Writing on an airplane is HUGELY productive. An expensive habit. Is it the boredom? Disinterest in the in-flight movie, especially compared to the delights of parsing the safety video? Sustained physical discomfort resulting in yoga-ish inward journeys? Mid-conscious realization that flight in a huge metal tube at lethally cold low-pressure altitudes is an hours-long defiance of the designs of Nature, and Nature ALWAYS wins?
My timid appraisal of ‘Watch the Throne’
Jay-Z seems a nice enough fellow, very much of his time. Kanye West is more forward-thinking and entertaining. I sympathize with his egomania, but it so echoes my own solipsism that his songs as they bounce within my ear canals give temporary relief at forming my own self-aggrandizing thoughts. Doesn’t count as entertainment, more a palliative.
And his pronouncements/stunts usually make 100% sense to me. Still have a hair-trigger wildly intense response to defending his bumrush of Taylor Swift in the name of Beyoncé and the integrity of art itself. Drumming fingers over lips contemplating a post about this. Three years late, sure, but the power of Internet Posterity compels it!
Any-hoo, gonna let the world chew on their joint album Watch the Throne, and see what singles come out of it. If I hear three singles I like, or two that I REALLY like, I’ll buy it.
In the meantime, here’s a cute photo of Jay-Z sitting next to Kanye who may be having a stroke. Anyone who reads this is HEARTILY welcome to come up with a caption.
Not that strokes are funny. If you are having one and reading this, for gosh sakes leave your mobile device/laptop/tablet/desk/WebTV and seek medical attention immediately. Unless you’re a faith healer, in which case goodbye and you may wanna close those browser windows of fetish porn in your last few flails and gasps.
‘Shiny Happy People’
Was driving the kids back home from swim lessons and played R.E.M.’s Out of Time in the car. Wasn’t sure if the kids had heard it before, but when “Losing My Religion” came on, they knew some of the words and were doing their best to act out the verb at the end of lines. “I think I thought I saw you cry.” = Kids make crying sounds.
Got to “Shiny Happy People” and realized I hadn’t seen thie video for a while. Maybe even since the 90s. Recalled impressions (while safely driving) from ’91:
“They look happy.”
“Michael ‘Never-gonna-lipsync’ Stipe is now lipsyncing all the time. He’s decided to be dorky. Dig it.”
“I crush on Kate Pierson. Oh, Kate. Kate Kate Kate.”
“This video is a depiction of the interior of Mike Mills’ brain.”
“If I ever get a chance to meet Peter Buck, gonna check to see if he’s ticklish. It might sprain his face, but bet the answer is ‘yes’.”
“Hey! I’m Jane Pratt! Dig my daisy dress! I’ve helped millions of girls with self-esteem and assertiveness! Rad! Also, again, my daisy dress!”
Got home, watched the video after the kids changed into their pajamas.
The comments on YouTube’s Warner Brothers official clip (doesn’t allow embedding, so I’ve created a work-around) have an intermittent theme of “It’s sarcastic/satire, you idiot.”
Yes, yes. Old man laboring makes the whole thing happen. Nothing is easy. But he gets relief from a sweetheart of a girl. All is well. Work done. Let’s all hop around and make silly faces without being wry. If we’re gonna dork, let’s dork all-out!
They keep cutting away from Peter Buck right before it looks like he’s gonna crack-up. A motif!
How’d they go forward in time to 2011, gather a bunch of people from downtown Portland, and get them to 1991 to dance around? Hope they returned everyone and restored the timeline.
Kate, Kate. Kate-tilly-itily-Kate. Your hair is a thick raspberry-flavored cotton candy my fingers would gladly get stuck in. Wait. Did I type that, or merely think it?
In praise of long conversations.
Live conversations are good. Telephones are good. Not the smartphone part, with the data plans and the web surfing. Talkin’ ’bout the phone itself, verbal exchange function. One voice, another voice. Old school.
Texting can be a quick exchange of wit. Or a way of shooing away some nuisance you’d rather not truly engage. This aversion can be a tacit agreement.
Social networks are SORT of communication, more like flash-posing.
User: “Here’s a polished tableau, ponderously composed, now displayed for your appraisal.” [POST] “What do you think, world?”
World (consisting of myriad sub-Users): “Ah! Good pose. Will mark it. Then will respond with a counter-pose.” [POST] “Hey, initial User and fellow sub-Users, will you validate my existence by marking my selected façade?” [Eyes half-kept fixed on notification alerts]
Email burnout: I am days behind messages friends sent to my home account. Smartphone trills during the day with home email notices, so I’m aware of them. Once home it’s tough to find the will to start up email after obediently tending to it all day. Even when I care about my friends in the messages (and I always do). Even when I know they are waiting for my response and wondering where the hell I am.
But I like talking on the telephone. I especially like talking in person. If someone calls to propose some fun, or ask a question, I answer and bound into action immediately.
I don’t go out very often. “Ah!” I hear you thinking (you should turn the mic off on your computer, with all that loud-thought-stuff going on), “Maybe you should return home email messages more promptly, thus faciliate more social opportunities!”
Thanks for the advice. Imagine me making a “Meh” face.
This trait precedes interwebs.
My high school girlfriend and I had long phone conversations. 3 hours. A few 8 hours. Maybe a 10 hour in there. Wake up in the morning, phone handset pressed against face. Rat-a-tat sharing and laughs, then as things hit a downward cycle (at many points also hurtling back upward – we were like the economy) there were loaded silences. I once measured a 20 minute silence.
— A pause to reflect on how people in their late teens may not be able to speak with 100% certitude of inextricable metaphysical bonds and destiny. Even when meant really, REALLY hard. —
Okay. Back now.
As awful as they were (and laughable now), the loaded silences had charm. There was drama, but wouldn’t have been so loaded if there weren’t a deep trust and vulnerability. Rawness. In-the-moment. With voices. Interrupting each other when urgent. Human to human.
When stakes are low in phone conversations (or in person) a sweet span is that groggy zone where you don’t care if the next thing expressed would be intelligible in a transcript. The WHAT talked about may fade. What DOES last is that I-don’t-give-a-shit what I say next, because there’s trust and belief the other person is worth listening to. Voices (and faces) getting dumb and funny because there’s no worry about sounding smart. Dopey, slapdash, no typing needed.
Poses online can be a tedious pageant affirmation of existence/territory. Flash and counter-flash. Admire my plumage. I’ll glance at yours.
Phone calls and conversations reach deeper primate nature. Assurance you merit receiving shared things, worth being heard, and trusted with words and moments not planned.
A chant.
Pen to paper. Fingertips to keyboard.
Like thousands, millions, billions high primates before.
A boon, a propitiation to no one around.
I choose not to go numb, though stumbling clumsy and thick.
And frowning at what has been scrawled or tapped more often than smiling.
But I choose to try. To last.
Slogging through a bog, getting sips of strawberry lemonade.
So far with the writing project, it’s been writing by hand while out ‘n’ about, then getting around to typing that writing up by hand on the computer. Doing some editing in that process, especially hiting spots of leaning into the notes and thinking “Wha-a-at the heck?” and reinterpreting.
Finished up typing up manuscript up to the end of May. Broke 127,000 words, still in the middle chapter.
Neil Gaiman, a writer I like in interviews but have never read, said in an interview that waiting for inspiration to strike is something for poets. Novelists need to sit and be at task or it’ll never get done. That’s echoed by a LOT of writers. I’m finding that to be true.
Haven’t had Writer’s Block, but DO suffer from acute Writer’s Avoidance. Finding distractions to keep from the physical effort.
And it is often dreary typing up notes, not liking what I’m going over. But then a gem or scene or description comes on that I like and it’s a relief. Promise of the project restored.
I’m really getting excited for the process of revision after the First Draft is done. It’ll be a while from now, and it’ll be brutal, but the prospect of slimming this thing down to something elegant makes me antsy and happy.
Of ‘Star Trek’ & (still?) developing libido
Uhura in a midriff-baring uniform on Star Trek was stirring as a kid. By “stirring”, I mean “ohmigod thatissohot” swirled with a hunger for acquisition even when my sense of anatomy and what goes where was, to put it kindly, vague. The episode she showed her abs was “Mirror, Mirror” and on Sunday afternoon I went to a production with my spouse and friends and new acquaintances to see a local troupe re-enacting the episode, verbatim, with great humor, ingenuity, charm, and energy as part of an annual “Trek in the Park” event. More on that later.
Back to early stirrings and burgeoning lust.
Seeing Nichelle Nichols as Uhura sadistically, strategically, and dangerously tantalize George Takei as Sulu (Uhura, distract him with your wiles from seeing that flashing light on his console! Sulu, you lucky dog!) with a knife then sashaying off when she got what she wanted was ¡RAWR! to early-pubescent me.
A transporter accident beams four Enterprise crew members (Kirk, Uhura, Scotty, McCoy) to an alternate universe where the Federation is an assasination-happy empire. Enough summary. Confident cheesecake below!
HAWT, right? This imprinted me. I have a Nichelle Nichols CD of her singing (including made-up lyrics to the ‘Star Trek’ theme song) she recorded in the ’90s. My friend S was similarly imprinted. We can both recite her favorite two anecdotes verbatim: when she wanted to quit ‘Star Trek but Martin Luther King Jr. begged her not to, and hearing from Whoopi Goldberg that seeing a black woman like Uhura on prime time television was a BIG inspiration to little Whoopi in the 60s.
In high school/college, seeing the episode again, my eyes were opened to ANOTHER BABE on the very same episode: Barbara Luna as Marlena Moreau. Not the typical romantic interest for Kirk – ditzy, blonde, easily tricked – Marlena was a brunette, ambitious, great presence, and two-dimensional (maybe three dimensional?). Check out Marlena pitching woo to Kirk, not knowing (yet) he’s from another universe where they are NOT shacked up:
Hubba, and then again [gets a drink of water, stands on porch, watches the sunset, does dishes] hubba.
Dialog is goofy, hilarious, and female-empowering in a ham-handed way. “You could be anything you want to be.” Meaty episode with lots for actors to chew on, and a great choice for Trek in the Park.
Sunday was the first time I’ve attended. Wanted to before, but didn’t get around to it the last two years. Finally, friend E. evangelized enough to get me and my spouse past our torpor and our asses on blankets. She got there about four hours before show time. I got there three hours before, and we held ground for the gradual trickling in of friends and family. E. got GREAT seats for us, third tier up from the ground in the tiny outdoor auditorium, center looking at the captain’s chair. A shot of the crowd to my right about ten minutes before show time, rows of people behind THEM you can’t see in the photo, captain’s chair draped in orange on the left:
E. & her spouse say the crowds have ballooned in the 3 years of Trek in the Park. Always in this park, but now the actors have to project loudly and essentially play in the round. They do a good job of it. Microphones & speakers are saved for voice overs (like intercom and computer voices).
Attending this, I knew I was going to comment on the two original scenes shown above and would want corresponding photos from the reenactment. Kirk (Adam Rosko, who started and leads Trek in the Park) with Marlena (Allison Hergert):
And in this scene with Uhura, actress Dana Thompson gave a bonus playful jab of the dagger at Sulu (Kaebel Hashitani) before her exit that got a big laugh:
During these moments with the actresses, camera shutters went clickity click click. Below, a photo of another early scene with Marlena and Kirk where camera shutter noises also rippled around. Wonder why?
Am left to conclude the other photographers MUST also be bloggers commenting on these scenes. Weird coincidence! Looking forward to those write-ups as soon as they’re posted. In the photo above, Marlena is using the Tantalus Field which can monitor and exterminate people at will. Maybe it was fans of high tech weaponry with all those cameras?. As I’m not much of a gear head, their mentality is tough for me to grok.
No admission charged, but comemorative t-shirts were for sale after the show. I bought us two. Might try to go back with the kids next weekend (the final pair of shows this summer). It was worth the wait for a good spot. A lot of enthusiasm + crowd deeply into it and giving love back = a high time. At the end, they even did a preview of next summer’s episode: “Journey to Babel” where we first meet Spock’s flinty Vulcan dad Sarek, his human mother, wolf dude with a pig snout, murder, intrigue, sneering sneaky blue guy, knife fight, derring-do!
We’re SO there next year.
Autumn thoughts for mid-summer
We each took a rake to a corner of our garden
And dragged the dead leaves, pulling grass tugging root,
Which made Earth flinch.
Then plunged our hands into the separate piles, clammy inside but warmer than the air’s bite.
And laughed as our fingers grazed deep and nabbed broad leaves almost whole.
“These I will share!” Each laugh from a corner an instigation to the other.
And we held leaves for review by the other.
In the leaves and detritus we christened meaning and belonging,
Then left with dirty fingernails.
Summer’s Eve & vagina pride
Lots of commentary about a new series of Summer’s Eve ads with distinctly ethnic voices. Some people are shocked at the relative bluntness, others at the spots targeted to different ethnicities (presumably – could be a “look at us, we’re multicultural!” play to United Colors of Bennetton-susceptible demographics, too).
The approach is new, but the content isn’t that daring. The word “vagina” doesn’t appear in the Latina and Black ones. I’m all for vagina/uteral pride, there needs to be more of it, so no big deal there. The content isn’t anything that most ladies aren’t capable of sharing after 1-2 glasses of wine.
A few comments have been: “How dare they imply all vaginas are stinky!” These are ads from a company selling douches. Toothpaste, mouthwash, and toothbrush ads don’t get by assuring us everything is fine in our mouths. No big deal there, either.
Others have commented on racial stereotyping. Not sure there. Certainly people with accents like these voice overs are all over the place. Wonder how many complaining about racial stereotypes actually are Latinas or Blacks, and not people over-reaching and showingly getting offended on behalf of ethnicities that don’t really care?
Glad Señor Wences isn’t around to see the talking hands. Dated reference. Money shots:
The Latina ad:
The Black ad:
The Cracker ad:
V, out, my viggas!
Virtual personal trainers: you aren’t the boss of me! (But I crave your approval)
My Wii avatar, nomenclature: “Mii”. Note the smirk.I’ve been using two fitness programs on the Nintendo Wii: Wii Fit (for about two years) and EA Sports Active (once two days ago).
Wii Fit was ready to go. No extra stuff to attach to your person. No mess. Bouncy, soft. Yoga a big component. But a lot of the yoga stuff is weird. You must maintain balance as measured onscreen by a red dot centered as you move and hold positions. Then you are given a star rating. Hardly a contemplative or simplifying journey inward based on modulated breathing. More like competitive yoga, a vogue-off in slow motion with softer music.
Well, hell-lo, there. Why, yes, I did splash on a little Paco Raban.There’s a choice between having a female or male trainer talk you through the strength and yoga exercises. I went with a lady trainer. I DO NOT perform and stretch and moan and strive for the approval of dudes. No way, José. Eros is a fitness motivator. I don’t want to rise from embarrassing positions to be invited by a sausage fest on my television. Even if virtual, I feel better taking orders from a lady.
Dude trainer = Yelling about issues “Is that good enough for ya, Pop? Is it good enough for ya?” or competing for the attention of the female trainer lurking in the background, stored somewhere in the machine. “Hey, virtual guy. Look at MY plumage indicating willingness to mate. Behold and tremble at MY MIGHTY WINGSPAN! I shall DESTROY YOU! (Can you see this dominance display, are you awed by it, yon virtual female trainer?)”
All was well for a while. Okay, I ignored Wii Fit for more than six months. But when I got back to it, Wii Fit was all like: “Hey. You okay? Oh, you weigh the same. Welcome back, prodigal sack of meat.” and I got back to hula-hooping and step aerobics and doing yoga EXACTLY WITHIN THE LINES every once in a while. I visit a gym about twice a week, and go on walks and occasional bike rides. So, somewhere in there, I moved through three dimensional space beyond lifting fingers and arms around a laptop.
About a year and a half ago, my kids gifted me with EA Sports Active for the Wii. It came with a crazy pair of devices requiring assembly that was more than I wanted to deal with so I shelved it until two days ago. Here’s the ensemble:
That gray thing is not a face mask or a jock strap but a leg strap for the right leg to hold the Nintendo nunchuck controller to monitor your leg movements. The orange ribbon is a resistance band, a contraption that always looked pathetic when seen in fitness infomercials or footage of the elderly or infirm wanting just a TOUCH more challenge than gravity, but not any actual WEIGHTS, fer Pete’s sake.
Who was/is Pete, and why are we concerned with his sake?
You will find my enthusiasm, fitness, and bird-like face compelling.See the lady on the box? She’s the female trainer and in the exercis demo videos. What of the male trainer? I saw him to only reject him in the initial setup for my profile and options, and he popped up in a video showing how two people could do the same exercise in a chummy way, and at the end he nudges the lady trainer away. “Hey, bub, don’t be such a DICK to my new virtual friend here. And RESPECT MY MIGHTY WINGSPAN! BEHOLD MY POWER AND DESPAIR!”
So, chivalry increased the bond I felt with this lady trainer, a real live person in video footage. I had defended her honor, and she would reward me by persuading me to do goofy things like squats back and forth and pretending arm curls with a resistance band resulted in anything at all and, gods help me, her voice (or the voice of another female) made me walk in place, jog in place, then do high back kicks so my heels would nearly touch the rear of my thighs or butt.
We hardly knew each other, yet there she was already TASKING ME to abandon dignity. The nerve! Still, she’s cute, seems nice, and has a job (getting me to do stuff), so history is littered with less dignified relationships.
Jogging in place – there’s no way to make that cool. In the early 80s my Mom had a mini-trampoline that was used to jog in place while watching television. She gave it a go for a while. Maybe she got bored with it. Using it looked like tantrum calisthenics. Stomp in place a good 20-30 minutes so your legs would be READY to outlast anyone not giving you that thing you wanted. “Holy moley. That mom/dad has been hopping up and down, pace undiminished, for 20 minutes. We’d better cave in and exchange that oscillating fan without the receipt.”
The mini-trampoline WAS excellent for bouncing action figures and toy cars off of. Not sure what the statute of limitations is on getting in trouble, so let me say thay my brother and I knew some people who discovered that…
Bob Greene, Oprah’s fitness guru sez: “Hey, let’s rap while sitting on giant blue balls.”EA Sports Active features videos by Oprah’s fitness expert Bob Greene. He’s been on her show jillions of times (I’ve heard), co-written books with her (I’ve seen). One of the few Oprah shows I’ve seen had her in a restaurant after she’d dropped a lot of weight lecturing/scolding her staff on how they should order a salad that met specific criteria she knew all about, or they utterly hated themselves and were doomed to early death. Have you seen Oprah the last few years? Yeah, I skirted by any Bob Greene videos.
Went through a solid hour of activity from EA Sports Active. It was VERY lunge and squat happy. I did it obediently. Scoffed “This is EASY. People DO this for exercise and think it makes a difference?” Lady voice complimented me on pacing and form.
Tried to pick a suitable customized avatar. I think all the models make you look about 22 years old. Below is the closest I could get:
Nudge that body type thing to the left = too skinny. Tried to be realistic about hairline, color, height, all that stuff. THIS virtual dude is ready to inline skate (one of the activities I did in this hour), in real life? Not so much. Clothing options were all more current and hip than Real Life me, too. Bet this virtual me probably goes to cooler concerts all the time, too.
My avatar, one notch toward chubby. TOO chubby (I hope), but note the arms are still JACKED no matter what the body type selection.Spouse got home from her trip to the gym. I packed up shop. Thought I would probably give this EA Sports Active thing another try down the road. Unstrapped the contraption from my leg. Folded up the resistance band. Started up the morning.
Next day, legs were really, really stiff. Those squats and lunges kicked my ass (or my heels hitting my ass literally kicked my ass). The sort of good muscle soreness that indicates good exercise. Though sitting on the toilet puts pressure on my tenderized haunches and make the pain receptors say: “Hey, hey! What the heck? Ow!”
After I recuperate, I’ll use the program again. I want to show that lady trainer that I can do powerful side kicks AND left and right crosses consistently and knock the hell out of that pretend punching bag. She will nod or give a compliment. I shall blush slightly then stand a little prouder the rest of the day hoping I closed the blinds to all the windows so the neighbors couldn’t see.
Update on 2011-07-23 18:02 by Derek Denton
Did two 25 minute workout rounds with the kids in the living room watching, occasionally making comments (mostly quiet), and keeping the dog out of the way. Nice to know we’re making future memories for them to comment on my behavior some day. Paying it forward…