I think it brings out my eyes, what do you think?
1/14/2006
1/08/2006
january 8
It would be a lie if I said I was living true to myself. It would also be a lie if I said that I was unhappy with the way I have been living.
And now, after the resolutions have been issued like a death sentence, I will start in with what I have been doing--and more accurately share what I have not been doing…
To put it bluntly, I have been coasting for months. But this is only in certain aspects of my life. And as a meticulous planner and logistics snob, it was only a matter of time before I had to have the talk with myself. Today was the day.
I have not been thinking. I have been abusing the routine of daily life to put off such things. I spin the records, I teach the pupils, I run the laps and lift the weights, but am inside a void of anything important.
What prompted this berating? Well, while sitting down in the limited solo quiet moments that I have in my week, I turned on the boss of the blues, Big Joe Turner. He is best described as background filler, again, for those who cannot abide having a moment of silence in their daily lives ( don’t get me confused with one of these average Joes…), sat down to a reheated tofu and veggie mess I tried to assemble the night before--abysmal and only tolerable with a shocking amount of soy sauce to cover the disgusting stench and lack of flavor-- back to the point,
So I picked up the first of a host of books recommended by my brother-in-law, this one being Notes From Underground, F. Dostoevsky. (Others in my stack include Orwell's Down and Out in Paris and London and The Ballad of the Sad Cafe.) He included the cliffs notes and added in passing that it helped him to understand more thoroughly what was going on. Ok.
So in the few paragraphs of the forward, I am captivated. I have to stop reading to make a note to myself that this is the moment when life goes from thought to actualization.
Over the break I did relatively little to improve my craft. I read a series of mindless books including The DaVinci Code for the first time, a couple of silly Steve Martin books and one that was given to me by a student called The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Steven Chbosky and immediately thought of Clint. I miss him.
I read that one in one day.
I researched a grant or two for summer travel, learned of a slew of new musical artists (Flaming Lips out with a new record in April, Decemberists have a major label and Colin is touring solo will be in Chicago in February), and watched a few movies; the only two that moved were Great Expectations and Walmart, the High Cost of Low Prices. After Great Expectations, I wanted to pick up a fresh copy of Dickens and fill in the gaps where movies always fall short.
I spoke to very few. The coffee shop people, the bar maid who pours my wine at Tutto, my immediate family and my daughter. I have lost the art of polite conversation with everyone else.
The last two days I spent following a flock (or is the correct term fleet--or gaggle?) of black birds around town. At my daughter’s request, we followed the well over 200 starlings from tree to tree in my car to watch them move as one. She was determined and I was game, so we did…from Third Street by Lambda Chi all the way to Jiffy Treat on Pete Ellis and back around to a patch of field near my new dwelling off Adams Street. We sat there and watched them graze for five minutes until the leaders picked up and the entire flock was off again.
I wished that I had a camera handy.
So this is the first bit of writing I have done in months. It feels good, however, I am rusty.
But I did run two miles today and wasn’t winded….
Hope you are well. Ciao.
And now, after the resolutions have been issued like a death sentence, I will start in with what I have been doing--and more accurately share what I have not been doing…
To put it bluntly, I have been coasting for months. But this is only in certain aspects of my life. And as a meticulous planner and logistics snob, it was only a matter of time before I had to have the talk with myself. Today was the day.
I have not been thinking. I have been abusing the routine of daily life to put off such things. I spin the records, I teach the pupils, I run the laps and lift the weights, but am inside a void of anything important.
What prompted this berating? Well, while sitting down in the limited solo quiet moments that I have in my week, I turned on the boss of the blues, Big Joe Turner. He is best described as background filler, again, for those who cannot abide having a moment of silence in their daily lives ( don’t get me confused with one of these average Joes…), sat down to a reheated tofu and veggie mess I tried to assemble the night before--abysmal and only tolerable with a shocking amount of soy sauce to cover the disgusting stench and lack of flavor-- back to the point,
So I picked up the first of a host of books recommended by my brother-in-law, this one being Notes From Underground, F. Dostoevsky. (Others in my stack include Orwell's Down and Out in Paris and London and The Ballad of the Sad Cafe.) He included the cliffs notes and added in passing that it helped him to understand more thoroughly what was going on. Ok.
So in the few paragraphs of the forward, I am captivated. I have to stop reading to make a note to myself that this is the moment when life goes from thought to actualization.
Over the break I did relatively little to improve my craft. I read a series of mindless books including The DaVinci Code for the first time, a couple of silly Steve Martin books and one that was given to me by a student called The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Steven Chbosky and immediately thought of Clint. I miss him.
I read that one in one day.
I researched a grant or two for summer travel, learned of a slew of new musical artists (Flaming Lips out with a new record in April, Decemberists have a major label and Colin is touring solo will be in Chicago in February), and watched a few movies; the only two that moved were Great Expectations and Walmart, the High Cost of Low Prices. After Great Expectations, I wanted to pick up a fresh copy of Dickens and fill in the gaps where movies always fall short.
I spoke to very few. The coffee shop people, the bar maid who pours my wine at Tutto, my immediate family and my daughter. I have lost the art of polite conversation with everyone else.
The last two days I spent following a flock (or is the correct term fleet--or gaggle?) of black birds around town. At my daughter’s request, we followed the well over 200 starlings from tree to tree in my car to watch them move as one. She was determined and I was game, so we did…from Third Street by Lambda Chi all the way to Jiffy Treat on Pete Ellis and back around to a patch of field near my new dwelling off Adams Street. We sat there and watched them graze for five minutes until the leaders picked up and the entire flock was off again.
I wished that I had a camera handy.
So this is the first bit of writing I have done in months. It feels good, however, I am rusty.
But I did run two miles today and wasn’t winded….
Hope you are well. Ciao.
1/04/2006
12/28/2005
12/12/2005
"If You Forget Me"
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
Pablo Neruda
OK, so I caved. But honestly, it has been a struggle, the past few days.
Maybe it's the birthday looming next week, maybe the season, the move, the divorce, the dreams, on and on..
I am sad. Just a little.
Hope you are doing well.
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
Pablo Neruda
OK, so I caved. But honestly, it has been a struggle, the past few days.
Maybe it's the birthday looming next week, maybe the season, the move, the divorce, the dreams, on and on..
I am sad. Just a little.
Hope you are doing well.
12/03/2005
“At the end of what is called the "sexual life" the only love which has lasted is the love which has everything, every disappointment, every failure and every betrayal, which has accepted even the sad fact that in the end there is no desire so deep as the simple desire for companionship."
-Graham Greene
--is this why our parents stay together?
December 3, 2005. 9:05 a.m.
I have weened myself from the blog. No longer do I read it, write on it or keep up with it. Today, however, I am proctoring the SAT, so here I am.
Now that I am completely settled into the new place, I am finally at home. Picking up the last of my belongings from a house I lived in for 8 years was gut-wrenching. I left so much of the past life behind—photos, televisions, furniture, unnecessary stuff. It was liberating.
I recently saw ME AND YOU AND EVERYONE WE KNOW and BROKEN FLOWERS.Both movies worth a look-see. Tonight I plan to see either THE CONSTANT GARDENER or Steve Martin’s new one, SHOPGIRL.
I am enjoying this new-found solo-celibate life. It is simple. Uncomplicated.
I am the master of my moods—of my choices. I like the comfortable arms-reach distance placed between myself and others. Nothing stirs—nothing hurts. Sure, companionship would be a nice addition, but with that comes emotional attachment. And not far behind—loss, deception, pain. It comes crashing down. Why does the human heart and mind constantly seek a soul mate when it knows that it is an impossibility?
WFHB has been a satisfying outlet for my muse-ic cravings..my latest favs include: Wilco's Live in Chicago Kicking Television, Broken Social Scene, The Clientele Strange Geometry, and even The Southland Influence of Geometry. Never appreciated geometry much--but on these albums it's fine.
****
I don't think about the past now. The only time I do is in the occasional nightmare. Then I am plagued only in waking time by those haunted feelings and those empty faces once again.
-Graham Greene
--is this why our parents stay together?
December 3, 2005. 9:05 a.m.
I have weened myself from the blog. No longer do I read it, write on it or keep up with it. Today, however, I am proctoring the SAT, so here I am.
Now that I am completely settled into the new place, I am finally at home. Picking up the last of my belongings from a house I lived in for 8 years was gut-wrenching. I left so much of the past life behind—photos, televisions, furniture, unnecessary stuff. It was liberating.
I recently saw ME AND YOU AND EVERYONE WE KNOW and BROKEN FLOWERS.Both movies worth a look-see. Tonight I plan to see either THE CONSTANT GARDENER or Steve Martin’s new one, SHOPGIRL.
I am enjoying this new-found solo-celibate life. It is simple. Uncomplicated.
I am the master of my moods—of my choices. I like the comfortable arms-reach distance placed between myself and others. Nothing stirs—nothing hurts. Sure, companionship would be a nice addition, but with that comes emotional attachment. And not far behind—loss, deception, pain. It comes crashing down. Why does the human heart and mind constantly seek a soul mate when it knows that it is an impossibility?
WFHB has been a satisfying outlet for my muse-ic cravings..my latest favs include: Wilco's Live in Chicago Kicking Television, Broken Social Scene, The Clientele Strange Geometry, and even The Southland Influence of Geometry. Never appreciated geometry much--but on these albums it's fine.
****
I don't think about the past now. The only time I do is in the occasional nightmare. Then I am plagued only in waking time by those haunted feelings and those empty faces once again.
11/15/2005
bath time
kitty kisses
favorite places
pumpkins 
The Great Pumpkin
11/14/2005
"Soul Meets Body"
I want to live where soul meets body
And let the sun wrap its arms around me
And bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing
And feel, feel what its like to be new
Cause in my head there’s a greyhound station
Where I send my thoughts to far off destinations
So they may have a chance of finding a place
where they’re far more suited than here
I cannot guess what we'll discover
We turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovels
But I know our filthy hand can wash one another’s
And not one speck will remain
I do believe it’s true
That there are roads left in both of our shoes
If the silence takes you
Then I hope it takes me too
So brown eyes I hold you near
Cause you’re the only song I want to hear
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
Where soul meets body
Where soul meets body
Where soul meets body
I do believe it’s true
That there are roads left in both of our shoes
If the silence takes you
Then I hope it takes me too
So brown eyes I hold you near
Cause you’re the only song I want to hear
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
And let the sun wrap its arms around me
And bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing
And feel, feel what its like to be new
Cause in my head there’s a greyhound station
Where I send my thoughts to far off destinations
So they may have a chance of finding a place
where they’re far more suited than here
I cannot guess what we'll discover
We turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovels
But I know our filthy hand can wash one another’s
And not one speck will remain
I do believe it’s true
That there are roads left in both of our shoes
If the silence takes you
Then I hope it takes me too
So brown eyes I hold you near
Cause you’re the only song I want to hear
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
Where soul meets body
Where soul meets body
Where soul meets body
I do believe it’s true
That there are roads left in both of our shoes
If the silence takes you
Then I hope it takes me too
So brown eyes I hold you near
Cause you’re the only song I want to hear
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere
10/05/2005
9/30/2005
233 pm
.."And these children that you spit on
as they try to change their worlds are immune to your consultations.
They're quite aware of what they're going through..."
-David Bowie
Friday. Homecoming weekend.
Today's schedule was shortened to allow time for a pep rally.
As I have prep period fifth, I opted out of the loud, unpeppy session in order to finish grading papers. It is complete chaos. I close my door and ascend the stairs to retrieve my daily mail. My tick (as he is now affectionately known) caught me after the final bell and produced, "I knew you wouldn't be there."
He exited outside into the bright autumn sunlight. He was empty-handed--no book, no back pack. Earlier today he affectionately called me his "mom at school."
I sighed and continued up the steep steps into a sea of purple and white.
Classes have been intermittently satisfying, al biet challenging.
Periods two and four are classes full of beginning theatre students, made up of 33 students from all walks of life. Freshman, mostly. I am not sure whether to be outraged or flattered by the clientelle; students with major disabilities, including 2 with Tourettes, Downs Syndrome, Autism (Aspergers), severe ADHD, not to mention your usual LDs. Included in the mix are foreign exchange students from Spain, Ukraine, Venezuela, UK and Korea (she speaks NO English), along with a handful of GT students in one class. How does one accomplish her task when the levels are so dramatically different; their needs beyond what I have the ability to manage?
A new student joined our class today--6 weeks into school. This one an angry, African American woman transfer from the neighboring high school (North). I am delighted. I do what I can. No more does it bring joy as once did.
Now that the dreadful musical from hell is over, the pressure is on to select the rest of the season. Burnout contiunes to rear its ugly head and the thought of doing absolutely nothing (and announcing it to horrified thespians) brings such delight that actually following through is more than tempting.
I am currently considering John Hughes' The Breakfast Club, simply because it is a no-brainer and a big sell. I am interested in making it a multi-medium; using black and white film scenes interspersed with the sedintary libray moments. It looks good in my mind, however the execution is always where the challenge lies.
I am locked into another musical for the spring and have selected one. I am keeping it from everyone because the torture of waiting is always so much better than the pathos or hubris of knowing. I like to keep my cherubs in suspense. The sheer exhaustion that comes with mounting a production is daunting. I sit here quietly enjoying time to write; time that is my own. That will cease to be once I announce anything. I refuse to give up my radio show for work. WFHB and new music has been my safe harbor this year. The Ponys are coming in October--- and Viva Voche's "Lesson No. One" just makes me happy.
On other fronts, freedom is soon mine.
I found another apartment with 2 bedrooms in a nicer area. Living in Basswood has been humbling and often times frightening. Giving up my bed for Lilly has been a sacrifice. But the older she gets, the more important it is for her to have her own space. This new apartment will be liberating for both of us.
I am solid and balanced. I feel good.
And waking up next to me is a fucking beautiful thing.
**
One more thing:
I am angry that now blogs get SPAM (see comment below). I don't get comments usually, but when I get these ridiculous solicitations-- it reminds me that nothing is free from advertising.
Any suggestions?
Have a good weekend.
as they try to change their worlds are immune to your consultations.
They're quite aware of what they're going through..."
-David Bowie
Friday. Homecoming weekend.
Today's schedule was shortened to allow time for a pep rally.
As I have prep period fifth, I opted out of the loud, unpeppy session in order to finish grading papers. It is complete chaos. I close my door and ascend the stairs to retrieve my daily mail. My tick (as he is now affectionately known) caught me after the final bell and produced, "I knew you wouldn't be there."
He exited outside into the bright autumn sunlight. He was empty-handed--no book, no back pack. Earlier today he affectionately called me his "mom at school."
I sighed and continued up the steep steps into a sea of purple and white.
Classes have been intermittently satisfying, al biet challenging.
Periods two and four are classes full of beginning theatre students, made up of 33 students from all walks of life. Freshman, mostly. I am not sure whether to be outraged or flattered by the clientelle; students with major disabilities, including 2 with Tourettes, Downs Syndrome, Autism (Aspergers), severe ADHD, not to mention your usual LDs. Included in the mix are foreign exchange students from Spain, Ukraine, Venezuela, UK and Korea (she speaks NO English), along with a handful of GT students in one class. How does one accomplish her task when the levels are so dramatically different; their needs beyond what I have the ability to manage?
A new student joined our class today--6 weeks into school. This one an angry, African American woman transfer from the neighboring high school (North). I am delighted. I do what I can. No more does it bring joy as once did.
Now that the dreadful musical from hell is over, the pressure is on to select the rest of the season. Burnout contiunes to rear its ugly head and the thought of doing absolutely nothing (and announcing it to horrified thespians) brings such delight that actually following through is more than tempting.
I am currently considering John Hughes' The Breakfast Club, simply because it is a no-brainer and a big sell. I am interested in making it a multi-medium; using black and white film scenes interspersed with the sedintary libray moments. It looks good in my mind, however the execution is always where the challenge lies.
I am locked into another musical for the spring and have selected one. I am keeping it from everyone because the torture of waiting is always so much better than the pathos or hubris of knowing. I like to keep my cherubs in suspense. The sheer exhaustion that comes with mounting a production is daunting. I sit here quietly enjoying time to write; time that is my own. That will cease to be once I announce anything. I refuse to give up my radio show for work. WFHB and new music has been my safe harbor this year. The Ponys are coming in October--- and Viva Voche's "Lesson No. One" just makes me happy.
On other fronts, freedom is soon mine.
I found another apartment with 2 bedrooms in a nicer area. Living in Basswood has been humbling and often times frightening. Giving up my bed for Lilly has been a sacrifice. But the older she gets, the more important it is for her to have her own space. This new apartment will be liberating for both of us.
I am solid and balanced. I feel good.
And waking up next to me is a fucking beautiful thing.
**
One more thing:
I am angry that now blogs get SPAM (see comment below). I don't get comments usually, but when I get these ridiculous solicitations-- it reminds me that nothing is free from advertising.
Any suggestions?
Have a good weekend.
9/25/2005
Moving Pictures Silent Films
Oh wake me please when this is over
Oh when the ice is melted away
And the hunger returns
I will feel the same but older
And I'll be twice the man that I thought I was
Where have you been?
And what have you done?
I've been under the ground
Reading prayers from this old book I found
Under the ground
Saving it up
And spending it all
On moving pictures
Silent films
Moving pictures
Silent films
Oh is this the dream I've been saving?
Oh where the heart beats slower and slower
To almost nothing
Almost nothing
Almost nothing
I took her for love or
At least something beautiful
Out there in the spotlight
But turned around softly
Turned around squinting
It's all they heard was headlights (?)
And then the truth
The truth was unbearable
Oh and iminent
Bearing down on these two shadowed animals
Caught painting a dotted line
Caught painting a dotted line
***
The past and present seem to be merging together today
and my heart and mind are not sure how to interpret.
I watched in awe this morning as a significant number of Monarch butterflies took flight--and wondered if this was an annual ritual. They flew unusually high and at first glance I thought they were bats.
But it was daylight.
I realized today that I never knew my grandparents--neither of my grandfathers (they both died when I was 2),nor do I feel that I knew my grandmothers well either.
I suppose this doesn't matter, but to me it makes solitude that much more real; blantent.
I am tired. So many changes happening to me-I just wonder why it has taken so long. I could have been living life the way it was intended had I known the things I know now. Does this make any sense?
Oh when the ice is melted away
And the hunger returns
I will feel the same but older
And I'll be twice the man that I thought I was
Where have you been?
And what have you done?
I've been under the ground
Reading prayers from this old book I found
Under the ground
Saving it up
And spending it all
On moving pictures
Silent films
Moving pictures
Silent films
Oh is this the dream I've been saving?
Oh where the heart beats slower and slower
To almost nothing
Almost nothing
Almost nothing
I took her for love or
At least something beautiful
Out there in the spotlight
But turned around softly
Turned around squinting
It's all they heard was headlights (?)
And then the truth
The truth was unbearable
Oh and iminent
Bearing down on these two shadowed animals
Caught painting a dotted line
Caught painting a dotted line
***
The past and present seem to be merging together today
and my heart and mind are not sure how to interpret.
I watched in awe this morning as a significant number of Monarch butterflies took flight--and wondered if this was an annual ritual. They flew unusually high and at first glance I thought they were bats.
But it was daylight.
I realized today that I never knew my grandparents--neither of my grandfathers (they both died when I was 2),nor do I feel that I knew my grandmothers well either.
I suppose this doesn't matter, but to me it makes solitude that much more real; blantent.
I am tired. So many changes happening to me-I just wonder why it has taken so long. I could have been living life the way it was intended had I known the things I know now. Does this make any sense?
9/20/2005
verse 24
Standing on tiptoe will only make you tipsy,
Walking with long strides will not allow a long walk.
Shining the light on yourself will never enlighten you.
Being self-righteous precludes you from being right.
Boasting about yourself will never boost your eminence.
Parading yourself parodies leadership.
Tao consciousness avoids
the cultivation of all these ego-bloated voids.
This is day two of being home sick. I rarely if ever get sick, and when it happens it seems to be something big. This time is no exception--acute asthmatic bronchitis. I have slept more in the last two days than all of last week combined. The path to recovery, just like everything, is slow but steady.
Pernice Brothers was a great show. Despite how miserable I felt, the music was just what I needed. Been feeling shackled down lately at work and home.
On Friday, I decided to do something for myself, Reiki. A mother of one of my actors does it as a pracitice and she offered her services. Her first comments to me after she finished were, "have you been doing yoga? Have you been practicing? Your guides were pleased!"
I was delighted to hear her news--and went away feeling balanced and ready to resume the stress that comes with theatre.
Life has been lonely, but I am content. Other people seem to muddy up everything.
And being ignored no longer bothers me. In fact, I have come to accept alienation and often times welcome it.
Now, back to nose blowing.
Walking with long strides will not allow a long walk.
Shining the light on yourself will never enlighten you.
Being self-righteous precludes you from being right.
Boasting about yourself will never boost your eminence.
Parading yourself parodies leadership.
Tao consciousness avoids
the cultivation of all these ego-bloated voids.
This is day two of being home sick. I rarely if ever get sick, and when it happens it seems to be something big. This time is no exception--acute asthmatic bronchitis. I have slept more in the last two days than all of last week combined. The path to recovery, just like everything, is slow but steady.
Pernice Brothers was a great show. Despite how miserable I felt, the music was just what I needed. Been feeling shackled down lately at work and home.
On Friday, I decided to do something for myself, Reiki. A mother of one of my actors does it as a pracitice and she offered her services. Her first comments to me after she finished were, "have you been doing yoga? Have you been practicing? Your guides were pleased!"
I was delighted to hear her news--and went away feeling balanced and ready to resume the stress that comes with theatre.
Life has been lonely, but I am content. Other people seem to muddy up everything.
And being ignored no longer bothers me. In fact, I have come to accept alienation and often times welcome it.
Now, back to nose blowing.
9/17/2005
"saddest quo"
There's a train wreck
picking up survivors from a plane crash on the tv live.
It's a sad status quotient
waiting for the sky to fall.
Pernice Brothers tonight. I love their Smith-like melodies and lyrics.
My guides tell me I am doing fantastic; why, then do I feel so unwell?
picking up survivors from a plane crash on the tv live.
It's a sad status quotient
waiting for the sky to fall.
Pernice Brothers tonight. I love their Smith-like melodies and lyrics.
My guides tell me I am doing fantastic; why, then do I feel so unwell?
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