Critical Kindness

"So here’s something I know to be true, although it’s a little corny, and I don’t quite know what to do with it:

What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness." 

I think this is brilliant. It's George's Saunder's advice to graduates at Syracuse.

I’ve been thinking about this a bit lately, I suppose my post about teasing and feeling over-sensitive was about this somewhat.  I love that he calls these “failures in kindness.”  Not only directed at me, but at everyone.  We hurt for others, sometimes as much as ourselves, and sometimes to the point that these are painful memories.

The beautiful girl from Kentucky in my 4^th grade class who was asked to read by the teacher and had to say, in front of the class, “I can’t read.”  The teacher was embarrassed, knowing this already but having forgotten, wanting only to include her but instead marking her in front of the class. I can still see her face from when I was 10, the shame I felt on her behalf, and anger that she would be passed from grade to grade without learning anything.

Apropos of things I write about, I notice in criticism how when we talk about movies, shows, art, etc., people can be outright mean. I have recently heard quite a few strident opinions from people trashing work, mean-spirited dismissals from others in the same discipline. It’s hard to listen to. I understand it, certainly. I get angry when something is bad. It’s very challenging to find something good, when something is bad enough to make you angry. I’ve changed, recently, though, appreciating just how hard it is to create work at all.  I’ve always been a bit of a cheerleader, so it’s probably natural for me to move in that direction, but I’ve finding myself trying to find what's positive first. What works. It can be challenging after a lifetime believing that criticizing something is a mark of intelligence, while blindly admiring something is possibly dull, and at worst, stupid. You have to think of something smart to say, after all, and what's wrong is usually much easier to reach for.

I don’t know that I’ve been cruel ever in my assessments, but I’ve been watching what I say and how I say it more and more. I’ve been working on how to honor what has been done, or what is being attempted. The default strategy when something isn't good is to stay engaged by figuring out what doesn’t work. That is its own kind of enjoyment.  In fact, sometimes I learn more that way. I’ve heard a few people recently who are just dissatisfied with whatever it is they are seeing – the John Simons of the world – and I’ve begun to dismiss what they are saying. I find if there isn’t humanity in the criticism, there is not much point in reading or listening to it.  It takes a great deal to produce anything, so honoring that is paramount.  After that, we can take it apart to see how it does or doesn’t work. Sometimes, with criticism, it’s necessary to sift through schadenfreude, bitterness, or simple burnout, even just the critic’s inability to figure out what they don’t like.

The point is, we are all looking for something but we can’t quite put our finger on it.  We don’t know it, but we know it when we see it. When we see it or feel it, it's magic. When we see it we try to explain it. I hope when we do, we do it with kindness. People kill themselves over creating work, sadly sometimes literally. The least we can do is put on a smile and give it our best attention. If criticism is only mean, or just aims to hurt, then it doesn't give the artist/writer/performer anything to work with.  At best, they will discard it for its lack of compassion, at worst it will stymie, freeze, or destroy them. On all sides, we get passionate. I feel like it's best when that passion acknowledges that others have the same desire,

Over the last few years, I’ve had the gift of attending elementary school performances of a dear (family, really), friend’s children.  I never miss a chance to go. The kids are adorable, ridiculous, hysterical, endearing, committed, terrified, elated. When I go to these performances, I am nothing but thrilled for every performer on that stage, whatever level of ability. I leave filled with happiness.  Seriously, if you’re ever sad, go see an elementary school talent show.  It cannot fail to raise your spirits.  I’ve been cultivating that kindness in every show and movie I go to recently.  It’s not easy to put things on. Hopefully the creators have been thinking about us, and trying to entertain us.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Just like in third grade.

If the aim is to make work better, or more what it wants to be, then there must be kindness and compassion beneath what's being said.  Some would argue that's not the function of criticism. Perhaps it's not.  Criticism has many functions: to contextualize, to understand, to argue for, to argue against, to teach, to improve. My aim is at the criticism whose main function is to tear down. I admit I love to read a well-written bad review, but I don't know if I would put that in the pool of criticism.  Criticism, when it works, enlightens me.  As I'm finding in the world that there is no solution in anger, there is no solution in haranguing. One of the main rules in improv is never saying no, as that just stops the scene.  Similarly, if all you have to say is "that actress is fat and ugly and she should never be playing that role," you've served only to damage her ego, and probably make yourself look like an idiot. By all means, have an opinion, but at least acknowledge that someone else has put in some effort, even when, by your standards, it doesn't look like it.

I remember playing Frankenstein in elementary school, covered in green makeup. I sang a song about believing in yourself. Right before going on, I accidentally sat in a one of those shallow gray metal grades school trash cans. For a few moments, I couldn’t get out.  Uncharacteristically, instead of berating myself, I laughed and encouraged others to laugh at it, too.  Then I found my way out, went on stage, and sang my song.

Index of First Lines

For my slim volume of yet to be written poetry.

(And if anyone can show me how to use tab on this site, or format tabs, so this comes out even, I'd be thankful).

Are you sure it’s nothing worse?......................................................................12

Completely drawing a blank.............................................................................4

Do I really need to outline?...............................................................................17

I don’t think it’s possible to have a tumor there.................................................5

I feel better when I don’t eat that.......................................................................14

I have a question................................................................................................15

I haven’t read/seen/heard/downloaded that.........................................................2

I just forgot what I was saying as I said it...........................................................1

I love this weather...............................................................................................7

I refuse to buy that waist size again.....................................................................10

If there’s an app for that, I haven’t found it.........................................................10

It’s the last place because you stop looking.........................................................8

On Flexibility......................................................................................................6

On Letting Go.....................................................................................................18

O, please..............................................................................................................3

Perfectionism is ruining my perfectionism...........................................................9

That can’t be the right answer.............................................................................19

That is so loud.....................................................................................................16

When I win the lottery.........................................................................................21

…..yet..................................................................................................................11

You call that affordable?......................................................................................20

Sick Day

I was home sick today. Doctor. Much sleep. Horrible dream about being on roller skates and mugged by a 12 year old.  Oh, the mind.

I'm working on some other posts. This daily blogging thing has made me wonder what it is I'm writing about daily. It really is all over the place right now, but thank you for checking.

In the meantime, enjoy this beautiful picture of Rudolph Nureyev. I saw an exhibit in San Francisco of photos, performance clips, and costumes. This photo is arresting.

First paragraph

I've driven this drive before. I am somewhere else, leaving or going to someone warm in bed.  It can be night or morning. I drive through the comfort of the mountains. I wear a red wool turtleneck, with my hand up feeling the cold of the window, stir crazy in the car and ready to get out. I blink my eyes to stay awake, and remember other drives. The snow and trees a dotted swiss blanketing the shallow hills. They never look like proper mountains to me. Tonight it's pines and palm trees, and the hills are even tamer. It's the silence that does it; the silence makes every road any road. I should turn the radio back on.

The Hardest Thing

Today was an odd day. Most of it was good, but then came that sinking feeling that I'd hurt someone's feelings unintentionally.

Emotions are a prickly field. I'm unsure how I'm feeling most of the time, but nothing can make me feel worse than when it feels like I've said something wrong, or unintentionally caused someone pain. It's why I'm bad at teasing people. It's why people think I'm earnest most of the time. I am. I was teased a lot as a kid. And by teased I mean made fun of, shunned, and insulted. I think today they would call it bullying, but I'm lucky it was nowhere near what it is for some kids. I'm over it, for the most part, but things come back to you from time to time and you can easily find yourself reacquainted with old feelings and react with old reactions. You can do a few things with childhood experiences like that as an adult: you can become bitter and angry and try to hurt others; you can learn to tease back to be part of the group; you can take things personally, when sometimes they aren't meant that way. I'm sure there are other options, too.

I tend to fall between the second and the last most times. I'm pretty good at taking teasing now. It happens a lot as bonding I realize now, and I try to join in when I can. I try to be light. I do try. I caught myself being sensitive to something a few months ago someone said that stung me for some reason, and I actually responded, "what is it about hurting another person that you find entertaining?"

I guess I have a little work to do.

I still have difficulty divining the difference in intention. So, of course, when I feel I've said something wrong, or stumbled, with someone else, it causes a surprising amount of pain. And I suppose part of not being the bitter and angry person that I've seen people become is being a little over-sensitive to people's feelings at times. Even imaginary ones.  Even ones no one has told you they are having. I'm not being purposefully vague here, I just don't even know if I've hurt anyone's feelings. I'm just concerned. Writing about it gets it off my mind. I do love how that happens.

Did I mention I do go to therapy?  This might be a good time to reveal that.  Really, it's in good hands.

Every time I try some levity, I'm afraid I'm hitting with a brick and not a feather. I can certainly joke. I love to make people laugh.  But laughing and pointing I'm very bad at.  I supposed it's not an awful skill to be bad at, but I'm working on honing it.  Making people laugh is something I like to do, and good spirited teasing can bring people together, when it's done with affection.  I'm trying to figure out how to do that, and receive it.

Feeling bad about it really does no one any good. It's best to just not do it.  Just try to never hurt anyone's feelings ever again. Sounds simple, no?

Here's where I get the cream pie in the face.

Okay, back to levity.

Tanya Ward Goodman's Leaving Tinkertown

In my daily blogging, I realize I have not shared this.  This is a trailer I made for my dear friend Tanya Ward Goodman's upcoming memoir "Leaving Tinkertown." which is available for pre-order on Amazon. Some lucky people have even received their copies already.

She is a wonderful writer, but if you don't believe me read the blurbs in the trailer.

Or you can read her gorgeous piece about her daughter and her stuffed rabbit here.

Or you can read her at The Next Family website here.

You will not be disappointed.  She's a beautiful writer, and a beautiful human to boot. And I've known her much, much longer in my life than I haven't, so you can trust me.

I hope you enjoy.

Blue Jasmine

I saw Woody Allen's incredible Blue Jasmine today, which is anchored by an incredible performance by Cate Blanchett. It's hard for me to get over here being snubbed for Gwyneth Paltrow in Shakespeare in Love for some reason, and this is further confirmation that she is one of the most talented actresses of her generation. She's truly amazing and heart-wrenching to watch.

The story concerns the downfall of a woman married to a Bernie Madoff-like character, with undertones of Streetcar Named Desire - genteel woman goes to live with her sister, whose men she considers beneath her, in a down on her luck neighborhood, etc.  There are many similarities in spirit, not the least of which is Jasmine's contempt at her sister's milieu, and the belief that she will be saved by a rich man.

The performances are great, from some of my favorites - Sally Hawkins, Louis CK, Bobby Canavale, Alec Baldwin.  I can't seem to shake the movie. It's quite upsetting, but to speak more about it would be to ruin some of it, which is not fair.  It's not a spoiler to say she is blind, unable to see herself.  I'd say it's a tragedy, but she does not see what has happened until the end. It's disturbing.

This movie is somewhat cynical, too. Sometimes in serious mode, Allen's worldview can come across as cynical and harsh. I'm sure it is.  In the comedies, it tends to be lighter, and through the lightness he is able to explore themes that become heavy-handed in his more serious films. He's dealing with the same questions in both, but in the serious films the characters can border on the distasteful. I'm still not sure if Allen is judging Hawkin's character of Jasmine's lower class sister and her men, but there is a slight sense of the pretension that Jasmine has in his films. He is, after all, an Upper East Sider. Though he may poke fun at that world, it still seemingly is the one in which he is most comfortable. There's more on that, but I think it's up to the individual. It's not an easy film. It's a real drama.

That said, it's mostly quibbling. I read that Allen did not see Blanchett's portrayal of Blanch in Streetcar (which was supposedly incredible), but I feel like he has given us enough of an analog to guess at how brilliant that performance was.  I really hope this film is remembered at Oscar time, especially Cate Blanchett.  Wow.

Streaming

My boyfriend and I are watching Mike Birbiglia's excellent movie "Sleepwalk with me", that he produced with Ira Glass. It's on Netflix streaming. I really enjoyed this movie when I saw it the first time, so we're watching it again. It concerns his sleeping disorder and how he started doing standup comedy.  They seem to have grown together.  I'm making it sound much more dry than it is.  Great cast, really funny and touching, and almost as much about becoming a stand-up comic and the difficulty in that as about the relationships.

Before that we watched "The Fall", also on Netflix, a serial killer drama starring Gillian Anderson from  the UK.  I don't love suspense shows. I realized the other day that I basically see independent movies, animated films, and musicals.  Apparently, I'm a very precocious child in my movie watching tastes.

My watching the Conjuring a few weeks ago made me aware once again that horror movies are something I need to avoid.  Scary. 

As I'm writing this my bathroom window slammed shut and I jumped out my skin. Seriously, not a scary movie person.

The point, though, is that streaming is great. I cancelled my television about a month ago, after wanting to for a year or so since I don't watch it all that much.  Now I love how targeted streaming can get, providing more interesting movies and shows without having to subscribe.  I know this sounds like a sales pitch, but more it's just appreciation. I've been finding a lot of things that I wouldn't otherwise, like Sleepwalk with Me, which came up as a suggestion. That's a bad example since I've already seen it, but there are a lot of titles I've meant to and missed in the theater, or ones I didn't know about.

My suggestions are currently things like "romantic comedies with strong female needs" and "cerebral foreign dramas with strong emotional components.". There are gay movies, too, though they don't come out and say that, they just say "because you watched Taxi Zum Klo" (which is a landmark German gay film from the early 80s I wanted to watch since I'd never seen it, or was probably terrorized by it when I was 9).  Incredible how much content there is.  Actually, the first two might as well be based on the same assumption. They have me figured out.

Luckily, my boyfriend comes over and watches suspense movies, inappropriate comedies, and action movies.  I get some suggestions from that, too.  It's a nice balance.

Okay, back to the movie.

Russia

I've been seeing more and more about Putin's restrictive laws in Russia. He is outlawing homosexuality, the discussion of it, any mention in education, any activity, as well as working to pass laws outlawing adoption by gay couples, and attempting to take children (including biological children) away from gay parents who have children.

I've seen in the news more beatings of gay people reported, as well as a recent rape and murder. There is also a neo-Nazi group who has been posting ads on line to lure gay teenagers to meet them, who are then beaten.

This is terrifying and disturbing. There have been calls for boycotting the Olympics (where gay athletes would be threatened, as Putin has promised to detain any gay foreign nationals), and Stolichnaya vodka.  The former is probably more of a statement than the latter.

I do not know what action I can take. It's a scary time. But with a president who wants to get favor with his people when the nation is rife with corruption and economic hardship, a scapegoat is an easy out.
I cannot help but draw parallels to the Holocaust, and hope that one won't happen in Russia.  It's hard not to look at what's going on, especially as these are being passed as laws, that a genocide is far behind.  Very scary stuff.

I know what I can do is work to make sure our country maintains its laws and freedom of speech, thought and action. I'm grateful I can write this.  There are those in our country who would welcome such restrictive laws, and probably even the violence. There are those who perpetrate those acts here.  It's important that we fight for what we have gained, and continue to make our voice heard.

List

It's been a while since I've written a list, though I have been keeping one of topics to write about. It's just been a surprisingly emotional day, and I'm a little wrung out to do much that feels thoughtful, so a list is always a good thing. Maybe a list of things to do, and things I want to see.

And I feel so much less pressure since I got rid of my DVR.  I'm even watching more TV streaming now, so I'm seeing more TV paradoxically.  Just bringing that up since it makes my to-do list smaller.

Now that I think about it, I'll just make a list  of things that feel possible and impossible right now. You can figure out which is which

Beginner's Mind - cultivate one
Saving money
Figuring out why bees are dying
Figuring out what's really in my food
Not adding to my reading list
Reading what's on my reading list
Writing those three films I have ideas for
Learning how to write a film
Knowing perfection isn't possible
Not believing everything I read
Believing what I read when there's a reason to believe it
Make peace
Not taking things personally
Knowing if I do take things personally it's okay - most people don't notice
Meditate
Eat less sugar
Cut out the ice cream, who wants to buy new pants?
Brush up on my French
Learn Spanish
Find out what they put in that "New Mexico" green chile here; it's not from New Mexico
Sing a little more

The Normal

It’s hard not to notice all the studies, statistics and stories published that ask us to judge ourselves on a scale of “normalcy.”  We’re barraged with information about what’s normal, what’s in the normal range, and how to be normal.  Yet, the stories we tell ourselves, the protagonists we follow, the heroes we have, are all about being different.  We rejoice when someone’s difference is discovered, cherished, when they beat the odds. In the end, everyone congratulates the person for their difference, their difference is what saves the day, what makes them, in the end, loveable. They are special, exalted.

In the real world, difference carries a high price. Along with the measurements of normalcy come the stories of prices paid for difference: homelessness, job loss, brutal death.  It’s not all bad news, but it’s certainly not a walk in the park. I’ve been reading Andrew Solomon’s exhaustive, incredible “Far From the Tree” about children with what he calls “horizontal identities”: deaf,  little people, gay, mentally challenged, prodigies, schizophrenic, even children of rape. Interestingly, each group is put off by being included in a group with the others, but each share a common characteristic – their difference causes challenges for the parents, and for themselves.

I don’t mean to get into a discourse about how challenging it is to be other – as Solomon points out, there are rewards as well, including increased compassion, generosity, and a discovery of community among many others.  I’ve always been interested in the disconnect between the stories we tell ourselves and how we live our lives.

Perhaps stories are told by others, people who feel different or left out for whatever reason, and they cast themselves as hero.  Perhaps it is that the heroes journey is always one in which he finds his true self, and some kind of difference or feeling apart from is necessary for the journey to begin.

I’ve always thought that one of the reasons its hard for me to grasp on to any religion or mode of thought begins with my sexuality; that being forced outside of the norm by my very being I’ve had no choice but to question.  But I know many gay people who find comfort in religions, finding ways to exist within the structures even though some of the structures are built to exclude them.  Some feel the exclusion but spend their lives trying to get back in.  I suppose that’s not it then.

I took a Meyers Briggs personality test once, and I am pretty clear on the first three metrics – ENF (Extrovert, Feeling, Intuitive), but the last metric (Judging/Perceiving) I am neck and neck.  This last one is the predictor of what kind of life you like to live; how you are in the world.  Do you like schedules or freedom? Do you like habit or variety?  Would you rather be normal, or make your own way? At least that’s partly how I understand it, thought it’s also a predictor of whether you are feeling or thinking, depending on your level of extraversion.  And it’s really important I know this so I know how normal I am. And I am very much oversimplifying, but I'm mostly going off the questions I answered in that section. It all felt like whether I wanted security or freedom.

I’m joking, to a point, but I wonder sometimes. Would things be easier if I had some clear sense of how I wanted things, an assuredness that I have the right answer and the right answer for everyone? Or would that just make me boring and possibly dangerous?  When I look at some of our recent politicians I can’t help but think that’s true. I think difference makes that kind of surety impossible.  Compassion does somewhat, too.  More becomes gray area.  Maybe those stories we tell ourselves are because we all feel slightly unsure, even in our most secure moments, since we don’t know what will happen. The idea that our inside feeling of aloneness and difference will be embraced, cherished, celebrated, resonates deep within every one of us. For a lot us that’s part of what drives our search for religion, for purpose, for meaning. We are looking to be less alone, to feel a part of something, or accepted as ourselves. No wonder so many people believe what they find will work for everyone else.  But we’re back to Meyers Briggs – there is no one size fits all.

Or maybe, we’d like to believe that we’d find someone else’s difference charming and amazing if confronted with it, rather than terrifying and off-putting, or at least come to that, perhaps after a struggle. The world says most of us don’t.  Our stories say its possible.  Which are we to believe?  Are any of us normal?  How would we even know if we were?

I don't pretend to come to any conclusion, I just think it's an interesting question.

Late again

Sister Act the musical tonight at the Pantages. It was fun. Surprisingly fun.  Smart choice to make it set in 1977 to get the retro feel and still write new songs.  Fun cast.  Great time. I need a black sequined habit.  Truly.

More tomorrow.

Fascinating midpoint

Aside from the joyous and seemingly inescapable news that the Duchess of Cambridge gave birth to an heir to the British throne, I heard this fascinating story about microbes and the role they play in our lives.  Apparently, though probably disturbing to think about, we have many more microbiomes living on and in us than our own cells.  For every cell we have on our face, we have 10 microbiomes.  They are finding more about how they may actually keep us healthy. Probiotics have been popular for sometime to restore the good bacteria in our stomachs, but these bacteria may actually control how we think from our stomachs, sending messages to our brains.  It's fascinating stuff.

I've been thinking for a while, in trying to comprehend the vastness of an infinite universe (which is beyond me), that we are a fascinating midpoint.  We are living in a vast universe, but each of us is made up of probably as many cells and systems ourselves as there are stars and planets. Innumerable. Now, knowing just how much we are host, too, I'm convinced of it. I think we are a midpoint between the small and the large. It can't be proven. It may just be hubris, but I think it may be so. We are walking solar systems, galaxies, universes. Each one of us.

With the birth of "superbaby", as I heard him called on the radio this morning, it's easy to wonder at the structures we put in place. What makes this particular child one that will live in an elevated place for the rest of his life? He will more than likely never know need, and will be treated like a divine. In return, he will somewhat lose any privacy or sense of personhood, and his service to his country will be the first claim on him. He is as born to service as the servant class. After all, for many centuries, royalty was that midpoint. Divine right of Kings assured that royalty meant that you were chosen by God, you were the one between the vast unknown that is divine, and the common laborer. You had a direct connection and were chosen.  Mostly now, people probably do not deep down believe that, though I'm sure there are some people on Earth who do.  For most, he will be a super celebrity, in the truest sense of the world. He will be celebrated.

My wonder now is at all of us. It's incredible what we are. We are all the midpoint.

GBF

Closing night at Outfest was GBF this year.  They couldn't have found a funnier, smarter audience pleaser than this one.  You can watch the trailer here.

The movie focuses on a high schooler inadvertently coming out at his school and becoming the most prize possession of the popular girls in school, the GBF, gay best friend. It's sharp, and deals with one of the most annoying trends of tv, film and media: gay as accessory.  I won't spoil how it does this, but it takes all of the great high school movie tropes (especially Mean Girls), and deconstructs them while relishing and paying tribute to them. I'm not the only, one - you can read great reviews on imdb.  And while it's deconstructing the high school movie and commenting on gay as accessory, it allows everyone to figure out who they really are, which is the theme of all great high school movies.

The writing is terrific and smart.  Darren Stein, who directed Jawbreaker, another cult high school favorite, does a great job here.  Michael J. Willett plays Tanner the lead, and is charming. I haven't seen him before, but he holds the movie together with his portrayal of the boy just figuring out how to be himself.  Xosha Roquemore, who I didn't know was the standout girl with the glasses in Precious, was hysterical. She needs to be seen more.  The performances were great all around, and I hope we see the cast a lot more.  There are some great cameos, including Megan Mullally, who is hysterical as always. This movie should be seen. I hope it gets a wide audience, and a high school audience, too.

Nails

I saw Sandra Bernhard on Broadway years ago. She worked with a music stand near her stool, covered in notes.  I figured she'd put material in to the show each night to see what she could add, or how things played.  One night she read a list of nail salons names in New York.  This felt apropos, not only because of her personal history of being a manicurist, but New York at that time was feeling overtaken by nail salons. My favorite diner in Chelsea, Bendix, had recently been converted to a nail salon. (The trend has continued - the last time I visited New York it was overrun by nail salons, Duane Reades, and Wachovias. Apparently New Yorkers get money from ATMs to buy prescriptions, sundries, and get their nails done).

I've always remembered the chutzpah it took to do that, and how funny she is that she can read a list of nail salons and make it entertaining.

This daily writing is feeling to me a little like that list of nail salons. I don't have anything interesting at the moment, and I'm grabbing whatever's closest.

A nail salon just opened by where I work, following a travel bookstore and some sort of production office. I guess nail salons are a sure hit.

This is just to see

Long day. Just worked an event from 9 am to 11 pm. I am now eating a much deserved after meal. Because I'm hungry. I am at House of Pies and about to eat some eggs.

It occurred to me I have not blogged today and I wondered if I could do it from my phone.

Guess what?

Apparently I can.

I'm going to eat now. Good night.

Keeping the practice

Daily Practice

Some of this will be drek, or a lot of it, if I'm writing every day.   I just got back from a screening of a movie called Test, set in 1985.  I don't get the comparison to Parting Glances at all, which for my money (and a lot of other people) one of the best gay films made by a gay filmmaker about gay characters.  Great movie.  Still holds up.

Anyhow, I did like the movie, and it brought back that time. This was set in the modern dance world. The music - Laurie Anderson, Romeo Void, Bronski Beat - recalled what a dark time the 80s was in a lot of ways.  There was a lot of grit and darkness. A lot of the music reflected that - not Madonna obviously - but others.  Missing Persons was playing on the radio on the way home. There's a lot more I could write about the 80s, and hopefully will.  Right now, though, I'm very tired and I have a big, day long event tomorrow so need to get some sleep.

Just for fun, though, also playing on the radio was Hotel California. I was wondering what would rhyme with that, forgetting momentarily "it never rains in California/but boy, don't they warn ya" or whatever those lyrics were.  I came up with

If you were jeans, we would've worn ya.
If you die, we will mourn ya
If you're the christ child, we'll adorn ya.

Of course, there's no need to rhyme it in that song since "such a lovely place" comes up, but still an interesting question. And the ya makes them all kind of informal.

I must be tired. I don't even know that this warrants internet space, but I guess there have been worse.

Outfest thoughts

Outfest is always a great experience.  Every year, whether all the films are good or not, it’s a great community to be a part of.  Every year I meet more people who are involved, and it’s great to see people putting work out there.

One of the particular joys of Outfest are seeing new filmmakers finding their voices, and seeing imperfect films.  I don’t know why it is with film, but I have a little more patience for an imperfect film than a bad play.  Perhaps because film is what it is, whereas you can see a great script ruined by a bad production of a play.  I suppose you can see that with film as well - maybe it’s more apparent to me in a theater.  Either way, imperfection doesn’t bother me as much in film, and a film festival is a great place to see some risky, challenging, and sometimes imperfect work. Also, some great, affecting, beautiful stuff you don't get to see anywhere else. AND you get to hear the filmmakers talk.

One of the ways I keep myself involved in theater that I’m not enjoying is to redirect it in my head.  I mean, if I’m going to be there and it’s not good, I might as well figure out what’s going wrong to keep myself engaged. People sometimes see this as being too critical, but I see it as a way to keep engaged with a work even if I’m not enjoying it.  Or particularly if I’m not enjoying it.  I’ve started doing the same thing with films, though, as I said, it’s a different experience than stage. There are so many moving parts to a film that are seamless until you see the seams.

That said, here are some random thoughts of things I’ve started to notice this year, without mentioning any particular titles (and, by the way, I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve seen, and I’m hoping to not be specific enough to point anything out)

You can really tell when someone has money or not.  I saw two documentaries with interesting subjects, but one seemed to have a lot more money. I say “seemed”, because I don’t know.  Coincidentally, the one with more money also kept on track to the story it was telling.  The other, less spendy doc had some fascinating digressions, but those digressions made the subject feel thinner than it was, which would not have been a result I would have predicted. They also had less material to work with, and that became apparent as well.  I know more about rights issues now, and can see what a challenge it is to get rights to things, which can hamstring a documentary about popular culture. I still lean toward the docs, though.  I always see great docs at Outfest.

Sound mixing is so important.  I never really got why editors play cuts so loudly, but I did when I was in a theater and it was apparent the movie wasn’t mixed well. Again, money. Sigh.  Not a cheap business.   When the levels are off in a large theater, you can really hear it.

This one goes for theater and for film – think about us. I’m really glad you as an actor or filmmaker are getting something out of this, but folks, think about us. We’re the ones sitting in the audience. I don’t care if you have a catharsis, I care if I do. I’m glad you’re working it out, but remember that we’re watching you do this, hopefully as more a witness or participant than a bystander.

Step outside and ask if it makes sense. If you say, “no one will notice that”, guess what? You’re probably saying it to someone who already has. They mentioned it to you, which means more than likely your audience will, too.  If someone is doing an emotional scene, the last thing you want your audience to be thinking is “how did he get across town without his clothes on?”

Editing is so important, particularly in comedy. I really feel for them. You can’t hear a laugh and come in on the peak like you do on stage, or go on when something misses, you have to figure out what plays.  Then when a large house laughs, you miss some dialogue. Then again, if they don’t, the space is deadly.  What to do?  And in a drama, just as important – scenes can go slack, uninteresting, they can drag on too long or feel to short (thought not as often). 

LA has kind of ruined me for film produced here. If I know a location or a neighborhood, it's jarring when someone is a 30 minute drive away when they turn a corner. I guess that goes for any city, but I can really see it here now that I live here. When someone is sitting in front of a building in Culver City and then they go up to their office overlooking downtown, it's like watching Science Fiction.

I’m excited by Outfest every year. I’m seeing how challenging it is to make a film, but how rewarding for the filmmakers and the audience. Most of these films will not get theatrical distribution, so this might be the only chance to see them in a theater with an audience.  That’s the best part. Even though we’re in an age of sitting at home and seeing most of these smaller films on our television, nothing replaces seeing them with an audience.  I’m even seeing a couple this year outdoor at the Ford, which is a great venue, and an audience of over 1,000 under the stars.  It’s on the of the things I look forward to.

I salute the organizers and the filmmakers. This is a gargantuan year long labor of love.  Every year I like it more.  They all deserve great congratulations for putting this on.

And, who knows, hopefully sometime I can get my feet wet and try to make one myself.  Then I’ll get to really see what a challenge it is.  Fun!

Instagram (#)

I joined Instagram last week. My boyfriend is on it, and I thought I'd see what the youth, and apparently everyone else I know, is up to.  A picture is worth a thousand words, they say, and sometimes they're right. I like seeing what people are up to, what they're seeing, who they're with, and even what they're eating.

I've always loved to take photographs. I took the one above about 10 years ago at Mardi Gras. I think it might have been a disposable camera.  Remember those? They probably still sell them, but like morse code, answering services, and address books, they are probably being quickly eclipsed by phones. Whoever had the idea to put a camera on a phone, s/he is brilliant. It was a foreign concept that is quickly a necessity. I love the space in this one, and the river. And I've always loved pictures of people taking pictures, subjects who are subjecting someone else.

I took a walk tonight, and snapped a pic of some roses in front of my apartment, the fading daylight coming through the bushes and the light on the shades of my windows making them look golden and warm within. It reminded me of a Magritte painting of a house on a street at twilight that I've always loved.  I could describe it, but here it is instead

I know he's a surrealist, and it's probably supposed to look surreal. To me, it looks like that time day that can be both light and dark, the best time of day.  I took a picture that reminded me of it. Armchair artist.  I walked to the store, and noticed how beautiful the sky was above my favorite hill in the park. I think it's on the other side of the freeway, but it looks closer.  I took a picture and posted it to Instagram.  A picture is worth a thousand words.  It's a bright star shining against the fading light, which in turn outlines the hill. I couldn't get the exact blue of the sky. I've never found that you can get the exact colors you're looking for on the camera phone, or probably even on most cameras. You can never capture the depth, either, it looks so much closer always in person, that light in the night like the white rind on a wateremelon, but descending into dark instead of that deep sweet fruit. Maybe a picture is only worth a few words about some things.

I've always loved the sky. I grew up in Nebraska and New Mexico, places where you could see for miles. In Nebraska the flat and corn went on forever, but you can look up and there's nothing but sky, sometimes high, blue, and cloudless, sometimes as close as your ceiling. In New Mexico, you can see even further.  If you are ever depressed by your surroundings, you can look up and feel nothing but freedom, and see only beauty. The southwest sky is dramatic, inconceivable if you haven't experienced it. When I lived in New York I tried to explain the idea of Western space to people who hadn't seen it.  It's not really possible, even with a picture.  People would come back and say, "wow, the sky really is big out there."  Yes, it really is. I had to come back, it's what I missed.

A simple walk tonight.  Thank you instagram for reminding me the distance between what I see and what I'm communicating, and for giving us another tool to get a little closer to it.

That thing I don't want to write about today

I want to write about other things, but I feel like it would be weirdly irresponsible to not write something about Treyvon Martin, considering how much it’s in the news today, and all over social media, and how unsettling it is.

I can’t, of course, come to any real conclusion of guilt or innocence; I wasn’t there. I do believe it’s a travesty of justice, in my personal opinion, but I was not there on the jury. I was not there being asked if I believed without doubt that I could convict someone of the charges raised.  I don’t know that I believe in a life for a life. It’s a tragedy this young man was shot, and that speaks to a much larger conversation. I don't think shooting an unarmed person can be warranted. 

I was also not there in the jury that convicted Marissa Alexander, a woman in Florida sentenced by the same judge who prosecuted the Treyvon Martin case,  given 10 to 20 years in prison for firing warning shots after suffering domestic abuse. That seems a miscarriage of justice to me.  

Another fury is the twitter commenting reminding Kim Kardashian, while showing her support for Treyvon Martin, that her father was OJ Simpson’s defense lawyer and got him off when they believe he should have been convicted. He was acquitted, but he was wealthy.  Is the argument that his wealth got him off, so wealth and celebrity trump everything else? But he was convicted in a civil trial and of a later crime. What about gender? If he had been a woman?  Sexuality?  If he had been gay and it was his partner? Where do those fall on the scale of reasons to acquit or convict? What evil, strange scale would that be? How would you test it? What combinations ensure freedom? What is the winning combination of celebrity, wealthy, sexual preference, gender and race?

I do not wish to be incendiary, I don’t have an answer the conversation. That perhaps, is because the conversation is too big for an answer.  I am not willing to say, “Oh, well, that’s the way it is” and let it go. I’m troubled by it – that’s an understatement. I’m scared, I’m disturbed, I’m outraged.  It does not even feel like we have two justice systems. It feels like we have different justice systems in different states, and ones that can be swayed by race, gender, money, sexuality, personal prejudices. I do not want to live in Florida, that’s for sure. When this happens, core safety feels threatened. My safety feels threatened.

 If this jury was of George Zimmerman’s peers, it’s possible they all think like him. Or it’s possible that they really were confused, and knew they had his life in the balance as well.  They also must have been aware of the media scrutiny – I can’t believe that did not weigh on them as well. I don’t know. I wasn’t in the room. Pull one string and it's connected to a pack of dynamite.

I do not think this verdict is simple. I do not think any of the miscarriages of justice that we’ve had in this country are simple.  Well, that’s not true – some of them are clearly based on bias - race, gender, sexuality, economic. That’s happened in the past, many times.  I'm probably not going out on a limb saying that I am on the side that thinks racial profiling is part of what happened in this case. That’s part of the outrage, if not all of it. That is perhaps why I’m reluctant to write about it: I have no simple solution, no clear idea of action, no uncomplicated feeling. 

I was listening to the radio last week (104.3 fm in LA I believe), and the call-in show had people, well, bragging about the ways the avoided jury duty.  I’ve been talking about this with people all week, during the trial. So many voices that are outraged are probably some of the same voices without time or inclination to serve on a jury. They feel inconvenienced, and figure out ways to get out of it and back to their lives.  How though, can there be a jury of peers, when people do not show up for jury duty? How can we be outraged when there is a travesty of justice is if we don’t show up for our communities, except to express outrage? I want to know who showed up to serve on the jury for Zimmerman, and what jury selection was like.

There are so many disturbing travesties of justice in the history of this country. There are however, reversals as well. And there are many people acquitted of crimes they didn’t commit. People who are exonerated.  I heard a story this weekend about a woman who was 19 and convicted of a drug charge after being told she would be given probation. She was told she would get probation if she pled guilty, but the judge wanted to make an example of her, so she was given 10 – 20 years in prison, with no evidence. She escaped, raised a family, was found, brought back to prison after 23 years, and waited for a year for charges to be dropped, as there weren’t sufficient charges to prosecute in the first place. Our system is broken, confusing, huge, overwhelming.  The only way, though, for people to do anything about it is to get involved.  I hope that people who are upset will report when called for jury duty.

I saw a very disturbing short film at Outfest yesterday. The action was two gay men being hung by men in military looking uniforms. The men looked Middle Eastern. There was no dialogue. It was devastating, disturbing. This is happening now.

Our system isn’t perfect, but I don’t know that I wouldn’t trade it for what I see elsewhere. In fact, other systems have been modeled on ours. I do hope that this spurs people to get involved in fixing it.

Ugh. See why it's the thing I don't want to write about today?  My thoughts are with the families, with that woman serving 10-20 years for shooting a warning shot and convicted under the same law that Zimmerman was acquitted under. So angry. And her case makes me angrier because no one died or was hurt, and she is not with her children but in prison. Sent to prison for wanting to protect them and herself, when she had a restraining order in place that he violated. Her jury took 15 minutes. That makes me sad and angry. I am actually hoping that the noise around that case will cause it to be reviewed, and maybe something good will come out of this.

So is it jury selection? Is it confusing laws? Is it having to uphold a law on a jury you may not believe in or understand, but have to follow the rules of the court?  Will our system, like any system, remain flawed?

I prefer it to vigilante justice, but that is just what was on trial with Zimmerman. Do we have a fair trial whose purpose is to give assent to vigilantism?

I am lost on this one.

Thanks for reading. I am no clearer than when I started.  Even identifying the questions on this is complicated. A young man lost a life, and that's tragic. Part of a nation feels unsafe, and I'm sure part feels vindicated and given permission to use their guns.

I hope this verdict doesn't result in more fear, but I don't see how it can't. I hope, like I said, it spurs people on to conversation and more action.

Meaningful Pause

Today I saw a Dutch movie called It's All Quiet (spoiler: it was. Seriously quiet), a program of International Shorts, a comedy, and a documentary about Divine called "I am Divine".  It was - a wonderful tribute, it played well. Lots of laughs.

I'm making this short again since it's late, and I'm up early tomorrow, but keeping up with the practice.  Today, with the foreign films, I experienced a lot of meaningful pauses, meaningful silences filled with meaningful looks. I'd never noticed them as much as I did today.  I even witnessed part of a short that was at least a full minute if not two of someone unpacking groceries while a cat yowled in the background.  The short was interesting, but taken out of context that idea makes me laugh.

I'll leave you with that, while I take a meaningful pause.

Under the Wire

A late night at my first day at Outfest means I was actually just getting in bed when I remembered this commitment. I didn't want to disappoint myself on my first day, so I've booted up the computer and jotting some notes.  Thank you for the feedback, support and suggestions on the first day. That was heartening. 

I a couple of interesting films -Ass Backwards, which is being billed as an "irreverent female buddy comedy", and Continental, Malcolm Ingram's documentary about Steve Ostrow and the Continental Baths.  

Ass Backwards is broad, to say the least. It reminds me a little of Romy & Michelle's High School Reunion, and my hopes are that it gets the following that that film does.  If nothing else, the talent portion of the pageant they end up in is worth seeing. The audience loved it, and there are some truly hysterical bits.

I enjoyed Continental, though it seemed hamstrung at times from the quality of the footage that survives as well as the lack of it.  The interviews are great, and Steve Ostrow, the owner and operator, has great stories.  The section about Bette Midler felt overly long for a documentary that's not about her, and the portion about the talent almost derailed the film for me, veering away from its central purpose. To that end, it would have been great to see even a little footage inside the Ansonia today, but I'm sure there are reasons, either bureaucratic or financial, making that not possible.  I'm glad I saw it. Documentaries are the things I'm usually most interested in at Outfest.  It's important to remember, as this doc points out, that it was a crime for two men to have sex in New York City a scant 40 years ago.  It's important to be reminded of that.  I'm very glad Ingram made this movie, and I hope people get to see it.

Today is the first day

I finished the AIDS ride, with lots of help. I just realized that I haven't posted since I was in the thick of training.  It was beautiful.  It was brutal. I took some beautiful photos. I met some great people, and some cranky others.  Just like life, concentrated in time. I see why people like doing it - it's a struggle, and a metaphor, and a reminder, and frankly it just feels good to work toward a good cause. We raised a lot of money, and it was an incredible accomplishment for all of us.  Truly.

I've been been back over a month, back into the usual grind of trying to get my creative mind to feel a little more like this

And less like this

But I suppose that's just the reality of it.

I cut a trailer for a friend's book, which anyone reading this should buy, it's called  "Leaving Tinkertown", and the writing is beautiful.  You can also watch the trailer here.

I've also had a couple of movie ideas, and still trying to outline those and a pilot. And I have my writing group.  So, it feels a little like the tangle above, just with additional colors, a few layers, and some tire tracks.

I've been getting a bunch of reminders about discipline, about daily practice, especially and most randomly from horoscopes. Oh, I also want to know the future.  Yeah, that's going to happen; please tell me what to do before I do it.

I've been toying with the idea of writing daily, actually wanting to, but I can't seem to do it on my own. I do have a group, but for daily practice, short of taking constant classes, the only thing that comes to mind is this blog. Of course, I'm immediately stopping myself thinking I have nothing to say, it would be navel-gazing, self-indulgent, drivel, who cares, etc.

But really, not even sure how many people read this since I post so infrequently, so what would be the harm?  And, as usual, I've never been met with anything close to what I think will happen when I put anything out there.  Usually, it seems, people enjoy it if they do read, and since I seem to philosophize on a daily basis, it might be nice to get some of that in virtual space.  If nothing else, if I make a promise to thin air I'm more likely to keep it than one I make myself.

There: I've talked myself into it.  Daily practice. Any subject is open.  Getting the mind and the fingers going. See, I've already done the first one!

Slow and Steady

Last Saturday I went on a 55 mile bike ride. I am training for ALC (AIDS Lifecycle) 2013, a 7-day, 555 mile bike ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles the first week of June.  In order to do this ride, I have to train.

I have done this ride before. I did not train. Consequently, I was always in the last few riders each day. I had a hybrid, which is about 20 pounds heavier than my current bike. I only did six training rides, which is nowhere near enough. I'm proud of myself for having done it, but it was not an optimal experience by any stretch of the imagination.

So this year, swept up in the excitement of the closing ceremonies I attended to support friends, I decided to sign up again. I got a lighter bike. I'm completely prepared.

Saturday, though, I found myself somewhat near the back again. I was distressed somewhat; I figured with my new bike I could be out in front with the other riders. I didn't figure myself into this equation, though. Turns out, I'm not really a racer.

I'm a fast person. I think fast, I move quickly, I drive quickly. There are few activities I do slowly. Biking, apparently, is one of them.  I stopped and got off my bike 3 times to take pictures.  I waved to the cows and horses.  I really took my time. I thought about what fantasies engender these crazy place in LA. I finished, albeit at a much slower pace.  I wasn't the last rider, so that's a step.

During the last leg I was thinking about what I would write about if I wrote about the experience. It's odd, I suppose, but composing prose in your head is a good way to pass the time. I don't know what I wrote, and I'm sure it was brilliant.  But what I think I was wanting to express is that I may not finish first. I may be behind again - one of the last riders of the day, rolling in after everyone has been in camp quite a while.  On this ride, I figured out that was fine; I may miss what's going on immediately, but I can see what's truly important - that we get to experience it. That we're doing this to raise money for support for AIDS services. It's easy to forget that while griping about things, or even when it's beautiful and the scenery is stunning, which it is most of the time.  There is a purpose, and none of that purpose is about racing through.

I will probably always talk and think fast, but I hope I have the presence of mind to stay slow when I need to on this ride. I'd like to experience what I can - there's no finish line, the whole experience is there to be there for everyone, and make it happen.  To raise money for a good cause.  I need to go at my own pace. I need to remember what a joy it is to see what I'm seeing at the pace I'm traveling. That stopping and taking pictures is okay and should be encouraged.  That I don't need to be at the front of the pack - in the middle and enjoying the ride is just fine, too.

Art and Agitation

If you have this calling, I have no advice for you. Work hard.

-Patti Smith

I saw Patti Smith at USC last week, and those were the words of advice she gave to the last questioner, a young woman who asked what advice she’d give to young female artists. After responding that the questioner should get past labeling herself (“No one calls Picasso a male artist”) she said there was really nothing to say.  I’m sure people don’t love to hear that, but it’s just as honest as everything else she said that night.  Make work, work hard. There is no other way. Her career is a testament to that.  She told everyone that if they could only buy one album this year, to buy the new My Bloody Valentine album and not hers.  She is all about creation and art.  Well, read her book, and that’s pretty clear.

I don’t work hard at it, if I'm honest with myself. It's scary. It's exhilarating as well to see someone as open as she is. What resonated for me in what she spoke about that evening, and what I heard at the LA Library talk the following evening, was influences and the desire/urge/need to do something when you’re experiencing others’ art.

The interviewer asked Patti Smith about all her influences, it was his first question. I’d just been writing about feeling overstuffed with things on this blog that day – too much material to see, things to read, feeling overstuffed.  The first question hit me between the eyes.  She spoke of feeling agitated when seeing a work that she responded to. She first called it excited, then changed to agitated, which felt apt – that feeling of discomfort in which you’re excited, propelled, uncomfortable, to make something yourself in response to what you’re seeing.  I’d never heard it described that way, but that’s the feeling – a restless, get out of your chair kind of feeling.

The following night, I was lucky enough to see Bernard Cooper and George Saunders talk about writing at the LA Library and reading from their work. The theme was not knowing while writing, how to write when you’re not sure where you’re going.  The discussion was fascinating, but what struck me was that both writers, and the moderator, spoke often of work they liked and quotes from writers they admired.  These ideas guide them, hearten them, and inspire them.

We’re not alone when we think we are. All four of these people spoke of their influences, how they are buoyed, inspired, cowed by them, as well as how much they love and admire the works of their heroes.  I have a tendency to think that there’s so much in the world and too much information to process at times. I know I won’t process it all. But that slight shift, into realizing that we all are influenced by others, and we can use those influences to inspire and challenge us, was welcome.

I love to read. I love to watch performance. I take notes when I go to museums. I get restless and agitated – watching the Rite of Spring I was composing prose in my head to describe what it was doing.  Listening to Patti Smith sing Because the Night makes me want to sing as nakedly and giving as she does (I could go on about her fearlessness, openness, honesty, humor, but that’s for another thought; for that matter I could go on about how great George Saunders and Bernard Cooper were, too).  When describing how she still feels so much love for her late husband when she sings it was palpable, light-giving. It’s heartening that we all have these influences, that they make us want to do better, to create, to delve deeper. I admit it’s probably shallow to feel like I need permission from others to feel this, but it’s not really permission – it’s acknowledgement of a shared impulse.  That sharing is exciting. There was a theme at the library reading of favorite quotes, and even some of the audience members shared theirs before asking their questions.

We are living in a crowded time.  We can’t get to it all, but when I get away from consumption to inspiration, it all turns around.

Overstuffed.

"There must be some closing of the gates after thirty if the mind is to become a creative force"

 - Howards End, E.M. Forster

Overstuffed.

Today, I went to find my copy of “Just Kids”, the book Patti Smith wrote about her early days in New York with Robert Mapplethorpe. I was unable to locate it in the gloomy dark of my apartment, so I turned on the light, even though I dislike unnatural light in the morning. Weird quirk, but I tend to stumble around in the dark, without my glasses, in the morning, possibly in an attempt to ignore that I’ve had to wake up. It’s the physical embodiment of one of those gradual light alarm clocks. Some people like to meditate, I stumble around in the dark.

Anyhow, I was unable to locate the book. I did notice, however, the five stacks of books that have piled up in front of the books that are actually filed on my bookshelves.  A year ago I cleaned the shelves, gave away 5 brown paper grocery bags of books, and started on yet another campaign for a Spartan simplicity in my apartment. My apartment is crowded with remnants of my attempts at simplicity.

I was overwhelmed by the books I have yet to read. Last year, I scoured my shelves to leave only the books I hadn’t read, or ones that are very special to me, and once again, the shelves are filled. I have more in my garage.  There’s the works of Montaigne, kinda slow to read when you’re also looking at the French on the opposite page, though interesting. The Twyla Tharp creativity book. Biographies about Patti LuPone and Ethel Merman. The Age of Wonder ; stories by Etgar Keret, Karen Russell, and Adam Haslett; a novel by Steve Martin; Proust was a Neuroscientist,; and the two books I just got this week, Far from the Tree, by Andrew Solomon, about children; and Why Does the World Exist? An Existential Detective Story.  I also finally got Hero with a Thousand Faces, since I’d only ever read about Joseph Campbell. The list goes on.

I bring this up because I think I’m feeling a little overstuffed. Tonight I’m going to hear Patti Smith speak, which is why I wanted to find the book for her to sign.  Tomorrow is a talk with Bernard Cooper and George Saunders, both of whom I’m excited to hear read and talk.  Sunday I saw the spectacular reconstruction of the Nijinsky/Stravinsky Rite of Spring by the Joffrey Ballet. Friday night, I saw a great central performance of a solid, fun, ecstatic, interesting play at Sacred Fools called Absolutely Filthy. The main character is Pig Pen at 30, a homeless, meth addict. The writer and main actor, Brendan Hunt, hula hoops for the entire show while playing the character. Beyond being a virtuoso feat, coupled with the Nijinsky it started me thinking about madness, movement and Sacrifice. That’s been percolating.

During the Rite of Spring, I was thinking of how I would write about it, which is my usual reaction to anything, especially something I love so much and have a long relationship with. One look at my blog will tell you how often that happens.  So perhaps I would feel a little less overstuffed if I got some of this out.  That might be a solution.

And I don’t even want to talk about what’s on my DVR. I seem to only be able to watch Project Runway, RuPaul's Drag Race, and an occasional episode of Louie or Bunheads. 

The quote above is one of my favorites from one of my favorite books, and I've mentioned it before. Perhaps heeding it is a good idea, but it's very challenging, especially in a city with so much to offer. I guess this is the nature of living in what is understatedly termed “A crowded media landscape?”

Jane & Julia

It looks like my Jane Sibbery singing Calling All Angels didn't embed in the post from yesterday.  It's
here.

And below - is her doing something more akin to what I saw last night.

 

She played this small club in LA, Molly Malone's, with Julia Fordham, who is doing a residency there. They both did their big hits from the early nineties, Julia singing back-up on this, as well as "The Temple" and "Love is Everything".  Gorgeous songs. Hearing Julia Fordham singing "Manhattan Skyline" live was wonderful, and I still know every word twenty years later. Loved that album. Her voice is velvet.

I had seen Jane Siberry live in NY at a Joni Mitchell tribute, and also at the Bottom Line in a songwriter's roundtable with Janis Ian and Cheryl Wheeler. She seems prickly - at one point she stopped playing a song because the audience laughed - she seemed truly annoyed. At the same time, she can't help but be charming. What I love about her is just that.  She's vulnerable, seemingly all feeling and impulse.  I'd say I can't imagine it's an easy way to be, but frankly I have no idea - it could be blissful.  She seems very present. Julia Fordham was, too, as well as Tim Boothe from James, who played some new songs.

I realize what a privilege it is to have people share something like that with you.  You forget (or maybe I do, since I tend to discount when I do it) how vulnerable it is to be up on stage. I've always been able to hide behind a character, and it's only recently in performing a few times as myself, either singing or telling stories, that I see how nerve-wracking it is.  Not like I didn't have stage fright, but when you're trying so desperately to create something else out of yourself to become a character, you forget how naked it is to just be up in front of people.  Especially when you are in front of people performing something you composed.

I'm blathering, but I will say the first time I performed just telling a story about myself and singing, I was so nauseated I thought I was going to throw up. I've been going on stages since I was thirteen and I'm in my mid-forties; I cannot recall ever feeling this sick. I'm a little sick even linking it - ha.

Jane (I'm going to assume a familiarity I don't have), spoke about what she used to think was stage fright was actually excitement, and her body's adrenaline system shifting into a different mode.  I see that I extrapolated earlier from how she was on stage that she was that way in life - truly I don't know. I am grateful as an audience member that she was that open - and to the other two performers as well. It is not easy - reams have been written about it.

Tim Boothe was wearing a t-shirt with Patti Smith on it. Fitting.  She's one of the people I've seen who just is so herself it's breathtaking. I suppose that's what it is.  Part of the performance is probably being vulnerable without letting yourself get hurt - paradoxically it takes a great deal of confidence to be that vulnerable.  I do love all kinds of performance, but there's a special place in my heart for voices and guitar.

And if you don't know Jane Siberry's album "When I Was A Boy", then get it. I think it's about grief, but it's about much and feels revealed almost. That's part of the art of it.  You know it was crafted, but it feels delivered in one piece from somewhere that wants to reveal a secret we all should know. That's art, I guess.

Calling All Angels

I cannot stop thinking about New York (and the rest of the East) and how they are dealing with the aftermath of the hurricane.  I was downtown in NY for September 11th, and I remember being shocked and a little annoyed at the force of feelings the rest of the country had about the event.  We were the ones affected, after all, so what was so disturbing?  I was younger. Probably in shock. And that whole event was wrapped up in nationalism, attack, a known enemy. I understand more now, though, being a continent away and worried for friends and the city itself.

Here the enemy is something we cannot band together and rail against. We can only hope to recover. I feel impotent being unable to do anything as I see the photos of people discovering bodies, standing in endless lines, struggling to maintain a sense of normalcy in the face of such overwhelming disaster. I cannot fathom lower Manhattan underwater. I won't go into my feelings about global warming, but two hurricanes in two years is not a comforting trend.

Anyone who has lived in New York has a relationship to it; it's a city that feels almost like a person.  When we left, my friend Erin and I did a show called "Breaking up with New York" because it felt like the end of a relationship, albeit a one-sided one for the most part. For the country, it's where we keep many of our dreams and stories. It's our history; the birth of the financial district, labor unions, where the draft riots happened, where many of our ancestors first touched down.  It's the Statue of Liberty and her message of hope and sanctuary.  It's Broadway.

I am looking, and finding, stories of human triumph.  It is difficult to watch from this side of the country, though, and be powerless to do anything. You can donate to New York Cares or the New York Food Bank.  You can call your friends and let them know you are thinking of them and pray that they are safe. I never thought I'd be grateful for facebook, but it's been so helpful.  You can remember that New Yorkers (I'm including the tri-state area here) are incredibly resilient, and band together in a crisis.  I suppose we all do as Americans.  We're heterogenous in so many ways, but we're scrappy. I like that about us. I love that about us.

My heart is with all my friends there, as are my worries right now. I hope they have power soon. I know there is a long period of reconstruction ahead. I hope this is not a trend.

Do what you can, call who you need, and be grateful to those around you.

9th Circle?

One of the oldest gay bars in New York City was called The Ninth Circle. I don't actually know if it still exists.  I think it may be closed.  I'm also not sure what the Ninth Circle is, except that I expect it's a Dante reference (leave it to the urbane gays of the 60s and 70s). Here.  Let me check.

Did you miss me? Here's an answer. I love that about the internet - you didn't even know I was gone.  Anyhow, looks like it's the worst circle - for the traitors, like Judas, and in the center is Satan. Or, in slang, the place where things can't get worse.  Leave it to the gays to come up with a name like that for a bar.  I love that. In the sixties. That's called gallows humor, folks.

I digress. This post is really just about boring old writer's block. It's not even writer's block as I am obviously stringing words together right now. It's outlining.  Our hero (I'm casting myself in this role, just for today), would rather fling words and stories out into the universe like so many rubber bands than outline, a process that is needed when one is writing a script.  A pilot, to be exact. I've been wondering if pilot-writing has its own circle. Like, 2 1/2. Room 222. In hell.

Now, never having outlined really that much before, I want to skip it. But I can't. I can't because the outline, I'm finding, is where you actually craft what's happening - where you come up with taut, interesting, interconnected stories; and where you wander around in circles feeling a little like you are chasing your tail. Or pushing a boulder uphill only to have it fall back when you get it near the top; like you're waiting for that thirst to be quenched but as soon as you bend down to take a drink the water is lowered.  That might be the sixth circle, actually.

Yes, The sixth circle. I was right. Did I mention that you spend a lot of time looking up fascinating but ultimately useless information on the internet?  And thought I was pretty up on The House of Atreus, but who knew that it all started with Tantalus? I do now, and so do you. I hope it brings you peaceful dreams.  Did I mention the dreams?  There's a fair amount of walking in circles, staring into space, cleaning things that don't need to be cleaned while ignoring the things that really do, fantasizing about reorganizing and possibly moving, but at least repainting, and finally, maybe, sitting down in front of an empty sheet of paper. And being plagued with doubts.

And did I mention writing blog posts?

Daphne

I've always been interested in the myth of Daphne. It's never made a lot of sense, but I'm fascinated by it.  I wrote this a bit ago. Don't poetize much for fear it's awful (since I don't know poetry), but sharing nonetheless -

Why did Daphne run away?
Easier to root yourself to the ground and ask for help from the heavens -
than give into the god pressuring you,
frightened by his hard desire, his lithe pursuit -
effortlessly endless pursuit -
laughing and reassuring,
while you -  panting, terrified -
would rather become an eternal wooden supplicant
than give into his human need.
Why did you run?