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 |  Impromptu writing, whatever comes...on writing or whatever the question of the day is. |
    I've been blogging all through my days without knowing that it was blogging; although, this isn't necessarily the only thing I do without knowing what I'm doing. Since I write on anything that's available around me, my life has been full of pieces of scribbled paper flying about like confetti. I'm so happy to finally have a permanent place to chew the fat.  So far my chewing the fat is on and off.  Maybe, I lack teeth. Feel free to comment, if you wish.  Thank you very much, Cindy, for this honor and the beautiful graphic.  This Blog Continues in "Everyday Canvas "    |
| I came across this site of bad predictions. Anyone receiving a rude rejection, low grade, or low rating should take heart. http://www.coolquiz.com/trivia/predictions/ Here are a few bad predictions from that site.  "Brain work will cause [the 'new woman'] to become bald, while increasing masculinity and contempt for beauty will induce the growth of hair on the face. In the future, therefore, woman will be bald and will wear long mustaches and patriarchal beards." - Berlin University professor Hans Friedenthal, 1914. "Mendel lacks the requisite clarity of thought to be a scientist."- professor at the University of Vienna on Gregor Mendel (1822 - 1884), the founder of genetics "All marriages will be happy [in the 1990s], for the law will put to death any man or woman who assumes conjugal position without the proper physical, mental and financial qualifications.'- author John Haberton, 1893. "Drinking in excess is plainly on the decrease. And with every step in this direction the self-respect of the people must grow, pauperism decrease, and an enlightened conception of public duty develop. Whatever else the twentieth century brings about, we may reasonably look for a great revolution in the political status of the world."- Charles Morris, The Marvelous Record of the Closing Century, 1899. (Holocaust, two world wars, cold war, several other wars and things...and "let me count the ways"...) "We hope that Professor [Samuel] Langley will not put his substantial greatness as a scientist in further peril by continuing to waste his time, and the money involved, in further airship experiments. Life is short and he is capable of services to humanity incomparably greater than can be expected to result from trying to fly...For students and investigators of the Langley type there are more useful employments."- The New York Times, December 10, 1903, exactly one week before the first successful flight at Kitty Hawk. |
| I was looking inside the Writers' Journal, and started to read an article by Jodine Turner, titled Visionary Fiction-The New Kid on the Block. I tend to disagree with the second part of the title since the concept is rather ancient, existing since Gilgamesh and the Iliad, and it could even be older. Except, the author has given it a name now. On the other hand, the article was very well written and brought a few interesting ideas to my mind. The author defines visionary fiction as: "Visionary fiction is like the legendary Celtic Imram. (The stories the writer's grandmother told her in front of the fireplace in their cottage in Ireland) Drama and tension of the characters' adventures is one layer of the tale. All the usual elements of suspense, conflict, even romance and mystery, are interwoven in the plot. The other layer, deeper and more archetypal, is that mystical journey of spiritual awakening. In visionary fiction, esoteric wisdom is embedded in the story so that the reader can actually experience it instead of merely learning about it. "When written well, visionary fiction does not proselytize, evangelize, coerce or feel dogmatic. Often relegated to the genre of fantasy, inspiration or spirituality, it contains elements of all three. But the story line is generally more concerned with the protagonist's internal experiences where nonlogical methods --such as visions, dreams, psychic phenomena, past-life remembrances, or forays into noncharted planes of existence-- are the unique catalysts for radical shifts in perception. Characters explore alternative dimensions, sometimes willingly and sometimes not. They break from our everyday conditioned reality to glimpse a mere enlightened doorway into unconventional perspectives." Then the writer gives examples, such as Celestine Prophecy by James Redfield, The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley, The Way of the Peaceful Warrior by Dan Millman and her own work, a trilogy, The Awakening, Rebirth of Atlantis, and The Keys to Remember, as she explains the concept further. I wanted to mention the article here because, from what I have been reading on the site, our WdC writers are already writing this type of fiction. Except, what they are writing has a name now.  |
Some days, I like being the devil’s advocate. This is one of those.  Writing teachers and critics advocate, “Less is more.” I, too, am guilty of that, most of the time. I have been wondering, however, if this advice is given for “How to get published for money.” I have also been wondering if getting published is the ultimate goal. I mean, and then what? There are already gazillions of unsold books in the market. Then of course there is the peer pressure and homogenizing influence of the prominent publishing media and those of us who serve it. Under all these influences, we are conditioned like Pavlov’s dogs to produce the predictable, accepted forms of work. When I say less is more, I always wonder what happened to the freedom of search, the freedom of a wandering mind. What if some stories are left open-ended? What if an incident is seen from many angles with each angle profusely explored? Wouldn’t we have the courage and will to read through long passages if those passages are written beautifully? But then, maybe not. We are now conditioned to instant satisfaction and fast action. It is difficult to turn back from the contemporary creative ideology. If a prolific author writing in the “less is more” mode produces volumes of work, wouldn’t he fall into the trap of using the same expressions, phrases, and modifications of words, book after book? I have seen this happen, not with every writer but with some, especially those with ardent followers and many books. For novice writers, it may be a viable thing to follow instruction until the craft is well honed, but if all writers write in the same way, where will the art of writing take us? Maybe we should let ourselves wander around a bit…just to see what happens. Possibly, we’ll really realize our individual potentials. Possibly, we’ll find a different way of looking at the world and our craft. So why not a slow-moving fiction that shape-shifts into a thought dump, just for the sake of play? In the meantime, I will still continue advocating the axioms tailored by the publishing industry. After all, we all have to live by them.  Then, there is one more fact: writing gives me a high. Because of this high, I feel the need to question everything. Anyhow, this chewing the cud happened because of my own reaction to an epic-sized historical novel I am reading at the moment. Inside my mind, I objected when the novel continued on after the death of the person who I felt was the primary character. Still, the novel is interesting and I am not about to give up on it. And…my own reaction surprised me. Afterwards, I thought of the writers of one or more centuries hence. They all went on and on, moralizing and philosophizing on any given subject, while they told their stories, even those authors who wrote for the stage with the “bare bones” creed. Because I am conditioned by today’s understanding, I find some of the ancients difficult to bear. Yet when I was fourteen, I had the guts and the will to read through Dante, and I enjoyed it. I also read the other lengthy, open-ended, or meandering classics with much more patience then, before I was conditioned. It doesn’t mean that I don’t approve of today’s teaching. Actually, I do and a lot. On the other hand, maybe it is a good idea to experiment a little bit. |
| A new friend asked me a few things about writing a story in general and reviewing in this site. So off the top of my head, here are a few impromptu answers. Easy to say: “Tell a story worth telling, and know your characters. Use concrete detail. Use active verbs. Avoid passive voice. Eliminate most adjectives and adverbs.” Are the above statements simplistic? Yes and no. No, because if one minds the above statements well enough, one will have a decent piece of writing. Yes, because there is more to writing; a lot more more. Frankly speaking, even if a writer stays within the limits of the statements above in block letters, those things are difficult to do, if unprepared, when she/he has the inclination to write anything. Some have to fight with the technicalities of the piece while others cannot find a story worth telling or characters they know well enough to act in their stories. So, even in the yes answer, a lot of preliminary work is needed. Like people watching, like keeping alert for stories floating around the neighborhood or in the news. Also, writers like me like to write what they want to write because they want writing to be an adventure of sorts. I like to write about places, things, and situations I know little or nothing about. True, some research goes into the melting pot in this case, but the enjoyment I get out of writing is priceless. Writing as a career, if a writer can turn it into writing what he likes to write, offers an incredible freedom. Real writers write all the time. They also read all the time. Best yet, they live all the time. They orbit around wars (Remember Hemingway in the Spanish war?), bullfights, celebrations, adventure treks, and best of all people. All kinds of people. True writers do not avoid action. They hang around in big cities, smallest villages, classical music concerts, heavy metal concerts, policemen, detectives, grandmothers, campers, business people…the list is endless. If a writer knows his world, his world will attend well to his ideas. As for reviews, if a writer critiques another writer’s work, it is important to remember to critique the piece and not the writer. In other words, the comments need to be directed to the piece, such as, The story is…; The poem is…The second line lacks rhythm or rhyme, etc. Plus, one should remember to talk about what is right in each piece, for even the most amateurish piece can have a winning point. And if one is being critiqued, taking the reviewer’s words with an open mind is a good idea, since everything can be improved. At the same time, a writer must not change anything if it doesn’t feel right to him. There are some distinct and some slight differences among peoples of the English speaking world. People from UK, India, Australia, Canada, US and even the different regions of US have different ways of using the language. The reviewer may not be aware of this. When he/she is suggesting a different word or phrase, he/she is using her own experience and education. The point need not be argued; just accepting or disregarding it is the way to go, so one may profit from the experience. If the reviewer asks why a piece is written in a certain way, the writer may explain his point if necessary, but rebutting may lead to unpleasant consequences, since a review is a personal opinion and not a debate for winning or losing. Have a wonderful time as you write! |
| Just discovered a classical music hub. http://www.dilettantemusic.com/ I am reluctant to join though, since the members seem to be quite accomplished. I am just an avid listener, after having flunked piano playing in a big way. It is a site I liked, as I found introduction of some fragments of music not yet in the flow. I think I'll just visit it a few times, for now. |
| When people do work with good intentions for a group, organization, or a place like city, state, or country, the least they deserve is a simple thanks. They do not deserve getting grilled or slandered. I respect President Obama for resisting the questioning of the ex-president, and I respect the two Bush presidents for staying quiet after they have left office. I think this is class for all three of them. Although I refrain from making political comments, this entry came because of the nasty questioning of the Fed Chairman by a group of sleazy congress members. The chairman might have made a wrong decision, but one decision, even if it turned out to be wrong--if made in good faith, does not implicate a person. And those who live in glass houses should never, ever throw stones. One thing is certain for me. Those who give well-meaning people a hard time unnecessarily and try slandering others for their personal gain will never get my vote. But then, in public service, ingrates abound. |
| Truth is I don’t like reality shows. I understand many people love them and I respect that; however, there is a cable channel that has a more real feeling to it, since it works under the guise of informing and educating the public about finance. Since hubby loves this channel, CNBC, it is always on in our home. I said hubby loves, but to say he is entertained by it is more likely. If I stop my goofing about the internet and ask him about something the people are saying, he usually has not heard them. In turn, he’ll ask me what they were yelling about. Hubby must be mesmerized by the verbal duels between the hosts and the guests. Hubby's fascination must be a guy thing, I think. As I write this, right now on TV, CNBC, Larry Kudlow show is going on. Sorry high-brow people, but I mean a show, real freaky-circus show, the kind you’ll pay money for, just to hear people and enjoy their fights rather than to understand them. I don’t know how today’s show will pan out, but on the average, hubby and I find we have to lower the sound on our TV. But then, Power Lunch reality show comes head-to-head with the Larry Kudlow show as far as screaming is concerned. While Larry Kudlow is a prejudiced-to-the-right host, Power Lunch has five people on it, two of them women. Those poor women! Since our societies are still sexist, the women have to fight hard to be heard or must play into the cultural norms dictated by the male crowd. In this show, one of the women sits straight like a totem pole and talks in an even voice, whereas the other rocks back and forth and from side to side, motioning with her hands, head, and body, as if dancing the flamenco. Yet, dancing is not enough for her to butt in and capture attention; so she screams at the top of her lungs whether she makes sense or not. Although we sometimes turn off the sound to enjoy the motions of women, one cryonic, the other doing the flamenco, the fights between the men can come down to hoots, roars, and whoops. Would they be given foils or epees, several of them would be pierced through, many times over. What a duel to witness! Now, as I write this, something’s going on in Larry Kudlow’s, someone’s saying “the president has a monkey on his back” in this “nanny state.” Such colorful language, but today it has been quiet so far, still. Even though Dennis (one of Larry’s regulars) is on "hypocrisy watch" and is yelling at the viewers. Sorry, Dennis and the gang, in our home, we had nothing to do with whatever is ailing you! |
| In a book I am reading, the writer observes the people around her and finds that most people believe those who are rigid in their belief systems to be strong. She says, “Inflexibility is not strength.” It occurred to me, since people mix certain attributes with the wrong ones, why shouldn’t the characters we create do the same? What other attributes are mixed with the wrong ones? So I started a list (still unfinished): • Inflexibility is not strength. • Self-interest (hidden or not) is neither generosity nor altruism. • Being truthful does not mean hurting another’s feelings. • Good management is not heartlessness. • Justice is neither revenge nor malice. • Tolerance is not the same as acceptance. • Happiness is not the same as pleasure. • Courage is not the same as rashness. • Hope is not the same as anticipation. • Being realistic is not the same as being a pessimist. • Appreciation of some does not mean putting down or neglecting others. • Just punishment is not public humiliation. • Smartness does not mean fraud. • Innocence is not walking in a fog. • Offering someone food is not the same as shoving the food inside his mouth by force. • A rumor is not a fact. • Logic is not a complete lack of emotion. More to come… |
| I am reading Azar Nafisi’s memoirs. Azar Nafisi, if you haven’t heard of her, is a professor at John Hopkins University. As an intellectual, she has written in the most prestigious forefront news media and is the author of Reading Lolita in Tehran. The title of her memoirs, Things I’ve Been Silent About attracted me to the book, only because it immediately provoked a writing prompt inside my mind. What a great title! It made me think. What am I silent about? What are you silent about? What is anyone silent about? What can the characters we create be silent about? Maybe we start with ourselves first, even if we keep our answers inside our computers under lock and key. Prompt: I am silent about …… Write ten times this sentence on every other line in a notebook or in a word file in your computer. Fill in the blanks. Be frank with yourself. Then, for each sentence, write a paragraph or as long as you wish . Reading a few pages more in the book, I came up with another writing prompt, because she said she found out that what was told her as family truths and what people generally acted as if they believed were fictions to save face for themselves or for each other. So , I thought, 1. What were the family fictions you grew up with? 2. What were the truths behind them, that is if you ever found out? So here is another prompt: One family fiction I grew up with is ….. Write the ten sentences and then elaborate on them. Ten sentences because I find writing ten sentences on a prompt and then picking them one by one or choosing from among them yields for more powerful in-depth writing. Another sentence that attracted my attention, “When the facts did not suit her, my mother would go to great lengths to refashion them altogether.” Gosh…I know so many people like that. Do I ever do that? See what a good writer makes you do. She makes you think about yourself and the people around you and gives you ideas about how to look deeper into things. And I just started reading the book. |
| Head over heels over crab cakes…that’s me. Not with the thrashed, smooshed meat of it though. I like it in lumps. Poor crab! Due to a stroke of luck, I found a crab cake recipe in last month’s AARP. Such a surprise! Not that AARP’s publication is my Bible, but hubby was throwing it in the recycle-bin, and out of respect for anything published, I skimmed through it. Woweee! A crab cake recipe and made with lumpy crab meat, too. But that wasn’t all. The recipe was sent by Cassandra King, one of my favorite authors who is also the wife of Pat Conroy, another favorite, with photos of them and the photo of the crab cake. I cut out the pages and I’m keeping them for eternity. Now, if I ever make those crab cakes, consuming them will consume me or maybe they will make me dream of eternal life. Cassandra King says she has other recipes in the AARP’s site. This turned AARP into a sacristy for me. Anything with authors in it, and I am jelly. Talking about crabs, at the Pacific coast, they eat a different type of crab from the Maryland crabs, the ones we have in the east. I heard, at the west coast in Mendocino, they have Crab and Wine festival. People catch the crabs alive and… Oh, never mind! I couldn’t eat a thing if I saw it alive in the first place. Second, I can’t even look at the accusing eyes of a fish when they bring a whole cooked one to the table, let alone catch a crab. As long as someone else does the dirty work for me, and the animal turns into a thing, then I am game. Ambrose Pierce said. “Hypocrisy: prejudice with a halo.” Not eating, catching, killing live animals: my prejudice plus hypocrisy with a halo. Oh well, what the heck! Temptation kills or sometimes eats. Besides, I know a fresh fish store in Jensen Beach, and they would have good lumpy crab meat. |
| Funny, how some words remind us of old TV shows! A while ago, hubby said, “Come look at the sunset.” The sun sets at the back of our house over the golf course, which is usually spectacular, albeit short-lived. All southern states’ sunsets have short lives compared to those up north, where lingering sunsets inspire the poets. I think it was the word sunset; however, my mind is tricky. I never know what will trigger what. “Do you remember that TV show with sunset way back when?” I asked. Then, we both talked about that show of the fifties and early sixties, 77 Sunset Strip, finally coming up with the show's name. First, Hubby remembered Kookie in the show as the early Fonz, the guy who snapped his fingers and uttered phrases like, “I’m piling on Z’s.” We both had to stir our brains to come up with the name of the actor who played the main character. Finally, after a few faulty guesses, I fished out Efrem Zimbalist Jr. as the private eye working in an office on 77 Sunset Boulevard in LA. Each episode was a heart-stopper suspense where mostly someone would want to do away with Stu Bailey (Efrem Zimbalist Jr.) and Stu would go after the would-be killers and the clues, as clues did the trick, and catch those unfortunates by the show’s end. Stu had a partner and a sexy French-speaking secretary. It is said that some other private eye shows that came much later were based on 77 Sunset Strip, but by then, extra channels and cable TV had sprung up, and I had lost my enthusiasm over detective agencies. Now the sunset is over and it is almost dark outside, the memory of 77 Sunset Strip is put on the shelf again together with the fashion of Martinis and sleek Thunderbirds. Memory is never simple. As they say, even a monkey will fall from a tree sometimes...especially when trying to recall old TV shows. |
| Several people have asked me when/if I’ll put in another entry. This just goes to show I am not a dedicated blogger, although I write everyday and a lot. The reason is more than my sloth. My impromptu real-life writing ends up becoming whiney and not wine-y. I can’t take whiney, especially from me. Wine-y would have been better. Since this is another entry just to prove to myself that I can at least visit the blog like a distant relative, get ready for whiney because I am having another DD day. DD = Domestic Disturbance Domestic= anything outside of me that has to do with the tangible nitty gritty of everyday life Today’s DD: I woke up early in the morning to the sounds of trucks and machines. Our neighborhood is a very quiet neighborhood. Although it is not an over-55 area, most of the neighbors are older than me, and I like acting the spring chicken after 60. The downside is my neighbors keep dying on me. In our very quiet street, Saturday mornings, I usually linger in bed and read or listen to books-on-tape or rather books on CDs. No such luxury today. I thought maybe someone is getting some work done on his house or in his yard. While I was doing my morning stretch exercises, hubby came in to warn me not to take a shower. It seems a water main had broken. They were repairing it and we had no water. To top it off, the water would not be safe 100%. Hubby said he woke up to someone banging on the front door at six o’clock in the morning. They told him not to drink the water for 48 hours and gave him a yellow paper. Although the paper says we can use the water but not drink it, I feel funny using it. By tomorrow it should be okay, although i am not too sure . So, a little while after they finished the work, I put plastic bag over my head and took some kind of a shower. No, I didn’t suffocate, and let’s hope my skin does not itch, swell, or break up. Luckily, our town takes care of such emergencies well, and they let the people know even by going from house to house. When we lived in Long Island, we had no such luck. So, I appreciate greatly what they are doing here, but today’s DD is still annoying. A little later, we went to the library. Saturday is our library day. It used to be Sunday, but due to the lack of funds, the library is closed Sundays. After the library we went to the supermarket to buy water. At least, we now have water to brush our teeth with. Come to think of it, a while ago I saw a few of our neighbors. They looked dazed and flustered. That look can come with aging, but theirs was with icing on top. One of them thought we were away for months and got lost in the steppes of some wild place, although she had talked to me a few days ago. She thinks we travel non-stop. We used to, but not anymore, at least not that much. I am guessing my neighbors, like me, don’t feel awake without a decent shower in the morning. |
| I always have difficulty to answer when someone asks me which books I have liked. I guess my first love was The Little Prince by Saint Exupery, even if I didn't understand the full meaning of it. I remember loving the drawing of the Little Prince standing on a circle, his asteroid/planet. As to childhood reading, I close my eyes and see their pages, still. The magazines and books given to me and those I read as soon as I learned how to read. Actually, I read most anything I could get my hands on, except for the two-volume children’s encyclopedia. Even that, I read at least 50% of it. Not bad for a kid whose main obsession was stories and poetry. Then, a magazine for children whose name escapes me, Children’s Weekly? or something like that, in which there was a story about a kid born under the carriage of an ox-cart. The story happened either in China or Japan and the kid’s name was Cha-Po-Ghi (sp.?). I still believe the story impressed my mother more than me. Then, a story about a brave boy scout, and of the slim Golden Books, The Little Train that Could, The Taxi that Hurried, and another one about a new baby in the family were my favorites. I loved Grimm’s and Andersen’s fairy tales in several volumes, too. I also liked a book inside which were stories about nature, written from the viewpoints of a tree, an ocean, and some animals. My mother, on the other hand, wanted me to like Comtesse de Segur’s works, which she had paid someone to translate them for me. Unfortunately, the stories were written for pedagogic ends, and I never saw the point in reading them from someone else’s handwriting, clearly printed though they might have been. Especially Sophie the girl who acted bad because she had the bad mother didn’t make any sense to me. I didn’t like the good children getting punished on account of their little transgressions and especially on account of what Sophie did. This entire thing with Comtesse de Segur books might have been the result of a culture shock that sometimes gets me when it comes to anything French (aside from Little Prince), although I do like the French people. Even their films sometimes feel like--for lack of a better phrase--much ado about nothing. The actors kill each other with words or silent treatment, carrying minimalism to the extremes. As I grew older, I dared to read heavy (!) literature. At fourteen, I read Dante and enjoyed it. Probably I didn’t understand all the implications and metaphors hiding in the story, but I did read the entire three volumes. Coming back to the French writers, even in my later years, they were still boring to me, whereas I was mesmerized by the Russians, Dostoyevski in particular; however, Georges Duhamel, Baudelaire, Verlaine, and Victor Hugo proved to be exceptions. I also liked the Arcene Lupin mysteries. Our lit teacher in high school adored Andre Gide and Mallarme. Unfortunately, she couldn’t convince me, even though I did read No Exit without liking it. Of the English writers, David Copperfield was my first Dickens. Others followed very quickly. When it came to the stories of American writers and the English, I couldn't get enough of them. I adored them all. I don’t know what made me recall all this; it could be the serene image of our school librarian that never leaves me. She pushed at me as many books as I could read, even if she didn’t have to. I had already been captured by the written word before I started school. When it comes to books, I could change the words in a song, an oldie, “One girl, one boy, one heart, one toy, memories are made of these” to ‘One girl, a book, to heart, she took. Memories are made of these.’ |
| The portrait found in Ireland, in the family collection of a gentleman, claimed to be a life-painting of the Bard, is now said it is not what it was. Hahaha! The portrait was painted in 1610 or around that time, of a 46 year-old man, the image now attributed to an aristocrat. Like it is a choice! Well, I’d rather Shakespeare not be an aristocrat, anyhow. I enjoy Shakespeare, and aristocrats give me the creeps. While stuffing ferrets down one’s trousers, as the fool in King Lear uttered, our present day haggling whether a portrait belongs to him or not would sound like the biggest joke to Shakespeare. I can just picture him in my mind’s eye, laughing doubled up at this--from the other side. And even funnier is a recent theater blog in which the writer asks if Shakespeare’s jokes can be made funnier, since from being outdated, they do not sound funny anymore. Just look here, fellas. There are funnier sounding things on this side of the ocean than any Shakespeare stuff or his dethroned portrait. We have AIG bonuses; since the renegotiation or confiscation of them is out of the question, they are now being discussed in the congress for passing a law against them, a law that taxes them 90%. I wonder what the Bard would say to that. Maybe something like: “It is no act of common passage, but a strain of rareness.” or “There’s a skirmish of wit between them. Much Ado about Nothing.” Concerning all this AIG fiasco, among others, maybe my giggling can “put a girdle around the earth in forty minutes.” After all, this is life’s uncertain voyage, and we have seen better days. |
| I like blogging and reading others’ blogs, even if I don’t comment very often. A blog can help a strategy by getting your message out if you have something to say and they create a personality profile by offering personal opinions. Blogs generate meaningful comments and at times significant information. Blogs can become an important part of life, as if forming annals for it. But wanna post something quicky, with no thought behind it, just to say hi and throw a word or two into the open? You have a way. You’ve got Twitter. Twitter’s tweeting doesn’t stay forever, because tweeting is fleeting. I have nothing against this tweeting, since I, too, smile or wave at people I don’t know, when I'm on the road or in places I am not much familiar with. My smiling and waving is fleeting, too, and sometimes, these fleeting interactions add up to happy split-seconds of living. What startles me about Twitter, or rather some users of it, is how they minimalize or depreciate the important moments in life. I am all for Twitter expanding its audience. After all, it makes for friendly exchange like the small talk between people in a supermarket. What annoys me, though, is when people holding serious offices twitter away during serious business; for example, elected officials during an inauguration. If our elected officials could keep blogs, I am sure they’d all get a lot more attention, and those of them that do enjoy the attention. Yet, when they twitter away during serious business, it makes me wonder why we elected those officials in the first place. |
| Not a day passes by when a new E-Reader does not hit the market. Yet, after all the energy Amazon.com spent on me, I am still not convinced I should get Kindle. Before I can finish looking at their ads that adorn my inbox, they keep coming up with the new versions of the thing. I think they have the third one, now. These people know how to roll the stuff off the factory lines. If only that could be the answer to our current economic crisis... On the other hand, no matter what they do, I have my priorities. First, I already spend a lot of time online, which I like, because in my steep age, like an oldie says, I’ve grown accustomed to WdC’s face, and I am not going to play with other toys. Also, I love books. I love curling up with them. I love the feel of them, the smell and the sound of them, the tiny sounds their paper pages make, and I am partial especially to the paperbacks that fit in my purse so snugly. They offer the same delight of looking at the faces of old friends, as their pages open one by one with languid grace. Books are easy to maintain, too. They don’t need electricity; neither do they make me wait until they recharge. They don’t cost an arm and a leg. I can stack them up or give them away when I am done with them. Just watch a bookstore going out of business. People flock to it to buy books at a reduced price. Should an E-Reader company go out of business, nobody would touch that thing-a-magic without any company-backing. It is possible, however for E-Readers to entice me after the text-to-speech thing really succeeds and if I can use them with ear-pods. Yet, chances are I’d still prefer the books that can be repaired easily with only a couple of inches of scotch-tape, instead of by an electronics technician. To be fair, nobody can ban the Kindle or another E-Reader. In contrast, books do get banned from school libraries by boneheaded administrators or are declared unfit by those green around the gills. On the plus side, I am too ‘grown-up!’ and too stubborn to be banned from anything, although my internist has been making attempts in that direction. Nothing against E-Readers. To be fair, I may even get one eventually if I can see the use in them, but only as long as they stay in the book business as enhancements and do not take the place of the real thing. |
| The first time I visited the Guggenheim Museum in New York City, even though I was much, much younger than today, my legs just about gave way, and only because my brain, my hypothetical control center, mixed up the directions. At the time, we were supposed to take the elevator to the top floor and walk down the spiraling walkway. Well, I walked up, wondering why everyone was coming down. I remembered all this when someone told me yesterday that the museum has an audible and visual art piece going on until some time in April. Mind you, I didn’t say on exhibit because exhibits are stationary, and this thing moves and jingles. This art work, as my friend described it, includes a stack of books, slashed, glued, and tied together in bundles that go on a pulley lifting Tibetan bells on to a carriage that carries them down the banisters on the spirals. Then the pulley gets to work again to lift the bells on to the carriage, and the whole cycle keeps repeating again and again. The carriage has some fancy silk top, and as it moves, the bells ring. Art is what one makes it to be, and all this bell-ringing news from the museum rang a bell. I remembered an artist friend who used to place odd articles on the couch, and considering diversity an excellence, declared her compilation ‘art.’ This “art of the moment” came to an end when she placed a large tureen full of soup on the seat cushions and some soup cans on the pillows, Andy Warhol inspired, sort of. Her cats, however, toppled the whole thing over when she went to answer the phone. Since the price of a new couch was too high for an artist who practically made no money, on account of living on art, my friend’s instant art came to a full stop. Later on, her artistic ambitions frustrated, she took a job in the post office and married a crazed co-worker. But then, that’s life, and you never know what hits you as it comes at you in varied versions and at random intervals, sometimes as shafts of sun in winter, other times as mishaps on the ski trail. And those mishaps can be fatal, which makes me remember Sonny Bono, and a few others that have been less than fatal, but those and what else I remember would be better left unsaid. |
| The first time I was a hall monitor, I felt lonely and scared. Scared of the bullies who’d threaten me if I noted their unwanted appearance in the corridors while the classes were in session. This was a very long time ago when all-girl private schools were still in the works. And yes, we did have bullies in all-girl schools, too. I was supposedly responsible and worked well when alone, and that was why the teachers dumped on me the monitoring assignment during the hours I didn't have class. In time, I grew into being a hallway monitor and even enjoyed it. After all, an empty hallway was the best place where no one saw your handwriting as you studied. Talking of handwriting, the greatest asset that made you teachers’ pet was well-executed cursive, then. I did execute good handwriting but by guillotine. Although my schoolwork in general was pretty good, my handwriting scored just a tad above mediocre. In hindsight, when I look at the handwriting of today’s scholars, I find my handwriting nuanced, interesting, and much more legible than the modernized cursive or rather the non-existence of it. It seems my hand-wringing about my handwriting has been for naught. All this came about because, this morning, I wrote a hand-written letter to someone and sent it in the snail mail. I feel so ancient! |
| http://reason.com/news/show/130843 I could think this is the writings of a nay-sayer, but the guy is a serious one and usually tells what he really believes in and what I have been afraid of in the back of my mind. Being the eternal optimist, I am hoping everything will fall into place and we'll clear off our misdeeds. On the other hand, if what he says comes true, I'm heading for the hills...that is if I can come up with the cash to head for the hills. But then on a totally unrelated issue, on the lighter, positive side, if this can be considered positive, Megan Garber writes in Columbia Journalism Review, about Twitter: "The Twitter of the Shrew. No, Seriously. Hey, did you hear that sound? That dull, rumbling-but-kinda-squeaky noise, echoing and mournful and punctuated with a gaping groan? If so, don’t worry too much…it’s probably just Shakespeare rolling in his grave." |
| May today and the rest of our lives be filled with love! This morning I read something that made me laugh. Scientists put love where it should be, not in the heart but in the brain. See for yourselves: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090211/ap_on_sc/sci_love_science Enjoy this day. |
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