So we went to Dr. Presto's Magic Mansion this week, at the Three of Clubs in L.A., and watched a fellow juggle a pancake, and, yes, were uproariously entertained by doing so. No wonder so many religious traditions insist on direct experience for their mystical elements. A very dear friend many years ago introduced me to the quote--"mystics are the ultimate empiricists." So true, so true....
I can *tell* you about seeing the pancake-juggler, but really, that is a separate experience from seeing him yourself. The beloved recently noted that someone was telling a good story, just not very well. (The story was good, the telling was not.) Now to give my dad his due, he is a raconteur of the first water. He told a story once of seeing a myna bird in a hotel lobby that was a miracle of hilarity and wonder. And really, it really was not anything more than that he saw a myna bird on a perch behind the front desk.
This difference between the story (uhm, how to say, "what actually happened?") and the telling of a story is a fascinating one to me. I suppose the wide world of journalism is based on that.... I hardly know how to continue recording my thoughts at this point....
Well, go watch a live performance. Chat up strangers, who are bound to tell you amazing stories, simply because you are a stranger. People walk around brimming over with such stories of love and crime and loss and suffering and joy as to leave me flummoxed by the knowledge of them. The pretty young lady with the deeply tragic air just cannot get over how Daddy could be so horrible as to not pay for the leather interior for her car--my God what will her friends think? The comfortable looking matron in the Lyra-enhanced pantsuit did things while she was in the Peace Corps that she can only tell to strangers late at night when far from home, in the hopes of someday being able to sleep again. The mud-bespecked workman with the manners of a prince, the fellow in the expensive suit whose stinging bitterness about how the bagger on the new mower works seems a little out of proportion....
You get the idea. So anyways, go see Scott Nery generate such drama with pancakes as you could not imagine could be done.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Ho w Can I Keep From Singing?
So last week in the gruelling heat, I go to the movies at our downtown theater. This is the ONLY way to see movies-- at a small local theater. It was Tuesday, so all day all shows cost only six dollars. I bought a ticket for "Public Enemies" but that hardly matters, because I was standing in the blessedly cool lobby, just so happy to be there. The kind young man behind the refreshment counter is happy and patient with me as we closely discuss the lack of Good N' Plenty. Raisinets are there, but really, isn't *that* almost a breaking of federal law, or a risk of U.N. sanctions, to *not* have them? He draws a Coca-Cola Cherry for me, as I had not seen it as a fountain drink in an age. I confide that I have a bag of licorice honey drops in my pocket. He assures me he won't tell. I tell him--"You are a very silly young man in a way that speaks well of your character."
In the theater before the movie starts, I discover I have sat one row up from a delightful local community theater person of my acquaintance. After "Public Enemies" in which I am careful not to rattle the little paper bag the honey drops were in, she and I chat, and she tells me helpful information to pass on to a mutual friend of ours.
Living amid such people as these...
In the theater before the movie starts, I discover I have sat one row up from a delightful local community theater person of my acquaintance. After "Public Enemies" in which I am careful not to rattle the little paper bag the honey drops were in, she and I chat, and she tells me helpful information to pass on to a mutual friend of ours.
Living amid such people as these...
Monday, July 27, 2009
What Is It About Cities?
So the beloved and I were downtown recently, noting parts of the landscape that he recognized from playing Grand Theft Auto San Andreas. This was a hoot--how our respective interactions with creative works informed how we met the built environment of Los Angeles.
What a marvelous thing is a city! It is among my favorite things humans have created. Having grown up in a suburb myself, where everyone was adamant about both their Christianity and their fear of Chicago, I found the talk about the City of God in Revelations pretty hilarious. When earth becomes Heaven, it will be in the guise of a "highly dangerous" human creation, dangerous by its very design? I don't think that street paved with gold and filled with the glory of the Lord(?) will be at all "mean." I do quite like the idea that Heaven--in being Heaven exactly--will still be somehow "dangerous." (And what would that mean at that point?) I also think something vast and subtle is being expressed poetically and theologically by this big bad decadent city of Los Angeles--Weirdass Storyteller to the World--having been named originally for the Mother of God, a mention of St Francis of Assisi and yes, obviously, the Angels.
(My Spanish and my memory are not good enough to call up the original name for L.A., but as I recall, it translates as something along the lines of "The City of Our Lady of the Angels of That Little Garden That St Francis Liked So Well." Consult a wiser head than mine.)
To you who are better poets and theologians than myself--tell me your thoughts on this.
What a marvelous thing is a city! It is among my favorite things humans have created. Having grown up in a suburb myself, where everyone was adamant about both their Christianity and their fear of Chicago, I found the talk about the City of God in Revelations pretty hilarious. When earth becomes Heaven, it will be in the guise of a "highly dangerous" human creation, dangerous by its very design? I don't think that street paved with gold and filled with the glory of the Lord(?) will be at all "mean." I do quite like the idea that Heaven--in being Heaven exactly--will still be somehow "dangerous." (And what would that mean at that point?) I also think something vast and subtle is being expressed poetically and theologically by this big bad decadent city of Los Angeles--Weirdass Storyteller to the World--having been named originally for the Mother of God, a mention of St Francis of Assisi and yes, obviously, the Angels.
(My Spanish and my memory are not good enough to call up the original name for L.A., but as I recall, it translates as something along the lines of "The City of Our Lady of the Angels of That Little Garden That St Francis Liked So Well." Consult a wiser head than mine.)
To you who are better poets and theologians than myself--tell me your thoughts on this.
Return to Lincoln Nebraska
I had not been back in many years. The whole location and the years I had spent there hung in my memory as though sealed in a glass ball. Everyone I had known had died or moved away. And yet the streets were full of beneficent ghosts as I walked along all the sidewalks that had been so familiar at one time. The things we remember without trying , that texture and shape of what life once was.
I suppose Lincoln was the first place I was an adult on my own. I arrived broken down and half mad with sorrow. And then I got better. The wind, the cold and the heat, the great enduring kindness and honor of the people, all those lengths of pavement I walked all over. I did not keep a car all the years I lived there. The houses back then usually had sapphire blue "tar paper" roofing that did my heart good to see. I first read Willa Cather and she seemed like a wise kind prairie woman, like the ones I've met, but who was saying things I needed to hear and could not yet understand. During this recent trip I bought used copies of her books and read them as I wandered about the city we both had known and it was like conversation across time.
Some of this may be an imaginative leap, some may just be the eternal glowing NOW in which we find all manner of stuff connecting. I don't know.
I suppose Lincoln was the first place I was an adult on my own. I arrived broken down and half mad with sorrow. And then I got better. The wind, the cold and the heat, the great enduring kindness and honor of the people, all those lengths of pavement I walked all over. I did not keep a car all the years I lived there. The houses back then usually had sapphire blue "tar paper" roofing that did my heart good to see. I first read Willa Cather and she seemed like a wise kind prairie woman, like the ones I've met, but who was saying things I needed to hear and could not yet understand. During this recent trip I bought used copies of her books and read them as I wandered about the city we both had known and it was like conversation across time.
Some of this may be an imaginative leap, some may just be the eternal glowing NOW in which we find all manner of stuff connecting. I don't know.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Aquarium of the Pacific
The beloved and I visited earlier this month, and you should go too if you can at all swing it. We stayed all day and looked at everything at least once, and actually enjoyed the children screaming with excitement. They screamed so honestly, it did my heart good to hear them, and usually I'm in the W.C.Fields camp about children. It was also merry fun to watch the creatures in the exhibits watch the humans. On a previous visit to the Aquarium, I watched an entire family of four hop around trying to encourage a cuttlefish to change color. The cuttlefish hung there, seemingly fascinated. I think another cuttlefish joined the first and watched too. When I finally turned away, I found myself nose to nose with a small shark who had been watching me.
There were sharks and jellyfish and sea dragons--leafy and spiny--and sea bass and otters and sea lions and sorts of everything else, but this trip I especially enjoyed the rays. At an exploration booth we were examining sharkskin, and various shark teeth (including a model of megalodon's hand sized tooth--I love those) and I was abruptly fascinated by the ray's lower jaw, its teeth arranged like a sample of tile for crushing and grinding. Later we watched the big ones eating with those flat teeth. The pattern of the ray's lower jaw teeth looked like something I remembered from a dream, and has stayed with me since.
The booth was run by a volunteer, who of course knew everything and found all of it intensely fascinating and was delighted to tell anyone about it. Man, I am here to tell you, you want to find out about something or need help in a strange place--if you can find someone who is volunteering there, you will be in the best hands possible. Remember this the next time you are stranded in an airport with troubles. Traveller's Aide folks will take care of you. So I'm chatting with this very cool woman, and she says,
"I'll tell you, the very best stress relief in the world is to spend a few minutes at the ray pool, petting the rays. They're just like puppy dogs of the sea. I stop by and visit, and I don't have any more troubles."
Well we discovered she was correct. At one pool, the bat rays in particular fairly hopped out of the water at my beloved in particular. The delight of the surprise, every time it happened, also did my heart good. In a different setting the bat rays would look like devilish creatures, but here they were utterly adorable. Puppies, water, but with no inconveniences of wet dog, yeah. Just coat the whole experience with chocolate and that would be perfect stress relief.
It must be really cool to be an Aquarium volunteer.
There were sharks and jellyfish and sea dragons--leafy and spiny--and sea bass and otters and sea lions and sorts of everything else, but this trip I especially enjoyed the rays. At an exploration booth we were examining sharkskin, and various shark teeth (including a model of megalodon's hand sized tooth--I love those) and I was abruptly fascinated by the ray's lower jaw, its teeth arranged like a sample of tile for crushing and grinding. Later we watched the big ones eating with those flat teeth. The pattern of the ray's lower jaw teeth looked like something I remembered from a dream, and has stayed with me since.
The booth was run by a volunteer, who of course knew everything and found all of it intensely fascinating and was delighted to tell anyone about it. Man, I am here to tell you, you want to find out about something or need help in a strange place--if you can find someone who is volunteering there, you will be in the best hands possible. Remember this the next time you are stranded in an airport with troubles. Traveller's Aide folks will take care of you. So I'm chatting with this very cool woman, and she says,
"I'll tell you, the very best stress relief in the world is to spend a few minutes at the ray pool, petting the rays. They're just like puppy dogs of the sea. I stop by and visit, and I don't have any more troubles."
Well we discovered she was correct. At one pool, the bat rays in particular fairly hopped out of the water at my beloved in particular. The delight of the surprise, every time it happened, also did my heart good. In a different setting the bat rays would look like devilish creatures, but here they were utterly adorable. Puppies, water, but with no inconveniences of wet dog, yeah. Just coat the whole experience with chocolate and that would be perfect stress relief.
It must be really cool to be an Aquarium volunteer.
Live Performance
So last month the beloved and I went to the show at the club I have written of previously, and were uproariously entertained. Okay, this is why just about any live performance is worth turning out for, over seeing things on television--it is a real thing happening to you when you are there, and plenty of things are much more entertaining when you see them live. I was utterly thrilled to watch a very skilled gentleman balance a wheelbarrow on his chin. See that on television--okay it is kinda kooky. It is much easier to be present in your own life if you go look at actual things.
I understand--everyone is tired and stressed and overwrought by just getting from one end of the day to the other. But even the effort involved in getting out to a real entertainment is part of being present in one's own life. Television watching can be fun, but sometimes at least, doing so takes as much as it gives. Or more.
I understand--everyone is tired and stressed and overwrought by just getting from one end of the day to the other. But even the effort involved in getting out to a real entertainment is part of being present in one's own life. Television watching can be fun, but sometimes at least, doing so takes as much as it gives. Or more.
Wonderful Candy
While in Lincoln Nebraska recently, I visited Licorice International. It is a whole huge shop devoted to licorice, with product from fourteen different countries. I discovered within myself a slavish devotion to Walker's licorice toffees while there. I strongly urge you to visit the shop if you have a chance, or check out their website,
www.licoriceinternational.com
www.licoriceinternational.com
Monday, July 20, 2009
The Jewellery District
It is down Broadway, I think maybe from 5th to 10th, I'm not quite sure. But I was down there, wandering as I do, inspired in part by a reprint of an old whitebordered "linen" postcard, showing a color view of Broadway, looking south from 8th Street. It looks different now, but not so much as one might think.
The stores on the street itself are usually small, and display great fistfuls of neck chains, of all descriptions, hanging against the shop windows. I stopped in one business little wider than my arm span to buy a silver watch chain for my pocket watch. The gentleman had more than a few, all mounted on yellowing slips of cardboard, printed in blue with descriptions of the item so fastened. Amidst the detritus of relentlessly forgettable factory-stamped bagatelles was a single cuff bracelet. Tarnished silver, almost long enough to serve as armour, and showing the subtle signs of age and having been crafted for purposes not involving Westerners. I asked about it, the gentleman was evasive, I let the matter drop.
That was the only interesting item I saw in the Jewellery District as I went up the street. I was alittle surprised at just how disappointed I was by what I saw. Everything I saw in the windows was utterly ordinary stuff. Really, really, ordinary factory product. One window after another. A few strands of ill-nacred-pearls did not help. Later I wondered if the whole area really is like that. I'm hoping that I just did not know something essential about the place. I'm not expecting it to live up to the stories people tell of visiting the Tuscon Gem Show, but I am wanting it to be more than this.
I had to skip stopping in at Clifton's Cafeteria to eavesdrop in order to catch my train home.
The stores on the street itself are usually small, and display great fistfuls of neck chains, of all descriptions, hanging against the shop windows. I stopped in one business little wider than my arm span to buy a silver watch chain for my pocket watch. The gentleman had more than a few, all mounted on yellowing slips of cardboard, printed in blue with descriptions of the item so fastened. Amidst the detritus of relentlessly forgettable factory-stamped bagatelles was a single cuff bracelet. Tarnished silver, almost long enough to serve as armour, and showing the subtle signs of age and having been crafted for purposes not involving Westerners. I asked about it, the gentleman was evasive, I let the matter drop.
That was the only interesting item I saw in the Jewellery District as I went up the street. I was alittle surprised at just how disappointed I was by what I saw. Everything I saw in the windows was utterly ordinary stuff. Really, really, ordinary factory product. One window after another. A few strands of ill-nacred-pearls did not help. Later I wondered if the whole area really is like that. I'm hoping that I just did not know something essential about the place. I'm not expecting it to live up to the stories people tell of visiting the Tuscon Gem Show, but I am wanting it to be more than this.
I had to skip stopping in at Clifton's Cafeteria to eavesdrop in order to catch my train home.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Hi, I'm Austen, and I'm a cityhuffer
'Just returned from Nebraska, where I reacquainted myself with Lincoln. Wonderful town. I wandered about the downtown area with Willa Cather short stories in my backpack and drank coffee and had exalted and delirious thoughts about it all. Yup, I love me a city, some bookstores, and coffee....
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