Archive for September 6th, 2009

Advice: will work for love

September 6, 2009

“I don’t need the money, dear. I work for art.” –Maria Callas

And how she struggled for that art, and how the circumstances of her artistic and personal life tried to beat her back so many times, and how she prevailed, and how enriched the world is because of her voice.

Think about doing this. Believe so strongly in the power and entitlement of Your Voice that you would kill tigers just to hear it echo in triumph. Love your art first and best, before anyone else does. Work for love.

It happens: Daily Batman

September 6, 2009

Of course.

Per mi amica

September 6, 2009

“I’ve forgotten my mantra.” –Lacey Party Guest, Annie Hall.

For Christy Anne, who I desperately miss:

Little Christer, young Jeff Goldblum in Annie Hall has forgotten his mantra; won’t you please give it to him?

Ghost posts

September 6, 2009

A confession: I’ve actually been away the majority of the weekend. Yesterday I was enjoying my planned-for-me party and today I’m either already in or en route to San Jose at this very moment for my friend’s bridal shower. I’ve just scheduled these to all go up all weekend. I assume they have been ghost-posting exactly as I have programmed them to do. Maybe we are all ghost posts from that infamous Watchwinder who’s walked away. That’s something to think about.

Another thing to think about–why is it that little kid ghosts are the scariest? Wouldn’t you assume a grown ghost had more dangerous intentions? What is it about the specter of a child that makes their ghost so much more flesh-crawling than the frustrated dreams and desires of a full-blown dead adult? I’m not going to settle on the usual cut-off-in-their-prime, reminder-of-the-vagaries-of-life urban mythology. There is more I think to it.

I think that this picture by Dominic Rouse is 100% inspired by Watcher in the Woods. I refuse to accept otherwise.

” To see the light we must first acknowledge that we are in the dark.” –Dominic Rouse

Of tethers and lampshades

September 6, 2009

I have an idea. In this idea, I am a hot air balloon and my daughter is the ground beneath me. All the various ways and reasons that I love her–her still-forming habits and her slow abandoning of baby words and the freckle in her right eye and her breath in her sleep–they are like stakes in the grass and ropes tethering me to her, but always I am able to hover in place, still buoyant but just lightly restrained to a safe distance from the ground, and this is suitable and right because it is better than what I would do alone, float away into obscurity until I deflated and dropped completely unremarked into some remote and deep part of the ocean without ever being anything but another piece of garbage a couple humans came up with when they were bored.

This love, this restraint, this being forced to participate close to the ground, I know that it improves me. It was not that way with my marriage, with the way that thing, that love functioned. It was not my husband himself but it was the life I struggled to pantomime my way through with him that rather than gentle tethers was more like a dump truck backed up and dropped a load of bags of sand into my basket. “Meep-meep-meep, THA-KLUNK,” and even though I saw it coming I was staked in place by this more perfect and elegant love, and I thought it would make me and the grass both safer and so I plummeted down and could not have begun to rise, and we were both just compressing under the tremendous crushing weight of all these bags of sand, and what kind of way is that to come closer together?

Did I seriously just write “bags of sand?”

Sandbags, I guess they are more accurately called, quite reasonably I think. Good call on that name, dude who named sandbags; I thank you for the descriptive common sense. Sandbags explicitly states what the object is: eliminates all the unnecessary confusion that could have come from calling them something else, like “lampshades.” That would have been very confusing, indeedy.

That’s right, I thanked a “dude” for naming them. I know it was a man who came up with the word “sandbags,” because if it was a woman, she would have called them “lampshades.”

Unlikely G

September 6, 2009

Unlikely g of the day via Revenge of the Nerds. Annnnd he was in Better off Dead: “Do you have any idea what the street value of this mountain is?!”