Thursday, December 18, 2008



Thank god, a Rufus Wainwright Christmas song finally came on. I mean, I gt sick of hearing it at Starbucks once upon a time, but it's been a while, and damn, his voice is good.

Friday, December 12, 2008

Checking in!

Hey all,
sorry I've been neglecting my bloggerly duties. I have been doing a fair amount of private journaling and have also recently developed something approximating a social life. It was bound to happen eventually! :)

Not much going on anyways, the only things that have inspired me to want to write here have been cute things the cats have done. I mean, do you really care what happened when I played the Jingle Cats version of Silent Night on my computer? Oh, you do? Well, the cats all woke from deep sleep and started freaking out, running around the room and trying to locate the army of kittens that I'd obviously let in. Now I know what to do when they misbehave! LOL. The world of current events seems like so much ado about nothing right now to me.... I guess I have to remove myself from the 24-hour news cycle so that things can sink in.

So, I'm good. Soon I'll have KT here, and I'm so glad. I have missed just having her around so much. Hopefully we won't discover that we've liked living on our own better than moving back in! :)

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Funny stuffs today

Just relaying a couple of funny things that happened today:

First, earlier tonight I saw a coyote running around on my street. As I've mentioned before, I live on Comm Ave, a pretty busy street divided by T tracks. The coyote was running from a side-street, across Comm Ave toward the tracks. I saw a car coming as it crossed and got nervous, so I stepped out into the front street (Comm Ave has a main street and a front street in this neighborhood) where I saw it stopped in front of the car, trying to figure out which way to go. The car stopped to let it pass and it ran on across the neutral ground toward the main street and the tracks. As I went towards it, it spotted me, ran back through the front street, and down the side street from whence it came.

Just then a tiny gal came by, headed toward the same side street, and I warned her that there was a scared coyote down there and to be cautious. She got excited, asked me if I was positive it hadn't been a dog, and called her friend to share the news LOL! As she passed the side street she happily shouted back to me, "I can see it!" and I thought that was pretty great. By the time I got down to where she'd been standing it had scampered out of sight, back to the badly kept dumpsters across the street, no doubt.

Since then I've been reading up... I knew of the urban coyote problem in Phoenix, but, I mean, that's Phoenix; everything wild still lives there LOL! Apparently, though, there are urban coyotes everywhere. You name it, they're there! They seem to prefer suburbs and areas that have parks and such, and have even been caught roaming in Chicago, Central Park, and the concrete jungle of Boston's North End. The internets tell me that coyotes have expanded their territory to include 49 states. I assume the exceptional state is Hawaii - no gills on the coyotes. Yet. They have spread because they are highly intelligent and adaptable, and apparently they are fantastic predators as well. Who knew that moving AWAY from AZ would make me learn about coyotes? Weird. I got so used to them there, I never bothered to learn much about them. Funny.

Hal, the NYC Coyote

Also, while I smoke I tend to look around, and across the way, high up, is a woman with long dark hair who always seems to be wearing dark clothes when I spot her and floats back and forth around her apartment like a ghost. She reminds me of the ghosty-thing in The Grudge. Creepus.

UPDATE: Just went outside for the last smoke of the night, and had an amusing conversation/encounter with what had to have been about a 40-pound raccoon. He put his two little paws and sad raccoon face over the side of the short wall about 3 feet away from me and started to come up the little stairs that I stand on outside; I looked him in the eye, said, "Don't you dare," (LOL) and he turned tail. As he walked away I got a good look at the size of him, and it's good for me that he minded me, cuz he was a biggie. He went through the bushes to the sidewalk; I went to the sidewalk, saw him coming toward me, and he froze there. I said, "Are you coming this way? I'll go back up," (LOL) and he came right past me on the sidewalk, took a left just past the stairs, and waddled off into the bushes on the other side of me. Between these fellas (well, actually I think the coyote was a lady), the feral cats, and the skunks, it's like Wild Kingdom around here. Oops, dated myself!

Friday, December 5, 2008

On the Bandwagon

I know, I'm a little late, but this is too good not to be immemorialized on my pages. They're all so funny, and actually, so right! Plus, I don't know what it is about Maya Rudolph, but she makes me belly-laugh!

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

What to do, then?


First, learn to forget. Forget that you were ever a master. Forget everything you have ever known. Nothing is wrong with your cherished instrument, and nothing is wrong with you. It is simply something different from what you have known before. To know it, you must forget the rest. Forget.

Now, learn it. Learn it as a child learns language, or movement. Learn from the beginning, from the places so novice that you have long since forgotten they exist. Let those places be your new home for a while. Let your prize teach you. Ask it to teach you. Learn how to ask it.

Easy, right? If not, at least it is a path of hope, superior to all other alternatives. A discovery.

Monday, December 1, 2008

More on that.

So, what would you do?

Would you set the instrument down and the music aside, and give up on the art that has been your expression, one of the most important parts of your life? You already know you can't keep it and play another instrument on the side. Too depressing.

Would you throw it on the fire in frustration? Smash it to bits with your bare hands? Could you destroy the memory of it? Could you prevent it from haunting you for the rest of your days? Also, I think, too depressing.

Would you keep at it day after day, week after week, year after year? Would you grow older knowing that this instrument could ruin you? Could you stand the thought of wearing your own familiar marks into its surface, knowing that inside, where it matters, and where the music happens, there might never be any sign of you, nor any evidence of your effort?

Would you loan the instrument to another, to see if perhaps it would play for someone else? What if it did? If it would play for someone else and not for you, you could surely never believe it was meant to be yours. Could you with any good conscience ask for it back? In any case, would your heart not break?

Just this thought.

Imagine you are a virtuoso of some sort, a master of the violin, or the piano. Imagine that you are presented with an incredible gift, the rarest and most valuable instrument in creation. It is priceless. It is a spectacular beauty, a craftwork beyond any comparison. You love it, you cherish it beyond description. It is yours, without any rival to lay claim to it. But you cannot make it play. You do everything that you have always done. Your hands and mind do all that they have ever known to do, and yet you can not manipulate the instrument, cannot make it bend to your will.

Sometimes when you attempt to play it, it is mute; sometimes, it plays all on its own. Most maddening of all, when your feeble attempts at creation do elicit some sound from the thing, you hear the sweetest sound imaginable, the richest timbre of voice, the wildest expression of passion and creativity and art. But you are unable to tame it. There is little relation between your efforts and the music. This inability consumes you. It dampens your confidence in your abilities. Yet you could never even dream of picking up another instrument... even if you did, just to prove that you are still a master, it would only serve to remind you of the one that you can not control. Your prize, your cherished one, the perfect vessel for your expression, the only caliber of instrument any longer worth playing, remains firmly in your hands and yet beyond your reach. You are surely ruined, unless you can make it play; then, and only then, you will be untouchable, a god. Your art may be lost to you forever, but it will burn inside you as long as the instrument remains in your care, willing enough to be handled but perhaps never to be mastered.