Monday, June 09, 2003
Thursday, June 05, 2003
What’s The World Got In Store? (Apologies to Wilco)
These are my sincere hopes.
That you never experience pain as I have.
That you grow as beautiful inside as you are outside.
That you are smarter than me.
That you never know real fear.
That you remain strong, in every sense of the word.
That you never lose hope, even when hope can’t be found.
That you make perfectly horrible mistakes.
That those perfectly horrible mistakes forge your character.
That your dreams come true.
That you never fear to speak your mind.
That you stand for what you believe in.
That discovery never ends.
That you never lose your curiosity or wonder.
That the universe is good to you.
That you never want for what you need.
That you’re never afraid to sing and dance.
That you’ll see the beauty in what can’t be seen with the human eye.
That science is a field of discovery and not destruction.
That you grow up to appreciate human movement.
That you find love.
That you give love.
That the stars represent possibility and significance.
That it’s never your fault.
That you grow wiser, but never old.
That you never experience pain as I have.
That you grow as beautiful inside as you are outside.
That you are smarter than me.
That you never know real fear.
That you remain strong, in every sense of the word.
That you never lose hope, even when hope can’t be found.
That you make perfectly horrible mistakes.
That those perfectly horrible mistakes forge your character.
That your dreams come true.
That you never fear to speak your mind.
That you stand for what you believe in.
That discovery never ends.
That you never lose your curiosity or wonder.
That the universe is good to you.
That you never want for what you need.
That you’re never afraid to sing and dance.
That you’ll see the beauty in what can’t be seen with the human eye.
That science is a field of discovery and not destruction.
That you grow up to appreciate human movement.
That you find love.
That you give love.
That the stars represent possibility and significance.
That it’s never your fault.
That you grow wiser, but never old.
Eviction
It was sad to watch. Their belongings piled on the curb. The sadness on their faces as they tried to cram what they could into an old, beat up car. Presently there seemed to be no hope. And, in their eyes, I could see that the future was a frightening blank.
I'm Going Back . . . to the Future!
That there is a Baseball Research Center surprises me. But that’s beside the point. Not that anything I ever post here is actually on the point. If there is even such a thing.
Recently I was putting together a CD for a friend to listen to with his young daughter when I was struck with a sudden sense of nostalgia.
The reason behind the CD is inconsequential, but I’ll tell you anyway. I’ve been listening to a lot of Wilco lately. Don’t know why, just seemed to hit the spot I guess. However, I kept listening to two particular songs, “My Darling” and “What’s the World Got in Store” and was marveling at how lullabye-ish they sound. So, that led me to find a bootleg of Jeff Tweedy singing “Be Not So Fearful” and then an entire CD was born. I wanted my friend to be able to find songs that he could sing to, with or dance to with his daughter.
Music is a constant in our home and I think the girls are better for it. They listen to a variety of styles and genres and often pick up good things from them. Gertrude will dance when the song she needs comes on and will fall asleep almost on command when we sing “God Only Knows.” Matilda is incredibly musically aware and often will request songs (sadly, the most recent was “Token Irish Drinking Song” by The Pogues) and can sing along to Wilco, The Wondermints, Beach Boys, Apples in Stereo, Flaming Lips and more. She’s a cool kid.
On any given day you can hear a mix of rock, jazz, latin, electronic, folk and classical ringing through our halls, thanks to some great investigation, generous friends and general curiosity.
I’m sure my friend’s home is much the same, but leaning more toward a certain avante garde flair that he has. So, I wanted to add a little of my personality to his rotation. Plus, there are some really great songs on there by a variety of great performers spanning the last 70 years of music. Fun!
Whilst I was preparing the disc I came across a song I hadn’t listened to in quite a while and suddenly I was transported to a parking spot outside of a friend’s apartment circa 1997 listening to a tape in my slowly deteriorating Toyota Corolla. Honestly, I can’t remember the songs on the tape nor where the tape is. However, I do know that I listened to two songs repeatedly. Fountains of Wayne’s “Radiation Vibe” and Jellyfish’s “Sebrina, Paste and Plato.”
It’s the Jellyfish song that sent me back in time. It’s amazing how a song can have such a sense of place, such power over memory. It’s amazing and wonderful. I was thankful for that sudden flashback (despite the fact that it was a relatively shitty time in my life . . . but this tape made by a friend was a high point during that time).
So, by means of memory I want to say a hearty hello and thanks to Angie. To thank her for the tape, sparking my affair with these to bands, let her know I visited her past self recently and to apologize for spilling the lemonade in my musical reverie. I didn’t actually spill lemonade in real-life, but in my memory of that evening at the Smoking Monkey Theater, I do believe I spilled something.
And I didn’t win the Smoking Monkey. Damn it. But I did eat pancakes at Uncle Bill’s. There’s always an upside.
Discuss
Recently I was putting together a CD for a friend to listen to with his young daughter when I was struck with a sudden sense of nostalgia.
The reason behind the CD is inconsequential, but I’ll tell you anyway. I’ve been listening to a lot of Wilco lately. Don’t know why, just seemed to hit the spot I guess. However, I kept listening to two particular songs, “My Darling” and “What’s the World Got in Store” and was marveling at how lullabye-ish they sound. So, that led me to find a bootleg of Jeff Tweedy singing “Be Not So Fearful” and then an entire CD was born. I wanted my friend to be able to find songs that he could sing to, with or dance to with his daughter.
Music is a constant in our home and I think the girls are better for it. They listen to a variety of styles and genres and often pick up good things from them. Gertrude will dance when the song she needs comes on and will fall asleep almost on command when we sing “God Only Knows.” Matilda is incredibly musically aware and often will request songs (sadly, the most recent was “Token Irish Drinking Song” by The Pogues) and can sing along to Wilco, The Wondermints, Beach Boys, Apples in Stereo, Flaming Lips and more. She’s a cool kid.
On any given day you can hear a mix of rock, jazz, latin, electronic, folk and classical ringing through our halls, thanks to some great investigation, generous friends and general curiosity.
I’m sure my friend’s home is much the same, but leaning more toward a certain avante garde flair that he has. So, I wanted to add a little of my personality to his rotation. Plus, there are some really great songs on there by a variety of great performers spanning the last 70 years of music. Fun!
Whilst I was preparing the disc I came across a song I hadn’t listened to in quite a while and suddenly I was transported to a parking spot outside of a friend’s apartment circa 1997 listening to a tape in my slowly deteriorating Toyota Corolla. Honestly, I can’t remember the songs on the tape nor where the tape is. However, I do know that I listened to two songs repeatedly. Fountains of Wayne’s “Radiation Vibe” and Jellyfish’s “Sebrina, Paste and Plato.”
It’s the Jellyfish song that sent me back in time. It’s amazing how a song can have such a sense of place, such power over memory. It’s amazing and wonderful. I was thankful for that sudden flashback (despite the fact that it was a relatively shitty time in my life . . . but this tape made by a friend was a high point during that time).
So, by means of memory I want to say a hearty hello and thanks to Angie. To thank her for the tape, sparking my affair with these to bands, let her know I visited her past self recently and to apologize for spilling the lemonade in my musical reverie. I didn’t actually spill lemonade in real-life, but in my memory of that evening at the Smoking Monkey Theater, I do believe I spilled something.
And I didn’t win the Smoking Monkey. Damn it. But I did eat pancakes at Uncle Bill’s. There’s always an upside.
Discuss
Wednesday, June 04, 2003
Animate
This is what life is all about.
Right now some of you are saying, “That’s just a stupid cartoon. And I don’t get it. I suppose it’s kind of funny, sure. But it’s not Shrek funny. And why does the character look so weird?”
To those comments and questions I reply: you’re stupid.
Though animation has not traditionally been an American industry, it certainly has been a benchmark of American art. From Fleischer to Disney to Warner’s to Pixar, America has always led the way as far as breakthrough animation. American artists have taken the chances, destroyed the boundaries and created beautiful, living pictures. Let me say that again: Living Pictures.
Film maker David Lynch once said the reason why he started making films was because he wanted to see his paintings move. “I looked at one, and heard a wind. Then I started making films.”
To most people, pictures are just that: Pictures. However, to an animator, a picture is the prelude to a moment. Any given painting shows that moment, but a great painting implies the next moment and fills it with mystery.
I’ll use Edward Hopper as an example: his painting “Chop Suey” shows two dapper women sitting and enjoying a mid-day meal. And you could enjoy it merely for that moment. But looking closer, you notice that the woman facing you isn’t looking at her companion. And the woman with her back to you looks slumped down, tired. You want this painting to move, to give you a clue as to what happens next.
Artists can also give life to inanimate objects. Again, using Hopper, his ”House by a Railroad” shows a simple, turn-of-the-century home sitting behind a railway. But look at the house closely. What’s wrong with it? It looks sad. As if it is sighing. As if the simple act of staying standing may be too much effort for it. It’s a lonely, sad building.
The greatest moment Hopper has ever shown was in his painting “New York Movie”. There’s no reason to describe this one. The image itself screams with a story. A wonderful story. This painting almost begs to move. You want to know what happens next. It tells you an incomplete story, which is part of its mastery.
Animators take painting to the next level. They are artists who truly do give life. They take a motionless object and give it motion. Fluid grace and movement. The swinging of a pony tail, the brush of an arm against the dress, an embrace, touching of a cheek.
But more so than simply giving life where there once was no life, animators show us things that we can only imagine. Dancing trees and skeletons, water dancing to music, talking animals, living toys . . . They give life to whole worlds that seem to be just around the corner. And it is the part of the imagination that drives these projects that gets them pigeonholed as children’s projects.
Animators are one of the lucky few have never lost a child’s sense of glee with how the universe works. An animator will look at a dandelion blowing in the wind and stare for hours at its movement. He’ll blow the seeds into the wind and watch how they fly through the air.
Unlike a child, an animator can show us what he sees. Just because animated fare generally appeals to children (for obvious reasons: children like invented worlds, they like the color palettes and they like the stories they tell . . . that an adult cannot dive into the part of their imagination that animation requires is not the fault of the artist, but of the audience).
Pixar, the maker of the above clip, understands us better than anyone. They know that the only difference between children and adults is that many adults have forgotten how to be a kid. They’ve forgotten how to play. Pixar shows us great and wondrous worlds that we heartily wish existed.
They paint beautiful pictures that move with a grace; fluidity and humanity that make us laugh and cry. They can show a wind blow through the grass, a current rip through the ocean, with such a stunning beauty that we are astounded.
Better yet, Pixar doesn’t strive for hyper reality like some animated studios do. True, they aim to get their characters to move realistically, they try to get textures just right, etc. But they do not try to replicate the real world. They imitate our world for the benefit of their world.
Pixar is the last great animation, if not film, studio. And I hope they continue to delight and challenge us, and themselves.
And I hope they never forget how to be a kid. And I hope they never stop reminding me.
Plus they have really cool ugly shirts.
Discuss
Right now some of you are saying, “That’s just a stupid cartoon. And I don’t get it. I suppose it’s kind of funny, sure. But it’s not Shrek funny. And why does the character look so weird?”
To those comments and questions I reply: you’re stupid.
Though animation has not traditionally been an American industry, it certainly has been a benchmark of American art. From Fleischer to Disney to Warner’s to Pixar, America has always led the way as far as breakthrough animation. American artists have taken the chances, destroyed the boundaries and created beautiful, living pictures. Let me say that again: Living Pictures.
Film maker David Lynch once said the reason why he started making films was because he wanted to see his paintings move. “I looked at one, and heard a wind. Then I started making films.”
To most people, pictures are just that: Pictures. However, to an animator, a picture is the prelude to a moment. Any given painting shows that moment, but a great painting implies the next moment and fills it with mystery.
I’ll use Edward Hopper as an example: his painting “Chop Suey” shows two dapper women sitting and enjoying a mid-day meal. And you could enjoy it merely for that moment. But looking closer, you notice that the woman facing you isn’t looking at her companion. And the woman with her back to you looks slumped down, tired. You want this painting to move, to give you a clue as to what happens next.
Artists can also give life to inanimate objects. Again, using Hopper, his ”House by a Railroad” shows a simple, turn-of-the-century home sitting behind a railway. But look at the house closely. What’s wrong with it? It looks sad. As if it is sighing. As if the simple act of staying standing may be too much effort for it. It’s a lonely, sad building.
The greatest moment Hopper has ever shown was in his painting “New York Movie”. There’s no reason to describe this one. The image itself screams with a story. A wonderful story. This painting almost begs to move. You want to know what happens next. It tells you an incomplete story, which is part of its mastery.
Animators take painting to the next level. They are artists who truly do give life. They take a motionless object and give it motion. Fluid grace and movement. The swinging of a pony tail, the brush of an arm against the dress, an embrace, touching of a cheek.
But more so than simply giving life where there once was no life, animators show us things that we can only imagine. Dancing trees and skeletons, water dancing to music, talking animals, living toys . . . They give life to whole worlds that seem to be just around the corner. And it is the part of the imagination that drives these projects that gets them pigeonholed as children’s projects.
Animators are one of the lucky few have never lost a child’s sense of glee with how the universe works. An animator will look at a dandelion blowing in the wind and stare for hours at its movement. He’ll blow the seeds into the wind and watch how they fly through the air.
Unlike a child, an animator can show us what he sees. Just because animated fare generally appeals to children (for obvious reasons: children like invented worlds, they like the color palettes and they like the stories they tell . . . that an adult cannot dive into the part of their imagination that animation requires is not the fault of the artist, but of the audience).
Pixar, the maker of the above clip, understands us better than anyone. They know that the only difference between children and adults is that many adults have forgotten how to be a kid. They’ve forgotten how to play. Pixar shows us great and wondrous worlds that we heartily wish existed.
They paint beautiful pictures that move with a grace; fluidity and humanity that make us laugh and cry. They can show a wind blow through the grass, a current rip through the ocean, with such a stunning beauty that we are astounded.
Better yet, Pixar doesn’t strive for hyper reality like some animated studios do. True, they aim to get their characters to move realistically, they try to get textures just right, etc. But they do not try to replicate the real world. They imitate our world for the benefit of their world.
Pixar is the last great animation, if not film, studio. And I hope they continue to delight and challenge us, and themselves.
And I hope they never forget how to be a kid. And I hope they never stop reminding me.
Plus they have really cool ugly shirts.
Discuss
Tuesday, June 03, 2003
Happy Birthday Mom
She would have been 73 today and is still profoundly missed by us all.
The Beauty Of A Woman
The beauty of a woman,
isn't in the clothes she wears,
the figure that she carries,
or the way she combs her hair.
The beauty of a woman must be seen in her eyes
because that's the doorway to her heart,
the place where love resides.
The beauty of a woman, isn't in a facial mole,
but true beauty in a woman
is reflected by her soul.
It's the caring that she cares to give,
the passion that she shows,
and the beauty of a woman,
with passing years, only grows.
--Maya Angelou
The Beauty Of A Woman
The beauty of a woman,
isn't in the clothes she wears,
the figure that she carries,
or the way she combs her hair.
The beauty of a woman must be seen in her eyes
because that's the doorway to her heart,
the place where love resides.
The beauty of a woman, isn't in a facial mole,
but true beauty in a woman
is reflected by her soul.
It's the caring that she cares to give,
the passion that she shows,
and the beauty of a woman,
with passing years, only grows.
--Maya Angelou
Monday, June 02, 2003
I Had a Dream, Crazy Dream
I had the strangest damn dream last night. Nay, it wasn’t strange. It was irritating in the same way as when someone sits behind you and spits into your hair. It was irksome in the way that a dog who just licked his own butt keeps licking your hands. It pissed me off in the same way as when a clerk in a store is a complete jerk. Heh. Jerk and clerk rhyme. I am Stephen Sondheim.
I woke up around 5:45 to the baby crying and I went to the bathroom. When I returned, I found the baby sitting in the bed drinking the largest glass of water I have ever seen. She could actually fit her head inside the glass.
She smiled at me and said “Hi!”
I nuzzled back down in bed, knowing I had another 45 minutes.
Then, in my dreams, I turned off the alarm got up, took a shower, brushed my teeth, had breakfast, took out the trash and drove Matilda to School.
Then I woke up. I was pissed off. Not only did I have to go through the whole routine again, for real this time, I had wasted those final moments of sleep in a mad, dream-dash to the finish line.
I blame the baby. Because she’s an easy target and I can’t get mad at her because she’s cute.
I can’t blame Matilda because she was already awake and working on a secret project at her desk.
I can’t blame my wife because she’ll go Kung Fu on me.
So it’s the baby’s fault. She can’t hurt me.
Can she?
Seriously, can she?
Discuss
I woke up around 5:45 to the baby crying and I went to the bathroom. When I returned, I found the baby sitting in the bed drinking the largest glass of water I have ever seen. She could actually fit her head inside the glass.
She smiled at me and said “Hi!”
I nuzzled back down in bed, knowing I had another 45 minutes.
Then, in my dreams, I turned off the alarm got up, took a shower, brushed my teeth, had breakfast, took out the trash and drove Matilda to School.
Then I woke up. I was pissed off. Not only did I have to go through the whole routine again, for real this time, I had wasted those final moments of sleep in a mad, dream-dash to the finish line.
I blame the baby. Because she’s an easy target and I can’t get mad at her because she’s cute.
I can’t blame Matilda because she was already awake and working on a secret project at her desk.
I can’t blame my wife because she’ll go Kung Fu on me.
So it’s the baby’s fault. She can’t hurt me.
Can she?
Seriously, can she?
Discuss
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