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Hm...
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Jun. 30th, 2009 @ 07:35 am
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1)"That's because I'm an actor, Stanley."
2)

3) Walking at the Land Trust with Krys, mentioning the above comic. "And why should it?" she says, smiling and admiring the stamens around us. And in the depths of my skull, something goes *ding*. Why should it? Why should any of us?
4) Met someone at one of Nate's shindigs who's like a fierce little force of nature. I'm pretty sure there's a spot in the middle of her storm where she's vulnerable, unsure, worried, human. But unless putting up a bold, hard face is how that spot presents, she doesn't seem to let it drive. She knows her talents, knows her strengths, knows the roads she's had to walk to get where she is, and will tell these things to anyone who will sit still and pay attention. And if you won't sit still and pay attention, fuck you. Life's too short to spend it gathering every single person's good opinion.
It's. I'm at once bemused, intimidated, challenged, and inspired by that.
I don't know her well enough to know what's immodest honesty and what's utter bullshit. But I've noticed that I slip into a Bear kind of headspace when I'm around her--feet planted, quietly receptive, accepting whatever face anyone shows, but not giving an inch of the ground of my emotional/personal integrity. I don't aim to please. I don't say pretty, meaningless things for the sake of "fitting in". But I pay attention. I appreciate beauty when/where I find it. And I can be relied on.
I know where my skin is.
For that if nothing else, I count meeting her as my good fortune. Her good fortune, too, maybe; who knows how she sees it.Face du jour:  awake Mental Jukebox: "Under the Setting Sun"--The Gentle Guest
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Jun. 18th, 2009 @ 09:09 pm
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Watching Pirates of the Caribbean 3 with the boyos. Dae's snuggled up on the loveseat with Mark for comfort through all the fighting. In the middle of all the mishegoss, when Will and Elizabeth finally exchange "I do" and kiss, Dae covers his face and shakes his head at the sentimentality and silliness of adults.
"What's wrong, boo?" I ask, grinning. "They're kissing again," he mumbles from behind his hands. Mark laughs. "Yeah. One day, you may not mind so much."
Yeah. The Princess Bride was better. But hey. Considering I borrowed this one from the local library? I got more than I paid for. :) And it was worth it to hear Mark's Peter Faulk impersonation.Face du jour:  amused Mental Jukebox: "Storybook Love"--Mark Knopfler
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One of the most interesting phrases to hear in a conversation is, "... and I'm not sure why I'm telling you this. But..."
It's. I don't know. A verbal tag? that hangs on things that a person needs to vent or needs another person to hear, and for once instead of sitting on that need, they're letting it happen. And that's an awesome and humbling place to be.
Bear was with me last night. Through the talking to strangers, through the making new friends, through the beer-tastings and propane balloons. I felt her when I put my feet on the ground. I felt her when I walked. I felt her in the silences between stories. She sat in my skin and got comfortable.
And for once, I wasn't terrified, wondering how people were responding to the way I was presenting myself to them. I didn't have to worry about being "on." I just... was.
And it was good.
)O(
They set things on fire, when they get together at Nate's. There's a brush pile that they douse with gasoline and shoot roman candles at. And it flares high and smokes, but it's gone in ten minutes, and barely any of the brush is consumed. Leaves some for next time, I guess. One of these days, though, I'm going to figure out how to lay the foundations for it properly, bring dryer lint or something to feed a little blaze until it grows. Because I'd like to sit with it for a while without worrying something's going to explode.
There are shortcuts in life, apparently, but the cost of them is a frantic burn small enough to ignore. I'll spend the time, I'll take a longer road. It's worth it for a fire you have to kick apart and dance on to put out.Face du jour:  still a little spaced. Mental Jukebox: "Das Tor"--Faun
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"Okay, kid, be an X for me so I can soap you, ah?"
Dae knows this drill--he spreads his legs and arms wide and waits. While I scrub, I peek sidelong to see whether he's an X with serifs tonight or not.
He catches me peeking. Tipping his hands down and pointing out his toes, he goes from Arial to Thomas Paine. Then he grins and flips them back. Serif. Sans serif. Serif. Sans serif.
"So what's that about?" I ask, nodding at his hands and trying to keep a straight face. "Are you a neon sign, flickering?"
"Nope."
"What are you then, miho?"
"I'm an X-bird! Flapping my wings! See?" Serif. Sans serif.
I can't help it--I grin. "So what does an X-bird call sound like? If Jaybirds say 'theif! theif!', what do X-birds say?"
He thinks about it for a tic. Then: "GKZ! GKZ! GKZ!" ~rolls about, laughing~
My kid rocks.Face du jour:  amused Mental Jukebox: "Friday I'm In Love"--The Cure
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| » Because sometimes it wants restating: |
Love and baseball bats, beloved ones. Love and baseball bats.
Jun. 10th, 2009 @ 01:43 pm
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| » Little epiphanies |
(but then again, how big is an epiphany, and how do I know that this one is small in comparison? ~waves a hand at it~)
From The Gateless Gate:
Everyday Life is the Path
Joshu asked Nansen: `What is the path?' Nansen said: `Everyday life is the path.' Joshu asked: `Can it be studied?' Nansen said: `If you try to study, you will be far away from it.' Joshu asked: `If I do not study, how can I know it is the path?'
Nansen said: `The path does not belong to the perception world, neither does it belong to the nonperception world. Cognition is a delusion and noncognition is senseless. If you want to reach the true path beyond doubt, place yourself in the same freedom as sky. You name it neither good nor not-good.'
At these words Joshu was enlightened.
and
In spring, hundreds of flowers; in autumn, a harvest moon; In the summer, a refreshing breeze; in winter, snow will accompany you. If useless things do not hang in your mind, Any season is a good season for you.
.................... And others that convert into words less easily. Yeah. ~exhale...nod~
Jun. 9th, 2009 @ 10:52 am
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| » Been going through my head for days now. |
"I'll tell you what: I'll save you the trouble of running away. I'm already gone out the door, and I stole this moment for me..."
Alright, memory. That's enough now.
Jun. 7th, 2009 @ 09:41 am
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| » ~long, slow breath~ |
"This business of hozho. The way I understand it--" He paused. The way he understood hozho was hard to put into words. "I'll use an example. Terrible drought, crops dead, sheep dying. Spring dried out. No water. The Hopi, or the Christian, maybe the Moslem, they pray for rain. The Navajo has the proper ceremony done to restore himself to harmony with the drought. You see what I mean. the system is designed to recognize what's beyond human power to change, and then to change the human's attitude to be content with the inevitable."
--Jim Chee, in Sacred Clowns, page 274 Tony Hillerman, 1993
Jun. 3rd, 2009 @ 11:54 pm
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| » Lagniappe |
So yeah. Casing the net, trying to get a feel for the Exit/In before July (pause to squee. !!!! Yah, Cat, and yah, Gogol Bordello!). YouTube turns out to be excellent in this capacity, answering several questions at once.
1) Standing room? Means this what I think it does? Answer: yes. Just like a festival, only the band isn't raised to head-level across some security barrier, they're up to knee-level across whatever the crowd's politeness or the band's media recorders allow. Bring your heavy boots and your elbows.
2) Cameras allowed? Answer: Probably. Look at the little hipsters in front row, here, with cameras and cells between them and the band, their eyes glued to tiny low-res screens when THE BAND THEY PAID TO SEE IS RIGHT FUCKING THERE. (note to self: don't be that chick.)
3) Good soundboard folk? We're not going to be in a basement that's mixed for outdoors, are we? Answer: Based on other vids posted by other screengazers in the audience, yeah. Good soundboard folk. Even the reviewers who think the barkeeps are pissy and the doormen are unnecessarily obstructive and the club is a dingy little hole agree that the folk running the board know their job. And that's good. It's Music City for gods' sake--there's no reason to hire or keep support techs who can't do what you're paying them to. As Rick Neilsen said to a roadie and the crowd once: "You don't know how to tune a guitar? NASHVILLE! WHO HERE KNOWS HOW TO TUNE A GUITAR?" (entire crowd with the exception of yours truly bellows. I can tune an autoharp, though. :D )
Oh and hey, something extra-- Mute Math? Are they always that spacey and driven?
Oooh...
May. 28th, 2009 @ 09:39 am
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| » (No Subject) |
"I think that eventually, I'd like a copy of this one for my own," I said last night. Close the book, reach for the lampswitch.
Mark looked up from the computer, surprised and curious. "And that is the most ringing endorsement I've heard from you about a library book. What are you reading?"
I showed him the cover. "And again with the Zen Buddhists. But... It... They. Somehow manage to be both challenging and reassuring. It's good. It's good."
May. 21st, 2009 @ 03:37 pm
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| » Fear is the lock |
And laughter the key to, apparently, many hearts. Mine among them.
Remembering, today, other people's epiphanies and how they taste. <3 (especially the smile @ 0:54-1:00. <3<3)
Okay. Back to sewing and gluing and pressing books...
May. 14th, 2009 @ 02:36 pm
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| » ~blinks... blinks?~ |
So. While puttering through the house, I've been listening to Sound & Spirit, the Trickster episode. On the bed, The Faery Reel lies open. This is where my head has been for the past three days--a novel I might blow through in twelve hours, but short stories must be savoured. Must be let to roll round in the skull while I do other things.
In this case, the "other things" are clearing my son's breakfast plate and making myself a bit of a snack. Stomach yowls; head aches; vague dizziness sets in. These are the body's increasingly impolite reminders that it would like a bit of lift in its blood glucose levels. Leftover shepherd's pie, I think, possibly a bit of cheese dip.
So I wander into the kitchen, set down used dishes, close gaping cupboard doors. Bring down a small bowl. All the while thinking about little oakthings and their steady diet of milk left by doorsteps in little bowls. About cats drinking from the little bowls and hanging round to eat the rodents and maybe spare the house from plague. Except we have chipmunks living "downstairs" here, not rats, and while locally they may carry rabies, isn't plague fairly rare in the southeast? Either way, I like our chipmunks more than I like the stray cats. So no milk in small bowls for you Kindly lot, so sorry.
Except by this time, my hands have opened the fridge, pulled out the milk and filled the bowl. I "wake up" while putting the milk back on its shelf.
And now, your vaguely superstitious narrator isn't sure whether to put the bowl out anyhow (maybe chipmunks would thrive on acidophilous milk?) or pour it on the roots of the tree out back, but she's pretty well convinced that drinking it would be disrespectful and bad luck...
Gods, I've got to eat...
Apr. 23rd, 2009 @ 02:30 pm
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| » W00t! |
Have just discovered something made of crystalline Win: Iron Horse--the bluegrass group that did my favourite cover of "Enter Sandman"--are a) Alabama based, and b) touring, kinda. If by "touring" you mean "rambling round fundraisers and such in Alabama and North Carolina". Go look!
Now must see what hoops must be jumped through to get to the show at Paint Rock, September 19th...
EDIT!: A little digging brought up this: the 2009 Ole Timey Craft and Bluegrass Festival. Iron Horse's set is Saturday, but that's all I've got on it. Gates open at 09:00; the lodge is an hour and a half away from our apartment. Still don't know what tickets will run, but I'm pretty sure of two things--they won't be as much as Mom's shelling out for Billy Joel/Elton John, and they'll be General Admission.
There will also be buck dancing, "gun fights", wagon rides, and homemade ice cream. And quilting. ... ( \0/! )
So. We stalk this one, yes we do...
Apr. 14th, 2009 @ 08:11 am
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| » Still not sure whether I like this medico's style... |
(Seriously. Dude was like the pediatric version of House. Skillful, and his patients are important to him... but bedside manner? What's that?)
Doc (to Dae, straightfaced): So. Are you a boy or a girl? Dae (to Doc): facial expression and headtilt translatable as "WTF?" Doc: Are you a girl? Dae: slow, suspicious headshake Doc: Are you a boy? Dae: nods... ? Doc: You a big boy or a little boy? Dae: ...unspoken: insufficient data... I'm five. unspoken: Says so on that chart, too. Doc: Are you little? Dae: shrug Doc: Are you as big as you're going to be? Dae: headshake Doc: How big will you be? Dae: jerks thumb over his shoulder, indicating me, still with "are you on dope?" expression on his face. Doc (to me, smiling): You're his frame of reference.
Apr. 9th, 2009 @ 09:15 pm
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| » New Post |
Figured I'd start migrating toward keeping maker-fabulous postings over at blogspot and life-things here, partly to make my beloved readers' lives a touch harder, partly to make mine a touch easier. Sorry 'bout that.
But yeah. :D Ping! New post at One Crow Laughing! (and a tiny little squee!!! over finally having a site-layout that doesn't burn my eyes. We'll see how long it lasts.)
Apr. 6th, 2009 @ 04:35 pm
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| » Dude. What? |
So I'm following some dude's Presidential campaign--actually, literally following it. I could be selling tie-dyed T-shirts in the parking lot, there are so many people following this guy, and I would be except some ex-Deadhead beat me to it. He's the second coming of Barak Obama, he's a political rockstar, he's going to save the souls of every man, woman, and tiny little child in this nation, and he's going to do it with Charisma! and his Great Plan! (which he never seems to line out for any of us...)
I'm following this guy because I'm sceptical as all hell. I want to believe in somebody, yeah, because I'm tired of putting myself behind the lesser of a number of evils. And this cat talks a good game. But folk are treating him like he heals the sick and walks on water, and I distrust that deeply. So I'm watching him, from as close as I can get.
What's funny is that he's got the Dalai Lama in his entourage. His Holiness, this incarnation, seems to be some twentysomething surf rat from the Valley-- perpetually barefoot, tanned, and with blond dreadlocks bouncing as he meanders through the crowds. This one has healed the sick with a slightly blank look and a "Yeah man, let yourself be free of it," and I begin to wonder whether The Candidate is keeping the Wish-fulfilling Jewel close to get some holy-by-association thing going. Guy pushes all my buttons; I go from wondering whether I can believe in this Candidate to actively wanting to put the man down before he can get to a position of power.
And I'm not sure what to make of the Dalai Lama. Is he here because he believes this politician? Can't be; when the microphones are off, the guy's a disrespectful autocrat of a man--He Alone knows how folk should live, and he will make them live that way for their own good. I just can't picture a Bhuddist holy-man getting behind that. Is it because the Candidate recognises this white kid as the actual reincarnation? Because China sure as hell doesn't--they've already appointed some nervous-looking boyo to Lama-dom--and Tibet is still debating the matter. Again, though, political games like that look like attachment to an earthly idea, and isn't attachment of that sort the kind of thing Bhuddists are supposed to grow away from? Also: it's a bit early in the Candidate's career to be making foreign policy decisions like this. China's going to be something he'll have to deal with A Lot, if he makes it in November; antagonising them is... ballsy? Suicidal? I don't get it.
What I do get is that there's a 100-foot circle of mental quiet that centres on this kid. He's got something to him. And he's letting himself be used.
So anyway. Here's me. Standing round the Candidate's limo in the dark one night, waiting for his stump-speech to end and himself to come back. I've noticed that as he walks, he talks to his entourage as if the drivers and guards aren't there; if I can look like part of the local staff instead of a Potential Voter, I'll hear. And so will my wee little recording device. And as soon as I can find a willing reporter, so will they. This is a pitch I've tried to work before, and been tossed off of before; I'm relying on darkness and serenity to keep me covered this time, because they're beginning to recognise my face.
I don't remember what's said, but I do remember the flash of triumph--I've got you, you bastard. You're done! And I remember the flash of light in my eyes, and the pounding of heels as men in black suits chase me.
Then someone catches me, and I grab him, break his hold on me, punch him in the gut, and keep running. I'm diving into a car and praying it'll start when I realise--the guy I just pummelled? Blond dreads. Bare feet. I just beat down the Dalai Lama. Oh, I'm going to Hell. I'm going to reincarnate as a cockroach. I'm screwed. I'm sorry, dude, but this is important.
And off I drive into the night.
Haze of time passing; it's daylight and the soundclip I caught is playing on NPR and Fox News both. Hope there's something worthy in one of the other candidates, because this guy's ship is going down. I'm putting fuel in the car when I see a familiar blond head bobbing by. My attention on him gets his attention on me; he turns. "Hey," he says, "You found my car."
"Thought it was my car, dude." "Attachment." "Attachment. Sorry about the other night. You okay?" "Got a bruise." "Need anything?" "Ride to the beach? Good wave?" "Anywhere you want to go, man. Can't do much about the waves." "'S okay. They do enough, themselves." "Right on." And we get into the car and go.
Apr. 3rd, 2009 @ 10:05 am
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| » Oh, how I love the MyFonts newsletter... |
Particularly when I can link other people to it.
This one's an interview-of-sorts with Eric Gill, a carver of stone and designer of typefaces. I say "of sorts" because of the wee note in the bottom corner, "...quotes adapted from: An Essay on Typography (London, J.M. Dent, 1931); Autobiography (London, Jonathan Cape, 1940); Essays (London, Jonathan Cape, 1947)".
Still. Assuming they've remained at all faithful to the man's syntax/thought process... Oh, it stops my breath. Every bit as unadorned as his typography, and every bit as fluid and graceful.
Glorious.
Here, have an excerpt, to tempt you into the whole piece:
You have often spoken and written about the contradictions and injustices of industrial production. You’re notably critical of the way craftsmanship has been replaced by a process in which the job of creating things has been split up into different roles. What are your main objections?
The chief and most monstrous characteristic of our time is that the methods of manufacture which we employ and of which we are proud are such to make it impossible for the ordinary workman to be an artist, that is to say a man responsible not merely for doing what he is told but responsible also for the intellectual quality of what his deeds effect. The ordinary workman has been reduced to the level of a mere tool used by someone else. However much skill he may have in his fingers and conscientiousness in his mind, he can no longer be regarded as an artist, because his skill is not that of a man making things. He is simply a tool used by a designer and the designer is alone the artist.
So we have the designer who designs what he never makes and the worker who minds the machine which makes what he never designs. And we have the salesman who neither designs things nor minds machines but is supposed to know what the public wants. But the public doesn’t know what it wants, and it has no means of finding out.
Apr. 1st, 2009 @ 10:24 am
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| » Time of the Season... |
Headline: GM CEO Wagoner forced out as part of gov't plan
"American taxpayers are not happy," Anwyl said. "But this way you're able to point to Rick and say he's gone, and that creates an environment where the loans become politically palatable."
Umm. Not so much. Some of us see that it as an environment where the national head-man can point his finger at a private company and make staff changes. "Palatable" isn't a word that comes to mind.
I'm just waiting for GM to begin producing a modern interpretation of a tried and tested design.
You want to laugh a little while you worry? I present to you the wiki article on East German humor.
"HQM Sachsenring GmbH brought out a new Eco-Trabi: Immediately available for delivery, extremely cheap, extremely quiet, extremely environmentally friendly - with electric power train. Small problem: The extension cord is only 20 meters long and not in stock."
Says Mark, from the pillow where he lies reading: "Dear, maybe this isn't the best time to be cracking Socialist jokes?" Says I, when better? Get 'em before they're censored...
Mar. 30th, 2009 @ 08:31 pm
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