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January 28th, 2008
06:03 pm - Recorded books: what a difference a reader makes
Debbie and driving: we don't like each other much. So when driving alone, I frequently have a book on cd playing to try to give myself a reason to want to be in the car.
But what a difference a reader makes. Recently I listened to Jeffrey Eugenides' Middlesex, an excellent book read aloud by a real ham of an actor/director dude (who actually won an award for this recording, so obviously many felt otherwise about the performance). The book was so good that I put up with the irritating breathy way he did all women, from very old to very young, the heavy accents, and the sense of "man am I GOOD" that permeates his every word. This guy is so in love with the sound of his own voice that the book doesn't shine through the way it should. Argh.
Then I listened to a okay/pretty good book that was so skillfully read that I actually looked for reasons to drive by myself. John Connolly's The book of lost things, read by Stephen Crossley. I was spellbound- a really good reader can carry you into that world (like Inkheart, but the other way around), and make you seriously think about what it is to be there- and here- and how the two relate. The book's themes are love/redemption/loss/grief/acceptance- nice, if somewhat overdone subjects- but Crossley didn't overact anything and didn't milk moments for pathos. Lots of different accents and moods, all distinct, all little gems. He's evidently a stage actor, too. I wonder if he's as good on stage as he is on recording. Maybe he can't move.
Anyway, to be read aloud to is a glorious thing, especially sometimes. How many of you still read aloud to others and are read aloud to?
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January 10th, 2008
02:34 pm - movies
We saw so many over winter break!
Into the wild.
The great debaters.
The water horse.
Sweeney Todd.
I really do love going to the movies. Don't get to often enough. It's just such a (potentially) wonderful experience. Like theater, but cheaper.
Is celluloid the great equalizer? The way to get artsy/thinking/life-altering material to the masses who can't afford the $50. a a decent theater seat costs? And don't even get me started about Cirque du Soleil, it's extraordinary, it is the glorification and celebration of performance and dream-expanding and all that, and who gets to go? People with a lot of $.
Don't the people who don't have $ tend to need the life-expanding/dream-altering experience MORE than those who do? I mean, in the gross generalization sense, because of course misery and hard knocks cross all kinds of lines- color lines, socio-economic lines, etc.
Anyway, despite the (mild) Hollywoodization of the first two movies listed above, I really enjoyed them. I could get all nitpicky about it, but _The great debaters_ especially had me leaving the theater feeling optimistic and that we are not all doomed to watch our civilization collapse. _The water horse_ is sweetly sentimental and has incredible scenery, and _Sweeney Todd_ is- pretty much the same. I know many of you hate it, but I tend to enjoy Tim Burton's indulgences, and didn't object to Johnny's raspy voice at all. And Helena can't sing- but it's okay, she looks perfect and I actually don't think a real voice is essential to Mrs. Lovett's character. The kid who played Tobey, on the other hand, really can sing- fabulous boy soprano. Sondheim seems to have one easily melodic/memorable song per musical: here my vote goes to "not while I'm around" though i can no longer recall the melody- heh heh.
You disagree? You say Sondheim is not like Puccini, all recitative and a few snatches of melody?
Okay, I challenge you to name me a singable/memorable song from "A little night music" besides "Send in the clowns".
Ditto for "Into the woods".
I didn't say I didn't like him- I'm just saying that catchy, singable tunes are not his long suit.
Just one more thing:
I'm almost always the last person out of the theater- like to read the credits. So leaving _The great debaters_, I'm picking up our soda/popcorn debris, and the clean-up crew lady THANKS me. Criminy. We should ALL be picking up our own trash!!! And then I started thinking about the many accidents of fate that have kept me from being (at the moment, at any rate) the clean-up crew at the movies- parents that encouraged my dreams and supported my education, that taught me to respect and value knowledge and culture and intellect, a solidly middle-class background and income that made much of what I wanted to do possible- there's no real equality, is there?
Sigh. Just call me liberal guilt, I'll answer!
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December 7th, 2007
10:35 am - xmas and caroling and all that
hah hah, my pretties.
The finest time of year approacheth.
It's time for CAROLING.
Saturday, 12/22/07, 7 - 9 p.m.
The RonTon residence- y'all know where it is.
Start and end at the homestead- end with cookies and hot spiced cider (or, as Cody says, hot apple juice.)
Bring the Santa hats and flashlights- cookie donations welcome, too.
And we're growing so large a group these days, if you have a book of lyrics, you might wanna bring it too. Bc even with sharing lyric books, we might run out.
Those of you who have portable instruments (Cody? Bonnie? Victor, how about Isabelle's violin?) other than your voice are welcome to bring them.
But beyond that, Golden Compass starts today, and a movie outing is in order- I'm thinking maybe next Saturday, 12/15? Show that is closest to 6 p.m. in downtown Berkeley? (I work that day.)
So much to catch up on! but for the moment, let me just say that it is thrilling to be an unfettered teen librarian again, with Playreaders and book club in swing, and knitting starting up in January, and film retrospectives for teens at Central and yes, even the Quilt Show rears its lovely head for 2008!
heh heh
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September 5th, 2007
05:38 pm - this is sewious
"Wonder Pets, Wonder Pets, we're on our way,
To help a baby animal and save the day.
We're not too big and we're not too tough
But when we work together we've got the right stuff!"
No, I haven't gone utterly loopy. I've just discovered a marvelous TV show on Nick Jr, which is essentially opera for preschoolers. Don't believe me? Check it out! Three pets live in a preschool. After hours, the tin can phone rings- it's always a baby animal in need of help from our Wonder Pet Trio. Linny is a guinea pig and the brains of the outfit. Tuck is the tenderhearted turtle. Ming Ming is the duckling with a lithp, who always sings "this is sewious!" They do most of their lines in recitative, but there are recognizable choruses (like the one above) where viewers will feel compelled to join in. The instrumentation is very classical and nicely done, and it's so damn cute. There's even a NYTimes article in appreciation of the Wonder Pets. But don't take my word for it- watch it yourself, and you'll see why Jim was calling in from work during summertime mornings to ask which baby animal the Wonder Pets saved today!
Damn, I feel like a commercial. Even for something as great as the Wonder Pets, this is not a good thing.
Okay. SHOUT OUT to all you newbie freshmen, Debebbie is thinking of you and starting to assemble the sock creature packages. Tombo is missing you all like you wouldn't believe, he loves "his teenagers" and gets so depressed when you all go away. So you may get Tom-produced trading cards and what not in your packages too.
If you haven't given me address at college, do it. NOW. or never get your creature.
love you all!
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June 30th, 2007
02:34 pm - and this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream
gentles, do not reprehend. If you pardon, we will mend.
Tombo WAS Puck at yesterday's Shakespeare Camp performance. He was wonderful. As his doting mother, I am nonetheless somewhat capable of describing his performance w/o too much revolting mother bragging.
First of all, he was typecast. Completely. That kid is so Puckish to begin with. But he can also project, enunciate, and stays in character all the time he's on stage. He cheats out, too. He reacts to his fellow actors, and sparkles with energy and joy. Which is all part of who he is, and works very well on stage.
Music is Audrey's gift- I think the stage may be Tombo's.
other news flashes:
Sarah, the larger of the two turtles, was attempting to emulate Geoffrey's hunger strike. She lasted nearly two weeks, but last night polished off her grapes and worms. Good girl, Sarah!
Audrey came back from a week in Hawaii with a great tan (sauf for the peeling shoulders), shorts that say MAUI on her butt, dolphin earrings and chocolate macadamia nuts for the family. Good Girl, Audrey!
I am taking tap dance lessons. I am not as horribly bad as I thought I might be, but even dead, Fred Astaire will never have anything to worry about. If I could have quicker response time knowing right from left, it might help. However, it is waaaaay fun.
I'm having a hard time figuring out how to get us all together for something. Some of you work- some have school- weekends are tough bc I work a lot on weekends to make up for my halftimedness (which is LOVELY, btw). I'm free Mondays and Thursdays-
Thoughts, people?
OH! I nearly forgot! Ashlyn says we can use the church (across the street from Thousand Oaks Elementary, near Solano in North Berkeley) to do Bizarre Shorts! So we need to schedule a time to talk about how to make this happen.
I'll send a Playreaders bulletin about this special limited time offer- which, bc it has NOTHING to do with the library, does not need to be limited to teens only. Older former teenlike people most cordially invited to participate, as actors, directors, etc.
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February 6th, 2007
10:02 am - Geoffrey EATS!
Geoffrey is the smaller of our two turtles.
He tried to hibernate, and went on a 6 week hunger strike. I thought we were living with America's Next Top Turtle- you'd put his dinner in front of him and he'd quite literally turn and run away from it to the opposite corner of the tank. Turtle with Eating Disorder! Every day we'd try again- every day he'd tell us in no uncertain terms that although he was happy to swim in the bathtub and walk around on the rug and snuggle in pants legs, he was just not gonna eat, thank you very much.
So why, you may well ask, didn't we just let him hibernate? Ain't that the natural thing to do?
Yes. But in our unnatural world, hibernating turtles means getting their environment down to to 40 degrees and keeping it there. Hard to do. Which is why Mark, who got us the turtles, had advised against our letting them hibernate, bc too often they don't get hibernated properly and so don't come out of hibernation.
As readers of this LJ know, Mark was our dear good friend who died on 11/1/06. So losing Geoffrey would have been just too much.
Bless the little bugger, on Friday, 1/19, he looked at his dish of mealworms and fruit and said, "WOWZA, that looks good" and dove in and crunched his wormies and looked around for more. Been eating and pooping and doing everything he's supposed to since.
I hadn't realized just how worried I was about him until the worry was gone.
Pets are a wonderful thing.
Even thought Best-Cat-in-the-World Rabbit did throw up on the bed this morning around 4 a.m.
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December 1st, 2006
01:50 pm - rituals- need your input
A dear good friend feels like she is not getting the guidance/input/opportunity from her current religious group in terms of the need to create and perform rituals: initiation, coming of age
rituals, vision quest, etc.
Some of you have done these things. Sometimes in an organized fashion, with the support of a community and/or religious group, sometimes in a marvelously spontaneous blowout (I'm thinking Codornices Park). I'm also thinking about a certain graveyard experience I had with e.e.cummings. Also about a night in August 2005, that involved singing in the streets and (almost) breaking into the cemetery, fueled by sugar, success and sadness. Anyway- talk to me about it. Please.
Also open for discussion: the value of ritual. I personally think it can be beyond awesome. Or wholly disgustingly meaningless and worthy of sneers. Whadda YOU think?
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November 22nd, 2006
06:31 pm - time to tell the story
So here goes.
Mark was a longtime dear good friend. We both worked at the North Branch Library, he from 1989-1994, me lots longer. On one especially busy day when we'd all been charging around, a fellow coworker (the magnificent Ella) said to me as I whooshed around the corner, "Say, who the heck are you, anyway? What's your name again? Is it Millie?" And that's how I became Miss Millie to Mark. And since I had a title, so did he- Mr. Mark.
Mark was easily the grossest individual I've ever known. Even grosser than me. But I got him once, when I made a tampon cake for a home viewing of Carrie. He actually turned green and started backing up out the door.
Mark was extended family- "family of choice". He was there at Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays, St. Paddy's, caroling (until his lungs really gave out) and every time we moved, hauling our boatloads of stuff.
Mark was a devoted amateur scientist- in the latin sense of the word amateur. He science'd because he loved it. He read voraciously, and omnivorously. Not a lot of fiction, but enough. However, he was a splendidly well-rounded science generalist, in addition to being an expert on all things reptilian, especially monitor lizards. The bibliography of his papers and books is staggering.
Mark was the catalyst for the lizard crap on North Branch's rug. One day he brought in the BIG monitor, named Gracie (all 5 feet of her) to visit. She had had a fish meal before coming over. We all petted her, and urged our buddy, Mark's supervisor Warren, to do the same. Warren didn't want to, but we left him no choice. So he touched Gracie tentatively with one finger, and she lifted her tail and let loose and my GOD did it stink.
Mark was a bullshit artist. He'd happily spin yarns for you forever. Watching him with kids at the library, especially Danny, the fascinated by JFK conspiracy theory kid, was wonderful. But what made it work was that he really did know a lot. It was hard to separate the bullshit from the truth, so you tended to believe him.
Mark was the most loyal friend I have ever had. When the library fiasco started, he wrote to the Library Board, the Berkeley Daily Planet and to the director at least once a week. Many of his impassioned, eloquent letters were published. I'm so glad I saved them. But he wasn't just loyal politically. He helped us out in any way he could- and he did, frequently, whether it was supplying turtles for Tom, moving hundreds of boxes of books, painting, packing, or just being around to share a beer and a laugh.
Mark was 46 when he died. He defied medical history by surviving birth. He was waaaaaay premature, at a time when we didn't have the super good drugs around we do now to help those premie lungs inflate and get the muck out of them. As a result, he went through life with a swamp full of crud in his lungs- always. I teased him because he sounded like a castrato- high and wheezy.
Mark was born in a bedpan, on July 16, 1960, in San Francisco. Seriously. His mom was in the hospital for premature labor, she thought she had to take a dump, she asked for a bedpan, and out came Mark. What I don't know is if she crapped at the same time, or if Mark was the only thing that came out.
Mark died on November 1, 2006, on the 6th floor of Alta Bates hospital in Berkeley. He had been in a diabetic coma since Wednesday, October 25. There was major damage to his brain, and no way he could come back as anything other than a vegetable. As his brother Mikael said, "It's a no-brainer". On Halloween, 16 of us gathered in his room at the hospital, and after they pulled the various plugs, we stood by his bed with a hand on him and said our farewells. We listened for hours as he fought and struggled for every breath. I realized- finally- the level of the fight Mark had gone through every day of his life to breathe- as we listened to him. Some of us left. Some stayed. I came back the next day in time to watch his eyes, closed for so long, open. What did he see? It wasn't scary. There was no fear. No wonder, either. Mark was a firm believer in Valhalla. I sincerely hope he saw his wonderfully eccentric mother Inger, his beloved dog Faeces, and his scientific heroes: Darwin, Cousteau, all those French lizard dudes whose articles I used to translate for him. If there is a Valhalla, he won't need my translating skills anymore. I hope there is beer there, and the evil Tomatin whiskey he likes so much.
How the hell are we going to celebrate St. Paddy's without your wheezy tenor, Mr. Mark?
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November 2nd, 2006
03:54 pm - seeking your worst jokes
Yesterday our dear good friend Mark died.
It really bites.
In honor of Mark, please post a reply to this entry, that contains the most off-color, politically incorrect joke you can think of. I promise not to reveal your identities, as I then circulate them to Mark's good friends, who are all urgently in need of something funny.
Say hey, all of you- consider yourself hugged. Know you all make an impact in my life, and the lives of many others, I have no doubt. Keep on doing and being.
lovelovelove,
the dd
p.s. He died on the Day of the Dead. How cool is that?
p.s.s I was there when he kicked the bucket and one day I promise to write about it. For now let me just say that from a scientific point of view, it was fascinating. From an emotional point of view, it was- well, words fail me just now.
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October 4th, 2006
02:48 pm - Mark this date: Sunday, 10/22, 7 p.m.
It's that time of year.
Family concert time.
Debbie and Audrey get all dressed up and play music for people in public. Debbie even wears make-up- now that's noteworthy.
7 p.m.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Free!
(goes without saying)
(email me and I'll tell you where)
Debbie plays Bach and Bartok- Audrey plays Haydn and Mlynarksi (yes, that is a correct spelling!). And little Albert plays Czardas (ask Megan or Brenna, it's waaaay fun) and Nardini and his mom Satoko plays Chopin and Debussy. It's Short (less than an hour), and you gotta see Audrey's dress. Mine ain't bad either. And there will be brownies after.
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September 21st, 2006
11:37 am - on leaving Narnia
Last night Tom and I finished The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (my personal favorite of the Chronicles of Narnia).
Ohh the heartbreak. The agony of hearing Lucy and Edmund would never return to Narnia. The tears were not as plentiful as they could have been, but they were the kind that really hurt. The feeling in the pit of the stomach, the leaving of Paradise. Aaaaoooowww. Poor Tombo.
I had forgotten just how beautiful that last chapter is, with the ascetic fasting and overwhelming white light made bearable by the consumption of the too-strong "sweet" water, the omnipresent white lilies. Of course, now that I am older and less religiously stupid (though still plenty good on that score), the eating of the fish pissed me off (dang Christian symbolism) as did Aslan's transformation from lamb to lion.
It still hurts. Even old wise me it hurts. Even knowing about the never stepping into the same river twice, even having accepted the inevitability of death, even understanding that transience is often the ingredient that makes moments supremely beautiful. I too throw back my head and howl.
And after that I tell him to go to sleep? Idiot. I found a little cute stuffed animal mouse and said it was a baby Reepicheep. I made it jump up and down say "sweet! sweet! sweet!" That brought a smile, and a cuddle for the little Reepster, and the ability to lay down and sleep.
And tonight we start The Silver Chair. Puddleglum. Giants. Jill. So many of my favorite things.
But I still ache for Lucy and Edmund.
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September 19th, 2006
05:34 pm - newness
I am currently surrounded by newness.
We have a new car- Sven is going to go to whatever idiot wants to buy a Volvo that needs to go to the doctor Constantly- but new in our lives is...
Lucky the Ladybug.
Turtle pointed out that perhaps it was tempting fate to name a car Lucky before it survives the horrible accident. Yeah, true, but... someone else pointed out that she is red like Chinese red money (lucky) envelopes you get at New Year's.
Lucky is a candy-apple red Prius, with a sunroof and an unfortunate mind of her own about closing that sunroof. Ask Mari. Also, like all Priuses, she peeps constantly whenever in reverse. Anyone who has driven with me knows that I do not rock at driving- and especially at parking. Yeah. So dammit, don't PEEP/yell at me when I am backing up! I'm doing the best I can, okay??
However, other than that, she is dandy. Rhymes with candy. I also haven't spilled any substance in her yet to make her stink- and am hoping to avoid making her smell putrid, ever.
The other new is the new piano. oooooooooohhhhh You wanna talk pretty. She sounds pretty and looks pretty and makes me soooooooooooooooooo happy. 1907 Mason & Hamlin upright. Sounds better than many a grand. Big rich deep sounds in the bass. Delicate (but singing) responsive upper register. She has a lovely pashmina shawl on her, and my new Mr. Tumnus lamp (Mr. T., the lamp post, trees all in silver, under a tidy little black lamp shade.
All this wealth is due to Jim's dad dying last year, and Jim deciding to use some inheritance now. Sure is nice. I don't think frugal Melvin would have approved of these two purchases (do you know how much a Prius costs???), but I sure am grateful to both the Ronningen men, living and dead.
One last piece of newness-
Next book club: revisiting childhood classics. Starts next Thursday, 9/28/06. Claremont Branch. (line 51 is your friend) 4:30-6. Cheerios, bananas and milk. Goldfish. Fairy tales.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
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September 6th, 2006
03:11 pm - good live theater and the joy of turtles
We have been indulging in much good live theater. I have to say the best was free. In ascending order of priciness:
The Tempest, SF Shakespeare Co., at Lake Merritt. Julian Lopez-Morilla, who used to be a huge ham, has mellowed into a beautiful-voiced intelligent Prospero. Inspired double casting of Miranda/Ferdinand and Ariel/Caliban. Incredibly lovely sets, creatively used, vaudevilliany Stephano/Trinculo, and an Ariel who can SING. Damn can she sing. Made for a whole new level to the show. But despite the excellent music, my fave part was the moment at the end when Prospero acknowledges Caliban as his own, after dissing him in the most crude way throughout the play (and it helped that Caliban was a dreadlocked black guy). One of the those moments when the action and lines continue around them and you still can't look anywhere else. Sure it's hokey, but when it's brilliantly done, there's nothing like acknowledging and embracing the dark parts of one's soul, whether it's ignorance, racism, jealousy, whatever. Damn that was fine.
Rent. Touring company. So many things worked so much better than in the movie- except for the best song which is of course "Seasons of love". Very distracting to have ALL the cast on stage- while it makes the point of the vastness of the village, it also detracts from the specific intimacy the main characters have. And let's face it- just not as pretty as the exquisite film version. But Angel's death is beautiful, drifting offstage with the sheer white cloth trailing. And the role of the homeless is integral, instead of being tacked on. And the phone messages are funny as hell.
Chorus Line. Very cool we got to see the next to last show before they hit Broadway, and that the woman playing Cassie is getting her first real break, having always been the understudy but never the lead. Yes, it's dated- so 1975! and so what??? aren't auditions going to be a forever thing? isn't rejection and wanting desperately to be picked an issue for everyone, not just those in theater/performing arts? Isn't At the Ballet a song of genius? Why yes it is. Sheila was wonderful- and Maggie had a splendid voice- and if Cassie didn't live up to my memory of seeing the original (because yes indeed folks, I actually did) Cassie, she breaks your heart a little anyway, and it's all good. But now I'm dying bc I don't remember who the 4 guys are that make it! The girls are of course, Val, Diana (who is always my favorite), Judy and Cassie- but who are the guys? Bobby? Mike? Paul would have, of course. Argh! Somebody set me straight. Who else? The dude playing Paul was extremely cute. And hapa. Of course. Half Chinese, playing Puerto Rican. But he's one of those chameleon people like me who could possibly be something else, so I guess it's cool. At least it was a person of color playing of person of (another) color.
See an exchange (below) between me and Molly for more on why theater oughta be free.
Now, the joy of turtles.
Almost a year ago, we promised Tom a tortoise for his birthday (10/14). Our friend Mark, with many herp friends (that's herpetologist, darlings) said, Oh I know people who do rescue tortoises, lemme get you one for free. We're not stupid, just cheap and we say sure great. Well then the cold weather hits, and it's waaaaaay too cold in Tennessee where the tortoise is to send it through the mail and have it arrive as a tortoisicle. So we wait till Spring, and keep waiting, until Thursday last week I get an email saying, Fed Exp is delivering your tortoise TOMORROW. Aww shit. We have a terrarium Mark gave us, but no stuff for beastie, no food, no nothing- anyway, package arrives and in it are:
- two TURTLES (not tortoises)
- one jar of Madagascar hissing cockroaches (no wings) and giant cave cockroaches (wings)
- the explanation that the original tortoise DIED, so now we get two turtles instead
- the news that these two are male and female, and are "capable of reproduction".
Well, guess what. We love them. Tom named them Geoffrey and Sarah. Sarah is large, with gorgeous shell markings and two funky back feet, which she manages to get around on anyway, despite one being a stump and the other sort of frozen. Geoffrey is dinky, and very lively (for a turtle). Turns out they eat live food (arg) which means mealworms, in addition to fruit/vegies. They also are, well- cuddly. For turtles. They like to crawl over to wherever you are and snuggle into your clothes, the angle between your shoes, your crotch, basically anything that is warm and makes a sort of cave. I am perfectly aware that this is because they are heat-seeking reptiles, but does it make it less cute? No.
Also, when they eat, they CHOMP that mealworm, and sometimes it sticks out the sides of their mouths and fizzes a little.
I love our new turtles. But if they reproduce, will any of you love and want their babies???
And fyi, Mark took the horrid cockroaches. So Utterly Nasty.
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August 4th, 2006
12:30 pm - Hey Debbie!
I have stolen your livejournal once again, so I could change your profile, give you some interests, and then post and tell you all about it. I'm assuming you know how to look at your own posts here, so work with me.
Tell Tombo I say good luck today at 2! I wish I could see him. Have a great vacation! Don't do anything I wouldn't do (and that includes eating flies in chicken and peeing in rose gardens). Tell Jim I said to be a good boy, and tell the kids I said go nuts!
--Ashlyn
Current Location: red chair, my bedroom, under bed at desk
Current Mood: ![[mood icon]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/mood/classic/wink.gif) crazy
Current Music: Buffy on Juliette's computer
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August 3rd, 2006
03:42 pm - Mouse update
So as if my silly typos weren't enough fun yesterday-
Last night around 9:30, Rabbit the wonderful cat meows at the door to be let in. No problem- always happy to see the Rabubu. We open the door and find that he has brought us a present- a dead mouse.
Yes, folks, I am 85% sure it was my dying mousie friend of yesterday morning's run! Same size, coloration, distinctive tail, and the tummy had swollen just about the right amount to account for the gas that would have built up in the day.
Poor Mr./Ms. Mouse. Went directly into the garbage and got picked up this a.m. by the garbageman.
So, to clarify that quote- it's "Nothing is worth more than this day", and I am reasonably sure it's Goethe. German speakers, how would that translate into deutsche?
This morning's run produced no dead animals, but Audrey and I did get to commune with Mickey "the grape" the Abysinnian cat (he's kinda round), our neighbor 4 houses down. He shed all over us, and we were suitably honored.
On the cute child alert-
tomorrow, at 2 p.m. (that would be Friday, 8/4) at John Hinkel Park in Berkeley, Tom is in the Shakespeare camp performance. He has a scene as Feste, from Twelfth Night, and is having such fun with it. Come see biggest eyed Mr. Irrestible show Lady Olivia to be the fool!
You all should know I am going on vacation beginning tomorrow, and won't be back at work until 8/17. In that time, I hope to meet and buy my new piano. Here's hoping... Think of me at 10:30 tomorrow morning. I'll be playing a Yamaha grand in the vicinity of Children's Hospital. Maybe by the time I update next, it'll be mine own.
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August 2nd, 2006
09:37 am - what a beautiful bipolar world
This morning out running, I saw a mouse dying on the sidewalk. Might have been a rat, but I don't think so- tummy fur looked a little mangled, but no other outright signs of destruction. At first I thought it was dead, it lay so still, and there were ants everywhere on it. Then I saw an ear flick. Then it slowly raised its little paw and tried to brush away the ants. What a horrible death. Probably poison?
And the sky over me and mouse was beautiful, changing colors, fog burning off, air fresh and lovely.
You know the Goethe quote, "Nothing is worse more than this day"? It's very true, and encompasses both dying mouse and beautiful sky.
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June 16th, 2006
12:19 pm - Asian Graduation, 6/10/06
Yours truly was a speaker at Berkeley High School's Asian Graduation 2006.
I was insanely happy and moved to be asked.
here comes my speech:
ASIAN GRADUATION THOUGHTS
It is truly an honor to be asked to this very special Asian Graduation Ceremony.
As a hapa person, I was especially touched by the invitation to speak here today, because growing up I was not considered Asian by many Asians- by other races, yes, but not by Asians. Yet that is how I identified myself- I grew up living with my Japanese immigrant grandparents, surrounded by the language, food, smells and customs of their ancestors. To be a speaker here today shows me how much our definition of what it is to be Asian has changed.
My mother is Japanese-American- Nisei. My father was of Russian Jewish descent. When they got married in 1951, they had to go to Mexico- it was against California law for Caucasians and Orientals (as they were then called) to marry. Asian Nation offers 2000 statistics that show that 30% of Asians raised in the U.S. marry non-Asians. Berkeley abounds with hapa children, teens and adults. The question is, how do we see ourselves? Never mind how the rest of society sees you- how do you identify yourself?
Clearly, those of you here today see yourself as Asian- in some part. Maybe it’s the smells, sounds and tastes of your childhood- kim chee, tsukemono pickling under the sink, mustard seed and cumin, sticky rice with mango, spam onigiri, lumpia, pho, jook for breakfast. Or the sounds of a shakuhachi or Chinese zither or the rhythms of bhangra. Maybe it’s the way your grandparents’ home smells- mine smelled of bleach, fish, soy sauce, mothballs and a little incense. Maybe it’s the rhythm and tones of Asian speech- Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Urdu, Hindi, Tagalog, Nepalese, Korean- or the special to Asian-Americans ever-so-slight over-enunciation thing we do. (I don’t know about the rest of you, but I can generally identify Asian-Americans of a certain age over the telephone because of this characteristic.) At any rate, you’re here because your Asian heritage means a lot to you personally, regardless of how others view it.
There is certainly a trend in 2nd, 3rd and 4th generation Asian-Americans of growing more and more distant from their Asian heritage- they do not speak the Asian languages, cook traditional Asian foods (though they will frequently happily eat traditional foods made by someone else!), or observe traditional Asian ceremonies. And yet- there is still something that happens when two young Asians see each other on the street. There is a little “twinkle” that passes between you- a recognition that here is someone who understands a little of what it is to be you, because being Asian is part of what it is to be you- a special, unique, important part. And it doesn’t matter whether your ancestors came from Korea, Japan, Tibet, the Philippines, China, Nepal, Indonesia, or Vietnam. There is some unsaid but understood element that passes between you- “we are more alike than we are different”- “I understand part of you without even knowing your name”.
Because, let’s face it- until such a day comes when, as Dr. King said, we are judged by “the content of our characters” rather than the color of our skin or the shape of our eyes- the world sees you as Asian. And while it’s true that sometimes Asians are seen as the “model minority” (clean, thrifty, hard-working, moral), there are those who see Asians or Asian-Americans as stealing jobs from real Americans (whoever those are), or harbor other prejudices. If we hide our Asian-ness- refuse to celebrate or acknowledge it- we not only are untrue to ourselves, but we support the idea that true assimilation is obtained by eliminating our differences.
You all have completed a tremendous achievement- you’ve made it through 13 years of mandatory education, I’m sure some of it has been numbingly dull- I’m equally sure that everyone of you has had at least one seminal moment, where a light bulb went on for you and there was the indescribable thrill of understanding something difficult and seemingly impossible. I’m betting pretty much everyone here has experienced some degree of racism- yes, even in Berkeley!- and that you have had many moments where you celebrated your Asian heritage- through dance, music, language, food, or tradition.
And now it’s all truly open to you. What you did up until now was decreed by state law (you have to go to school!) and by your parents. What you do from now on is up to you. Such an amazing responsibility, freedom! But remember, you didn’t get to where you are now alone. You had the love and support of your family, friends and community as you grew up and faced challenges. We are still here for you, invaluable resources as you navigate college, culinary academy, the military, the job market, music conservatory, Americorps, or scariest of all- the unknown. We are part of what makes you the person you are, ready to set forth and make your own decisions, your own mistakes, your own successes. And many of us share your Asian heritage- your values, traditions, comfort foods, languages, lullabies. As you go out into this wonderfully scary world without the safety net, remember us. We are here. We are part of you. We- and you- are Asian. And we are so so proud- of our Asian heritage and of you, our next generation of Asian Americans.
Congratulations, class of 2006. (end of speech)
And DAMN the food was good- and plentiful. Mom and I tried to show restraint, but even splitting everything, we ate too much dim sum and went home groaning and burping (in my case). After which we had to make Audrey the 13 year old Birthday Girl's Birthday Dinner, which was an Indian feast of roast minted lamb, wild mango and mustard seed salad, cumin-curry potatoes with peas, and rice. Neither one of us could eat, but everyone else put it away- except for Tombo of the Walter Keane painting eyes, who has declared he will eat no more cute animals.
My ONLY regret was that I couldn't wear the cool green sort-of sari two piece dress Grandma Peck-Hoon Khor (ethnically Chinese, raised in Malaysia) brought me from Bali with my Filipino lady gold sandals, because the top was too sheer and the bra showed. Mom and Jim insisted the Asian parents would not be pleased. Jim told me to put on a camisole. I tried- it looked like an undershirt your mother makes you wear when she thinks the weather is not quite warm enough. So I ended up earing the black silk cheongsam (also a Grandma Peck gift).
And those dang Asian kids- just to be asked to speak was gift enough. But no, they had to go and give me a present- gift certificate to Barnes and Noble, the darlings.
Sometimes I really do love humanity.
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May 12th, 2006
10:35 am - the merry merry month of may
...is providing some much-needed sun.
So in ten years, I intend to go retire in Kauai.
We spent a week there over spring break. Paradise, indeed.
Snorkeled for the first time. Swam right next to Gil from Finding Nemo. Also fish that looked like popsicles (in terms of colors). Experienced "rapture of the shallow".
Rode horses (from 7 year old Tom to 77 year old Grandma) in the 65 million year old crater of a volcano, where they filmed the meadow scene in Jurassic Park. Stopped for lunch at a swimming hole where we could swim under the waterfall. Wonderful gay ranch hand took a shine to me, and introduced us to the 12 week old new filly. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. Horse addiction now back in full force.
Took a sunset dinner cruise up the incredible Napali coast on a catamaran. Saw dolphins, sea turtles, whale mom and baby. Friendly boat crew, good food (harder to find in Hawaii than you might think), trade winds, warm water drenching you periodically, bliss.
Hiked in Waimea Canyon, out to Waipoo falls (a source of many terrible jokes, which y'all can guess at, given our family).
Even found a historic cemetery, with Portuguese, German, Irish "settlers" from the mid 1800's. Gave Tom the creeps. Full of hungry skeeters. Also those cool Japanese graves where they take a local volcanic rock, leave it natural but stand it upright, smooth out a little place and put the name in Japanese characters, vertically, as befits the language and the gravestone.
So, how to make this dream happen? Take pension, work half-time scooping ice cream at Lappert's, sell Albany house and buy little shack or condo, and relax and smell the pineapple.
Hey. Don't laugh too hard. You know you all will come and visit.
The only downside of the trip is that now I have trouble eating chicken. See, Kauai is COVERED with chickens. Back in 1992 a hurricane somehow freed all the Filipino cockfighting chickens (or so local legend says) and now they are literally everywhere you look. Not your "regular" chickens, either. These are the exotic ones with gorgeous ruffs and tails, iridescent feathers and general amazingness. We were eating at TomCat's cafe our first day (and YES there was a kitty, an all-black girl cat who was very accommodating and tolerated our adoration) and mr and ms chicken are coming up to me, looking at me, speaking politely, and damn, I just can't order the the chicken on the menu.
Ahhhh. Meanwhile, I bake goodies from my "Hawaii's best local desserts" cookbook (LOVE the coconut custard mochi) and listen to slack key guitar CDs.
You know the really scary thing? I didn't get piano itch-fingers ONCE.
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April 5th, 2006
02:15 pm - EDWARD ESTLIN CUMMINGS
Alas, that is how the poor man's gravestone reads.
does that bite or what? the man known for lack of capitals and punctuation gets all caps on his permanent marker?
Here is how i found out about the gravestone.
Wednesday, 3/22/06. Me, Ali, Andra and Jojo in Jamaica Plain, Boston, at the Forest Hills Cemetery, known for really OLD graves and interesting, not always wholly successful, statuary and art pieces. It's between 11 and midnight, and we walk into the enormous, unlocked cemetery, toting the complete poems of the great man (EEC), a half bottle of excellent whiskey and a flashlight. Fortunately, Andra and Jojo know exactly where to go, bc I cannot see a thing, and me and Ali are holding hands and trying not to fall down. We have a momentary scare when someone thinks they hear a caretaker comming and we all duck behind gravestones to hide. We make it to his grave. It's an austere, flat-in-the-ground marker, with the full name in caps and the dates. We find that another pilgrim to this site has left a candle, and Ali has a lighter. So you know what we do.
Then we sit down together, and proceed to pass the bottle and the book/flashlight. We have previously marked favorite poems in the book to read aloud. I have been talking to the fambly back in Albany on the evil little cell phone, and I put it to the tombstone so that Jim can say something to e.e. He thanks e.e. for "being so special to my bubu". It is a splendid night, with spring beginning, and the truly nippy frostiness retreating, and stars everywhere. The whiskey is excellent. The poems are magical. The stars and silence and company combine to make one of those moments when you know that it is all perfect, when nothing could be better, when all is, for the moment, as complete and lovely as possible.
The next day, when Jojo and I go back for an in-the-daylight look at this truly amazing cemetery, I discover that the grave may be austere, but some inspired person has made a series of little what look like tiny backless benches for teddy bears, and in this fashion two wonderful poems wind their way up the hill to the grave. each "bench" bears a line of the poem.
Weird statuary/art projects: on trees hang diaphonous long-sleeved old-fashioned dresses. Completely and utterly scary in the dark. Also chairs that look neat but are at a weird angle and keep you from viewing the pond in the way that seems natural. Also this spooky lady under the bridge, who I will not give away in case someone else wants to find them.
Here is one of the "bench" poems:
up into the silence the green
silence with a white earth in it
you will(kiss me)go
out into the morning the young
morning with a warm world in it
(kiss me)you will go
on into the sunlight the fine
sunlight with a firm day in it
you will go(kiss me
down into your memory and
a memory and memory
i)kiss me,(will go)
And here is one of the poems I read:
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
April is National Poetry Month. But every day should be and is a poetry day.
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March 6th, 2006
05:44 pm - RENT and other miracles
..now that I've got everyone's attention.
I'm really getting quite fond of Rent. My initial reaction after seeing it in the theater was "some great songs, I like Angel and Tom better than Roger and Mimi, ending silly, ridiculous when they burst into song, wish the whole thing were just filmed theater like opening song, maybe I am getting older than 11 bc I don't like it as much as I thought I would".
But it has definitely been growing on me. (Bought the DVD, but of course.) And unlike most of you, I lived through these years as an adult, and one in the library world, which was also decimated by AIDS. So it brings up lots of memories and issues for me, and reminds me how powerful it is to use the creative forces of art, music, theater to make a message really live.
Theater can and should change lives. I've been fortunate enough to be at some theater performances that affected me that way- one day I'll write about them. But Rent reminded me what it was we did in PRs- how we tried to honestly examine life and thought and action- and sometimes turn it into art. I am so proud to have been a part of that effort. In the biggest sense, it doesn't matter if we ever succeeeded (though I would argue that we frequently did), bc our trying was the point, even more than the product.
So the other miracle for this post is:
Audrey performs the first movement of the Bach A minor violin concerto on FRIDAY, 3/10/06, at Albany High School's multi-use room (on Key Route- the room that looks like it's the gym, but is not in fact the gym). She's playing with my mom's community orchestra. Come cheer her on! 7:30, and it goes without saying it's free.
Oooh, I said miracle(s), didn't I? Well, Ari will appreciate this one. I FINISHED my little fabric-knit backpack- imagine a tiny little rag rug of a backpack on the DD's back. It is completely and utterly adorable and holds my brain most admirably.
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divinedictator's journal