Generic pop tarts

I don't really like Quentin Tarantino. I don't really believe he's all that talented. I didn't really like "Django" (though I did like the characters in it) but I did really love Pulp Fiction. And continue to love it. Recently, I spent a sweet evening home watching it with Daisy, my 16 year old. She loved it too.

This morning, when I woke up thinking about the choice of off-brand "toaster pastries" for the scene, I decided to re-visit it and Youtube decided to cooperate.

Holy canoli, what a great scene. And what a great scene for sound effects. I just love the way it all goes down, one thing leading to another, sound-wise and story-wise. Watch here:


 

Thought fragment and a related painting.

I've had a thought in my head for a week or so and it's this: ". . . not waste any time not appreciating how beautiful things are." Now, this is the thought. As is. I assume that by "things" I mean the world around me and it puts me in mind of a description from a precious little book I read 25 years ago: "the Tao of Pooh." In this book, sort of an introduction to Taoism through the story of Winnie the Pooh, the author tells of a painting called "The vinegar tasters." In this painting, three men are standing around a vat of vinegar. Each has dipped his finger into it and tasted and each of them has a different look on his face: as memory serves (it still sometimes does) the man representing Confucius has a sour look on his face, displeased with the bitter taste, the man representing Buddha has no look on his face at all, representing his liberation from the trappings of the physical life and the man representing Lao-tse, the founder of Taoism, has a big smile on his face, representing his joy in all the experiences to be had in the wonderful world around him. You can see why I connected this thought fragment with this painting I'd read about so long ago. Here's an image of it I found online:

And here's a little blurb about the painting from Wikipedia. Reading through it just now, it appears my memory served me up a mixture of the correct and the incorrect. Delightful.

I'm on TV!

What fun. Just found this on Youtube. I missed it when it originally aired and apart from looking funny for sitting cross legged like that (I didn't know they were shooting from the side) I'm pretty happy with how it turned out!

A hundred!

Well, I've finished 100 pieces in my "decorating nature" series! You can see them all by clicking here or you can read the book I wrote on that body of work by clicking here.

And to celebrate, here's a link to the video that Chronogram Magazine put together when one of the "Decorating nature" pieces was on their cover: (I wish I didn't look so scruffy and tired!)

Mesmerizing

I love that word. Turns out it comes from a fellow's name: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Franz_Mesmer and though it's widely used to mean "to hold the attention of someone to the exclusion of all else", Mesmer himself was a little bit more mystical than Webster's. He believed that there was a "a natural energetic transference that occurred between all animated and inanimate objects . . .  called magnétisme animal (animal magnetism) and other spiritual forces often grouped together as mesmerism."  

Well, I don't know about you, but I've smelled smells and heard songs and tasted tastes and seen sights that are positively transcendent: that take me away, out of the daily grind and concentrate my attention on them and them alone. These things I've always called "mesmerizing" and the image directly below is the most recent example of something that has mesmerized me.

Found it online somewhere, I think on Facebook. (ha.) I simply find it mesmerizing; I could look at it over and over and not get bored. It also reminded me of this painting by Magritte, Les Jours Gigantesque (http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2012-06-20/ross-buys-magritte-work-for-11-3-million-nine-times-estimate.html)

And this album cover of a record I bought when it came out in 1977:

And last but not least, here's my favorite song ("Mesmerizing") off of a really incredible album: Exile in Guyville, by Liz Phair. Enjoy:

Cockscombs

First, I find that, while playing words with friends with my poet pal David, I have the letters for "Basho" in my hand, to counter his opening play of "Zen".  Next, I find the poem I've been looking for, which I had originally seen a few years ago in a book by Clark Strand: "Seeds from a birch tree". I loaned the book to Jim, he claimed to have returned it, end of story. Anyway, the Golden Notebook didn't have it, but they sent me to the Woodstock Library, which did. So. Here's the wwf board and there's the haiku. Turns out it's by Masaoka Shiki. Thanks to all of you for this little adventure. I'm happy to have the poem again after all these 7 or 8 years.

A year later (click to enlarge text)

Somehow these words of Pema Chödrön were begging for a little graphic design. Now, a year after my marriage blew up, the wisdom contained in them seems so liberating. I'm an adventurous spirit at the beginning of a whole new chapter of my life. Counting my blessings.

Related: wu wei

Clarity versus poetry via Jonathan Safran Foer

from the Village Voice, from an interview with JSF after the publication of his novel Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. (read the entire interview here.)

The thought comes up a lot: the power of poetry to illuminate or illustrate deeper truth than mere reportage, and I always think of these words from JSF that make so much sense:

Jonathan Safran Foer: It troubles me when people ask if it's too early to make art pertaining to September 11. No one asked, in the moments after the attacks, if it was too early for Tom Brokaw to report it. Do we trust Tom Brokaw more than we trust, say, Philip Roth? His wisdom, his morality, his vision? I don't. I appreciate that Tom Brokaw and Philip Roth do entirely different things, both necessary. I wouldn't want Roth giving me my information about what happened on a given day inBaghdad, and I wouldn't want Brokaw giving me my information about what it felt like. Journalists traffic in biography. Artists traffic in empathy. We need both. So why do people continually question what's the appropriate terrain for art? Why do people wonder what's "OK" to make art about, as if creating art out of tragedy weren't an inherently good thing? Too many people are too suspicious of art. Too many people hate art.

Buying a stamp

Kurt Vonnegut Jr.:

“I work at home, and if I wanted to, I could have a computer right by my bed, and I’d never have to leave it. But I use a typewriter, and afterwards I mark up the pages with a pencil. Then I call up this woman named Carol out in Woodstock and say, “Are you still doing typing?” Sure she is, and her husband is trying to track bluebirds out there and not having much luck, and so we chitchat back and forth, and I say, “OK, I’ll send you the pages.”

Then I’m going down the steps, and my wife calls up, “Where are you going?” I say, “Well, I’m going to go buy an envelope.” And she says, “You’re not a poor man. Why don’t you buy a thousand envelopes? They’ll deliver them, and you can put them in a closet.” And I say, “Hush.” So I go down the steps here, and I go out to this newsstand across the street where they sell magazines and lottery tickets and stationery. I have to get in line because there are people buying candy and all that sort of thing, and I talk to them. The woman behind the counter has a jewel between her eyes, and when it’s my turn, I ask her if there have been any big winners lately. I get my envelope and seal it up and go to the postal convenience center down the block at the corner of 47th Street and 2nd Avenue, where I’m secretly in love with the woman behind the counter. I keep absolutely poker-faced; I never let her know how I feel about her. One time I had my pocket picked in there and got to meet a cop and tell him about it. Anyway, I address the envelope to Carol in Woodstock. I stamp the envelope and mail it in a mailbox in front of the post office, and I go home.

And I’ve had a hell of a good time.

And I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don’t let anybody tell you any different.”

Peace that passeth understanding.

In an article called "The Joy of Quiet" in today's New York Times, author Pico Iyer quotes David Steindl-Rast's definition of joy.  Which I just love.  And posted here so that I can have access to it forever.  Here's the whole sentence:  "It’s actually something deeper than mere happiness: it’s joy, which the monk David Steindl-Rast describes as “that kind of happiness that doesn’t depend on what happens.”


Nice.  So, I guess posting here counts as joy.  Happy New Year.

Shadows so real.

I saw this scene this morning.  The shadow looked so real that it reminded me of the most beautiful piece of magic I've ever seen.

Penn & Teller did a show on Broadway and the piece below was one of the bits.  It was amazing.  And very very moving.  Here it is, with a little background and commentary:

"Shadows"

l

So good. Soooo good.

In 1976, 1977 & 1978, my big sister was off to college and for the first time ever, I was an only child around our house. I don't recall anything particularly personally amazing happening during that period; I had a job at the golf course, played on the golf team, did school plays, played trumpet in the band, yearbook and school newspaper editor -- basically filled the days with typical high school stuff.

The amazing shit that happened was being exposed to some music that turned out to really shape my musical taste for my life. Lots of it, I remember exactly where I was when I heard it. Like this song, "Compared to what". (thanks to Chuck for posting this on his FB wall this morning and causing this e-reverie)

One weekend, I'm not sure why or how, I went down to visit my big sister at the University of Kentucky. (I think I may have actually done this twice.) Prior to college, she hadn't brought too much new music into my world, but after she got to UK, the hits just kept on coming. First, she dated some dude who was a bluegrass fiddler. That's where my love of bluegrass music comes from. Then she dated some other dude, I forget his name or details, but I was in his apartment one evening and heard this song. On the record player. The record cover was this:

It blew my mind. So good. So much swing, so much teeth. I later bought my own copy of the album as well as a coupla albums by the sax player Eddie Harris Jr., including "Eddie sings the blues", which I found in the dollar rack of my local Peaches Records in Dallas, TX, USA, when I was in college, and which had one of the coolest back of the album pics ever. Here it is, with Eddie front and center in his shark skin suit and the mysteriously casual pipe smoker behind him in a mauve wife beater:

Mauve wife-beater! Anyway, I digress (and oh, what a fun digression its been) -- without further ado, (actually, here's a link to some info on the song, from Les McCann's wikipedia page) here are Les McCann (piano and vocals) and Eddie Harris, Jr. (tenor sax), Benny Bailey (trumpet) LeRoy Vinegar (bass) and Donal Dean (drums) doing the kick ass, anti-war song "Compared to what":

Magic on Fire Island/safety in numbers

A rainy day at the beach finds us all painting rocks and leaves and, best of all, monsters on postcards:

And here they are in my work in progress book "Monstrous aphorisms". Enjoy.

mowing the lawn

Cutting the grass, I saw these weeds growing just on the other side of the fence. Freakin' gorgeous. They made me think of the phrase "up so floating many bells down" from the following e.e. cummings poem. They made me think that he wrote that line about this very flower. So many bells facing downward as the plant shoots up.

Here's the poem:

anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn't he danced his did Women and men(both little and small) cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn't they reaped their same sun moon stars rain children guessed(but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew autumn winter spring summer) that noone loved him more by more when by now and tree by leaf she laughed his joy she cried his grief bird by snow and stir by still anyone's any was all to her someones married their everyones laughed their cryings and did their dance (sleep wake hope and then)they said their nevers they slept their dream stars rain sun moon (and only the snow can begin to explain how children are apt to forget to remember with up so floating many bells down) one day anyone died i guess (and noone stooped to kiss his face) busy folk buried them side by side little by little and was by was all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep noone and anyone earth by april wish by spirit and if by yes. Women and men(both dong and ding) summer autumn winter spring reaped their sowing and went their came sun moon stars rain

A lovely sentiment.

Always brings a smile to my face. What a classic movie. Most men my age know just about every line. What other movies can say that?

RIP Joe Morello

I was already playing the trumpet and making music of my own by the time one of my dad's old albums called out to me from the depths of my parent's awesome stereo console.

The album was "Time Out" by the Dave Brubeck Quartet. The cover artwork by S. Neil Fujita caught my eye and I took the vinyl out for a spin.

Side one has three songs on it, each one cooler than the next:

"Blue Rondo à la Turk" – 6:44 "Strange Meadow Lark" – 7:22 "Take Five" – 5:24

I quickly played the album a hundred times. It opened up my ears. Oh sure, I'd heard lots of music before, but this stuff blew my mind. It swung, it kicked ass. Paul Desmond's sax was like velvet, Brubeck's piano was unlike any piano playing I'd ever heard. Eugene Wright on bass kept it all from floating away and Joe Morello on drums kept it all on the right path while concurrently kicking it in a new direction.

Well, Joe Morello died this week and all this came rushing back. I saw him once in concert, in the early 80's. At Carnegie Hall. With my dad. Brubeck had one of his sons there too. It was a real treat to be there with my pop. My pop, who passed away a week before Joe. (You can read more about my dad here.)

Here's Joe playing "Take five", the big hit off of that album. Enjoy.

ribbon type vs. snowboarding

Instead of going snowboarding yesterday on a gorgeous winter day, my fun-loving, type-loving son was laid up with a hyper-extended knee. So I made him his name is ribbon. There's something about it I really love and so here it is:

big "T" little "urkey"

Friend and one-time co-worker Anna O'C is taking time off from the path of righteousness to visit Istanbul. Put me in mind of this little Turkish delight from years gone by. Oh, how I loved these guys:

They Might Be Giants - Istanbul (Not Constantinople) from They Might Be Giants on Vimeo.

Kohler

Just found this sweet Kohler vid on YouTube starring me! Don't pay any attention to the misspelled subtitle. It's really me. Check it out:

Drawing for dummies

Saw this somewhere online, I forget where, found it on Google the next day. Still making me chuckle. Make sure you follow the directions perfectly.