Friday, October 04, 2002

UPDATE:I'm not using MT anymore. It's all about wordpress, baby. No more redirect in this theme either. You'll have to click the link below.

I've done it. I've moved to Movable type.

My new blog is over at You'll be redirected there in about a minute.

Sayonara blogger. You were good to me... sometimes.

UPDATE: I've dissabled comments from here... go to the new site to leave comments. :)

Thursday, October 03, 2002

"The life of every man is a diary, in which he means to write one story, and writes another."
--Bess Streeter Aldrich (Cheers For Miss Bishop (movie based on the novel Miss Bishop))

This quote reminded me of Tiny's dreams and rainbows post, which I always wanted to respond to, but never did because I felt I'd just be another person saying "me too".

Well, now I wouldn't say "me too", I'd post that quote, proving that Tiny is actually the one saying "me too", only he's said it longer and better. And really, this quote (from a movie, based on a book!) probably isn't even the first time anyone has said something like this. people say things like this all the time, and it's like there's this giant "me too" chorus of people, around the world, holding hands, singing it, screaming it, living it, yes living "ME TOO!!!" from the tops of mountains that aren't high enough and at the bottoms of oceans that are really just small lakes and ponds... ponds that dry up, evaporate into cloud layers (like the one outside--clouds with imperceptible silver linings) and then rain down, in the midst of thunder and lightening, rain down on the rooftops of sleeping dreamers, and rain down occasionally in the sunlight forming rainbows out of the wrong story.

but the wrong story is the one you're living, and you better read it, baby. you'd better read it.

Monday, September 30, 2002

This past weekend will live in my puny brain as memorable for many reasons. I am not going to go into those reasons, other than to say that there was some nudity involved, a hot tub, and much drunken kissing.

Today is one of those hot and windy fall days. The kind that screams that fall is fast approaching, but does not (yet) blow leaves across the streets and sidewalks.

I just want to sit on a concrete slab downtown, and people watch.
I feel diffuse and exuberant.
Tonight we are juggling fire.

Friday, September 27, 2002

My eyelid is swoolen. I think I might have some kind of strep. I'm going to the doctor this afternoon.

The movable type conversion isn't happening as fast or easy as I'd like. Maybe after I get back from the doctor I'll work on it some more. On the other hand, I have a character here that is almost to level 10!

Thursday, September 26, 2002

I'm trying to import into mt.
Just had a 2 minute "team meeting" to announce the firing of a co-worker. (His last day was yesterday.) He's not dead, but I'll mourn his passing anyway. Nice start to this particuarly rainy and misserable day.

On the plus side, he "willed" me his java books and Pessimism poster!

He's in a better place, believe me.

Tuesday, September 24, 2002

While I'm talking about juggling, let me say that it's a mixed bag. Like anything you do, you're good at it sometimes, and other times you just suck.

Tonight I was ok. Sunday, I was terrible.

Sunday afternoon, I went to see cirque again. 2 for 1 tickets courtesy of dan, who worked as an usher. Awesome, awesome, awesome. Made me want to do something, anything, for cirque du soleil. I would run lights, sound, backstage makeup, clean the theater, or be a fucking usher... just made me want to be a part of it.

But then we bustled out to fest right after, brought along my friend Kristin to watch me play volley club. I sucked. No, to say I sucked is an understatement. To do badly, you have to at least DO. I just didn't. I basically just stood there and dropped the club whenever it came to me.

It's like a performance, volley club. And I choked, big time.

Anyway, tonight was practice. Monday nights at the neverthriving.

I played some good combat, and flashed six balls a few more times. I don't really know why I care, but suddenly I really want to be able to do six balls. It's just that one tiny step more impressive than five, and all of a sudden--for the first time--it seems remotely possible... remotely.

So yeah, performance sucks. But I would give my left leg to be a part of cirque du soleil. Go figure.

Friday, September 20, 2002

I don't really like performing. I have to pipe up and quickly note that, while I unerstand what Buddah and MJ are saying (over on Meghan's blog,) generally for me the rush you get performing doesn't outweigh--in importance--the feeling of dread. (and yes, I'm too lazy to find the deep may have to search through her archives if you're seeing this later than, say, next week.)

And then there is a second feeling of dread if I receive no feedback after the performance. With good feedback, I feel better--bad feedback, it's like a relief that at least I know I was right--I did suck! But no feedback, and I sit there the rest of the night, thinking... did I suck? Sometimes it's so bad I can't even think about the performers still up on stage. (we're talking open mics here... when I used to perform an actual act--yes, juggling--that was different, because I felt a sort of "Whew! Glad that's over!" after every show.)

I agree with the sentiment that the "true artist" is never satisfied with their work. And given the chance, a good poet would keep revising their work forever. (Lets not get into the beat movement, or my favorite poet, Frank O'Hara.) Point is, taking the stage to read something (or sing something) that you've written is like saying "this is done"--or at least done enough to perform. It's a bit like publishing something, I guess. Stage publishing.

When do you let go? when is something "done enough" to perform, or whatever... I don't know...

This isn't even making sense to me. I'm going to go play unicycle hockey now. Yes really, unicycle hockey.