Vindication

Did anyone else watch 60 Minutes last night? If you did you would have seen a piece on a man who has synesthesia-- a savant who can remember something like 23,000 numbers in a row. He is the only savant who does not have severe mental deficiencies in other areas, so neuroscientists are hoping to learn a lot from him. I'm going to look for the book he's written. Brain function is everywhere these days.

But what I really want to talk about is Andy Rooney's commentary on the State of the Union Address. His rant was very near and dear to my heart, because if there is one thing I cannot abide, it is mispronounced (easy) words, particularly by the leader of our nation. I've been going on and on about it much to my husband's chagrin. I was cheering with hands in the air to hear AR chastising Bush on national television. Here's a link. It's well worth the five minutes or so.

Andy Rooney

Burgeoning Talent

While I was looking for a binder, I ran across some old writing of mine-- very old, like the first short story I had ever written, called "Our Own Demons". Very dramatic, I tell you. The story moved between a stripper's daily life and flashbacks her boyfriend was having about Vietnam. While of course the war scenes were ridiculous and over the top, I found there were some touching moments and a few really great sentences. And my plot line was better than the stories I've been writing lately. Not bad for a person who had absolutely no idea what she was doing and purely working on instinct. I had sent this story into Glimmer Train, of all places (I don't even dare with my stories now), and they kindly wrote back suggesting I stick with writing what I know (apparently obvious I hadn't been to war or been a stripper), but that I should keep writing. This was over fifteen years ago. I read that story thinking, what if I had kept going at that point in my life instead of listening to the critics, the ones that told me I couldn't write, that I should stick to painting? Well, no sense wallowing in what might have been. I'm just happy that I finally decided I could do it. It was encouraging to see that even that long ago I did have a smidgen of talent. And I think you'll see what I mean from this poem that I will share with you, written by yours truly:
1
I jogged down-town
I saw a clown
He fell down
and made a frown
I felt sorry for that clown
2
I feel sick it
I can't lick it
I could kick it
If I flicked it
3
That makes no sense
but of course
nothing does
if you're dense

Friday, April 10, 1981

Pain in my leg

Well, as is typical in a relationship where you see someone every day, I have yet to pin down the husband in a discussion about evolution, so that will have to wait. The last few days have mainly been about logistics.

So, in a pinch, I’m going to talk about meditation. This morning I had great difficulty concentrating—nothing particularly new there, but today my focus was not pulled by random thoughts entering my head. Today I could not ignore my left leg that was asleep, increasingly asleep so that eventually I imagined that I was in a great deal of pain. Maybe I was. I shifted and rolled my spine, but I would not allow myself to fully change positions. That’s what I normally do: accommodate my body. This morning I fought that urge and oh was it hard. I thought that half hour would never end. Maybe the alarm wasn’t working? Maybe I would lose my leg to gangrene. Isn’t that what happens when there is extended circulation deficiency?

And, back to the breath. I ask myself what it is that I learned here. Well, certainly that you can recover from a leg that was asleep for a few minutes. But further, I think it is possible that we create so much drama around certain events that we lose sight of the big picture. That big picture is so elusive when pain is present, immediate pain, in our face pain. I can only hope that I will get better at staying with it. Maybe tomorrow.

Mixed Media

Around my house for the last couple of days the talk has been about the future, the role of the artist in it, and the overwhelming nature of an informational whirlwind. A friend of mine (a painter and jewelry maker) suggested that artists now struggle in a way that they never have, that everything is presented in a postmodern conglomeration and that there is no room for, nor any ability to develop an original art form. I argued that artists have always struggled with the concepts of meaning, identity and truth no matter what the age (existential angst is our thing) and will continue to do so in the unique way that our complex society demands (an aside- I was warned in a class on the Use of Metaphor last week that the word “society” was banned from the room, but I think it is an appropriate word to complete my thought [and I’m too lazy to find a synonym] so I’m using it).
My friend countered with the idea that there was a richness to life when people were forced to sit around a fire and discuss books, a richness that is often lost on today’s MTV multi-imaged, live-streaming, video-game playing generation. I did agree with that point, but disagreed that the life of the artist is hopeless or doomed. She then admitted she was a nihilist and had trouble believing in anything at all. I love my friends.

And next time on The Repeater:
My husband thinks that there’s no way that natural evolution can keep up with human invention so we’re eventually going to have to technologically enhance our bodies (silicone chip in the brain, etc.) Hmmm.

I wanted to upload a photo but of course blogger is giving me trouble

A long week of seminars and workshops. I want to tell you there are some smart people out there. They are witty and wise and are doing their best to cram information into this thick skull. I am hoping that just walking around in Cambridge is enough to soak my skin with some liquid intelligence. But while I was walled in my ecru tower it appears the global political scene exploded once again. What are we doing invading an embassy? Has the whole world gone mad? Are there no rules that our power-monger of a president will not break? He’s a spoiled child who wants his candy. He’s the angst-ridden teenager that didn’t get enough love from his father so he’s going to rob the liquor store just to show his family. Just to show them. (Oh, a distraction for a moment- some cuddly cuddly panda’s on the news. Are they the cutest?) I’m on the web trying to find out exactly what happened with all this and it’s darn near impossible. Now our military’s shameless behavior is buried in the news of some kidnapped boys being returned to their homes- fantastic in itself, but I feel so out of touch. What’s going on when there is snow in the Northwest and children are hanging themselves because of a publicized execution? I’m all muddled up and jumping from thought to thought. I’m hopping on a plane once again, gaining a couple of hours that I’m praying will give me the time I need to sort this all out.

Football Sunday

Am I an asshole for making fun of a quarterback? In the silent moments when my friends turned to look at me, all eyebrows furrowed, all mouths turned down, I wondered if I was. People are fiercely loyal to what they perceive as “their team” (fans use the term “we” loosely as if somehow the spectators are responsible for the plays, as if personal superstitions have anything at all to do with “their team” winning). I tried to explain to my sour company that the joke was not in any way directed at “their team”’s quarterback: I was making fun of football players in general. For some reason this did not placate my friends. I had apparently trampled on holy ground.

Let me just ask this question: does it not seem ridiculous that the media continues to interview players after the game? We all know what they are going to say: “Well, we just like to go out there and play the best we can. You know, team work is everything. I knew we would come through if we persevered.” Oh, strike that—persevered is a pretty big word for a football player.

Maybe I am an asshole.

Whole New Year

Oh, how very predictable of me: a new year, a new face on the blog. It's a softer Repeater, misty and clean. We'll see if it lasts. There are so many moments to discuss, so many adventures on the open sea to be shared, so many high-falutin' ideas to be contemplated. I'm overwhelmed. Where to begin? This week I'll be sorting it out and back with you before you know it.