The artist's life

“And it’s not only beauty and beautiful things. In a flicker of sunlight on a blank wall, or a reach of muddy pavement, or smoke from an engine at night, there’s a sudden significance and importance and inspiration that makes the breath stop with a gulp of certainty and happiness. It’s not that the wall or the smoke seem important for anything or suddenly reveal any general statement, or are suddenly seen to be good or beautiful in themselves – only that for you they’re perfect and unique. It’s like being in love with a person… I suppose my occupation is being in love with the universe.” - Rupert Brooke

What's your deal?

Dinner with the sister

Tonight we had my sister over for dinner - a rare occasion since she lives in Vancouver. We barbecued on a plank and talked about everything from how great (?) the show sex in the city was to our satisfaction with our lives and the meaning of life. It was good to have a philosophical conversation for a change, and it was good to have a friendly outsider to talk to. One of my conclusions was that I don't have such conversations with my regular friend-set because it risks too many ripples in the water - we're happier just being happy. It was also good to recognize that my sister, while staying on the proper side of the Christian/non-Christian fence from my parents point of view, is practically as radical as I am on a wide array of moral and social issues. I may have railed now and again, but maybe I like the distance that my "black sheep" status grants me. I suspect I'd rather not have regular spiritual chats with my parents and extended family - a mine field my sister more frequently walks because they assume she's on their side.

Cash Money in the Desert of the Soul

Didn't have much to do at work today. But crazybirdlady had three work rumours for me to chew on. Of course, I'm never sure which to believe because about half turn out to be misunderstandings or get changed before they come about, but she was right about the company covering our premiums for benefits, it just took longer to come about than anticipated. Anyway, I wait with interest to see what happens.

At lunch I mailed the revised script for "Romeo and Hamlet" to another contest. I guess after getting a terse rejection letter from a pro company in Toronto its kind of in the realm of "getting back on the horse". When I was younger I decided at one point to train myself on rejection. I was going to mail out a bunch of writing, ask girls out, try out for stuff. Well, I ended up getting a really bit part in a play, and the first girl I was going to ask out was waffling and I got scared she'd say yes, and I was more lazy than dejected about the writing stuff I guess... anyway it never really went anywhere. I was always doing things like that - setting out on some crazy extreme thing like 'How long can I go without speaking?' except they were always impractical in some way or I chickened out or something. Never went anywhere I guess. But I still cling to my saying of those days (poached from Oliver Stone's Wild Palms) "Everything Must Go".

Vacation Photos

What is the deal with vacation photos? I mean, okay, occasionally there's a really nice photo or a funny moment captured, but witness exhibit A:

What compelled me to take this photo? At the time I thought there was something great about that mountain, but look at it. It's a mountain. And mostly this is a picture of our dashboard. And while it does record that brief time where we had successfully glued the car started antenna into place before it fell off again (sheesh) but how long will the long string of ones and zeros that comprise this picture in my hard drive survive and too what end?



This one may have a bird in it.

Or perhaps that bridge held some interest.

Or that chemical plant.

Wow seascapes are great.


You know, I took photography in junior high school. I'm supposed to be competent. And the picture is displayed on the screen before you take it.

This blog sucks

My blog sucks.

There are two kinds of good blogs: the kind that rarely get updated, but make up for it by being so desperately funny or moving or real, and the kind that are occassionally funny or touching, but get updated all the time so you're at least following along with the saga of their life.

I'd be happy to have the second kind of blog. I'm no Dave Eggers of blogs. But I'm apparently incapable of caring enough to post more than once in a blue moon, with my vague and uninteresting posts, which begs the question why anyone short of a spogger would bother to read it.

Last night my friends and I were discussing the role of blog as confessional. I think people *like* the fact that people they know might find their blog and read the falsely anonymous diary. They get to let those people in on what they think of as "the real me" while imposing a kind of code of silence about it because those people can't admit to having read it without a kind of "snooping" judgement being placed on them.

My blog is particularly poor because the only people that read it are really close to me - so what's the point of confessing to them?

Another point against it is the ludicrous high-concept format that doesn't really work.

Does the universe need this:

Last night my sister was in town and we went to the Chapters (all hail the temple of texts) and I bought this cheesy Shakespeare based tarot set from the bargain bin.

It's so pathetic. I mean, at least a classic deck has some reasonably old tradition behind it to give it a (false?) sense of the wisdom of the ages. This is obvious cash-candy.

So last night after Lady Rose went to sleep I did a reading for myself and found it oddly touching and personal - accurate, encouraging, and challenging in all the ways great mysteries can be. But this morning I have this worry: if I am inspired by this to make a change and it works and my life gets better, am I going to be able to live with the fact that it was caused by a Shakespeare tarot deck?

Everyone get ready to join in on the chorus: He's a lamey... whoa whoa whoa, he's a lamey. Talkin' about my little lamey... and that lamey is lame!

Apparently I'm a little conflicted. (Which the deck predicted! Bah!)

Seriously. Is the world better? Am I better? Would I be typing this if an ulcer attack brought on by poor life choices hadn't awakened me prematurely?

Feh.

Oh, I almost forgot to post an inexplicable image.

Huh. Didn't seem to work. Oh well.