oh man, it's been a while. . .
what have I been up to, well, I joined a band. we have 2 songs and no band name.
if I could figure out how to get the bootlegged songs off my itunes and onto here, I would. but for now, I leave you with lyrics.
THREADBARE THOROUGHFARE
falling in a cloud of dust, to the sound of footsteps fading
tripped up at the starting line, tangled up in a knot of tryings
i think that i can get it on my second try, dust my knees off, stand up tall
so, where's the one with the fake hand gun, who can set back time and start it all again?
heaven knows the sweetness of an apple
hides the bitterness of what's deep inside
and heaven knows i can let go.
and watch it fall down to the ground, heavy with the golden sun
i reach down to pick it up, i just keep going till i'm laying down
seasons go, they go, to come back, come back around, around again and again
and i think that i can get it on my second try, but for now i'll just be standing by.
PETERPETER
you come in from the outer world,
the smell of strangers hangs on your coat
like dust from the underbrush
not in or out, he choses the space in between.
sweet, sweet boy, where did you sleep last night?
you lay your head in beds of grass, paper dens and welcome mats,
sweet, sweet boy, you give off subtle light.
felt deep within the seams of dreams, the rests between our breaths.
not in or out, he choses the space in between.
you lay close to the fire,
reflecting flames as you conspire
to be a silhouette in my shadow.
so,
make up your mind!
make up your mind!
make up your mind!
make up your mind!
and GO!
(NOTE: you maybe wondering why I have written a song about PETERPETER JENNINGS and not BABYSEAL. it should just be assumed that every song ever written, especially those about LOVE and/or snacks, is about BABYSEAL.)
(and if you want me to email you an MP3 version of 'em, lemme know. . .)
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
my history with history
during my 10 minute break at work yesterday I found myself, my boss and one work study student, at the mercy of other work study student's 9 minute and 58 second rant. the freshman was waxing unpoetically about just how boring the classes/professors/TAs she is subjected to are. one class was a particular thorn in her side due to the vapid, dusty movie clips she was forced to watch and in theory learn from. she went on to describe a selection from a movie with already forgotten title, a documentary about the (unfortunate) use of blackface in early US theatrical history. specifically about how African Americans in had to unironically wear blackface in order to perform, the disadvantaged masquerading as the privaledged mocking the disadvantaged. I cannot imagine a more humiliating charade.
'. . .i don't see what the big deal is,' she argued, 'I mean, that's what enabled them to have a start in theater. . .'
I instantly shed the glazed look I had donned earlier in response to her non stop rudimentarily verbose discourse; she now had my full attention. glancing over at boss, who, being the highest in command/oldest person in attendance, I expected to take some kind of action in the form of intelligent counterpoint, was sitting still on the stairs, looking a little more tense and uneasy than a minute ago, but still still nonetheless. meanwhile, spirited youth was still going on and on. this is the point were I should say something. I do not.
I've been wanting to read 'Lies My Teacher Told Me' for a very long time. I finally have it in my possession and in the past 7 days since acquiring it I have yet to do more than skim the Contents and scan the photos. I have yet to even read the full back cover. this is not the first history book I've done this to. and it is not for lack of want. I am a good student, I love school, I love to read and learn. one exception being History. it bores me to tears. the presentation of it, that's what gets me. that's what I tell myself because the information in and of itself is interesting and important to me but the long paragraphs of sentences with names and dates that feel so out of context without pictures of faces and images places have some neurological effect that sends me into a narcoleptic stupor. maybe it's because I am a very visual person. but even the historical graphic novels I've tried out fail to really reach me. it's like if you were to ask me, prone to taking joy from my OCD tendencies, to sort a bucket of sand by color and shape. I could do it, and once I started I would finish and might even get into it from time to time, but man, what a chore.
meanwhile, in my brain, I've been sorting out exactly what I would have said to aforementioned unlearned student (well, I guess that's what a student is, someone who is learning what they don't already know (or think they know, in this case)) or will say if I am blessed with the opportunity to work along side or above her (er, dare I mention that I almost accidentally dropped a large bolt on her head from like 30 feet up? this was before her conservative commentary.) again.
'ok, let's say that that was black folk's foot in the door, but think about it in a different way. yes, they had their 'big break,' but at what cost? I am a freelance theatre tech, you are a work study student. I got called for this job- didn't even have to ask, and I get paid a decent wage. they know me, respect me and trust I am capable. You are a relative stranger, had to sign up for this class, are having to pay to take it, and have to be monitored throughout your shift. ok, seems fair enough in the grand scheme of having to work up the job ladder. but what if, upon graduation into full on freelancer, you still had to apply for the job, still had to pay to be there, and still were not trusted to complete tasks on your own just because you are who you are. yes, you have to jump thu hoops, but you are still working in theater, are you not?
to put in in nontheatrical terms, let's say you apply to work in a lab (this student is a biochem/theater double major). but science, being all methodical and analytical and all, is for men. so in order to work there, you had to dress like and live your working hours as a man. and you were required to not only laugh at sexist jokes, but make them on a regular basis as well. sound like a good time? eventually, time passes and larger factors would influence local ideas and women would eventually, somewhat begrudgingly, be allowed to work in labs in all their unmasked estrogenic glory. so what do they have to complain about?'
more importantly, where was that comeback 24 hours ago? sigh. I could go on, but me thinks I be preaching to the choir. what will it take for me to get to the point where I can respond to such comments in a timely fashion ie in the moment, with grace, aplomb, intelligence, compassion? when I figure it out, I'll let you know. . .
'. . .i don't see what the big deal is,' she argued, 'I mean, that's what enabled them to have a start in theater. . .'
I instantly shed the glazed look I had donned earlier in response to her non stop rudimentarily verbose discourse; she now had my full attention. glancing over at boss, who, being the highest in command/oldest person in attendance, I expected to take some kind of action in the form of intelligent counterpoint, was sitting still on the stairs, looking a little more tense and uneasy than a minute ago, but still still nonetheless. meanwhile, spirited youth was still going on and on. this is the point were I should say something. I do not.
I've been wanting to read 'Lies My Teacher Told Me' for a very long time. I finally have it in my possession and in the past 7 days since acquiring it I have yet to do more than skim the Contents and scan the photos. I have yet to even read the full back cover. this is not the first history book I've done this to. and it is not for lack of want. I am a good student, I love school, I love to read and learn. one exception being History. it bores me to tears. the presentation of it, that's what gets me. that's what I tell myself because the information in and of itself is interesting and important to me but the long paragraphs of sentences with names and dates that feel so out of context without pictures of faces and images places have some neurological effect that sends me into a narcoleptic stupor. maybe it's because I am a very visual person. but even the historical graphic novels I've tried out fail to really reach me. it's like if you were to ask me, prone to taking joy from my OCD tendencies, to sort a bucket of sand by color and shape. I could do it, and once I started I would finish and might even get into it from time to time, but man, what a chore.
meanwhile, in my brain, I've been sorting out exactly what I would have said to aforementioned unlearned student (well, I guess that's what a student is, someone who is learning what they don't already know (or think they know, in this case)) or will say if I am blessed with the opportunity to work along side or above her (er, dare I mention that I almost accidentally dropped a large bolt on her head from like 30 feet up? this was before her conservative commentary.) again.
'ok, let's say that that was black folk's foot in the door, but think about it in a different way. yes, they had their 'big break,' but at what cost? I am a freelance theatre tech, you are a work study student. I got called for this job- didn't even have to ask, and I get paid a decent wage. they know me, respect me and trust I am capable. You are a relative stranger, had to sign up for this class, are having to pay to take it, and have to be monitored throughout your shift. ok, seems fair enough in the grand scheme of having to work up the job ladder. but what if, upon graduation into full on freelancer, you still had to apply for the job, still had to pay to be there, and still were not trusted to complete tasks on your own just because you are who you are. yes, you have to jump thu hoops, but you are still working in theater, are you not?
to put in in nontheatrical terms, let's say you apply to work in a lab (this student is a biochem/theater double major). but science, being all methodical and analytical and all, is for men. so in order to work there, you had to dress like and live your working hours as a man. and you were required to not only laugh at sexist jokes, but make them on a regular basis as well. sound like a good time? eventually, time passes and larger factors would influence local ideas and women would eventually, somewhat begrudgingly, be allowed to work in labs in all their unmasked estrogenic glory. so what do they have to complain about?'
more importantly, where was that comeback 24 hours ago? sigh. I could go on, but me thinks I be preaching to the choir. what will it take for me to get to the point where I can respond to such comments in a timely fashion ie in the moment, with grace, aplomb, intelligence, compassion? when I figure it out, I'll let you know. . .
Friday, January 8, 2010
sweet, sweet bike grease.
despite the fact that the results i got by using, in a pinch, two half-second depressions worth of generic canola cooking oil that comes in an aerosol container were not only fast acting, but satisfactory beyond my expectations, I don't particularly recommend repeated usage of said product for soon to be mentioned problem for reasons of undue greasiness, uncordial environmental effects, general unconventionality of action, and the fact that there are better choices out there (read: products made specifically for this problem), unless you are in aforementioned pinch, wrestling with rusty stuck bike lock under 'gonna be late to work i don't have time for this' time constraint while standing in the slight rain outside of ice cream shop on cap hill that is renowned for their creamy (and sorbety) sweet indulgences and homemade waffle cones that don't stick to the waffle maker due to oleicic properties of on the fly lubricant.
thank you, (kind employee of) ms. moon.
thank you, (kind employee of) ms. moon.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Salman Rushdie vs the Vampires
buenos new year to you.
salman rushdie is a brilliant writer. I am casually strolling thru his book, The Ground Beneath Her Feet, at a snails pace, enjoying the sights and sounds, the fruits and berries of his labor. while I am in deep reverence, in awe with his natural ability, I am also not 100% engrossed as to not be easily distracted by certain happenings in the nearby woods, happenings that require my complete all encompassing attention: teenage vampires. that's right, I have been, if I may be so crude, sucked in.
my youngest kin/cousin once removed or so, lent me book one of the Twilight series. no, correction, she lent my dad the book. he got thru a few chapters before he started to feel the effects of the teenage angsty romance venom at which point he struggled to keep his eyes open, interest peaked, eventually retreating back to that alternate universe adults call 'reality,' but not before utilizing some degree of practical magic to turn the book into a paperweight. enter me. at first I was just reading a few chapters here and there, before bed, between classes and work. then I got some mercifully brief yet still wicked head cold that put me out for a good 33ish hours. the first 6 of those I spent alternately taking in plenty of fluids (could someone tell me exactly how many cups is in a plenty? thx) and polishing off the remaining 300+ pages of said pop vampire tome numero uno in which beautiful old dangerous white people spend their waking hours (read: all day, all night) working hard not to take in plenty of fluids. or at the very least, strictly monitoring exactly what type of fluids are imbibed.
so, now I'm mildly hooked. I admittedly have a proclivity for the drop dead gorgeous undead. and while the series leaves some to be desired in certain literary aspects (er, book two plot?) and in protagonistic character traits (the heroine's lily liveredness is somewhat draining), the overall experience is indulgently satisfying, a nice quick distraction off the main path. now, where were we, mr. rushdie?
ps
I am fascinated by horror stories and how they reflect certain trends/aspects of society. I read recently that the popularity of vampire movies today has a bit to do with the recession/lack of goods to be had, in that vampires exemplify the sexy alluring measure of restraint. hmmm, interesting. perhaps I need to read books 3 and 4 to really get a good perspective. research, my friends, strictly research.
salman rushdie is a brilliant writer. I am casually strolling thru his book, The Ground Beneath Her Feet, at a snails pace, enjoying the sights and sounds, the fruits and berries of his labor. while I am in deep reverence, in awe with his natural ability, I am also not 100% engrossed as to not be easily distracted by certain happenings in the nearby woods, happenings that require my complete all encompassing attention: teenage vampires. that's right, I have been, if I may be so crude, sucked in.
my youngest kin/cousin once removed or so, lent me book one of the Twilight series. no, correction, she lent my dad the book. he got thru a few chapters before he started to feel the effects of the teenage angsty romance venom at which point he struggled to keep his eyes open, interest peaked, eventually retreating back to that alternate universe adults call 'reality,' but not before utilizing some degree of practical magic to turn the book into a paperweight. enter me. at first I was just reading a few chapters here and there, before bed, between classes and work. then I got some mercifully brief yet still wicked head cold that put me out for a good 33ish hours. the first 6 of those I spent alternately taking in plenty of fluids (could someone tell me exactly how many cups is in a plenty? thx) and polishing off the remaining 300+ pages of said pop vampire tome numero uno in which beautiful old dangerous white people spend their waking hours (read: all day, all night) working hard not to take in plenty of fluids. or at the very least, strictly monitoring exactly what type of fluids are imbibed.
so, now I'm mildly hooked. I admittedly have a proclivity for the drop dead gorgeous undead. and while the series leaves some to be desired in certain literary aspects (er, book two plot?) and in protagonistic character traits (the heroine's lily liveredness is somewhat draining), the overall experience is indulgently satisfying, a nice quick distraction off the main path. now, where were we, mr. rushdie?
ps
I am fascinated by horror stories and how they reflect certain trends/aspects of society. I read recently that the popularity of vampire movies today has a bit to do with the recession/lack of goods to be had, in that vampires exemplify the sexy alluring measure of restraint. hmmm, interesting. perhaps I need to read books 3 and 4 to really get a good perspective. research, my friends, strictly research.
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