Spring

It is warm, and the breeze blows fresh sunshine-smells over my face. I dance across the campus pathway, my first college spring at home in Northest America. I hum a spontaneous melody, so full of newness and joy:
Do you ever feel like singing
Right out loud to the sky above?
Is it the same spring? I am feeling that joy in spring.

It is spring, and the seeds of the past are coming back. Those wishes, fears and hopes that fall from me in actions, thoughts, and sacrifices do not cease to be with my forgetting. With seasons come change. I change every year and every day.

The detritus of a squished population surrounds me. There are scraps of clothing, boards and machinery. Buildings need a coat of paint; the melting snow runs tracks through the grime of the old and peeling surface. Water pools in ruts on the ground, forming long ponds across the passageways. No municipal services are left in Yakutia after the death of communism. Pedestrians, and we are all pedestrians, lay long, thin boards over the seasonal moats. We become brave balancing acrobats to get to school and work. It is up to us to find a way through. Look, what is that flattened thing? The freeze-dried carcass of a cat, fatal participant in the sub-arctic changes of season.
Is it that spring? The warning to build my own path is the same.

But the seasons remain the same. I sing the song I began at the beginning. Its refrain returns in the spring of my step and drops with my footfalls. Beginning and end, life and death—spring brings to life and feeds on death.

In a beautiful mansion donated by a man passed on, different people take turns to stand on their feet and read. Such a collection of interesting noses! They read in their own languages of an empty tomb. It is past midnight, the first time I have heard this kind of service. Christos voskres! Christos Anesti! El Messieh kahm! Christ is risen! He has conquered death by death! Joyful faces tell of a stone rolled away and new life brought from dying. The priest, the leader of the church welcomes me to the pre-dawn table. We eat, and he tells me of his faith, drinking wine. I have never seen a pastor drunk before.
Is it the spring once more? The story is the same.

The melted snow water is being soaked into the wakened tree-roots that make up the Alaskan forest of my memory. Barren branches have waited all winter for the sun-sweet nectar to reach them. Hard buds swell and surge into sticky chartreuse baby-wrinkled leaves. They grow a shocking green, almost painful to the eye when the slanted Northern sun shines right through them. After months of landscape in black and white, eyes must grow accustomed. If I forget to look for just one day, I would think it was an explosion. I do not forget to look. I know it happens quickly, but it is still a progression.
Is it spring again? I feel the expectation.

My will-volition swells with the season. I strain against the hull of old boundaries. Tight-packed growth against well-known walls. I am quivering for my freedom.

Quivering with fear. New life means new death. Chances and risks taken are the straightest path to disappointment. Is not my life now entwined, rooted and fed in the sweat, sorrow and tears of all that came before?

Put another ring around this tree. Either die now or die later. It is spring again, every spring that ever was or will be. I am here to take my place in the season. I am the Resurrection and the Life.

Here’s a tip: Pizza Veggie Burgers

These things are very tasty!

I had a coupon, so I bought these things in a fit of eat-betteredness.

But they ARE veggie burgers, so they were diligency freezedrying themselves in my freezer.

Until supplies got low.

I had to rush to pack a lunch for work (yet another fit of eatbetteredness) and threw this patty on top of some spaghetti for protien.

After I had microwaved the lot, so that it was all steamy and nice, I took a bite.

Wow! That burger was really good! They had mixed in the mushrooms and the basil and stuff, which was great by itself.

But then they had mixed in some cheese. Wow, that made a difference! It made it juicier and sizzlier. Those are hard to find in a veggie burger.

The patty only has 130 calories, and 3 g of fiber. That makes it very point-friendly for the weightwatchers. And it’s just good for anybody.

I thought I would share.

_Waiting for Guffman_

Another one of those psuedo-documentaries, like Dog Show. It’s kind of a cute movie.

Cory-in-the-closet has to direct the 150th anniversary play for Blaine. Red, White and Blaine is what they call it. So the documentary takes you through the lives of the people in the play.

The young lady works at the Dairy Queen. That’s funny. And the singing Dentist. He’s funny.

Cory, of course, it hilarious with his portrayal of the gay man.

But they are all excited about Guffman, who is a famous theater man from broadway coming to see their play. That just stirs up all kinds of feelings and reactions from everyone.

I think it’s worth seeing, a light little video. You have to see Cory’s little funky dance.

The Glass Menagerie

Those Southern writers–it seems like they are all filled with drama and theatricality. Appearances, tragedy and social position.

And those amazing accents!

I have to say that it can be really heavy, diving into the Southern drama. When I first started listening to the performance, I felt myself thinking, “Oh no, not another one of these depressing Southern Dramas.”

It was depressing. All the characters seemed so trapped. But the story showed about how people are.

It was incredible how much pressure was put on the son, the man of the family. I felt so sorry for him. He was the BREADWINNER, the one who had to make sure his family didn’t starve. Yikes! I’m really glad that we have more equal opportunity employment now. I would not want to depend on anyone to feed me.

Or have to feed other perfectly capable people, either. It made me realize that women in this story were not considered “perfectly capable.” They were supposed to be protected.

And Laura, the sister, sure seemed to need protection. Either that or a slap in the face. She couldn’t even bear to go to school and take an exam. All she had was her little collection of glass figurines.

But the mother! Whoa nelly! She was more capable than any of them. But she had appearances to keep up, and besides, she was a female and had limited earning potential.

She at least understood her handicap. She didn’t have any skills, but she wanted her daughter to be able to take care of herself. That’s why she tried to send Laura to vocational school.

But Laura was too helpless.

Everyone seemed to be focused on Males. The deadbeat dad, the breadwinning brother, the ‘gentleman caller.’

Not a place I’d want to be.

This particular version of the play was especially wonderful, because there is a recording of the author reading the last scene. His voice, with the accent, is so right for the dialogue.

If any actor wants to be in this play, they really should hear Williams himself reading the scene. It made it really come alive.

Also, Williams reads another short story of his at the end about the Yellow bird. It was a great treat that I wasn’t expecting.

Creativity takes SOME sleep

I’ve been working kind of hard the last two weeks. It’s getting in the way of posting.

I’ve got a huge backlog of things to review, but…I get tired and braindead.

I need to have a certain amount of sleep a night to be functional.

You know, I figured out, by trial and error, a formula.

I can function for a day, or two, on 5 hours of sleep per night. I can make it, barely.
But I will get sick if I dont’ catch up.

I can go for extended periods on 6 hours of sleep a night. I won’t be happy, but I can make it through.

7 and a half per night is really optimal.

But I can’t dip into the 5 hour range without getting sick.

This was in my early, wow, EARLY 20s, so maybe it’s not the same now that i’m 30.

But I like the symmetry.

“A View From the Bridge”

This is another LA Theater Works recorded drama. As far as I know, it hasn’t been made into a movie. But it really should be, wow! Arthur Miller knows his stuff.

The story is of a working-class Italian-American family in the 50s. Times are hard for them, and have been for a while. Eddie and Bea have been raising Bea’s niece, Katy. Katy is turning into a woman.

It’s a struggle for parents to let kids go up. Men especially have a hard time letting little girls grow into women. Some fathers are famously protective. And Eddie gets really protective of Katy.

The narrator of the play is a lawyer, who sees the whole thing play out. He talks about it, like it was a train wreck there was no way to stop.

And I believed it, as I listened to it all.

Bea’s cousins from Italy sneak across the ocean to find work. They talk a lot about how hard times are there, that there is no work and that Marco’s, the older one, children are starving and dying.

But Rodolpho is not married. He is there to work and does not have scary responsibilities. He is happy to be there, and happy about a lot of things.

He can sing.

How could Katy resist?

And the train wreck is set in motion.

This was an incredible story. It was fully compelling. I wish they would make a movie out of it. I really felt something after it was done, and it stayed with me.

I have been Spammented!

I wish I had an emoticon for sputtering!
That is exactly how I feel about this situation.

I did a piece about “Daily pay for Daily work-$$$” I was not looking for daily pay, or even thinking favorably about it.

But ‘Steven’ from http://www.dailycashpay.com had to leave a comment on my post about how I could start such a business.

A Spamment! on my blog! I would delete it, but all comments are artifacts, a thing I wish to foster on my blog.

Are other bloggers getting spamments? Is this an isolated incident?
I hope that ‘Steven’ is anomalously creative. I would hate for blogs to be infected with spam, too.

Get Shorty

I saw an interview with Danny Devito talking about, among other things, Get Shorty. He said the movie was about confidence.

That made me want to check it out.

Devito’s character in the movie was not very impressive. Maybe that was the point. Travolta, now, he was great. His character was riveting.

I don’t know if it was because the acting was so great. I can’t really think of a particularly dramatic moment for him.

It’s just he was so active, he did so many amazing things. Chili Palmer, nobody got in his way. He got the stuff done.

Confidence. Well maybe. Is that what it takes to get things done? Interesting that Devito, a movie star, would choose that aspect to focus in on.

I think it might be something else.
In the movie itself, Palmer says that he would not go about business the way Zimm did. He wouldn’t go through his shrink’s other client, who happens to be the personal trainer of the great movie star.

He says he would just go ask him.

Of course, for Palmer, little barriers like walls and locked doors are trivial.

I don’t know how attuned he was to psychological barriers. Not so much, I would think. But he never had to encounter any in the movie. Weir, the coveted star, just faded before his direct approach.

The movie put the film industry and organized crime in the same category. Position, territory, it seemed like it was all the same things but different titles.

Do you remember?

I’m taking a night class for writing. This one happens to be a Memoir writing class.

It fit my schedule.

But it’s also a very interesting style.

One of our assignments is to read a memoir and do a presentation about it.

My lazy impulse is to do a report on a book I’ve already read. When I stop to think about it, I have read a lot of memoirs:

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

Travels With Charley by Steinbeck

Walden by Thoreau

Earth Horizon by Mary Austin

A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolfe

Paradise, Piece by Piece by Molly Peacock

Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris

As Far As You Can Go Without A Passport by Tom Bodett

Walk Across America by Peter Jenkins

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by David Eggers

On The Road by Jack Keruoac

Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman by Richard Feynman

Grass Soup by Zhang Xianlang

Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott

Citizen 13660by Mine Okubo

Maus by Art Spiegelman

San Francisco Stories by Derek Powazek

The Woman Warrior: Memoirs of a girlhood among ghosts by Maxine Hong Kingston

Those are the ones I just remember, the ones I’ve read already (or at least started).

I love all of them. But maybe I should branch out and try reading something new.

Mr. Personality

There is so much wrong with this, I can hardly begin.

But did anyone else notice the glaring irony of Miss Princess going on and on about looks not being important (‘I been around so many good looking guys that I just can’t stand, because they rely on their looks…’)

all this, and they show footage

OF HER PUTTING ON HER MAKEUP

!!!!

Repeat after me:

DOUBLE STANDARD