It's Only Personal

I've been toying with the idea of starting a podcast. I did attempt this a couple of times a few years ago with "First Take Fridays" which was just spoken word but that didn't really take off did it?

No, I'm thinking about doing something a bit more personal, a bit more loose, a bit more raw. But this time I have to create a structured format beforehand. I want to interview people. I want to rant. I want to talk. There's plenty to talk about. But I have fears. I don't really have a desire to reveal myself or anyone else. But I can't be half assed either. If I'm going to be honest, I have to be honest all the way right?

Still, I think code names will probably be needed. LOL!

And a judgement buzzer. Because I judge. Even when I try not to, I do. so I need a judgement buzzer and a count of judgement buzzes just so I can judge my own judgmental tendencies and those of others.

I'm toying with the idea of  having a segment called "A moment of ignorance" in which I or any guest can feel safe in making totally and utterly ignorant speculations and observations about anything before bringing it back to the purpose of enlightenment and education. The terrible thing about ignorance is not it's existence but the systemic intent to pervasively communicate that's it's okay to remain ignorant. Everyone is in the dark about something, but you have to know you are before you can come out into the light. So let's have  moment of ignorance and then turn on the light. 

Don't you just love it already?

I have a lot of crap to get off my chest that's not always easy to tap away on a keyboard about. Most people have a constant internal dialogue running amok in their brains. I need to externalize mine before I explode. So this would also be cheap  therapy for me. Oooohh! I just like this idea more and more.

All I need is two mics.

LoFi Salad

LoFi Salad
Originally uploaded by Mine is clouds...

This is a very simple salad I've been making the last few days. I only titled this LoFi because I used the Lofi filter on IG to take this photo. Let's not get started on IG and food photography but I love food and photography so BOOM. Food porn addict.

I found the recipe on Pinterest. It's just diced tomato, avocado and cilantro with olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper. I've added red onion because I love red onion. Last night I also added some crumbled goat cheese.

I actually bought parsley by accident instead of cilantro. I hadn't realized how similar they look to each other but incidentally I love the taste of parsley in this!

Anyway, it's been making me live. It's super simple and gives me what I need. Yay me!

Back to Baker Street: Sherlock Season 3

"Killing me. Please. That's so two years ago."

I get my appreciation of so many things from my parents. Like most of us, I am just an empty vessel filled with stuff my parents exposed me to and like most of us, I decided for whatever reasons that I liked some more than others. I like them enough to often forget they did not come to me by my own choice.

From mom I get my love of philosophy, spirituality, nature and old movies among many other things

From my dad I get my love for a broad range of music, comedy and laughter, British humor and Sherlock Holmes.

I’ve always loved Sherlock Holmes, not just because I like puzzles and mysteries but also because I love Sherlock Holmes' application of deductive reasoning.  And of course there is the enigma of Sherlock Homes himself, an iconography based on Sir ArthurConan Doyle’s portrait of genius cloaked in madness, addiction, restlessness, tactlessness, selfishness, detachment and non-conformity. Where James Bond would use physicality and weapons, Sherlock uses only his intelligence and condescension.

His public are confounded and appreciative of the first quality and dread the latter respectively.

So yes, I’m taking about television because I’m addicted to BBC’s Sherlock but I’m also taking about a personality which constantly intrigues me because I have that kind of time on my hands at the moment.

In the first season of Sherlock, we learn who he is and how he functions at his best. He is selfish, manipulative verbally acrobatic, insensitive, restless, private and ridiculously smart to say the least.

In the second season we see his weaknesses and fears as he is nearly stumped by a case of the supernatural, nearly matched by the one and only woman who ever penetrates his thick cerebral boundaries, and pretty much brought to his knees by his nemesis, Moriarty who knows that his true weakness is his affection for John Watson, an affection whose depth, even Sherlock is too dense to comprehend until this, the most recent, third season.

After committing the necessary and seemingly unforgivable, Sherlock begins to let himself open to the reality that John is a cherished companion but in doing so under such circumstances he does not anticipate John’s discovery of another companion as well. John, a relatively well adjusted, level headed, compassionate, social creature meets someone, falls in love, gets married as many people do. He loves Sherlock though he fails to understand him and forgives him repeatedly, though begrudgingly even when one would understand if he walked away from Holmes and never looked back. But John functions on certainties, habit, reliability, domesticity and an open admission of friendship and love that are as foreign to Sherlock’s existence as the possibility of deep sea diving is to a Sparrow. Sherlock is rendered speechless and paralyzed at the possibility that anyone could truly care for him and more even, that he should believe it or feel worthy of it. The smartest man in London and he cannot understand why anyone should care for him despite his impossible nature.

Episode two (because I can’t wait to watch whenever PBS airs it. I’m already on episode two) left me with an odd feeling as (SPOILER ALERT) Sherlock walks away from John’s wedding ceremony all alone in the night with his famous long dark overcoat fluttering in the cold behind him. Sherlock is capable of so many things, has so many admirers, just as many haters and more than his share of opportunities to get paired up if this was what he wanted. But he lives a life of the mind and is mistrusting of anything, which veers away from the logical and practical applications of deductive reasoning. Even his love of playing the violin is largely mathematical and pattern obsessed. Though the results of his playing are a heart rending beautiful sound, he is not nor ever has he ever been concerned with beauty for beauty’s sake.

Sherlock gets off on solving mysteries, period. When He goes to Molly Hooper to ask her to be his partner while John is stilled pissed at him he asks, “Would you like to solve mysteries?" and poor, lovelorn Molly says at the same time “Have dinner?” Because this is what she wants. She wants intimacy with Sherlock. Sherlock wants intimacy through the unlocking of secrets, yet he is stunningly unaware of his own secret. He hits a wall at the idea that human companionship should hold any value for him or that he should have anything to contribute to the life of another other than that great gift granted to him of the ability to surgically unravel the most diabolically constructed crime.

We only like to do what we do well. We are lost when we find ourselves in a place where the tools, which we have sharpened daily, and into which we have invested a great deal of time and effort, have no use. We don’t know who we are anymore. We don’t know how to gain control of the situation. We feel exposed, weak, and vulnerable. What happens next, both in life and in art (some might argue that there is no difference) is usually a defining moment.

Watching Sherlock leave his best friend’s wedding reception alone made me feel something familiar. It reminded me of how lonesome it can sometimes be to let yourself feel particularly if you have neglected that part of yourself for so long that you are barely aware it exists until the doors are flung open. It also reminded me of what can happen if you wait too long to let people know how much they mean to you. You can end up trapped in a prison of your own making, feeling very much out in the cold. Even the people who care about you deeply won’t always hang in there forever if you don’t let them know how you feel.

It’s interesting to watch this journey through Cumberbatch’s performance which is one of a total commitment to what, until season 2 Sherlock’s believes is a dedication to raw fact and his worship of deductive reasoning, his addiction to breaking open the securest of locks, all except for himself.

Times Square to 72nd

There was this odd looking guy on the uptown local standing against the train door on my commute home yesterday evening. He was playing what looked like a heavy cast iron circular instrument that I’ve never seen before. The sound it made when he tapped it reminded me a little of a steel pan but it relied on a different internal construction to produce notes. The guy wasn't performing or anything. He was just standing there and I noticed in my peripheral vision when he pulled the instrument out and these soft, clean, melodic tones began to escape beneath the white noise of the train wheels, people chatter and movement.

I was sitting next to the woman who was in the seat next to the door where he stood. She had her ear buds in. I pulled my cell phone out as well, but only so I could hit record.

You can listen to the sound here on my Soundcloud account.


Now I need to find out what that instrument was.

Permanent Traveller

"He doesn’t look at people in a judgmental way. He avoids asking a lot of questions. Instead it is just this experience of observing and being present, and defining life through this flow.” 

Every once in a while, even someone as odd as me discovers that someone in the world is living a life closest to the one I aspire to. Someone does something that although seemingly trivial to some, gets me right in the core of myself which I thought was wavering beyond recognition. And I start to get excited and cry at the same time because I'm moved by beauty...or my period is coming. Whatever...

Here's one of many reasons I'm happy I deactivated my FB account for the New Year. Focus. I use a secondary FB account to manage my special interest pages and that's about it. I journal a lot more and I funnel all my time killing searches into what I'm actually interested in rather than let myself be drawn into scattered internet activity because I'm bored or distracted. It's not to say that I don't occasional dress an avatar or two, but I'm no longer thinking in FB status updates which was a problem for me pre-deactivation. I don't blame it on Facebook or the internet. The fault was all my own. So I made the decision to change it. and it's been hard, but it's also been rewarding in a personal way.

anyway... Adam Magyar....

I was on the FB page I had created for my photography this morning where I subscribe to, post and promote only photography related things when I saw this post from Gregory Crewdson, whose photo essay, "Twilight" rocked me years ago when I was working at Barnes & Noble. A self taught photographer and computer software writer, Adam Magyar has created a scanning/photography tool for capturing something very hard for me to describe but which kind of stopped my heart when I viewed it this morning. And in reading more about how he came to be who he is, a deep undercurrent of longing is stirred.

As a native New Yorker, I ride the subways just about every single day. I see the circus of misery, of  creativity, of joy, violence, loneliness, madness, comradery and isolation. Sometimes I'm dead to it. Other times, I long for it. Still other times, I want nothing more than to get as far away from it as possible. But always I know, this is my city. I am one of these people, caught in a range of infinite realities we understand as the life we have made for ourselves.

It is clear, as in in the quote above, that Magyar's observation of these things in his piece, "Stainless" is stunningly lacking in judgement. Viewing it is almost as if looking with your own eyes from someplace distant at all these stories which usually whirl about to quickly for anyone to process all at once. Through his uniquely constructed technology, his piece allows you to take it all in, in slow motion and with haunting detail.

You don't need to climb the face of Ketu. Travel is what you make of it. And all the richness, the drama, the adventure, the sensuality, the encounters, the beauty of life and so much more are right where you are.

Adam Magyar - Stainless, 42 Street (excerpt) from Adam Magyar on Vimeo.

iOS 7 Wisdom

About a week ago I updated my iphone 4S Operating System to iOS 7. Although a friend of mine had encouraged me to do it last year, I was still too grumpy about the lack of enthusiasm I felt over the new iphone release to do it. Additionally I didn’t have enough room on my phone for the update to occur without my getting rid of stuff.

But I needed a quick, free pick me up recently so I just sat down and looked at the apps, music and other items I didn’t really need or could live without. I archived a bunch of my photos. It took a while and was slightly irritating and even painful but eventually I made enough room for the update which has been available to iPhone users for over a year now. 

Mostly, I like it. There are a few tiny things I miss but for the most part I would describe the iOS 7 update as faster, ambient, unobtrusive and even more touch intuitive than before. But that’s not the best part. I’m not a tech person at all. I couldn’t tell you how many mbs equal a gb or even if they do. But I noticed that I now have more of my own music on my iphone than I had before. All the albums,  iTunes purchases and everything are there. I’ve even downloaded a few new apps and there’s still room for them. Beyonce’s videos that I deleted to make room for the update; they’re back. 

I’m certain there’s a technical explanation for it, but all I know is that I love the idea of giving up things I don’t need or thought I needed but don’t and getting back even more than I had before.  I’ve heard that works in non-digital life too.

Untermeyer Morrissey

Early one morning in the 90s, we met in the Central Park Conservancy before school. With our legs dangling in the empty Untermeyer fountain of “Three Dancing Maidens”, we ate our O-town breakfasts and listened to Morrissey singing the single “Used to be a sweet boy” on our Walkmans. Cassette singles used to come in those thin cardboard sheaths, remember?  Morrissey’s voice caught my ear on the radio with “The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get” long before I left for Bard College in 1994, long before I met Ben who introduced me to “The Smiths.” 

It was a song slipped in between the more traditional pop songs on popular radio which I listened to religiously in my youth. And I was struck by its genius, sarcasm, and conviction. 

“Beware, I bear more grudges than lonely high court judges. When you sleep I will creep into your thoughts like a bad debt that you can’t pay. Take the easy way and give in…”

Who was Morrissey? He used the pop genre but he was no pop singer, not really. He didn’t fit in anywhere.  But he got in. I heard him. 

At the time I thought you probably understood more about the deep meaning behind “Used to be a sweet boy” than I. In my imagination it was possibly one in a countless range of songs that came to mind when I imagined what the soundtrack to your life would be.  But now, reading Morrissey’s autobiography, I understand more. He was a survivor of his “childhood” and it was music that he held on to, that reached down to him in the hole of a miserable set of circumstances historically, geographically and culturally. He grabbed the long arm of music and held on until it dragged him up over the hot coals and broken glass of his unforgiving origins and into his fate.  

We listened to Morrissey as we listened to so much music that year, with a view to a connection with our own outsiderness. That was a year when you opened my Whitney Houston ears to Bjork, Ace of Base, Pet Shop Boys and Harcore Kickin Nations. I heard the harmony and rhythmic patterns in what I had previously dismissed as random chaotic noise. I heard machines, making art and voices, never trained to sing ballads reach into my soul and drag their nails down the walls with ecstasy.

In those days, there was still only fast forward, rewind, stop and play. There was no skipping.