Debate 10.09.16

Notes on the staging:

Terrible mix of people on stage, terrible lack of diversity not enough brown-- too much Ohio. Painfully white.

Tall bar chair really awkward 

She doesn't stop when they tell her the time is up

Hillary gets a little too intense about talking directly at you

She should NOT respond to stupid jabs he makes, she should treat them as beneath her

The Donald continues to sniff

He is speaking directly to his base-- sticking to his schitck.. They will truly believe he won, because they believe all his garbage. 

He's kept his composure much better than expected. 

Divorce time.

Sarah Vowel says that our country has always been this contentious, this divisive. We are locked in such an ugly tug of war. Both sides think the other is ruining everything and destroying everything they believe in, everything that makes this country great. Makes me wonder how it would be now if the south had won. If all those nasty racists just made their own rules for their own little government. All the rigid white Christians with their twisted ideas of what god wants can live together in harmony. They can find new things to fight about amongst themselves. And leave us alone to get on with taking care of our people and growing a healthy economy.

How would it be? From over here on the far left, the extremists---ahem ---conservatives on the right can generally agree on a majority of issues. For liberals it's all so much more complicated. Conservatives begin from the premise that everyone should follow the same rules, think alike, behave alike. A combination of the original hard puritanical .....

I began this post last July. Over a year ago.

Recent events have confirmed the value of revisiting my original idea.  Consider the advantages of splitting the United States.  We hate each other. Really truly hate everything the other side stands for. So why not just let them have their own damn country.  We've tried compromising and trying to get along for over 200 years now. So we've given it a fair shot. But this constant battle between our values and their values just leaves all of us feeling frustrated and unhappy at best, enraged and dangerous at worst. We've denied ourselves the pursuit of happiness. 

Now that the other side has quit pretending to be nice, maybe we could just shake hands and go our separate ways. Think of it. All the white people who only want to share with other white people can have their own sandbox. They resent us trying to make them share. How else could we have gotten to 2016 trying to get along with people who hate us. How else could we allow a world where black parents fear for their children's lives everyday.   It seems infinitely preferable--and safer-- to let them have their own space to live by whatever rules they want. Let them have their own country with as many assault weapons as they want. Let them keep making the poor poorer and the rich richer. Let them have the country they want. With their "boys only" and "girls only" and their whites only and Christians only, heterosexuals only and their patriarchy. 

We could all be so much happier apart. Here in blue land everyone is paid a living wage. Health care is distributed  without the insurance companies' interference. People could have good jobs maintaining all the bridges and roads that are currently crumbling. Our movies and tv shows could have people of every color and gender doing mundane and extraordinary things. Our schools could be the best in the world. We could lead the way in reducing our carbon footprint globally. We could focus our industry on environmentally  beneficial products.  We could have thriving factory towns where enough solar panels are made sell to the rest of the world. We could eliminate the prison industry that gets rich on our tax dollars. 

I have to stop for now.

Ladies and Gentlemen .... meet the Plum Bobs!!

Here's Lucy our lead singer--sim city's own teen idol! Lucy is our Simtown's first baby. first daughter to loving parents Michael and Bruce, who sadly are no longer with us. Lucy's childhood best friend /soulmate is Felix Holmes, son of Simtown's Mayor Sam Holmes and lovely wife Jane, a former fashion designer currently training for a Olympic diving medal. (Or a platinum orb!)

Lucy and Felix have been jamming together since they were age appropriate for an instrument and while Lucy started on keyboard and diligently learned to play drums, bass, and guitar, Felix has always pounded the skins.

Next up is Felix's younger brother Max, who brings his own kind of intensity to lead guitar. Lucy's cousin Eli comes in on bass guitar. ( his dads are Simon and Terrance. Simon is Michael's younger brother) 

 Mayor Sam's brother Leo's daughter and son round out the band with the lovely Camilla on keyboards and Phillip "Pip" Sawitus on rhythm guitar.

(Michael was a dedicated firefighter who lived too well and died too young. He was passionate about baking and collecting antiques. Bruce   , a retired astrophysicist enjoyed his healthly retirement years birdwatching, playing chess and rabidly collecting Mr. Whatchamacallit vintage action figures.)

The forty-ninth minute of the forty-ninth year

Counting down. The final minutes of this last day. The end of the first half century of my life. Fifty fucking years. 

It is a staggering number. Thirty and forty are major milestones to be sure. I bore those gracefully. But fifty is different. It's half of one hundred. It just feels like the ultimate dividing line of my life. The watershed. The year 1ad. 

Tonight I go to sleep feeling unusually content. This last day started off rocky. Sam difficult. Everyone cranky. But we made it to MoMA, and despite suffocating crowds we --Leo and I--managed to pay our respects to some venerable old friends. Annoyed with myself for having to look at the tags to jog my memory. But never mind. Leo took a ton of photos. My old friends will be his next. I get a huge thrill out if his delight when he spots a painting we have a print of at the monkey house.  (Incidentally, the more conceptual and HUGE the art gets, the thinner the crowds get.)

So then we split up and the boys went north for a dollar slice and the planetarium. I went south to my kasha knish mecca on 46th, then down to Greenwich and 6th. A perfect intersection. And then all the pieces fell into place. Popped in to see my guys at Hector shoe repair, left with my Blunnies gleaming. Across to Bigelow Chemists --seemingly the only place to buy my favorite lip balm.  Decided right then to acquire a haircut within the hour. Asked the woman who waited on me at Bigelow. She said sure, next block. Walked in and was brought to the chair of a delightful woman from Ukraine. I knew instinctively that she knew exactly what to do. She did indeed. I had so much confidence in her that I didn't even check the back before I left. 

From there I waked up 6th and found an AT&T store to get a little more juice for my dying phone. Then kept going to 19th to get my MUJI on. Perfect tiny travel bottles for face and hair goop. Happy. Walk down to container store and maintained complete self-control in the face of overwhelming odds. Stayed focused. Got what I came for. 

Next a bit of confusion as my battery began to die again and I was unable to contact Drew. Turns out his phone had already died. Decided it was getting to late to head east to Dok Suni for dinner as planned. So I hopped in a cab with my box if hangers and headed back up to 6 Columbus, our sweet little hotel where they take such good care of us. 

I should explain here that all further desires for the evening were more than ably met within a space of less than a quarter of a block. About 3 doors up is Sushi Doma, which nearly blew my mind.  Everything just that much better than the usual. Sam scarfed edamame. Leo had his pickled ginger fix with a salmon and avocado roll. Drew had an enormous plate of sashimi and an equally large sake to match. I had perfectly light, perfectly crispy gyoza followed by enlightenment. Arugula and avocado wrapped in meltingly fresh slices of tuna, lightly accented with swirls of spicy mayo. 

Good enough yes? Yes, but nowhere near done. Two doors over is Pinkberry. They have a special. Warm gooey apples topped with crumbley stuff, on top of that goes the original flavor frozen yogurt, then drizzled with caramel. Apple crisp is my number one favorite dessert, caramel sauce could only make it better. How did I not think of this?

The boys were all crashing hard, but the air had a delightful breeze, so they went up and I went around Columbus Circle. Then I had the brilliant idea to head back to the little nail place next to Pinkberry. They were closing, but still let me have a most excellent chair massage. 10 minutes for $13. I paid $20 and got a good deal.  It was the longest, and best ten minutes of the entire day. 

And after that, once more back across the street to the labyrinthine insanity that is whole foods. But I got my Switchel. A delicious new ginger beverage. My new obsession. Ahhhhh. 

Wishful Indulgence

I am on my way to pick up a mystery gift. I am fantasizing about what it might be.

The mother I haven't seen or spoken to in 12 years has canceled her trip planned for next week. I was so accommodating that I agreed to have lunch with her on Wednesday -- 9/11. But this morning her husband sent an email informing Zoe and me that the trip has been canceled. My mother is currently having a short stay in the hospital due to a mini stroke. More likely than not she's just had a panic attack and chickened out. Or she wigged out enough to give herself a trip to the hospital.

Possibly I seem unsympathetic, callous even. But I'm allowed to.

Now I will tell my children that the grandmother they've never met is not coming. I will tell them she got sick. I will not tell them I think she just flaked out.

I have never told them anything about her other than a vague indication that she did not take very good care of me. I have not spoken of her in way that would cause them to feel anything but open to her. I have barely spoken of her at all. When asked one can tell a child that a person they've never met is "gone". They will not press for details.

So I have never told Sam and Leo anything to justify her paranoia and anxiety. But of course she doesn't know that. And she's too paranoid to believe me even if she asked.

So today Zoë and I are bidden to collect the gifts she sent in advance of her arrival.

Right now I am indulging myself in the giddy feeling that something wonderful will be in that box. Not a dish towel, or an ugly tchotchke, or something in a frame that says god on it.

The email from her latest husband--either number 4, or 5 I think--indicated a small, square box. So I am dreaming--wishing with all my heart--that I will open it to find a card from Thos. Moser telling me something beautiful has been ordered especially for me. I am giddy, my insides are tingling and all my muscles are in that peculiar state of being both being ready to spring and ready to swoon.

Here sits a jungle cat, a panther poised in the instant before pouncing on its prey. Simultaneously I am locked in that precise moment when I am not touching my soon to be lover. When we are as close as two can possibly be, when the frisson blinds you both and the promise of what's to come--the bliss of joining, of melting together is an unstoppable force.

So for now it's something made of cherry, something made with love, alive and beautiful. Right now the contents of that box is the deepest, most profound way of saying something to much for words. This gift says take this thing of beauty, take it to your heart and embrace it as I embrace you. Be with it in your nest everyday, use it and love it and know that it's permanence is your steady reminder of my love for you. With this gift know that my love for you is always there. Even when I am not.

It will probably be a dish towel. With a lobster on it.

And the Winner is.....

Here at the monkey house, there is, on this Sunday morning, at the end of a particularly rainy July, on our beloved Maine coast, in the midst of our lushly overgrown--neglected--garden, there is a contest of sloth. Three of the four players have taken their dedication so far as to be unaware, even at this time, that they are in fact engaged in said contest. Such is their art!

Player number one remains deliciously tangled in luxurious comfort. After the previous night of bandit stalking, stepping even a toe out before noon would be a scandal.

Players two and three are the undisputed top scorers. Find the equally bathed in comfort as they lie in front of the screen surrounded by fluffy pillows and comforters. Plenty of crumbs are at their fingertips and they boast full possession of a working remote control device.

Their entertainment options are even more plentiful than the crumbs. An infinite number of devotees have made available to an unknowable number of fans films in which they provide full narration to various Minecraft activities they have previously performed. Or perhaps just something someone else has performed. For all I know they are all just continuously commenting on previous commentary.

In my innocence I thought the least doing of a thing was watching some kid describe his collection of Pokemon cards, although the opening of a brand new pack could potentially be over-stimulating. But I am now prepared to admit that the voice overs that accompany these mini Minecraft tours do have significantly less monotone, in some cases even dialogue between characters. Which leads me to consider accepting the watching of pre-recorded actual virtual mining and building, with all the accompanying foul language of the actual virtual thing being done not in real time is indeed evidence of more being done by doing less. Much less done, much more watching of less being done being talked about being done previously and in the future, that is to say both actual virtual future and virtual actual future re-telling.

To hold such a high rank in a sport whose very definition is the essence of an absolute lack of ambition shows a mastery which must be honored. By mastering their position while maintaining complete ignorance of their exalted status shows how much they who know nothing can truly know. The subtlety by which they maintain their superior ranking marks a profound gift for feigning the ignorance of ignorance. Forgive my immodesty, but my children posses spectacular brilliance.

As for player number four, the glory days of my youth are past. But I must take my defeat gracefully, as exerting any effort would betray what a true loser I have become.

The Grey of It All

Today a friend asked me why I like black and white so much. To my surprise I did not have a ready answer. I can't remember not loving black and white. My response to this particular combinationhas been so ingrained in me that haven't really thought about it. Except that I have. But the aesthetic came first. In film, photography, fashion, graphic and interior design, dishes—the black and white is what grabs me and holds me every time. (Speaking of aesthetics please excuse these truly dreadful photos. I couldn't really see the blotchy shadows while editing on my phone. And if I spend a bunch of time making beautiful photos I will avoid writing all together.)

I have always loved collage, although I've never liked any of mine. Knowing when to stop is key. It is highly likely that my passion for Legos runs deeper than the monkeys'. I could happily sit all day making collages with black, white and grey flats. And there is more than one shade of grey. What could be better?

I grew up watching old black and white movies on TV. Most people had b&w televisions when I was little. Color TVs were the big new thing. Walter Cronkite was b&w. The Dick Van Dyke Show was b&w. They were my surrogate family. Dear old Rose Marie. She was still in b&w for me when she held the center square for so long.

When I studied film noir in the '80s b&w really came alive for me. High contrast drama. Prior to that I'd begun shooting b&w photos. But they all looked like crap. I could never get enough light. In college I took photography and was able to realize my dream of the Nude Musicians shoot. Oh they were lovely. My friend Lorelei looked so good with her cello. The compositions were so enticing, but the shoot was ultimately a failure because I had no idea how to light flesh. Or anything really.

At one time I lost a friendship because of black and white. He said, "You either support the revolution or you don't. There is nothing in between and if you don't support the revolution you are on their side." I said but both of those choices are yours, you have decided on two options, and there are no others. I asked why he got to frame the debate only on his terms. He could not see the difficulty of only acknowledging one extreme or another. I saw how limiting black and white could be. My friend could not see grey. No grey at all. If I was grey I ceased to exist. Grey is the rational mind, the moderate thinker who weighs each position carefully and knows the best solution takes something from each side. Compromise. Sanity cannot exist without it. Absolutes can be so dangerous, so heavy.

There was a phase of trying to dye all my clothes black. I know how to get a good black now, but back then everything came out grey. I wanted black, but philosophically grey suited me perfectly. It's true I always wear black, but I do not like absolute black. Only a theater tech needs absolute black.

I have what some might consider a very dull wardrobe. Black jeans, black tee shirts. But I adore the simplicity and consistency of it. And no two are alike. I love subtle variations, heathers and textures. I hate brand new black black jeans. They are too black. They need counterpoint of an old scruffy black tee shirt.

I made a huge concession a few years ago. Because being a parent requires spending much more time out in the sun than I was previously accustomed to. I am not insane enough to wear all black on a gorgeous, sunny summer day. So I shocked myself and everyone who knew me by adding white. Specifically white linen. so that's it. White linen in the summer, black cashmere in the winter. Simple, easy, understated.

Black suits me perfectly. And if you know me, you know that my personality is quite loud enough. My clothes don't have to be.