filing system, his custom made boxes and particularity for sans-serif font? Our writer? Future biographers and their fly-by-night assistants? Exhibition curators who will never be able to completely represent this obsessive cataloging? Does it matter to anyone else but Stanley Kubrick? Can we simply benefit from his lushious body of work no matter how it came to be?
miss sickypants is about to leave the computer terminal- especially sensitive to the monitor's flickering ever since my swirling vision spells- but not before i finished reading and sharing this tidbit.
The Guardian has a captivating article on the estate of one Stanley Kubrick.
While I was in Paris, I worked for the biographer John Baxter who is quoted in the article. I thought his library with verticle piles of books and original pressings of remarkable works accompanying the caves of storage below his St. Michel batiment was impressive at the time. I rather enjoyed the hunt for a specific article or nugget of rare information on our subject of the time, the evasive Robert De Niro. While I'm not much of a star worshiper myself (mm, ok, arguably I'm a bit Bjork obsessed, but only because I'm looking for hints as to what planet she came from and how I get there), but the job was interesting as it lead me to many of the backsides of archival Paris. Looking for R.Crumb rare publishings in french. Specific Henry Miller correspondences. The dirt on DeNiro's run in with a Parisienne prostitute, the law, and his declaration of self-banishment from France. Admittedly, this work with Baxter draws me to his subjects (especially when we get to riffle through their enigmatic archives) more than I otherwise would.
At any rate, the obsessiveness revealed in this artilce rekindled those memories and was a good way to start the opening the boxes of this day's junk. The little exchange below also touched an incriminating nerve for me- if Ezpei and I have discussed any point more than another lately, it is my obsessive manner of working and the comparatively low yield for the effort put in. I'd like to be more efficient- I saw how Miss Hailey who sat behind me in studio would finish up early and reward herself with massage, dinner, and a movie while I agonized over now pointless details- I'm just not sure how.
"But if he hadn't allowed his tireless work ethic to take him to unproductive places, he'd have made more films," I say.
"That's a completely theoretical and obsolete observation!" replies Jan, in a jolly way. "That's like saying had Vermeer painted in a different manner, he'd have done 100 more paintings."
"Of course I wish he had made more films," says Jan
Sifting through boxes marked Fan Letters breaks are writer's heart a bit, so many filled with the same unanswerable plea for a big break. For me this recalls one such desparate/inspired mission- Over cocktails with a friend in the Meatpacking district, she pulls out a well worn letter she's sworn to carry with her at all times. It is from a young Danish actress. It is addressed to Woody Allen. She would like to watch him make his next movie to learn by observation how to be an amazing director. She's included a list of likely places to find him in New York to ease the task of this friend. I somehow doubt that Woody has as intricate a filing system, if only because he lives in space-starved Manhattan instead of an English manner.
In the end, who will benefit from his years of Napoleonic reseach, his fastidious filing system, his custom made boxes and particularity for sans-serif font? Our writer? Future biographers and their fly-by-night assistants? Exhibition curators who will never be able to completely represent this obsessive cataloging? Does it matter to anyone else but Stanley Kubrick? Can we simply benefit from his lushious body of work no matter how it came to be?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
