WEIRD EVANGELICAL ZEAL

But I’m coming at this differently, as someone persuaded that reading does things — to the brain, heart and spirit — that movies, television, video games and the rest of it cannot.

More on that later. Must be some kind of internal molten energy floating around in me after my long conversation with CandJ as I had one hell of a dream about B2 last night. Epic. It is was not really a nightmare, although I think there was some world-threatening-or-Tom-Cruise-movie danger involved with high tension trips to overcrowded airports, blinking lights, and barely subdued hysteria. I felt all hissy and growly with a fat tail, spitting and making those unearthly noises ... I didn't do that in the dream, but that was the feeling. 

As to events of the dream, well, those are generally hard to recount, but B2 was barreling around in my life, had made some kind of friends or co-opted B1 (which is crazy because the only time they met, B2 was this side of rude to B1), had threatened my living space (which is what happened), and then tried to pass herself off as friendly and sane. There was also a dinner party involved, two small round tables of four people each. Someone at my table had invited Stephen Stills (I just finished reading one of Judy Collin's memoirs, Sweet Judy Blue Eyes, so he's on the mind). Evidently, I had a bone to pick with him, too, as I protested him being seated at my table and excused myself as soon as I could. 

So, general high drama, angst, and danger, near enough to wake me up and then thread through subsequent sleeping and dozing. Enough to send me skittering here to write. Mal-aise ... Bad ease ... Uncomfortable.

Another of the larger themes we all discussed was that of home. The short, un-nuanced version of that epiphany was that one of my compulsions to collect things outside of myself is not being "at home" within myself enough. (Trust me, there is much more to it than this.) B2 completely usurped, stomped on, violated, ravaged, and fucked up my home, and a good corner of my sense of self. She was a Godzilla of emotional destruction, relentless, thoughtless, remorseless.

And now I come to consider love and loyalty. And how loyalty to others can really be counter-intuitive to loyalty to oneself. Maybe some loves, some feelings of love are just another addiction. (Here comes Love in the form of an old kitty to say good morning, or, more likely, Where are the Greenies?) I liked the warmth and fun feelings I shared with B2 and prioritize those more highly than I do my own safety, my own "home" within myself. 

I don't know. I might well be rambling here, but I do feel like crying again. And the dreams were very upsetting-unsettling (you choose). Hopefully, I will read this later and it will make more sense ... or perhaps some of you will add some insight.

It's much colder today. I think we are anticipating rain soon. Meanwhile, as I am going down to Manhattan/Brooklyn later to work with Louise (yay!) and to go to the library and also have lunch with my fabulous former workmate Sarah, I want to scurry out to the garage to get in some work on my refinishing project. I do believe the house has been sold so I will be packing up my sorrows and other things to who knows where. But I should work in the woodshop while I have the chance.

And the quote at the top is from a Frank Bruni New York Times article, Read, Kid, Read, books being something else I cannot get enough of. I liked the conclusion: 

That observation brought to mind a moment in “The Fault in Our Stars” when one of the protagonists says that sometimes, “You read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.”

Books are personal, passionate. They stir emotions and spark thoughts in a manner all their own, and I’m convinced that the shattered world has less hope for repair if reading becomes an ever smaller part of it.

And this just came in as I was writing:  The 25 Greatest Homes in Literature.

A DAMN GREAT THING

Another Monday. The cats are in no hurry to get up, but how is that different from most days? And here’s another rhetorical question … why was the roofer next door pounding at 8:00 a.m. and quiet now? At first, I thought it was some kind of squirrel doing some kind of damage to the house. The noise was so a-rhythmic and random.

And that was yesterday and yesterday's gone, to quote Peter and Gordon. 

The distressing part of the next door roofing project was that it interrupted the deliciousness of the morning snooze. The air wafting through the window had an eating strawberries sensation, both tart and sweet ... and utterly delicious ... until that infernal knocking caused me to close the window. 

I am still processing an intense conversation with my spiritual advisors, C&J. Remarkable how far one can travel emotionally and spiritually in (what feels like) a relatively short span of time. Then again, putting into practice one's realizations are another matter entirely. One portion of the conversation was about seeing and self-perception. This is an area of long-standing personal query. The a-ha moment was that my current pair of glasses is not only five years old, but reeedunkulously (and repeat that word) scratched and scarred. If I did not have contacts as a back-up, I would be in desperate straits. I got up this morning, drove to an optician, and ordered new spectacles. I mean, really, what have I been thinking and putting up with? I really can't reasonably see ANYTHING.

So, today is Cooder's 16th birthday. She has been with me since she was 12 weeks old. Even those folks who know her don't really resonate with her. She's my cat. I would that others knew the comfort of her purr, her discreetly bestowed cuddliness, her quiet and arch conversations, but these things are for me alone. Trust me. She is a rare familiar, keeping her own counsel and reserving her affection as she sees fit. I've had several other cats over the decades, lovable, noteworthy, precious each, but Cooder is a familiar ... and those are rare. I know our remaining time is limited; I try to appreciate her and our time together each day. 

As the regular readers herein know, she had a stroke last October from which she seems completely recovered. But I remember her that night, a rare occasion that she slept on top of me, heart to heart through a difficult night. She is a being I am grateful for each day. We love them. They do actually love us. This is a damn great thing.

WHY ARE WE HAUNTED?

The sun and I have something in common today: we are both struggling to shine. The rain has been fitful these last two or three days, but the gloom grey has been fairly consistent. That probably has something to do with my continued malaise, but who knows.

Yesterday was nearly a wash. I didn't fall asleep on Thursday night, although not due to any negative behavior on my part. At three o'clock, I began to doze but repeatedly woke until about 7:30 when I just gave up and got up. I caught up on some things, did my errands, and was back by early afternoon. I make bad decisions about food, money, and alcohol when I am tired, so I just went to the def con nap. I never really woke up after that, although I arose, had a nice dinner, and did some reading. 

I do feel more alert today, but aspects of general bummerness remain. I have promised Emmylou that we hang out in the backyard once the sun comes out as it is supposed to do. I'll be needing my summer clothes very soon. For now, opening the windows will probably suffice.

I had heard good things about the Comedy Central show, Broad City. Being of limited energy and intelligence last evening post-nap, I watched all of the episodes, some of which made me laugh out loud. I had sort of put it out of my mind, but the evil B2 is in one of the episodes. (Broad City is worth watching.)

Seeing her was quite a strange experience that I have yet to have a full opinion on. When my eyes saw her, my reaction was very affectionate and positive. You know, my eyes probably dilated as they do when you see someone you like or care about. And that was my general feeling as I watched her (she did a good job). I suppose there was a bit of wanting to see her. And then I remembered how unrelentingly horrible she was to me, how irrational, unkind, and, in general, completely fucking insane. A. Danger. To. Me. How miserable she made me and my better friends who had to support me and get my ass out of that fiery hell on short notice.

So, my questions to myself are about self-interest, self-preservation, and the like. Why my immediate reaction to seeing her was positive rather than hatred and terror, or gosh, even disdain.  And I even have a lawsuit pending her against her right now in small claims court for all the money her madness cost me. Why no "Danger, Will Robinson" reaction? 

I know there is something positive about some level of forgiveness, but here I am more concerned with not having some protective layer or alarm system that this person is a danger to me. Why does my affection for her outweigh the threat of being hurt again? 

Perhaps I am not articulating this very well, but I find my reaction confusing. B2 is crazy as batshit and has tried me and hurt me more than once. There is something in this dynamic worth examining, understanding.

Meanwhile, I am going to go more sewing today! And get some exercise. And clean my room more. Mel isn't coming out this week (waaaah...) but John will come back tomorrow (he was here briefly to change into a suit for his great-nephew's First Communion). I think I am going to make white chicken chili.

Thanks for listening today. I feel a bit better. For all her unbridled negativity and craziness, B2 is funny and smart, and as I said before, she wrote and performed a one-person play that was nothing short of stellar. Seems as if she were raised on, and now runs on, a fearfulness that does not jibe with mine. Her survival instincts rival those of a cockroach. Her understanding and compassion seem similar as well. 

This poem was in my inbox a few days ago, and although I generally don't like rhyming poems, I liked this. The reason it even vaguely obtains here is that there were some moments of great fun and connection with B2.

FRIENDSHIP AFTER LOVE

After the fierce midsummer all ablaze
  Has burned itself to ashes, and expires
  In the intensity of its own fires,
There come the mellow, mild, St.Martin days
Crowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze.
  So after Love has led us, till he tires
  Of his own throes, and torments, and desires,
Comes large-eyed friendship; with a restful gaze,
He beckons us to follow, and across
  Cool verdant vales we wander free from care.
  Is it a touch of frost lies in the air?
Why are we haunted with a sense of loss?
We do not wish the pain back, or the heat;
And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete.

— Ella Wheeler Wilcox

A loss is a loss. And these days are incomplete.

Hey, but some Spring days. And you!

And a birthday shout-out to my dear sistah, DM! Have a great weekend girl!

PERCEPTION, COMPOSITION

Pinks at the post office.

I realized that it is not only the physical world that differs from the aspect in which we see it; that all reality is perhaps equally dissimilar from what we believe ourselves to be directly perceiving and which we compose with the aid of ideas that do not reveal themselves but are none the less efficacious, just as the trees, the sun and the sky would not be the same as what we see if they were apprehended by creatures having eyes differently constituted from ours, or else endowed for that purpose with organs other than eyes which would furnish equivalents of trees and sky and sun, though not visual ones.

- Marcel Proust, The Guermantes Way

One would have though, I would have thought, that, given my current (and hopefully short-lived) leisure, I would have been more assiduous in my postings, but, as I said here recently, my internal dialog has been a bit vacant. I've wanted to sleep quite a bit and have indulged in a couple of epic naps with Cooder curled in my arm on the pillow, purring away, Emmylou at my side. Now, that was a delicious indulgence. It has been hard to wake up after such an afternoon sojourn with Morpheus and Bastet. 

I have endeavored to get back to better eating, less alcohol consumption, and a daily walk with some success. Today will be a challenge on the walking front as it is rainy and invited more time spent reading (The Secret Diary of Franz Hals, The Guermantes Way, and/or The Prone Gunman) with Cooder on my lap. I have to admit that one reason my cats don't qualify as lap cats is that my lap is not usually available; I am usually on line or knitting or some such thing that does not lend to a good, solid feline snooze. 

However, it being cloudy but NOT actually raining, I think I might venture out now before the call of that bed gets too loud again. 

The meeting about my possible employment went well, although the time table has shifted significantly. Perhaps that contributes to my slightly negative world-view malaise. That, and the job will be out here in Long Island and not in New York City ... or at least that's how it looks at the moment. Although I have enjoyed living in this house, it is about to go to sale contract, so we have to go. I've done a little bit of online scouting of alternative places to live. I'm probably going to have to drive around more to find the right spot that is midway between Brooklyn and Bethpage. 

The dock near Sayville, Kingston Clam Shack.

Oh, and our pilot did not get picked up. I keep forgetting that ... I so wanted that show to see air. True, it was a zombie or undead show, but it had such great twists ... I wanted to see what happens! So, that's probably making me blue, too.

JV is working out in the wood shop, so maybe I should go join him for a couple of hours. Either that or get busy with with walk.

MAKING ITSELF HEARD

Disincentive to get up.

Another Saturday morning, but this one is clear and cool. Al Green is crooning Love and Happiness. Cats are sleeping elsewhere now as I stripped the bed so that I could get those sheets a-dryin' in the sunshine. In the long run, they will be good with this as I let them hang about the yard as I hang up the sheets.

Making a mix for the first time in ages. Melinda and John just bought a new car last week. Melinda and I had a total blast for two days cruising around, singing oldies and hitting thrift stores and the beach. Turns out you are never too old to blast a new car audio system and holler your lungs out as you drive to the beach. I suggest you try it (new car not essential). Seemed like a good occasion to make a driving mix, no?

As per usual, I am having trouble figuring out what to do with my day. So many options! Sew! Read! Bead! Watch movies! Cook! I'm going with cleaning up my room and listening to music ...

(enjoying Nicky Hopkins banging on the piano and Mick Taylor squeezing out some choice licks on Sympathy for the Devil. ... That is Mick Taylor, right? Not Keith? Doesn't sound fuzzy and dumpy enough for Keith, but I could well be wrong. ... and wouldn't you know it, there's a whole discussion board on it here. At least my question is a good one. Nope, no Mick Taylor on that record. Brian Jones and Dave Mason. I vote for Dave Mason. Other opinions?)

Okay, on to Ace Frehley (New York Groove) ... which is maybe kinda apt. We'll see. Could happen that I end up back in Brooklyn with a job. And on to Tom Petty (I Need to Know).  Is it possible to sit still during the song? Only if you are driving and can accelerate. I think I need to pogo for a bit ... 

I can sit down and write to Marvin Gaye (Let's Get It On) ... sigh. Sure wish I had a decent sound system. Then again I wish I had a job and health care.

So, as I was saying the other day, this Proust, The Guermantes Way, is a bit easier to read than the previous volumes ... it's frothier. I still have 400 pages to read in the next month, but if I do a bit a day I should be able to manage that and some other things, too. Two of our peeps are reading it in French which is interesting for comparison purposes (neither of them is me). 

"For the fact of the matter is that, since we are determined to always keep our feelings to ourselves, we have never given any thought to the manner in which we should express them. And suddenly there is within us a strange and obscene animal making itself heard, whose tones may inspire as much alarm in the person who receives the involuntary, elliptical and almost irresistible communication of one's defect or vice as would the sudden avowal indirectly and outlandishly proffered by a criminal who can no longer refrain from confessing to a murder of which one had never imagined him to be guilty.

- Marcel Proust

And just to add synchronicity to all of this, The English Beat's I Confess came up as soon as I started to quote Proust.

Clothes on the line. I am dismayed to find that my iTunes only has one or two Prince songs. How can that be? I am ashamed. Fortunately, one of them is Little Red Corvette. Funny (and great) how a song can take you right back to a moment. I was going to UC Berkeley at the time. The alarm went off and KALX played Little Red Corvette. It was the first time I had ever heard it. I think I sat bolt upright in bed,  astonished at the genius of the song. The amazement has not worn off. 

Okay, I need to finish cleaning my room. Going out to Stonybrook tonight to make pizzas with Emily and Chris who I have not seen since Christmas. That should be fun.

WHAT CONDITION

"Nowhere to go, and no hope of getting there."
- Cathleen Schine, The Three Weissmanns of Westport

Fortunately, at the moment, there is no where I particularly need or want to be.

It is indeed a quiet Friday night out here in Long Island. Cooder is taking the bad kitty role by sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, where I sit sipping red wine and listening to the ticks of the clock and the toaster oven where my Trader Joe's dinner is cooking. Emmylou is wandering around the floor and doing her trademark "adorable sprawl." It does tend to get attention.


I went down to Brooklyn last night, which is not such a big deal now that I got my car fixed and can drive with some security. The book group was interesting and intense, but more subdued than sometimes. There were only 2.5 bottles of wine for the five of us and I am not sure we even finished the last one. Elise had a Saint-Emilion and I think I found it very strong as I could scarcely stay awake when I got back to John's and Mel's. 

My breakfast date cancelled due to a neighborhood murder so I didn't have too much to do in town today besides go to the library and pick up a jacket that had been sitting in the dry cleaner's since December. The dry cleaner's was down the street from Evil B2 and I am still a bit loathe to go near the area. 

The sky this evening.

I took a circuitous route back out here, stopping on the way at a thrift store that I heard about (not worth going to again). As I have a bit of reading respite from Proust, I threw myself on to the bed to nap with Cooder and do some non-essential reading. The nap was delicious, natch, particularly as I did not sleep all that well last night (new sleeping arrangement syndrome). When I woke up, it was still light enough for a 45-minute walk, which I took advantage of and chatted with my mom as well. 

And that kind of brings us up to this post-dinner moment, when I think I am going to watch an episode of Turn, which I encourage you to watch before it gets cancelled. I am very much enjoying the cool Spring night and the quiet company of my cat companions.

I have the song, Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Is In) in my head. Now that's a weird one. Hard to believe such a cool song was performed by Kenny Rogers.

Helping me with my reading.

STILL ALIVE!!

"What began it all was the bright bone of a dream I could hardly hold onto."
- Michael Ondaatje, Running in the Family

This was the accumulated pile of papers from the job.

Been quite a while since I have tried to write, although I did start this post the Saturday before last. More long, stressful days, but only four left now. This whole process has been so interesting, albeit painful psychologically at times. I think what I learned and observed made up for the discomfort and unreasonable pressure. 

There about about twelve us in total on the post-production end of this pilot. Only two females. But I cannot recall another time at work where gender was such a non-issue. A fantastic group of people to work with. No egos, not even at the top. Just a focus on getting the work done.

So, we wait for MC to come out of his edit long enough to approve VFX shots so that we can let the vendors know and go to final.


If you smelled it, you wouldn't think life was so great in the past.
- Michael Atkinson

Later that same lifetime ...

Well, writing is just one good habit with which I am currently out of step. My internal dialog is disrupted, which is not necessarily negative, but I have not resumed my observational vantage point. I did try to get out for a walk over the weekend, in the hopes of resuming my healthier lifestyle, but that has yet to fall into place. So, I am eating too much and exercising too little. Now that it is raining, I don't see that changing immediately.

I'm off to Brooklyn again for my book group, although I haven't read the requisite amount of Proust. I do feel like reading, but Proust is challenging at many pages or hours a day. I did knock off a fun book about those men (mostly) who were behind shows like The Sopranos, Breaking Bad, etc.  Difficult Men: From The Sopranos and The Wire to Mad Men and Breaking Bad. It was a fun read, particularly after having worked on the recent project.

So, having tried to be in touch here, I am going to head for bed. The kitties have been completely delicious and very pleased to have me around. Mel and John have been around for the last few days, too, so they are getting lots and lots of attention. 

And as soon as I could, I was back at the stove cooking up a storm, it having been quite a while since I made a real meal. I had to stop so that we could eat it up, but I did make chicken andouille-three bean chili (black, black-eyed peas, and chickpeas), spaghetti sauce, and a nice chicken-vegetable soup. 

A LIFETIME OF WHENS

Wish I could get a more nuanced shot of the building on the left.

Really. Six. Thirty. A.M.

Jackhammers. 

I hardly think that is fair or civilized. I did need to get up in 45 minutes, but those last minutes of sleep are the deepest, sweetest, most precious. And when you are tired and stressed, those minutes of relief really matter.

I had to move my car for street sweeping today, and I had to get in to the office to have a new budget underway should I be asked about money. I made coffee but I had no time to drink it. By the time I got to the highway-robbery caffeine establishment across the street, Le Pain Quotidien, I was stumbling. The barista over there is an effervescent hoot of brightness and charm. He took one look at me and added a fourth shot of espresso to my tall latte. That's how I wore my exhaustion.

I am hoping for an early night tonight. The rest of the crew is busy getting out the director's cut to the studio, so VFX is not high priority today. Tomorrow the heat will be back on. And hopefully, I will be more rested.

Last night I walked over to the Trader Joe's to get some fast food for dinner. I was so enjoying the city, the wet streets sparkling with lights and twinkling with rain drops, the distant camaraderie of similarly afflicted wet pedestrians rushing in the rain. I felt like a tourist for job a moment. I was just savoring New York. I bought a bottle of red wine at a liquor store I frequented on the way home from both Possible Worlds and FlickerLab, feeling a vague flash of rebirth and nostalgia.

This was all ruined, of course, by a hellish train ride home on the subway. Nothing like knowing your lime popsicles are melting. 

It's fun to be on the subway and look at what people are reading. Yes, there are some of us who still read books. I failed to bring to Brooklyn the volume of Proust I am woefully (yes! woefully!) behind on. I'm reading The Middlesteins which has some nice writing and is, all in all, a good work of fiction, if not literature.

I was musing in the shower this morning on the difference between fiction and literature. Haven't come up with anything yet.

"It has been a lifetime of whens." — Jami Attenberg, The Middlesteins

Great phrase. And something to think about at this birthday moment of reflection. Turning points, decisions, missed opportunities, new acquaintances ... when I went to college, when I moved to New York, when my brother died. Whens.

FLAIL AND RAVE

Ahhhh… An early spring afternoon. I’m having a couple of slices at Mama Lombardi’s, a Holbrook institution since 1976. There’s an open house at the Broadway abode for two hours, but as I have errands to run, it’s no big deal.

The cats always know when something is up, Emmylou especially. She’s very restless and concerned that I was rushing around this morning, cleaning and moving things around. I might try to get in short nap with them before I head back to Brooklyn this evening.

We were so out of it last night. I think I fell asleep at around 10 and couldn’t really get it together to get out of bed until 10. I’m still adjusting to the rigors of this gig. And probably by the time I am adjusted, it will be over. And who knows what’s next. There’s still a possibility of another job, the possibility that I would be assigned to this one, should it go to series. I do know I could use a little brain and spirit space, but I might not get it. And I will not complain. But I might note it.

What I am mostly doing is tracking the special effects shots, assigning them to studios to produce, making sure that they get from the film lab (although there is no film involved) and to those studios ASAP once they have been cut into the episode.  And then crunching numbers, squeezing numbers, massaging numbers, demanding numbers. I live on email and Excel. Better than reds, Vitamin C, and cocaine, I guess. 

Commuting to work on the subway is always a shock when you have been away from it. A young man had a psychotic breakdown on a crowded train one morning. He pushed his way onto a very crowded train, jerking his arms and head spasmodically, muttering things to Allah, and generally causing discomfort throughout the train, although he did not threaten anyone directly. By the time I got off at 23rd Street, he had cleared a good quarter of the car and had many seats to himself, no mean feat at that hour. He continued to flail and rave, showing no signs of recognizing his surroundings. I jumped off at 23rd Street and tried to run down the platform so that I could alert the conductor, but that was not really possible with that crowd. Fortunately, it was one of the stations that still had a human, so I could alert someone to get him help.

Back in Brooklyn and needing to head off to the film mines. Flail and rave, that sounds like my week last week.

So, I work on the third floor of the round building on the corner.My old gig at Possible Worlds was on the 19th floor of the tall building to the right of that. Not the one with the Apple sign, the one behind that.

THE BEAUTY OF PYJAMAS

Did you know pyjamas is a Persian word? Did you know I am spelling it the British way? 

After another long and challenging day, I got back to Mel and John's and melted into a nice pair of (fashionable DKNY) sweatpants/pyjama bottoms and felt a dark-chocolate surge of comfort. 

My office looks out on the Flatiron Building and a patch of Madison Square or down onto Broadway. There's a two-tier Le Pain Quotidien out the window as well as one of the CitiBike stands. People and jackhammers come and go all the live long day. Not that I am particularly aware of my surroundings.

Looking toward Madison Square.

My typing speed is improving. I need to do a lynda.com Excel course, but I am fumbling along.

On the fun front, SC, the associate producer for the show, is married to one of the biggest music promoters in town. He runs my favorite venue. For my birthday, and because she couldn't go, SC gave me tickets to this, A Tribute to Paul Simon, at Carnegie Hall. Check on the line and check out the line-up. And we had fourth row aisle seats. 

And we got invited to the musicians after party at his venue. And I got to meet Bettye LaVette. Rock and roll.

Gotta scoot. 

Ye old Flatiron.

Cupcakes from the post-production crew.

And some sweet tulips.