Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Take Cover (or Make Cover, or As Yet Untitled)

I like books about books and movies about books. I am fascinated by iterations. The trickle down effect (is that even the same thing?) I am interested in parent and child relationships. In things/people that come from other things/people.

Where does inspiration come from?

Why am I like this? Why are you? (Where are you? God, what inspires you these days? I know it’s not me.)

How does that story feel like that movie, song, week in the my life, etc.? It’s the same thing that lives in that old-timey call-and-response of the church folks. “Say, Amen!” and all the people say, “Amen!”

It’s a dialogue, a conversation that comes in waves, in all forms of media. What inspires you? Haven’t you ever seen a scene in a movie and it made you want to go dancing? Or heard a song that cause a craving for a real kiss—long slow lippy passionate? Or read a short story and then rushed off to bake a salt-berry-buckwheat cake? It’s not just me….

Here are some classic examples of inspired iterations/call-and-responses: Jane Eyre/Wide Sargasso Sea; Emma/Clueless; Takeover/Ether; The Body/Stand By Me; Mrs. Dalloway/The Hours; Odyssey/O Brother, Where Art Thou?; James Brown/all rap & hip hop; (the obvious) Adaptation/The Orchid Thief; Taming of the Shrew/10 Things I Hate About You; Henry IV-Henry V/My Own Private Idaho

I like cover songs. Sort of. Some covers are so good that there is a place in the world for the original and the cover without conflict or battle. These instances are rare and truly special. Most cover songs just make me want the original. Give me the real thing Baby. Covers are entertaining. The one springing to mind today is Commodores/Lionel Richie  and Faith No More performing “Easy” is one of the best:

Friday, August 24, 2012


This is a true story. How many stories start that way? Does it give you pause? It should.

What kind of narrator is this? What kind of person starts by telling you that the story is true--why would it be a lie?

This is a true story. [Pause] Take a breath. Take a rest. Think it over, are you ready for the truth or not?

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Life Yoga

So, Balance.

The grind. It’s daily. Some days get too far away from me too fast. Yesterday it was one thing, today another.  And tomorrow will be all new but so strangely familiar—is it déjà vu? Probably not. Time for change? Probably.

Not looking for a new love. Not looking to start a family. I have those two huge, awesome chunks of life. So, how about a new job? OOOhhhh, even better, a whole new career? What do I want to do?

I am kicking around the tires in my mind. Please don’t go out and tell everyone that I am quitting my job—I’m not, just thinking about what else I want and how to get it. How to have a more satisfying worklife. I need to be more creative. It’s what I miss the most.  It’s about balance. Right now, my job is out of balance—too much technical, to much file management, not enough creativity. Who can fix that if not me?

Right. So…now what?  Write more. Chew more gum. Don’t smoke…not even a little. Find a way to write and make money.  Think about smoking, but don’t do it. Make my job better.

Make quinoa. 

Monday, August 13, 2012


Summer is fleeting. It’s moving away from me—moonwalking just out of my reach.  I missed the heart of summer. There was so little time for fairs, and games, rides and elephant ears—I missed put-put golf, patios, and ice-cream trucks singing “Pop Goes the Weasel.”  The days are shorter, nights darker—the call of morning birds comes later and later, and more quietly as if they too sense Fall sneaking up just around the next corner and are hushed to hide in plain sight. Maybe if Fall can’t see us, then she won’t come?

Maybe I am more nostalgic now. Now that S will be two years old. Two years I have lived with her (longer if you count gestation)—for two years my life has been transformed, in transformation. Out of all the years (thirty-five to date) two seems few, seems small, seems like a blip of time. But measured against the enormity of these two years, it seems that I’ve never lived without her. How did I ever live without her? Who would I be without being S’s mama?  No one (not now that I am.)

Next summer, my dear baby, there will be fairs, and put-put, and “Pop Goes the Weasel.”  And more swimming, my fearless water-loving child. We will take swim lessons this winter and tumbling too. More fun to have, just fun inside away from the cold and rain and frost.

For now, we have sun. A few more days at the pool for you, tan and splashing in the fountains.