1st guy: "You look like a space man in that white jacket."
2d guy: What?"
2d guy is an older gentleman I see sometimes on my street. He's wearing a white jacket and his hood is up.
1st guy: "I said you look like a space man in that jacket."
Said a bit louder, pronounced a little slower.
2d guy: "I wear this white jacket so the cars won't hit me."
1st guy: "You're definitely a spaceman. Do you float?"
2d guy (obviously a little confused): "What? I wear this jacket so the cars don't hit me. I DON'T LIKE to be hit by cars."
Says the part in all caps slowly, loudly.
1st guy: "You should try floating."
2d guy: "I have a bright pink jacket too. Everyone is so surprised when they see it, but I don't get hit by cars in it."
Overheard (and seen) on a crowded elevator at Forest Hill Station here in SF a couple of nights ago during the evening commute.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Recent Self-Portrait
Not one of my favorites, but I do like the angle. Plus my face is in focus. I was standing on my little ottoman and fell off it while doing taking this and several pictures like it. It's always tricky shooting straight into a narrow mirror like this one.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
The Lost Stories: The Light That Never Goes Out
This is the second story written for a specific question. See my other post "Sleven Goes Home" to see how the process works. The question for this story was "How can I meet a guy who likes me and who will pay attention to me?" Although the main character in this story is a man, it's mostly about me and my shortcomings. There is a possibility that the main character's self-centeredness might be taken from a couple of guys I've known, but I can never be sure about that.
***
The man never knew what hit him. He’d spent most of his life in that state, but each time he was clueless. He still didn’t know. He wasn’t introspective at all, just focused on everything outside. He never realized he was making his own problems even when he clearly did stupid things to the detriment of himself and those around him.
One day a demon showed up in his bedroom just before dawn. The man woke and trembled in terror. The demon started to recite a list of his most grievous wrongdoings and explained to him that it was all to his making. He chose to ignore, he chose to be arrogant, he chose to allow himself to lose sight of his inner self and his inner workings. The man pledged to change if he demon wouldn’t hurt him. The demon refused. Instead, he tore the man from limb from limb and dropped off parts of his body to the people he had grievously wronged as payment for the wrongs done to them.
The man’s soul wandered in fear and pain and loneliness in a cold empty space. There was no one there to talk to, nothing but the hard cold ground and an all encompassing darkness. The demon left him with a single light, an eternal flame covered in a small hurricane lamp that would never go out as reward for offering to change.
“The offer to change is better than nothing,” the demon had said. The man called out to the darkness until he was hoarse. He realized he might spend the rest of eternity here if he didn’t think of what he must do next. A very long time passed and then the man found a single object on the hard ground as he wandered around. It was a compass. And it worked. The man thought for a long time about which direction to go. It was difficult to know in the pitch blackness, but while he was thinking about it, he noticed something in the lamp with the eternal flame that he hadn’t seen before. The top of the glass from the lamp could be removed. He carefully removed the glass and the eternal flame stood alone. He stared at it for a while and then turned around towards the compass. Immediately the flame flickered in the dark for the first time. He thought it was his own movements causing the flicker, but realized there was a slight breeze coming from somewhere. The man held the flame here and there and was able to figure out which direction the breeze was coming from: northeast. He carefully closed up the eternal flame in it’s glass covering then carefully setting the compass, the man started moving in the right direction.
***
This story is very simple and lord knows I've written about people (myself) being lost in a featureless dark place. The flame is clearly a throwback to the Lord of the Rings and the dark place is what I think of as Purgatory even though I'm not Catholic. The flickering of the flame is something I borrowed from spelunking as a method of finding your way through a cave system.
Did this story answer my original question about meeting a good guy? Yes and no. To me it means that finding a good guy is something secondary, there's a breeze to find, a compass to use and the flickering flame. Somehow those things transcend dating.
***
The man never knew what hit him. He’d spent most of his life in that state, but each time he was clueless. He still didn’t know. He wasn’t introspective at all, just focused on everything outside. He never realized he was making his own problems even when he clearly did stupid things to the detriment of himself and those around him.
One day a demon showed up in his bedroom just before dawn. The man woke and trembled in terror. The demon started to recite a list of his most grievous wrongdoings and explained to him that it was all to his making. He chose to ignore, he chose to be arrogant, he chose to allow himself to lose sight of his inner self and his inner workings. The man pledged to change if he demon wouldn’t hurt him. The demon refused. Instead, he tore the man from limb from limb and dropped off parts of his body to the people he had grievously wronged as payment for the wrongs done to them.
The man’s soul wandered in fear and pain and loneliness in a cold empty space. There was no one there to talk to, nothing but the hard cold ground and an all encompassing darkness. The demon left him with a single light, an eternal flame covered in a small hurricane lamp that would never go out as reward for offering to change.
“The offer to change is better than nothing,” the demon had said. The man called out to the darkness until he was hoarse. He realized he might spend the rest of eternity here if he didn’t think of what he must do next. A very long time passed and then the man found a single object on the hard ground as he wandered around. It was a compass. And it worked. The man thought for a long time about which direction to go. It was difficult to know in the pitch blackness, but while he was thinking about it, he noticed something in the lamp with the eternal flame that he hadn’t seen before. The top of the glass from the lamp could be removed. He carefully removed the glass and the eternal flame stood alone. He stared at it for a while and then turned around towards the compass. Immediately the flame flickered in the dark for the first time. He thought it was his own movements causing the flicker, but realized there was a slight breeze coming from somewhere. The man held the flame here and there and was able to figure out which direction the breeze was coming from: northeast. He carefully closed up the eternal flame in it’s glass covering then carefully setting the compass, the man started moving in the right direction.
***
This story is very simple and lord knows I've written about people (myself) being lost in a featureless dark place. The flame is clearly a throwback to the Lord of the Rings and the dark place is what I think of as Purgatory even though I'm not Catholic. The flickering of the flame is something I borrowed from spelunking as a method of finding your way through a cave system.
Did this story answer my original question about meeting a good guy? Yes and no. To me it means that finding a good guy is something secondary, there's a breeze to find, a compass to use and the flickering flame. Somehow those things transcend dating.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Pouring Rain, Fierce Winds
This past Sunday I had my swim lesson at Mission Bay. Mission Bay is the newer part of UCSF and it's quite the campus here in SF. It's not far from the Giants' ballpark. On Sundays the indoor pool is reserved for family swim classes so I have to swim in the outdoor pool on the roof. It's a beautiful view to be sure, but also freezing on certain days in the morning.
I sat in my car in the parking garage because I'd gotten there a little early. I heard the sound of the wind and looked out the window. I could see the wind blowing the rain at a diagonal. It seems both natural and counter-intuitive to be swimming in the rain. On one hand, you're already wet so what does it matter? On the other, you have to get out of the pool and walk the freezing few steps to the stairway leading down to the (warmer) locker room. Those few steps can be hard.
I told my swim instructor, who arrived wearing jeans, a baseball cap, black fleece jacket and large umbrella, that I never imagined I would be here swimming in the cold rain. He laughed and told me only hardcore people swim in the rain and I was one of them.
The majority of the lesson consisted of my instructor running back and forth in the pouring rain yelling "faster, FASTER!" as he put me through my paces with many drills. The lifeguard on duty was kind enough to lend him a huge waterproof lifeguard jacket, but he still got soaking wet. I asked him if he had to swim later, he nodded. He's taking a course or renewal of some kind so he had to swim about an hour after our lesson in the same pool.
As I swam as fast as I could back and forth I could feel the rain thumping me on the back. It was an odd feeling. It felt alien, but not wrong. I kept telling myself I was already wet. The wind started blowing the rain almost horizontal. It was affecting my ability to breathe as I turned my head because of the surface waves. I wasn't cold, my instructor made sure I kept my heart rate up. In fact he was kicking my ass. I was so winded after the last drill it was hard to take a breath as I slowly made my way down the stairway to the comfort of the women's locker room.
During the second to the last drill where I had to swim three laps without stopping I kept turning my head to breath and was sucking down water instead because of the waves. It scared me, as usual, but I had a different thought. Whenever something like that happens I always think something like "the pool is shallow enough so I can put my feet down if I need to" or "my swim instructor would never let me drown, neither would the lifeguard for that matter." This time I thought something different for the first time "This isn't that scary at all because I can swim and I'm going to keep swimming even when I'm swallowing water."
It's a new, marvelous place to be.
I sat in my car in the parking garage because I'd gotten there a little early. I heard the sound of the wind and looked out the window. I could see the wind blowing the rain at a diagonal. It seems both natural and counter-intuitive to be swimming in the rain. On one hand, you're already wet so what does it matter? On the other, you have to get out of the pool and walk the freezing few steps to the stairway leading down to the (warmer) locker room. Those few steps can be hard.
I told my swim instructor, who arrived wearing jeans, a baseball cap, black fleece jacket and large umbrella, that I never imagined I would be here swimming in the cold rain. He laughed and told me only hardcore people swim in the rain and I was one of them.
The majority of the lesson consisted of my instructor running back and forth in the pouring rain yelling "faster, FASTER!" as he put me through my paces with many drills. The lifeguard on duty was kind enough to lend him a huge waterproof lifeguard jacket, but he still got soaking wet. I asked him if he had to swim later, he nodded. He's taking a course or renewal of some kind so he had to swim about an hour after our lesson in the same pool.
As I swam as fast as I could back and forth I could feel the rain thumping me on the back. It was an odd feeling. It felt alien, but not wrong. I kept telling myself I was already wet. The wind started blowing the rain almost horizontal. It was affecting my ability to breathe as I turned my head because of the surface waves. I wasn't cold, my instructor made sure I kept my heart rate up. In fact he was kicking my ass. I was so winded after the last drill it was hard to take a breath as I slowly made my way down the stairway to the comfort of the women's locker room.
During the second to the last drill where I had to swim three laps without stopping I kept turning my head to breath and was sucking down water instead because of the waves. It scared me, as usual, but I had a different thought. Whenever something like that happens I always think something like "the pool is shallow enough so I can put my feet down if I need to" or "my swim instructor would never let me drown, neither would the lifeguard for that matter." This time I thought something different for the first time "This isn't that scary at all because I can swim and I'm going to keep swimming even when I'm swallowing water."
It's a new, marvelous place to be.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
The Lost Stories: Sleven Goes Home
I keep writing stories about myself. They are short and meant to answer a particular question. The idea is you write down questions and put them in an envelope. Later (perhaps weeks later), you sit down, look up for a moment and write a very short story. After the story is done you pick an envelope to see how your story answered the question.
So far, all my stories are about people being lost (namely me). I like them a lot even if they are odd so I'm going to share one of them here.
Sleven was a strange girl who didn’t know her way home. When she was leaving school, the teachers had to point her in the right direction and tell her which street to turn left on. She always recognized the street and the house once she got there and she had no problems with directions to other places. The house was friendly on the outside, but forgetful on the inside. Forgetfulness reigned in that place. It was all she could do to get her homework done properly. Her parents were merely images in her mind of kind, happy people. In real life they were just vapors hanging in space. Sleven had made good use of this trying scenario. She kept the house clean and tidy and managed herself well. She was afraid of getting sick and having no one to help her so she worked hard at staying healthy and taking plenty of vitamin supplements.
Sleven was a favorite of her teachers, but not of her fellow students. No matter, she was used to managing on her own.
One day all this enforced isolation finally paid off when Sleven was mysteriously picked up by a group of rangers misplaced on her street. They told her they were from the “place far away, so far” and that they were there to take her home. She would have to endure isolation and be self-reliant, but after five years she would get her reward. Nervously she asked what that reward would be. The head ranger, Smith, told her it would the richest reward, especially for her loving heart.
“You will find everything will fall into place. I’m not saying it will become easier, far from it, but you will find your place in this world.”
Sleven was afraid and not sure if she trusted Smith or any of the other rangers, but she didn’t know what else to do.
“It will be difficult,” said a ranger named Tomorrow, “ and you will be lonely.”
“No matter,” said Sleven, “I’m ready for it. I’m ready for the coldest isolation and the most fiery trial by fire.”
The head ranger smiled. “I promise, you will come out the other side after five years of hardship, and you will come out smiling.”
Sleven accepted the small knapsack of supplies they gave her and then turned one last time to wave at the group of gruff but kind men. They waved back and she walked into the dark forest. She never saw the rangers again.
***
The question this story was meant to answer was whether I could have a good relationship with this guy I was enamored with at the time. The short answer, based on this story, is no. I won't do any further analysis here, but I've done a fair amount on my own. In a way the story is more important than the question. I just love some of the details here such as the forgetfulness inside the house and there are more than one of my own personal anxieties on display here.
I've written a total of three stories so far and I may share story number two. We'll see.
So far, all my stories are about people being lost (namely me). I like them a lot even if they are odd so I'm going to share one of them here.
Sleven Goes Home
Sleven was a strange girl who didn’t know her way home. When she was leaving school, the teachers had to point her in the right direction and tell her which street to turn left on. She always recognized the street and the house once she got there and she had no problems with directions to other places. The house was friendly on the outside, but forgetful on the inside. Forgetfulness reigned in that place. It was all she could do to get her homework done properly. Her parents were merely images in her mind of kind, happy people. In real life they were just vapors hanging in space. Sleven had made good use of this trying scenario. She kept the house clean and tidy and managed herself well. She was afraid of getting sick and having no one to help her so she worked hard at staying healthy and taking plenty of vitamin supplements.
Sleven was a favorite of her teachers, but not of her fellow students. No matter, she was used to managing on her own.
One day all this enforced isolation finally paid off when Sleven was mysteriously picked up by a group of rangers misplaced on her street. They told her they were from the “place far away, so far” and that they were there to take her home. She would have to endure isolation and be self-reliant, but after five years she would get her reward. Nervously she asked what that reward would be. The head ranger, Smith, told her it would the richest reward, especially for her loving heart.
“You will find everything will fall into place. I’m not saying it will become easier, far from it, but you will find your place in this world.”
Sleven was afraid and not sure if she trusted Smith or any of the other rangers, but she didn’t know what else to do.
“It will be difficult,” said a ranger named Tomorrow, “ and you will be lonely.”
“No matter,” said Sleven, “I’m ready for it. I’m ready for the coldest isolation and the most fiery trial by fire.”
The head ranger smiled. “I promise, you will come out the other side after five years of hardship, and you will come out smiling.”
Sleven accepted the small knapsack of supplies they gave her and then turned one last time to wave at the group of gruff but kind men. They waved back and she walked into the dark forest. She never saw the rangers again.
***
The question this story was meant to answer was whether I could have a good relationship with this guy I was enamored with at the time. The short answer, based on this story, is no. I won't do any further analysis here, but I've done a fair amount on my own. In a way the story is more important than the question. I just love some of the details here such as the forgetfulness inside the house and there are more than one of my own personal anxieties on display here.
I've written a total of three stories so far and I may share story number two. We'll see.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
DVD Classes/Zero and Infinity
I bought a few courses from the Teaching Company. I know for many of you sitting on your couch and watching a professor talk at the podium on your DVD for 24 lectures (at 30 minutes a pop) is enough to set you running for the remote, but I think it sounds like great fun. I bought them as a Valentine's Day present for myself since I don't have a sweetheart for this most Hallmark of holidays.
Here's what I bought:
***
As many of you know I'm terrible at math. I can barely figure out the tip for the restaurant meal. When I was much younger I read a book about mathematics which I didn't understand very well, BUT there was a half a chapter on the history of counting. This half chapter was so riveting and interesting to me I never wanted it to end, but rather than explore further I told myself I couldn't do math and left it alone. I can't WAIT to learn more about the history of counting in my DVD course.
As a seventh grader with an overactive imagination and an inability to do fractions, I figured out one morning in math class that the number line, that is negative numbers, zero, positive numbers both extending into infinity in both the negative and positive directions, is really not a line at all. Instead it's a massive oval because the numbers bend back on themselves. Everything always comes back to zero.
For the first time my very good math teacher had no idea what to say, and I couldn't readily explain why I thought this was so. She asked me for specifics. I couldn't give her any. I just knew everything comes back to zero. Then, somehow, I was able to explain why. My explanation was simple and made complete sense. Or so I thought, but my friends thought I was completely out of my mind and spent a good deal of time telling me so.
When I became an adult I completely forgot about this incident. Every once in a great while I would recall it, but I completely forgot why everything comes back to zero.
While reviewing the course starter materials for my DVD course, due on my doorstep any day now, I read a line about how when it comes down to it zero and infinity are very similar numbers.
A light went on (this happened about 30 minutes ago). It sputtered for a moment and then burned brightly. The reason why everything comes back to zero is because zero and infinity are mirror images of each other. Since negative and positive numbers are mirror images of each other so is zero and infinity. This is why the numbers bend back on each other.
Now I know you're thinking this is all well and good, but you're probably wondering if it's true. Can it be proven with an equation or series of equations? The answer is I have no idea. I don't know if it's true and I have no way of finding out. I'm hoping to get a clue on my DVD class, but if the professor doesn't mention this idea I'll send him an inquiring email when the class is over.
Huh. Too bad I can't do math. I have a feeling I would have really enjoyed playing with numbers and theories and things.
Here's what I bought:
- The History of European Art
- Einstein's Relativity and the Quantum Revolution (I looove quantum physics!)
- Zero to Infinity: A History of Numbers
- Foundations of Western Civilization (from earliest civilizations to 1600)
- Museum Masterpieces: The Louvre
- Museum Masterpieces: The Met
***
As many of you know I'm terrible at math. I can barely figure out the tip for the restaurant meal. When I was much younger I read a book about mathematics which I didn't understand very well, BUT there was a half a chapter on the history of counting. This half chapter was so riveting and interesting to me I never wanted it to end, but rather than explore further I told myself I couldn't do math and left it alone. I can't WAIT to learn more about the history of counting in my DVD course.
As a seventh grader with an overactive imagination and an inability to do fractions, I figured out one morning in math class that the number line, that is negative numbers, zero, positive numbers both extending into infinity in both the negative and positive directions, is really not a line at all. Instead it's a massive oval because the numbers bend back on themselves. Everything always comes back to zero.
For the first time my very good math teacher had no idea what to say, and I couldn't readily explain why I thought this was so. She asked me for specifics. I couldn't give her any. I just knew everything comes back to zero. Then, somehow, I was able to explain why. My explanation was simple and made complete sense. Or so I thought, but my friends thought I was completely out of my mind and spent a good deal of time telling me so.
When I became an adult I completely forgot about this incident. Every once in a great while I would recall it, but I completely forgot why everything comes back to zero.
While reviewing the course starter materials for my DVD course, due on my doorstep any day now, I read a line about how when it comes down to it zero and infinity are very similar numbers.
A light went on (this happened about 30 minutes ago). It sputtered for a moment and then burned brightly. The reason why everything comes back to zero is because zero and infinity are mirror images of each other. Since negative and positive numbers are mirror images of each other so is zero and infinity. This is why the numbers bend back on each other.
Now I know you're thinking this is all well and good, but you're probably wondering if it's true. Can it be proven with an equation or series of equations? The answer is I have no idea. I don't know if it's true and I have no way of finding out. I'm hoping to get a clue on my DVD class, but if the professor doesn't mention this idea I'll send him an inquiring email when the class is over.
Huh. Too bad I can't do math. I have a feeling I would have really enjoyed playing with numbers and theories and things.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Sickle
I hear the clang of bronze and steel before he slips quickly into view. He is tall and thin, carrying ancient weapons. He regards me with suspicion and cold calculation. He raises the old sword to my throat. I do not move.
I feel a swoosh of feathers behind me, but still I don't move. The man looks up in shock as the seven foot Gryphon suddenly appears behind me and then plants his huge claws around the guy's neck. Mr. Gryphon crushes the man's armor like it's made of eggshells. The man falls to the ground, clutching his neck. Crimson is everywhere.
The old sword is on the ground and I reach down to pick it up. It's super heavy and sickle shaped, more ceremonial than practical even if the metal still has the marks from the ancient hammer that created it. I have to hold it with both hands even if it's not that large. The handle is made of bronze. I look at Mr. Gryphon.
"Where did he get this sword? It must be over 2,500 years old."
"He probably found it somewhere. It appears completely intact, but geographically it's traveled a long way." I hand the sword to Mr. Gryphon so he can carry it for me. We have only just arrived here and I took a wrong turn and had the misfortune of running into that now dead knight.
Mr. Gryphon and I are in Compiegne in Northern France the night before the state tournament starts. The year is 1272. For some reason I've wanted to come here just to see, or maybe it's because I've been thinking of Heath Ledger and that silly movie "A Knight's Tale" which I like very much, by the way. I am dressed in a nun's outfit having bought one from a kind sister just before we arrived in town. Mr. Gryphon is visible only when he needs to be which is lucky because that means when he's carrying the sword it will be invisible too.
The place is overrun with knights getting drunk and disorderly the night before the tournament. All around the perimeter of this town are hundreds of tents and camps. Wealthy knights hold forth in lavish tents and with their own entourages. Less wealthy country knights have set up simple camps. The smell of food, of overcooked meat, of ale, to sweaty bodies, of horses, burning wood fires and horse manure seeps into my bones. The sound of metal and weapons, horses neighing and men laughing fill the air. I hold a basket and no one pays me any attention. Men usually don't look at nun's faces.
Mr. Gryphon follows, walking regally and slowly. I am ambling to get a feel for the place. I pass a particularly lavish tent set up and run my hands over the fine, brightly colored silks. The edges are a little ratty, but otherwise the silk has held up well. We walk for quite some time then I head toward the square in the middle of town.
"Miss Turtle, this is not a very safe place," Mr. Gryphon says unnecessarily.
"I just want to look around a bit more." I adjust my wimple. The fabric is roughly dyed a dark color, but it's also scratchy and uncomfortable. I'm thankful it's a cool night.
"You got what you came for and we can come back tomorrow when the tournament starts," he says.
"Why are you in such a hurry, Mr. Gryphon?"
"We have to finish this post now so we can go get something to eat, in the real world," he says. He rarely mentions "the real world" to me. I stop and look at him and I realize he's right. I've had fun writing this post, but I did find what I was looking for. Time to stop.
As we prepare to exit a lone faded blue door appears hanging in space. Mr. Gryphon hands me the sword and opens the door for me. We pass through and manage to bring the sword and the nun's habit with us.
I feel a swoosh of feathers behind me, but still I don't move. The man looks up in shock as the seven foot Gryphon suddenly appears behind me and then plants his huge claws around the guy's neck. Mr. Gryphon crushes the man's armor like it's made of eggshells. The man falls to the ground, clutching his neck. Crimson is everywhere.
The old sword is on the ground and I reach down to pick it up. It's super heavy and sickle shaped, more ceremonial than practical even if the metal still has the marks from the ancient hammer that created it. I have to hold it with both hands even if it's not that large. The handle is made of bronze. I look at Mr. Gryphon.
"Where did he get this sword? It must be over 2,500 years old."
"He probably found it somewhere. It appears completely intact, but geographically it's traveled a long way." I hand the sword to Mr. Gryphon so he can carry it for me. We have only just arrived here and I took a wrong turn and had the misfortune of running into that now dead knight.
Mr. Gryphon and I are in Compiegne in Northern France the night before the state tournament starts. The year is 1272. For some reason I've wanted to come here just to see, or maybe it's because I've been thinking of Heath Ledger and that silly movie "A Knight's Tale" which I like very much, by the way. I am dressed in a nun's outfit having bought one from a kind sister just before we arrived in town. Mr. Gryphon is visible only when he needs to be which is lucky because that means when he's carrying the sword it will be invisible too.
The place is overrun with knights getting drunk and disorderly the night before the tournament. All around the perimeter of this town are hundreds of tents and camps. Wealthy knights hold forth in lavish tents and with their own entourages. Less wealthy country knights have set up simple camps. The smell of food, of overcooked meat, of ale, to sweaty bodies, of horses, burning wood fires and horse manure seeps into my bones. The sound of metal and weapons, horses neighing and men laughing fill the air. I hold a basket and no one pays me any attention. Men usually don't look at nun's faces.
Mr. Gryphon follows, walking regally and slowly. I am ambling to get a feel for the place. I pass a particularly lavish tent set up and run my hands over the fine, brightly colored silks. The edges are a little ratty, but otherwise the silk has held up well. We walk for quite some time then I head toward the square in the middle of town.
"Miss Turtle, this is not a very safe place," Mr. Gryphon says unnecessarily.
"I just want to look around a bit more." I adjust my wimple. The fabric is roughly dyed a dark color, but it's also scratchy and uncomfortable. I'm thankful it's a cool night.
"You got what you came for and we can come back tomorrow when the tournament starts," he says.
"Why are you in such a hurry, Mr. Gryphon?"
"We have to finish this post now so we can go get something to eat, in the real world," he says. He rarely mentions "the real world" to me. I stop and look at him and I realize he's right. I've had fun writing this post, but I did find what I was looking for. Time to stop.
As we prepare to exit a lone faded blue door appears hanging in space. Mr. Gryphon hands me the sword and opens the door for me. We pass through and manage to bring the sword and the nun's habit with us.
A Penguin Short
I'm back, finally. My phone works, my internet connection works. Thank goodness. I'm going to start with a couple short, but fun posts. I took this footage on my phone camcorder. Enjoy!
Another Penguin Short
I say in this video that Pierre is 24 years old, but he's going to be 25 this month.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Sorry I haven't been around..
but I don't have an internet connection at home right now. I'll be back when I'm finally connected to the web. In the meantime, I thank the people who keep coming back here to check up on me.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
New Job
Sometimes things work out. Today I accepted a new job. I'm very excited about it!
I didn't have to look very hard. Someone who used to work at my old company started working at another company and they needed to fill the position. She asked me to get in touch with her about interviewing there. I wasn't sure if I wanted to work there, it's a bit smaller company than I'm used to, but I decided to go as a good way to "practice" interviewing. Turns out it's a good fit, or at least it appears to be. I'll find out very soon when I start my new job on Monday.
Hooray!
I didn't have to look very hard. Someone who used to work at my old company started working at another company and they needed to fill the position. She asked me to get in touch with her about interviewing there. I wasn't sure if I wanted to work there, it's a bit smaller company than I'm used to, but I decided to go as a good way to "practice" interviewing. Turns out it's a good fit, or at least it appears to be. I'll find out very soon when I start my new job on Monday.
Hooray!
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Story Of My Life
"Everyone says 'I love you.' But just why they say it for I never knew. It's just inviting trouble for the poor sucker who says 'I love you.'" - Groucho Marx, playing guitar while in a canoe, Thelma Todd rowing...and a duck following closely behind. From the film "Horse Feathers."
Lots of people tell me I fall too fast, too quickly. I get emotionally involved at the speed of light. Conventional wisdom states that it's impossible for any man to be in a position to reciprocate in that situation. That it's caused me no end of pain and suffering. That the guys I really like(d) were/are jerks. Nothing has worked up to this point so I suppose they're right.
Still, if it weren't for people like me Groucho would not have had as funny as song to sing, certain stories, "Wuthering Heights" comes to mind, other songs, art, theater, movies, etc. would not be here.
As I've noted before I am stupid and foolish about these situations and inevitably end of up being burned/taken advantage of, but as I pointed out recently to someone I can't help how I feel. I'm sorry about that, but only in the sense that it offends others not in the sense that it bothers me.
So as I wander the fogged-in moors of my love life wearing velvet overcoat and carrying a cane with a squeaky horn and slightly crushed top hat, I see hope in all places. Love does that to me even after it's kicked me repeatedly in the teeth. There are many songs to sing, stories to tell and read. I have faith in the power of love. I'm not sure about my faith in myself and I certainly don't know about faith in most men, but I place my faith in love. It's all strangeness anyway.
And to make everyone else happy I'll try to keep a lid on my emotions more next time.
Lots of people tell me I fall too fast, too quickly. I get emotionally involved at the speed of light. Conventional wisdom states that it's impossible for any man to be in a position to reciprocate in that situation. That it's caused me no end of pain and suffering. That the guys I really like(d) were/are jerks. Nothing has worked up to this point so I suppose they're right.
Still, if it weren't for people like me Groucho would not have had as funny as song to sing, certain stories, "Wuthering Heights" comes to mind, other songs, art, theater, movies, etc. would not be here.
As I've noted before I am stupid and foolish about these situations and inevitably end of up being burned/taken advantage of, but as I pointed out recently to someone I can't help how I feel. I'm sorry about that, but only in the sense that it offends others not in the sense that it bothers me.
So as I wander the fogged-in moors of my love life wearing velvet overcoat and carrying a cane with a squeaky horn and slightly crushed top hat, I see hope in all places. Love does that to me even after it's kicked me repeatedly in the teeth. There are many songs to sing, stories to tell and read. I have faith in the power of love. I'm not sure about my faith in myself and I certainly don't know about faith in most men, but I place my faith in love. It's all strangeness anyway.
And to make everyone else happy I'll try to keep a lid on my emotions more next time.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Yes, Minister & Yes, Prime Minister
"Yes, Minister" and "Yes, Prime Minister" are British television sitcoms which aired from 1980 to 1988. I bought "Yes, Minister" for my brother as a birthday present, but had never watched it. I finally sat down one evening with him and we took in one of the episodes.
The show is brilliant. I haven't watched much TV, but it's up there with the best shows I've ever seen. In fact, I think these two shows, which always have to be taken together, might be the best thing I've ever seen on television.
The shows are about the machinations and political goings on behind the scenes of the British government. The three main characters: Paul Eddington, Derek Fowlds and a spectacular Nigel Hawthorne are perfect and have marvelous chemistry. The dialog is not only hysterical, but incredible feats of acting. Great, great stuff.
I bought "Yes, Prime Minster" for my brother's Christmas present and we watched a few episodes. The show usually concerns Jim Hacker (Eddington) as the Minister, and later Prime Minister, trying to make some progress with his policies, and Sir Humphrey Appleby (Hawthorne) as his Permanent Secretary, and later Cabinet Secretary, trying to oppose them. There's a lot of manipulation, circuitous explanations, head butting and horse trading going on. Appleby usually manages to get the best of Hacker, but sometimes he doesn't. Derek Fowlds plays Bernard Woolley, Hacker's Principal Private Secretary, and is usually caught between the two. It's easy to focus on Nigel Hawthorne's amazing Sir Humphrey as it is the showiest role, but Paul Eddington and Derek Fowlds roles are essential and just as admirable.
One of my favorite things to do during the show, in addition to having a great time and a good laugh, is to look at all the men's exquisitely tailored suits and to take note of their beautiful ties, pocket squares, and shirts. Someone there at the BBC has great taste in menswear. My brother was commenting that Sir Humphrey has the most beautiful suits. I disagreed. I explained to him that the reason they look so great on him is most of the time he is sitting up straight and many of the other characters are sitting slumped. Eddington as the Prime Minister probably has the best suits, shirts, ties and pocket squares, as he should.
Now, I haven't seen "West Wing" but I'm told it's very good, but can it be as good as these two shows? Here's a short clip from "Yes, Prime Minister - The Tangled Web" for your enjoyment:
The show is brilliant. I haven't watched much TV, but it's up there with the best shows I've ever seen. In fact, I think these two shows, which always have to be taken together, might be the best thing I've ever seen on television.
The shows are about the machinations and political goings on behind the scenes of the British government. The three main characters: Paul Eddington, Derek Fowlds and a spectacular Nigel Hawthorne are perfect and have marvelous chemistry. The dialog is not only hysterical, but incredible feats of acting. Great, great stuff.
I bought "Yes, Prime Minster" for my brother's Christmas present and we watched a few episodes. The show usually concerns Jim Hacker (Eddington) as the Minister, and later Prime Minister, trying to make some progress with his policies, and Sir Humphrey Appleby (Hawthorne) as his Permanent Secretary, and later Cabinet Secretary, trying to oppose them. There's a lot of manipulation, circuitous explanations, head butting and horse trading going on. Appleby usually manages to get the best of Hacker, but sometimes he doesn't. Derek Fowlds plays Bernard Woolley, Hacker's Principal Private Secretary, and is usually caught between the two. It's easy to focus on Nigel Hawthorne's amazing Sir Humphrey as it is the showiest role, but Paul Eddington and Derek Fowlds roles are essential and just as admirable.
One of my favorite things to do during the show, in addition to having a great time and a good laugh, is to look at all the men's exquisitely tailored suits and to take note of their beautiful ties, pocket squares, and shirts. Someone there at the BBC has great taste in menswear. My brother was commenting that Sir Humphrey has the most beautiful suits. I disagreed. I explained to him that the reason they look so great on him is most of the time he is sitting up straight and many of the other characters are sitting slumped. Eddington as the Prime Minister probably has the best suits, shirts, ties and pocket squares, as he should.
Now, I haven't seen "West Wing" but I'm told it's very good, but can it be as good as these two shows? Here's a short clip from "Yes, Prime Minister - The Tangled Web" for your enjoyment:
YouTube Fun
Space between atoms/current favorite movie trailer/Miss Turtle feeds the penguins.
Hurray! An answer to one of Miss Turtle's most burning questions: What is UP with all the space between atoms? I've been wondering about the answer to this question for years and here I've found it on YouTube. Long live YouTube!
Next up is my current favorite movie preview "The Dark Knight." This shows our first look at Heath Ledger's Joker. Now the Joker comes with some serious pedigree in terms of the actors who have portrayed him, but I'm thinking this is looking promising.
Last, but not least. Someone at the Aquarium found a short video of me feeding the penguins! It was taken by someone in the audience. I had no idea the video had been posted.
Hurray! An answer to one of Miss Turtle's most burning questions: What is UP with all the space between atoms? I've been wondering about the answer to this question for years and here I've found it on YouTube. Long live YouTube!
Next up is my current favorite movie preview "The Dark Knight." This shows our first look at Heath Ledger's Joker. Now the Joker comes with some serious pedigree in terms of the actors who have portrayed him, but I'm thinking this is looking promising.
Last, but not least. Someone at the Aquarium found a short video of me feeding the penguins! It was taken by someone in the audience. I had no idea the video had been posted.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Back to "Bird by Bird"
I don't know what the hell I'm doing. This is not a new idea, it's just that during this floppy, scrappy time of unemployment this truth has been brought to my consciousness front and center.
Last Tuesday I splurged using my finite financial resources and went to see Anne Lamott speak at the Jewish Community Center here in SF. Anne Lamott has written a number of books about religion and other topics. What she is most known for people like me is her classic book on writing "Bird by Bird."
I read "Bird by Bird" years ago and didn't like it. There was nothing new there, I thought, that I hadn't read in a bunch of other books on writing. I didn't like how insecure she was or how she seemed to flail around. True, she is a great writer, but I was uncomfortable with her brutal honesty. I didn't want to take advice or emulate a person who seemed so damn clueless. I wanted confidence and security. I set the book aside and checked it off as having read it. I would find what I was looking for elsewhere.
I don't know why I went to see her other than the fact that "Bird by Bird" is a classic now. Maybe I wanted to sit in a dark auditorium and hear someone who writes for a living speak. I hadn't read any of her other books. I was feeling, and still am feeling, lost and inefficient.
Seeing Anne was a revelation for me. She was funny, poignant, brilliant, and oh-so-brutally honest. She spoke to me and made me feel a sense of hope. She said she doesn't know what the hell she's doing either and that no matter how many books you've published, you'll still feel that way. Fortunately for me she focused on reiterating her ideas for writing and how those ideas can help you with the rest of your life.
She talked about the insecurities that she battles with on a daily, hourly basis. She talked about her feelings and how they get so overwhelming. She talked about how it is possible to be productive and to write the truth even when all this crap is whirling around in your head like a blinding snowstorm.
When I read "Bird by Bird" over ten years ago, I didn't like how she talked about all the distractions that get in the way, all the insecurities and all the feelings. At that time I wasn't writing regularly. I was arrogant. I knew I wouldn't have these problems at all. Now that I write on a somewhat regular basis and have a small body of work behind me everything Anne wrote about is true. It seems the deeper I get into this writing thing, the less I know. I feel like I'm crawling around in the mud all the time, searching for a way out, searching for a plan, guidance, a sign pointing me in the right direction. There is no sign and it's so painful. And lonely.
I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Anne said everything would be fine in her life if she just didn't have a mind that comes up with so much crap all the time. I have that problem too. I also think that all my love relationships would work out great if I didn't fall in love with the guy. Everything would be simpler and easier for both of us.
I tell myself to relax and enjoy and I can't. Instead, lurking in the back of my head is the first draft of my novel and I don't know what the hell to do with it. I have to finish it. There are at least three novels and two more short stories rolling around in my head right now, not to mention at least two or three short stories that have already been written and need to be finished. I'm not doing the stories any justice.
Last Tuesday I splurged using my finite financial resources and went to see Anne Lamott speak at the Jewish Community Center here in SF. Anne Lamott has written a number of books about religion and other topics. What she is most known for people like me is her classic book on writing "Bird by Bird."
I read "Bird by Bird" years ago and didn't like it. There was nothing new there, I thought, that I hadn't read in a bunch of other books on writing. I didn't like how insecure she was or how she seemed to flail around. True, she is a great writer, but I was uncomfortable with her brutal honesty. I didn't want to take advice or emulate a person who seemed so damn clueless. I wanted confidence and security. I set the book aside and checked it off as having read it. I would find what I was looking for elsewhere.
I don't know why I went to see her other than the fact that "Bird by Bird" is a classic now. Maybe I wanted to sit in a dark auditorium and hear someone who writes for a living speak. I hadn't read any of her other books. I was feeling, and still am feeling, lost and inefficient.
Seeing Anne was a revelation for me. She was funny, poignant, brilliant, and oh-so-brutally honest. She spoke to me and made me feel a sense of hope. She said she doesn't know what the hell she's doing either and that no matter how many books you've published, you'll still feel that way. Fortunately for me she focused on reiterating her ideas for writing and how those ideas can help you with the rest of your life.
She talked about the insecurities that she battles with on a daily, hourly basis. She talked about her feelings and how they get so overwhelming. She talked about how it is possible to be productive and to write the truth even when all this crap is whirling around in your head like a blinding snowstorm.
When I read "Bird by Bird" over ten years ago, I didn't like how she talked about all the distractions that get in the way, all the insecurities and all the feelings. At that time I wasn't writing regularly. I was arrogant. I knew I wouldn't have these problems at all. Now that I write on a somewhat regular basis and have a small body of work behind me everything Anne wrote about is true. It seems the deeper I get into this writing thing, the less I know. I feel like I'm crawling around in the mud all the time, searching for a way out, searching for a plan, guidance, a sign pointing me in the right direction. There is no sign and it's so painful. And lonely.
I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Anne said everything would be fine in her life if she just didn't have a mind that comes up with so much crap all the time. I have that problem too. I also think that all my love relationships would work out great if I didn't fall in love with the guy. Everything would be simpler and easier for both of us.
I tell myself to relax and enjoy and I can't. Instead, lurking in the back of my head is the first draft of my novel and I don't know what the hell to do with it. I have to finish it. There are at least three novels and two more short stories rolling around in my head right now, not to mention at least two or three short stories that have already been written and need to be finished. I'm not doing the stories any justice.
****
I'm still learning how to swim and the hardest thing for me is learning how to breathe. Yesterday, I took my second lesson and struggled with exhaling with my face in the water, then turning my head to the side and taking a breath. I sucked in water. I coughed. I got scared. My swimming instructor is wonderful and was able to keep me going. He told me how he's taught people how to swim who were terrified to be in the water. It's all about taking one step at a time and putting it together slowly. And practicing.
I realized while blowing out bubbles during one of my drills that I don't have to force the air out. I can be quieter and gentler about it. I don't have to rush. I don't have to push. I can just let myself be in the water. I figured out that even if I start to get scared as it kick my way across the pool, even if I get that sudden fear that I won't be able to breathe when I have my face in the water, I can still gently do my breathing exercises and I can still make to the other side of the pool. And I can continue to go back and forth across the pool like that.
I realized while blowing out bubbles during one of my drills that I don't have to force the air out. I can be quieter and gentler about it. I don't have to rush. I don't have to push. I can just let myself be in the water. I figured out that even if I start to get scared as it kick my way across the pool, even if I get that sudden fear that I won't be able to breathe when I have my face in the water, I can still gently do my breathing exercises and I can still make to the other side of the pool. And I can continue to go back and forth across the pool like that.
****
Anne's suggestions:
1) Short Assignments - All you have to remember is you just need to do one piece of whatever it is. For writing, all that means is you need to focus on one paragraph, one small scene, one exchange, one inch of writing.
2) Shitty First Drafts - Anne says everyone writes terrible first drafts. Unreadable. Awful. Cringe inducing, painful first drafts. She says it's all right. All you have to do is get it down on paper (or the computer). Only after you've done that will you have something you can fix up.
....
This is where I'm stuck for I have lots of first drafts of stories/novels. I don't know how to fix them up. Well, okay. I think I've figured it out finally at least for this moment with this novel, but for the most part I don't know what the hell I'm doing.
And the older I get, the less I know, but when I say that I'm not just saying it to be cute or cliche. When I say the older I get, the less I know, I mean in a despairing, God-help-me-as-I-crawl-across-the-harsh-muddy-swamp-with-horrible-bugs-biting-at-me kind of not knowing. Usually I lie there among the bugs, the mud, the smell. I cry in frustration. I exhaust myself. The result is I end up doing nothing. I've got plenty of time to do anything and I spend much of it doing nothing. Despair. Pain. Desire.
1) Short Assignments - All you have to remember is you just need to do one piece of whatever it is. For writing, all that means is you need to focus on one paragraph, one small scene, one exchange, one inch of writing.
2) Shitty First Drafts - Anne says everyone writes terrible first drafts. Unreadable. Awful. Cringe inducing, painful first drafts. She says it's all right. All you have to do is get it down on paper (or the computer). Only after you've done that will you have something you can fix up.
....
This is where I'm stuck for I have lots of first drafts of stories/novels. I don't know how to fix them up. Well, okay. I think I've figured it out finally at least for this moment with this novel, but for the most part I don't know what the hell I'm doing.
And the older I get, the less I know, but when I say that I'm not just saying it to be cute or cliche. When I say the older I get, the less I know, I mean in a despairing, God-help-me-as-I-crawl-across-the-harsh-muddy-swamp-with-horrible-bugs-biting-at-me kind of not knowing. Usually I lie there among the bugs, the mud, the smell. I cry in frustration. I exhaust myself. The result is I end up doing nothing. I've got plenty of time to do anything and I spend much of it doing nothing. Despair. Pain. Desire.
****
One inch of writing. Keep doing my breathing exercises in the water as I'm swimming across the pool even when I'm convinced I'm going to drown. The first draft does and will suck; write it down anyway. Keep moving forward, slowly and gently.
Saturday, December 08, 2007
What I've Been Doing With Myself
It's amazing how much of your time is filled when you're not working. My biggest problem is I stay up too late and then get up late. I haven't been getting as much done as I'd like. I feel like a slacker. I feel very inefficient.
I read that the purpose of our lives is not to be efficient, just like the purpose of objects is not to be useful. I'm not sure how that applies to me, but the principles are sound enough.
Here's how I've been filling my time lately:
I read that the purpose of our lives is not to be efficient, just like the purpose of objects is not to be useful. I'm not sure how that applies to me, but the principles are sound enough.
Here's how I've been filling my time lately:
- I've been taking swimming lessons. The new penguin display pool is going to be three times the size of the one now and eight feet deep. Everyone who works in there is required to take a swim test. Since I have the time I've been taking swimming lessons and practicing at the pool. I can swim a little (more of a dog paddle), but I'm not comfortable in the water. These lessons are really good for me. A huge challenge for me is learning to how to breathe and getting used to the rhythm. After I get a job and get proficient with swimming, I want to take a climbing wall class.
- I've been running errands once a week for one of my friends. She pays me a good hourly wage for my efforts. It gets me out of the house and doing something useful for someone else.
- I've been doing some poking around with the job hunting, but nothing too serious. I did manage to get a phone interview for a company I very casually sent my resume too. That was a nice boost.
- I've been volunteering at the Aquarium. It's a really exciting time since we're gearing up to do the transfer back to the new Aquarium in less than a month.
- I've been working through the online classes the employment placement agency offers on their website. The company gave me access to the employment placement agency as part of my severance, and it has been very helpful. In fact, I worked through the "interviewing" module class just before my phone interview and it was really helpful.
- Working more quickly through the online classes.
- Reviewing my health insurance/COBRA information and figuring all that out.
- Calling people I used to work with to see if they'll be a reference for me.
- Revising my novel. I'm sounding like a broken record now.
- Finishing the Gotham Writers' Workshop book I've been really enjoying.
- Working through my Netflix queue. It's pathetic how many movies I haven't been watching lately when I have all this time.
- Exploring neighborhoods in this City so I can do some of those blog posts for a change.
- Obsessing over a lost love.
- Sleeping in every single day.
- Going to see "No Country for Old Men" a fourth time. I just found out the DVD is not due out until March of 2008. Grrr.
- Buying unnecessary items. Earlier this week I bought two new bath mats. They were on a shopping list I had. It's true the old ones were over 15 years old, but they would have done just fine until after I got a new job.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
City Life: At the 76 Station Near 19th Ave. and Judah
"Well, I guess I better go outside now. I can't eat in front you and I really need to finish this sandwich."
- A guy I was talking to at the service station while waiting for my tires to be changed.
- A guy I was talking to at the service station while waiting for my tires to be changed.
I walked into the tiny waiting room and sat down next to this guy who looked like a goofier version of Bono around 1991 or so. It also looked like he was wearing foundation that was a touch too pink for his skin, but no matter. He asked me what I was doing there and then told me about the van he'd just bought for $1,200 that was being checked out. Then he kept talking about how the mechanics at the gas station were ripping us off. It was raining outside. Joe, the owner of the station, kept calling me sweetheart as he walked back and forth. Cars came and went with steady frequency.
The price of gas was $3.45/gallon.
The goofy Bono look-a-like guy kept talking to me about...whatever. How the mirror opposite of us could be a two way mirror. About his new, used van and how it was costing him $400 to get checked out. When he told me about having to go outside to finish his sandwich I told him I could turn my head and not look at him while he was eating and how it wasn't necessary to go outside in the rain.
I didn't see him after that. It didn't seem like he even came back to pay for his car and I was there for a long time. Strange.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Working Life: Transition Discomfort
I've been seriously remiss with these blog posts. I apologize to my readers.
I've been spending most of my time pondering what I'm supposed to do next and planning the rest of December. Several interesting feelings have been coming up for me.
I've been going through "Apartment Therapy," a book with an eight week program for getting your apartment in shape. I've also been going through the Gotham Writers' Workshop book "Writing Fiction." I wanted to take an actual online class, but can't afford it right now. The book was $15 and is a writing course in itself. I also just bought a book called "Time Off! The Leisure Guide to San Francisco." It's about low cost ways to enjoy the City especially if you've been laid off, and goes into detail about how to use your newfound time, and how to deal with job hunting, finances, etc.
It feels really uncomfortable not working. I keep thinking I should get on the ball and get cracking, but I really want to take the time to figure what kind of work situation I want to be in. There are huge alarms going off in my head and they're saying "WAIT! WAIT! Don't rush into anything! Explore, ponder and figure things out!!!!"
I guess that means I need to take this time off rather than throwing myself at another high paying, but soul sucking job. I'm very close to considering doing something really different and taking a pay cut. I need to figure out what that something is.
I've been spending most of my time pondering what I'm supposed to do next and planning the rest of December. Several interesting feelings have been coming up for me.
- Guilt over not being employed. It just feels really wrong to not be working.
- Worry about having a finite amount of money in my bank account. It's really scary knowing that another paycheck isn't coming in anytime soon.
- Lack of motivation. I just don't feel like doing much of anything, but I still manage to get things done anyway.
- A worrisome nagging suspicion that I don't necessarily want to go to another "company" and do what I was doing before.
I've been going through "Apartment Therapy," a book with an eight week program for getting your apartment in shape. I've also been going through the Gotham Writers' Workshop book "Writing Fiction." I wanted to take an actual online class, but can't afford it right now. The book was $15 and is a writing course in itself. I also just bought a book called "Time Off! The Leisure Guide to San Francisco." It's about low cost ways to enjoy the City especially if you've been laid off, and goes into detail about how to use your newfound time, and how to deal with job hunting, finances, etc.
It feels really uncomfortable not working. I keep thinking I should get on the ball and get cracking, but I really want to take the time to figure what kind of work situation I want to be in. There are huge alarms going off in my head and they're saying "WAIT! WAIT! Don't rush into anything! Explore, ponder and figure things out!!!!"
I guess that means I need to take this time off rather than throwing myself at another high paying, but soul sucking job. I'm very close to considering doing something really different and taking a pay cut. I need to figure out what that something is.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Llewelyn and Me
"An adventure, perhaps?"
"No, sir, not now." Mr. Gryphon says nothing more. I am gazing out over the dry dusty land. We are sitting on an overlook, the hot rough stones are jagged and unforgiving. Below us is the desert floor dotted with scrubby bushes. I can hear the sound of his boots on the ground. I look over my right shoulder at Moss approaching the cliff. He's wearing a straw cowboy hat, his dark hair sticks out here and there, his brown cowboy boots have taken a beating. He's also carrying a shotgun. He can't see Mr. Gryphon and me sitting nearby. Moss is looking down on a group of trucks and SUVs below us. They are parked in a rough wagon style circle. He squints his eyes and then looks at the scene through his binoculars.
I look out beyond the vehicles at the line of scrub in the distance, above is the open blue sky.
"Bad things down there, Miss Turtle."
"Hm yes. Heroin deal gone wrong," I say absently, still looking out beyond. I can't see all the dead bodies lying on the ground, but I know they're there.
"It's hot," Mr. Gryphon observes. I look at him directly. He is wearing Raybans and clutching a large transparent yellow bottle of water with a straw sticking out. Pieces of ice float in the water. Llewelyn Moss is making his way down to the trucks. I want to watch the rest of it, want to follow Llewelyn on his journey through hell, but I'm only distracting myself again.
I stand up with effort, dust myself off. "All right, Mr. Gryphon." He stands up as well and we turn to go back the way Llewelyn came in. I take the bottle of water from Mr. Gryphon and drink deeply. A door appears after about a quarter mile of walking in the beating heat. It's hanging in mid-air, fading slowly in and out, like a ghost door that got separated from its haunted house. I reach for the doorknob and give it a turn. The door goes solid and it's dark blue color comes into focus. I open the door and walk through. Mr. Gryphon follows and pulls the door shut behind us.
"No, sir, not now." Mr. Gryphon says nothing more. I am gazing out over the dry dusty land. We are sitting on an overlook, the hot rough stones are jagged and unforgiving. Below us is the desert floor dotted with scrubby bushes. I can hear the sound of his boots on the ground. I look over my right shoulder at Moss approaching the cliff. He's wearing a straw cowboy hat, his dark hair sticks out here and there, his brown cowboy boots have taken a beating. He's also carrying a shotgun. He can't see Mr. Gryphon and me sitting nearby. Moss is looking down on a group of trucks and SUVs below us. They are parked in a rough wagon style circle. He squints his eyes and then looks at the scene through his binoculars.
I look out beyond the vehicles at the line of scrub in the distance, above is the open blue sky.
"Bad things down there, Miss Turtle."
"Hm yes. Heroin deal gone wrong," I say absently, still looking out beyond. I can't see all the dead bodies lying on the ground, but I know they're there.
"It's hot," Mr. Gryphon observes. I look at him directly. He is wearing Raybans and clutching a large transparent yellow bottle of water with a straw sticking out. Pieces of ice float in the water. Llewelyn Moss is making his way down to the trucks. I want to watch the rest of it, want to follow Llewelyn on his journey through hell, but I'm only distracting myself again.
I stand up with effort, dust myself off. "All right, Mr. Gryphon." He stands up as well and we turn to go back the way Llewelyn came in. I take the bottle of water from Mr. Gryphon and drink deeply. A door appears after about a quarter mile of walking in the beating heat. It's hanging in mid-air, fading slowly in and out, like a ghost door that got separated from its haunted house. I reach for the doorknob and give it a turn. The door goes solid and it's dark blue color comes into focus. I open the door and walk through. Mr. Gryphon follows and pulls the door shut behind us.
We are back in the newly constructed giant maze in the new wing of the living quarters of my imagination. I'm tired and a little hungry. I walk through the twisting corridors to the front entrance, climb the stairs and move towards the huge kitchen down the long hallway.
After we get there, Mr. Gryphon bustles around the kitchen after shooing the Cook away. He is making a smoothie for me (blueberries and raspberries). I am sitting at the counter, not doing anything.
"I keep thinking I need a manual, an outline for how to live, Mr. Gryphon."
He looks at me before turning on the blender. He knows better than not to say anything when I start talking like this.
"Thing is, I can't seem to find that manual. What about a code? Do you think that will help? What am I supposed to do next?" I watch Mr. Gryphon pour out the purple contents of the smoothie into a tall glass. He pours out another one for himself.
"I just don't know what to do," I say, "I mean, the stakes are much higher now. I mean, I don't have a job anymore so I have to figure something out soon, right?" He places the smoothie in front of me and slips a clean straw into it. I take a drink. It's wonderfully cold.
"If I were Llewelyn my purpose would be very clear, take the money and run from the horrific evil that's pursuing you, but I got no horrific evil pursuing me."
"We could find that evil if you want, Miss Turtle," says Mr. Gryphon carefully. I look at him over beautiful stone counter tops and shiny new gas stove.
"Seems a little counterproductive, don't you think? Shouldn't I be focusing on larger issues?" I ask.
"There is no larger issue that running to save your own life. Nothing like it to bring everything into focus," Mr. Gryphon sits next to me and takes a sip from his smoothie.
"Maybe that's what I need more focus, less mission statement, less broad overview. More specificity," the tiles on the back spash above the sink are a repeat of the beautiful stone countertop but also have hand painted tiles here and there to add color.
"More specificity," I mutter. Mr. Gryphon says nothing more. I am tired from talking about it. I am tired from wondering about it. I'm just plain tired. I feel like my brain is on overload. I feel like my brain is exerting too much effort even for the simplest of decisions. I even have difficulty trying to decide what to eat for dinner nowadays. I need quiet and rest.
Maybe I should go back and start following Llewelyn around until I get my bearings again.
After we get there, Mr. Gryphon bustles around the kitchen after shooing the Cook away. He is making a smoothie for me (blueberries and raspberries). I am sitting at the counter, not doing anything.
"I keep thinking I need a manual, an outline for how to live, Mr. Gryphon."
He looks at me before turning on the blender. He knows better than not to say anything when I start talking like this.
"Thing is, I can't seem to find that manual. What about a code? Do you think that will help? What am I supposed to do next?" I watch Mr. Gryphon pour out the purple contents of the smoothie into a tall glass. He pours out another one for himself.
"I just don't know what to do," I say, "I mean, the stakes are much higher now. I mean, I don't have a job anymore so I have to figure something out soon, right?" He places the smoothie in front of me and slips a clean straw into it. I take a drink. It's wonderfully cold.
"If I were Llewelyn my purpose would be very clear, take the money and run from the horrific evil that's pursuing you, but I got no horrific evil pursuing me."
"We could find that evil if you want, Miss Turtle," says Mr. Gryphon carefully. I look at him over beautiful stone counter tops and shiny new gas stove.
"Seems a little counterproductive, don't you think? Shouldn't I be focusing on larger issues?" I ask.
"There is no larger issue that running to save your own life. Nothing like it to bring everything into focus," Mr. Gryphon sits next to me and takes a sip from his smoothie.
"Maybe that's what I need more focus, less mission statement, less broad overview. More specificity," the tiles on the back spash above the sink are a repeat of the beautiful stone countertop but also have hand painted tiles here and there to add color.
"More specificity," I mutter. Mr. Gryphon says nothing more. I am tired from talking about it. I am tired from wondering about it. I'm just plain tired. I feel like my brain is on overload. I feel like my brain is exerting too much effort even for the simplest of decisions. I even have difficulty trying to decide what to eat for dinner nowadays. I need quiet and rest.
Maybe I should go back and start following Llewelyn around until I get my bearings again.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Movie Musings: A Movie is Nothing
The floor of the old convenience store is wooden and dirty. I walk slowly towards the counter. Things are slow and easy in my world, as familiar as the sound of my cowboy boots on the old wood.
A man, useless and red faced, is standing at the counter.
"How much for these? And the gas?" I say picking up a small bag of sunflower seeds. I open them slowly and begin eating them one at a time.
"Will there be anything else for you, sir?" he asks as if he didn't hear me.
Weak and stupidly polite. The rest of our exchange seems so mildly confrontational, but in the end we are negotiating for the man's life and he knows it.
A man, useless and red faced, is standing at the counter.
"How much for these? And the gas?" I say picking up a small bag of sunflower seeds. I open them slowly and begin eating them one at a time.
"Will there be anything else for you, sir?" he asks as if he didn't hear me.
Weak and stupidly polite. The rest of our exchange seems so mildly confrontational, but in the end we are negotiating for the man's life and he knows it.
***
Today I saw the movie "No Country for Old Men." And I'll confess because I'm sort of proud of this even though most of you might think it's nuts, but who cares what you all think of my movie goings? I saw "No Country for Old Men " at the 1:55 pm show and then again at the 4:50 pm show. Same theater, paid for it twice.
Why did I do that? Because I can do whatever the fuck I want, that's why. I don't have anybody to bitch at me or anyone to tell me that what I REALLY want to do is somehow wrong or stupid or not what THEY want to do.
Now when I say I couldn't take my eyes off this film, I mean that literally and I have the movie tickets to prove it. I loved this film. I loved it's uncompromising ending. I loved the cast, but especially Javier Bardem. If you want something that's going to be a clean, tidy and satisfying ending on a meditation about the nature of evil then don't go see this movie because you won't like it.
What I liked best about it was watching the characters closely. They are all vividly drawn and a wonderful study for when I think about my own characters. Even the minor characters, the ones who only had a part of a scene, are vivid and distinctive. The dialog is just great. Some great lines there.
Why did I do that? Because I can do whatever the fuck I want, that's why. I don't have anybody to bitch at me or anyone to tell me that what I REALLY want to do is somehow wrong or stupid or not what THEY want to do.
Now when I say I couldn't take my eyes off this film, I mean that literally and I have the movie tickets to prove it. I loved this film. I loved it's uncompromising ending. I loved the cast, but especially Javier Bardem. If you want something that's going to be a clean, tidy and satisfying ending on a meditation about the nature of evil then don't go see this movie because you won't like it.
What I liked best about it was watching the characters closely. They are all vividly drawn and a wonderful study for when I think about my own characters. Even the minor characters, the ones who only had a part of a scene, are vivid and distinctive. The dialog is just great. Some great lines there.
***
On the other hand, a movie is nothing. It's a bunch of lies called a story that flashes up there on the screen so you can sit in the dark (or in your living room) staring. Sometimes such a thing can elicit an emotional response or make you think or be enjoyable, but that's it. I don't think it's all that much. I passed two young women on the way out of the mall where the movie was playing and they were chatting about how "cute" all these useless Christmas displays were, how much they loved certain stores. I looked around and everyone was carrying a large shopping bag. I can't believe I used to be like those girls at one time. I can't believe I used to believe that shopping was a recreational activity.
(and what's more, I can't believe that men want to fall in love with such shallow girls, even men my age. they don't seem to care about them shopping and cooing about Christmas displays. as long as they're young, thin and "hot" that's all they're interested in).
Which is "better" watching a bunch of lies called a movie (or book for that matter) or supporting our economy by going shopping (and sounding like a dipshit while you're at it)? Since I consider myself one of the "liars" who make up stories, I'm going to go with making up a bunch of "lies" as the better activity. At least I'm moved and intrigued. Is that better? I don't know.
(and what's more, I can't believe that men want to fall in love with such shallow girls, even men my age. they don't seem to care about them shopping and cooing about Christmas displays. as long as they're young, thin and "hot" that's all they're interested in).
Which is "better" watching a bunch of lies called a movie (or book for that matter) or supporting our economy by going shopping (and sounding like a dipshit while you're at it)? Since I consider myself one of the "liars" who make up stories, I'm going to go with making up a bunch of "lies" as the better activity. At least I'm moved and intrigued. Is that better? I don't know.
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