Wednesday, September 30, 2009
People. All the people in my life and the ways—littlest to most profound, and how often I don’t know which is which—that we touch each other’s lives. All the ways we are connected.
If I accomplish nothing else in 2009, let me just remember that.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Aiyaaaaaaa! I miss halau. Dave, Surfrunner, our friend Joanna, and I danced with them in the fall of 2006, but then for separate but weirdly near-simultaneous reasons (mostly moving away from SF), we all had to quit. I miss that halau, those people, and Kumu and the aunties and uncles.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Hands down my favorite quote from Phillip Graham's response to my first packet:
“Ok, now, you say here that you don’t know how to write a short story, or how to write at all. Well, neither do I. And thank god for that. If I thought I knew how to write a short story or a novel or a dispatch or a memoir … I would be heading towards typing territory more than writing territory. I think you have to not know what you’re doing. Every single story I’ve ever written has been a leap into the unknown, carving stuff out of the air of my imagination, shaping it and forming it. Always different, with no end in sight that I necessarily could predict. I hope never to become considered a master of anything … ‘a master of the form,’ you see these kinds of things in book reviews, and I would rather be the eternal apprentice, apprenticing myself to the exterior world and to my own imagination. Always trying out something I never tried before, always learning, always stumbling, always failing, sometimes triumphing. I think there’s a better way to go about the process of any kind of art. So, it’s okay. I hope you never learn how to write a short story. You’ll be all the better for it."
Saturday, September 5, 2009
With respect and apologies to my hubby, this video is pure eyecandy. YUM.
I was ready for the Fall. The temperatures dipping, the breezes, the leaves, all of it.
Damn this summer weather. It has sent me cowering back into the only room with air-conditioning all day.
Please note the sorry makeshift home office: a tv dinner tray with computer plugged into wall adapter on top of dresser heaped with clothing, all the accoutrements of creativity (files, notebooks, pens, crayons [don't judge]) strewn on the unmade bed.
"There are three theories of humor. The Superiority Theory--that you laugh when you realize that you're better than someone else. Then there's Freud's Release Theory, which says that jokes are about ventilating forbidden impulses . . . All of the psychic energy you used to repress them gets released . . . in chest-heaving, spasmodic laughter. Then there's the one that makes the most sense to me, the Incongruity Theory, that jokes are about the pure intellectual pleasure we take in yanking together things that seem utterly dissimilar and perceiving similarities. . . . That's the highest form of humor. As jokes get funnier, they rely more on incongruity and less on hostility and superiority or on sex and naughtiness."