Quote

From the play The Busy World is Hushed

The mother is talking to her 20something son about his life choices

“From here on out, everything is written in ink”

I’ve had that conversation before…I have had it in my head and I had it with a friend once.

I told him “You wear your freedom like it’s a jean jacket, like it can handle all kinds of rough treatment. I wear mine like a prom dress, that it is so delicate. I have to keep it clean and fresh.”

and he just looked confused. He didn’t know that freedom had consequences.

Which is what that means, you know? “…written in ink…”

“on your permanent record”

reversion
perversion
conversion
inversion

All the versions end up in the final draft of your life.

But that only matters if someone is reading the record.

it didn’t used to be this way

Me and my piano have been together for 8 years.

This piano has been an adventure since it first came into my life. It was free, which should mean easy. But no, it was free if I came to get it. And I began to understand right away that pianos are a thing not to be taken lightly. My piano is very heavy.

I took it to my home, and began to refinish it. It took forver, and the process carried me through the toughest time of my life, when my marriage was ending.

But I refinished my piano and it was beautiful in the end. Of course, through the process of refinishing it, I took it apart and got to know it’s insides very very well.

It began to really bother me that I did not know how to tune it. I could see the tuning pins right there. I had no problem tuning my guitar, and I could barely play it. But my piano I knew inside and out. I began to feel like I could tune it, if I could only find the right tool to turn the tuning pin. It was my piano, dammit, practically a limb off my body. I would be able to tune it if only I could find a way to get started.

Naturally, I turned to the internet. I found an old tuning tool on ebay. But I didn’t know if the price was a good one, or if I could do better. I thought I needed just a little more information.

So I found a book on tuning. It came with high reviews online, so I was pretty excited. Once I got it in my hot little hands, i opened it up to find the chapter on tuning tools and tuning.

it seemed that it was not so simple.There seemed to be more to it.

I thought then that i should pay a tuner to come in, and I could watch and ask a lot of questions. I did, and I learned a lot more. My tuner even told me that there was a correspondence course in how to tune pianos. Wow! I was so going to sign up.

Of course, life caught up with me a little bit and I didn’t have time to devote to the pursuit of greater intimacy between my piano and me.

Piano tuning is a career, you know? People can earn a living doing it. But I was too busy doing the things I was already doing to earn a living. Spending all day on pianos was just a dream. I had real work I had to do.

But last night I went to the Pomona Valley Piano Technicians Guild meeting. These people have been piano tuners…no, TECHNICIANS for years. As they introduced themselves, they said, “we probably have more than a hundred years of experience sitting here.”

They were very serious and engaged in their work. It reminded me of other technology conventions I’ve attended, where the people are all eager to talk to one another since it is so seldom that they can find a peer on their level.

Piano nerds. I felt like a noob, but like these were my kind of people. I aspire to be a professional piano technician, but even if I don’t make a career out of it, there is no doubt that i will be learning how to tune and repair my own piano.

Apparently way way back, one of the Patriarchs of their group had become interested in learning to tune pianos. I will have to learn more about this man, but they told me that he was determined to learn the skill. Naturally, he went to a local piano tuner and asked him “Teach me how to tune pianos.”

The man slammed the door in his face. But Mr. Stubborn wasn’t taking no for an answer. He was going to do this thing. He loaded a footpump organ onto the back of his wagon (this must have been before horseless carriages) and took it with him to tune a piano. He tuned the piano to the sound of the same key on the pump organ.

…not the right way of tuning a piano…

Later he found a book on how to do it right, and sold his cow to purchase the treasure.

He later held classes for people in Claremont to learn what he had become a master at: Piano tuning and repair.

This makes me humble. It was so easy for me to find excellent resources to satisfy my curiousity.

It didn’t used to be so easy to learn. It didn’t used to be so available. People were stingy with their knowledge.

This is a great time to be alive. Information wants to be free. But like my free piano, that doesn’t mean it is easy.

Free Love and Parking

Our German friends wanted to get some vinyl yesterday, so we took them to Amoeba Records on Haight.

AND we found a parking space.

As I was getting ready to put in the quarters, the meter flashed at me “Free”

I shouted “Free love and parking!”

and a tall sluffy man turned around as he walked by and said, “Amen sister!”

I flashed him a big-ol’-smile because SOMEONE needed to say that in the hippie-Haight-time-warp.

Later, tall sluffy man came up to me in the record store and asked me where I was from, because of my accent.

[Me thinking he is trying a *super-lame-pick-up-line* and flash another smile—i enjoy lame-o pick up lines, even though they never have the desired effect for the deliverer, because they are very funny]

I answer “Around here…”

He looked honestly confused, “Oh, I wouldn’t have thought so…”

now I think though…I have been running a joke that amuses me (maybe no one else) that I have an accent that no one can understand…since so often my quips fly far over the heads of others….

BUT ALSO MY REGULAR CONVERSATION! what…what is so hard to hear? I don’t know…

maybe I’m developing an accent of my very own….

*NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME*—-*I’M BEFORE MY TIME*

winter camellia

Accomplishment

Perhaps it is my mood. Perhaps it is in my mind. BUT I have been feeling a malaise of meaninglessnes. That I am not accomplishing anything at all.

Sigh

I was reading Jasmine by Mukherjee, who is an Indian writer. She is Hindu, and she talked about how in Hinduism is the idea that the most important thing in your life could be the most mundane and insignificant thing.

She was saying that the story that dieties could be stung by a bee that would alter the course of the universe. And the human that placed the vase with the flower on it on their table that particular day…Which attracted the bee…which stung the GOD…was vital to the flow of the universe.

So, you never know what part of your life will alter the cosmos.

I wish I had that sense of importance today.

I do not feel as if I am accomplishing anything of importance.

But maybe it’s just my mood. Maybe I’m still tired from the time change. Maybe I’m still getting over my visit with a crabby co-worker yesterday.

But the fact that no one really cares what I do with most of my time…that’s sad. It’s nice to hear other’s appreciation.

It just takes a lot of mundanity.

But you know what? It just occurred to me today…Organization (which I so dearly love, and into which category falls “meaning”) is like dishes.

I do not enjoy doing dishes. They so quickly become undone. The so quickly become soiled and require the same exact repeat of what I just finished doing!

Why can’t dishes stay done?

But they can’t.

And somehow, organization and meaning don’t stay done. They require the same repeptive action to put them into order again.

Circles and cycles again and again.

We’re getting ready for Easter. Here is is again:
Death
LIFE!

…to fall into decay and death again…

and to be ressurected AGAIN

The cycles circles

and meaning must be reborn every time it dies

Things that made sense to be yesterday don’t always make sense the very next day.

and certainly, ideas that made sense when I started this post may morph into a whole other meaning by the end of the post.

One thing I know, my feelings never stay the same. They always change. At least, the bad ones do…

well, I am going to think a little more about the need to constantly re-do meaning. Maybe I’ll have time to post about it.

But I suspect that the meaningless mundanities will take up all my time.

The story of the people with holes like swiss cheese

Once upon a time, there were born a people who had holes in their bodies, just like Swiss cheese.

The people did not know why they had these holes. They were inconvenient and even hurt. Different holes would ache at different times. Some of the holes were inconveniently placed, making it awkward and sometimes impossible to go about the business of their day.

Some people were ashamed of these holes, and covered them up entirely with clothing.

Some people decided they were proud of their holes, at least some of their holes anyway. They wore clothes that showed off their favorite holes. They still took great pain to hide the holes they did not like, even while flaunting the other holes.

Some of the people began to look around them, and found stones or pieces of wood to push into their holes. The stones filled in the holes, and they felt strange at first. But the people saw that they could fill in the holes and be better able to do whatever they needed done.

The other people, the ones who covered the holes entirely with clothes, were outraged. “How can you draw attention to your holes in this way? It’s shameless!”

The people who flaunted their favorite holes were outraged. “How can you deny who you are and the way you are made? You are stopping up your natural holes.”

The people with the filled in holes heard what the others said. But they could see that their lives were easier because they had filled in their holes, so they did not change.

He’s wonderful

Me: Chris, it says in this magazine that the sun can get to you even when you are driving

Him: [Silence]

Me: Seriously, it says the sun can get to you through the windows, and you have to wear sunscreen of 30 SPF or higher. I have SPF 15, and I only put it on my face.

Him: [looks at me]

Me: I’m going to have to take showers in the stuff every day, or I will wrinkle up by the end of the year.

Him: You will be my little raisin

Me: What?

Him: My little white seedless raisin.

Me: [arms around his head] You’re wonderful

Him:…my pretty little raisin…

I should get a something for that

This week at work I had a lot of places to go.

Monday I went to Corona
Tuesday I went to San Diego
Wednesday I went ot Long Beach
Thursday I went back to Corona
Friday I stayed home

Sounds a little bit like the litle piggy game.

Anticipating that I would be going so many places, and since i was on the longest drive of the week, I counted up how many miles I’ve travelled since I took my current job.

If I count up the commute time to get there and the driving I do once I am on the job, I’ve travelled 33 thousand miles in the last year and a half.

That’s a lot of miles.

I shoud get something for that….Like frequent flyer miles. I once took a trip to Europe for 35 thousand frequent flyer miles…

But maybe I am being a greedy american. Driving around doesn’t work like that. Why should I deserve free stuff for just going around and doing my job, the job that I am pretty fortunate to have?

People don’t give you stuff for nothing; businesses will give you free stuff because they get something out of it. Like in Vegas–they will give you a free dinner or a free hotel room, but only if you gamble and therefore lose money.

It all comes out with them ahead.

And so, the rich people, the ones with money to be milked, get the “free stuff.”

Suddenly, i realized that I _am_ a rich person.

I’ve seen emails where they ennumerate the way the majority of the world’s population lives. Things like water and clothing and medicine are all in scarce supply.

and at the end, they say “Everyone in America is in the top 5% of the richest people in the world.”

And it never feels real. Come on, it doesn’t. Yeah, I’ll read it. I can click the little X in the right corner of that email or webpage to make it disappear and then roll my office chair away from the corner desk in my cube to get up and fill my water bottle from the water cooler around the corner, next to the elevator.

and instead of feeling grateful for the easy life I have, I will be wondering if I can fine a cheap Nalgene water bottle on overstock.com to replace the less-than-optimal water bottle I currently use.

wow.

And when I am driving in my new GMC van with the V8 engine, airconditioning and CD player, I think about how I can get it to connect to my ipod, which it currently does not.

I am the wealthy. I am the very wealthy, along with all the rest of Americans. We are the ones who can be milked. That’s how the business world goes around.

It is still a long day, driving to San Diego and then getting up and driving to Long Beach the next day. It is a more pleasant feeling to be grateful for what I have than to be dissatisfied about what I do not have.

But that doesn’t mean that my ears don’t ring after 6 hours of hearing the engine roar, and my backside doesn’t get tired of sitting in the same position.

What Spock taught me about eating Elephants

I listed to one of my favorite podcasts yesterday:
FatFreeFilm

I used to work with Joel, and I really love the interviews he does on this series. This latest one features Leonard Nimoy.

SPOCK! I LOVE SPOCK!

So I was pretty excited to hear the show. It was great, and at the end, during the “film bites” segment, Spock (sorry, Leonard, you’ll always be Spock to me) had some advice.

Speaking of the overwhelming task of producing, funding, and generally making a film [I paraphrase]:

Think of an elephant. If you had to eat an elephant in one day, you couldn’t manage it. But if you took one bite out of the elephant every day, with time, you will finish the elephant.

That’s a very encouraging thought.

I just wish it didn’t seem like I had a herd of elephants.

Strong women and men

It is a constantly running train of thought, but here lately it’s been on my mind—the difference between men and women.

I love men. And I love being a woman. It seems to me that these two, when done right, are very complementary.

I know Chris and I work together very well. We have great love and respect for one another, and we manage to do really well on the various projects and entertainments we take up.

There are other men I have known on the job, who I can really click with, who give me respect and collegial affection. I’ve love working with them and miss them terribly when I’ve had to move on.

What is it that men and women give each other? It’s so much more than just procreation. We are broader than that. What, really, do we need each other for?

Of course, need is relative. Do I NEED to go to the gym and work out in the morning? Not really. NEED is for survival. Food, shelter, air.

But perhaps I am too stoic. Perhaps, for the time being, I can count the survival as a given, and set the bottom standard a little above DEATH.

About 8 years ago, I came to the conclusion that it is best not to need anyone for anything. That I am responsible for myself and myself alone. I wanted to be independent and able to get whatever I needed. I didn’t want to have to wait for someone else to get me what I needed.

It turns out I was very able. I pushed my abilities and pruned my wants appropriate to my circumstances. I learned how to be independent and not need things.

But that opened up other questions.

During our first year, while trying to figure all that out, I asked Chris, “If we don’t need each other, what will keep us together?”

He really didn’t understand the question, but he answered: “We will love each other.”

At the time, it was hard for me to understand how he would stay—how could I be sure?—if he wasn’t dependent on me in some way. He should need me.

I’ve learned a lot from trusting his love.

It turns out that instead of being dependent on someone, you can value them highly. In the same way that you would be unwilling to part with an object of value and beauty, you would be unwilling to part with a person of high value and beauty.
And knowing what I value in him, I can try to foster those same things in myself. When I look at myself honestly, I can see that I am of high value. And I can feel confident that he would want to be with this good stuff that is me.

Okay, that’s the micro. What’s the macro? What do men and women need from each other? What desirable thing is it that we are particularly suited to give to each other?

Earlier this summer, I had that highly annoying conversation with a co-worker. You know the one.

“Men and women cannot be friends, because men only want to sleep with the woman.”

Basically, this argument means that men have no use for any part of a woman except…well, you know what I mean.

He brought it up, because I’d met someone who I thought was interesting but who obviously was attracted to me. I’d hoped that he might get over it and be a friend.

“OH no,” co-worker said. “Let me tell you something about men: they never want to be your friend.”

I brought up examples and hypothetical situations. It was a slow day, and we were getting into it. But he was adamant. Friendship was impossible.

I threw this back at him, “So what you’re saying is, while I want to be friends with a guy, he has no interest in my conversation or friendship. Since I am nothing to him, the only thing I’m going to get out of interactions is whatever entertainment I can create….So I should be the biggest possible bitch so that I can get maximum entertainment value.”

The rest of the guys were laughing, but he wouldn’t back down. “I’m telling you, guys do not want to be friends. Ever.”

Well, that made me depressed for a few days afterwards. Upon reflection, I took away two things:

Guys who have that conversation with females are hoping for something. Note to self: avoid that sort of discussion. It’s just an excuse for guys to talk about sex. I thought I had learned that lesson my first year in college, but I guess I forgot. Or hoped that maturity was more widespread than it is.

Also:
Guys who hold that belief have no clue what to do with the huge amorphous feelings they have about women.
Women are highly desirable, but barely understood. The desire they feel is so scary, they try to cover they metaphorical nakedness with this little insufficient scrap called “sex.”

If they have an answer, they can stop asking the question. It matters little that the answer is wrong (or at the least, insufficient). They can put to rest the discomfort of their ignorance with it.

So that leads to another question. What is it that women give men?

I once knew this guy. He was a friend of my ex. He was the most misogynistic young man (~26) I have ever met. He literally had no interest in anything I had to say. I was a woman, and did not count.

It was kind of stunning to realize this. He was never rude, but he treated me as if I were his friend’s cat–simply not a source of intelligence.

He had been dating a 16 year-old (get this, ASIAN). Typical stereo-type. How much more controlling can you be? It was a half-step removed from a mail-order bride. He got married her when she told him he’d gotten her pregnant.

I’d never met her, even though we knew this guy for years while they were dating.

Long story short, after baby boy was almost 2, turned out that wifey had had a boyfriend they whole time and the child was his. She left Mr. Misogynist. He was devastated.

During this bad time, after his wife and erst-while son had left him, he called to talk to my (then) husband. When I told him I was the only one home, he wanted to talk.

I thought he had brought this disaster on himself somewhat, but I felt bad for him. I knew he was hurting.

But the amazing thing is, he wanted to talk to ME.
ME.
The woman he had no use for. The female who might as well have stayed in the kitchen and walked three steps behind for all he cared.

He really wanted to talk to me. He really really wanted to hear words from a kind female. That was all. We talked about small things for maybe 45 minutes.

He needed what I had. He needed womanhood.

I don’t know the boundaries of what masculinity and femininity are. I suspect they are not hard and fast.

But we need each other. And we need each other to be strong and independent in order to receive the good stuff from each other. I think that if we could learn to work together like that, the whole world would change and be beautiful.