Naplwrimo

Someone donated the entire remaining amount this morning and I'm happy to say that Ms. M and her class will be going to see Harry the Dirty Dog. I don't know. Was it the puppy picture? Or one of my appeal emails or did it have nothing to do with me at all? Did someone just surf across all the proposals under the Fewest Days Left category at Donors Choose and pull up Ms. M's page? Whatever the circumstances, I'm grateful for that person's generosity and willingness to make this event a reality for the children. I've been stressing about it for the past few weeks and it's a huge relief to know that it's resolved now. Thank you again to everyone who donated.

Cheers,
Elizabeth

Sad to say, but it looks like Ms. M's 2nd grade class is not going to get to see their first live theater performance. With 13 days to go, they've raised $110 - far short of their goal of $666 (an unfortunate number if you ask me, but there you are) to take everyone in class to see Harry the Dirty Dog.

I haven't completely given up hope yet, but am running out of ideas of ways to generate more interest. Now I'm resorting to puppy pictures and pleading. Check out the proposal here at Donors Choose and if you can think of a way to help out, I'd appreciate it. And so would these kids! Can you imagine? Seeing your first theater show?


Let's break it down. Ms. M's 2nd grade class can go to the theater if:
556 people give $1 or 278 people give $2 or 185 people give $3 and 1 person gives $1 or 139 people give $4 or 111 people give $5 or 92 people give $6 or 79 people give $7 or 69.5 people give $8 or 62 people give $9 or 55 people give $10. And so on. The math breaks down in many, many ways.

Thank you!

And thank you to those who have given so far!

Shared by Dorothy
want. to . see

Harvey Milk was an intriguing, inspiring figure. And “Milk” is a marvel.

I was on the Debate team in high school. In fact, I lettered in Debate. Lettered in Debate! And I was proud of it. Proud of my National Forensic League Pen with the double ruby that I still have in a box in a cabinet in my bedroom along with the ashes of my cat! Feeling confessional today. And want to share this amazing documentary - it was broadcast on HBO back in June or July and I've been watching it in installments on my DVR. Looking at it, I think I've discovered where a piece of my playwrighting style originates.

(FYI: Actual movie doesn't start until 1:40)


Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5. Ack: parts 6 through 9 are not on youtube.

Shared by Dorothy
I want that book.

Looking for a Christmas gift for that photographer in your life? Or maybe a little something for yourself? Perhaps this book Annie Leibovitz at Work will fit the bill. Linda (one of our great forum admins) reviews it here.

Not your usual collection of photographic images, this is more than just a picture book. In it Leibovitz takes you through life as a photographer, what it means to her and the background of some of her famous, and some not so famous, photographs.

It can be fascinating to see one of her shots and read her descriptions of how it came to be: what went through her mind and why she decided to shoot it the way she did. We get to enter the mind of a great portrait photographer. Little bits of information sprinkled throughout the book, the importance of environment, how there is more latitude with digital color than film color (greens photograph too dark without appropriate light on film), the importance of natural light. Not too much technical information here. If you want to know camera settings and lighting set-ups, this will not satisfy you. But she does devote some time to explaining her equipment. She often uses just a single strobe and umbrella to help balance natural light (shades of Strobist!) and is happy with the move to digital, because of the added information it gives to her image. Being tethered to computers leaves her cold; she’s definitely more interested in the creative side.

She starts the book by discussing her early years, what she learned about photography at the San Francisco Art Institute (emphasis on composing and framing, no cropping allowed) and how she started work at a new magazine called Rolling Stone (she wasn’t interested in rock and roll, just photography). She was heavily influenced by Henri Cartier-Bresson and Robert Frank.

A few amusing asides (she was denied an American Express card for years until fast tracked her to one when she shot their famous ads) plus advice to those just starting out (take pictures of something that has meaning to you) add to the interest.

Even though Leibovitz has become a “celebrity” photographer for many people, understanding her thoughts and processes are valuable to any photographer, beginner or accomplished, amateur or professional. A good read for a cold winter evening or when you need a little inspiration.

Get Annie Leibovitz at Work at Amazon for $24 (40% discount)

Shared by Dorothy
this is one of my favorite things lately. the art is so beautiful .

I’m pretty sure most folks are, in fact, halfway through Fall by now, but seasons seem to take their time getting here in the Bay Area. I was spacing out this morning, trying to figure out how to open Chapter Two, when I realized the trees in my backyard were finally starting to shed their leaves. Or maybe it’s been happening for a while, and I just don’t get outside enough to notice.

I've had a blistering headache for the past four days. If only it would split like this there might be relief:

I am also a Taurean Rat. . .

That was my distraction of the day.  Now back to writing.

Shared by Dorothy
j took a spanish exam that turned out to be catalan once.

This informal study, posted last year, divides the number of Wikipedia articles in a given language by the total language-speaker population, and voilà—a chart showing which languages are, per head, the most prolific Wikipedia writers:

(The first column is productivity ranking, the second is gross number of articles, the third is the name of the language. See the whole chart, with all 50 languages here.)

Prod | Article | Language

1 | 48 | Icelandic
2 | 15 | Esperanto
3 | 41 | Basque
4 | 31 | Estonian
5 | 9 | Swedish
6 | 14 | Norwegian
7 | 27 | Slovenian
8 | 13 | Finnish
9 | 6 | Dutch
10 | 16 | Slovak
11 | 28 | Lithuanian
12 | 18 | Danish
13 | 19 | Hebrew
14 | 4 | Polish
15 | 20 | Catalan
16 | 42 | Ido*
17 | 35 | Galician
18 | 3 | French
19 | 2 | German
20 | 17 | Czech
21 | 32 | Croatian
22 | 36 | Norwegian (Nynorsk)
23 | 29 | Bulgarian
24 | 7 | Italian
25 | 26 | Serbian
26 | 22 | Hungarian
27 | 44 | Georgian
28 | 1 | English
29 | 50 | Bosnian
30 | 5 | Japanese

Other ways Catalonia is whupping the United States: they've got less breast cancer and just beat England to take the number five slot in the International Korfball Federation!

And 10 out of 10 Americans don't even know what the fuck korfball is!

We're doomed!

(*What is Ido, you ask? Nü-Esperanto! DOOOOOOM!)

Started Nov 1 with a pad and pen.  Haven't checked in because of busy schedule.  Twins and all that fun shtuff.  I am transcribing my scribbles into neat electronic pixels.  I'll post under friend-only cut here. . .

Also, reworking Monarch Butterflies for a 2009 touring production.  Jake and I just need to get together and hammer out some details.  I think I will back away from the acting this time around.

-Brett

Seems the San Francisco Chronicle is so understaffed these days that it can't send its one and only critic, the excellent Robert Hurwitt, to TJT's revival of The Last Yiddish Poet - which opens their 30th anniversary season. Hurwitt tried to get his editor to reverse the decision, but no dice.

As a result, TJT is hurting at the box office and has had to cancel this week's Friday night show and Sunday matinee. There are two performances still available for this week. You can get half price tickets for those performances and next weekend's by calling 415.292.1233 or clicking here and using this promo code: TJT50.

30 Years! That's most of my life. What an accomplishment. Very rare in this country for a theater company to last that long.

Here's to 30 more!

Only 29 days left and Ms. M's second grade class is still short money to go see their first live theater performance - Harry the Dirty Dog!

You remember Harry don't you? He's the little black and white dog who doesn't like to take baths. This pooch on the left is not Harry. But he doesn't like to take baths either.

I know times are tight, but if you could kick in any amount it would be a huge help!

You can read the class proposal here at Donors Choose.

If you can't donate, would you please consider writing a blog post in support of the effort?

Please please let's make this happen you oh so lovely people!

Shared by Dorothy
look at what my friend josh conkel is doing. it's awesome.

Push it. Examine all things intensely and relentlessly. Probe and search each object in a piece of art. Do not leave it, do not course over it, as if it were understood, but instead follow it down until you see it in the mystery of its own specificity and strength. Giacometti’s drawings and paintings show his bewilderment and persistence. If he had not acknowledged his bewilderment, he would now have persisted. A twentieth- century master of drawing, Rico Lebrun, taught that “the draftsman must aggress; only by persistent assault will the live image capitulate and give up its secret to an unrelenting line.” Who but an artist fierce to know — not fierce to seem to know — would suppose that a live image possessed a secret? The artist is willing to give all his or her strength and life to probing with blunt instruments those same secrets no one can describe in any way but with those instruments’ faint tracks.

Admire the world for never ending on you — as you would admire an opponent, without taking your eyes from him, or walking away.

One of the few things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. These things fill from behind, from beneath, like well water. Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes.

After Michelangelo died, someone found in his studio a piece of paper
on which he had written a note to his apprentice, in the handwriting of his old age: “Draw, Antonio, draw, Antonio, draw and do not waste time.”

Get to work. Your work is to keep cranking the flywheel that turns the gears that spin the belt in the engine of belief that keeps you and your desk in midair.

At its best, the sensation of writing is that of any unmerited grace. It is handed to you, but only if you look for it. You search, you break your heart, your back, your brain, and then-and only then-it is handed to you.

*****

Write about winter in the summer. Describe Norway as Ibsen did, from a desk in Italy; describe Dublin as James Joyce did, from a desk in Paris. Willa Cather wrote her prairie novels in New York City; Mark Twain wrote Huckleberry Finn in Hartford, Connecticut. Recently, scholars learned that Walt Whitman rarely left his room.

*****

The writer must solve two problems: Can it be done? And, can I do it? - Annie Dillard, The Writing Life

Unbelievable.

Last night, I felt something that I never thought I would enjoy: Being an American.

No rhetoric on the historic implications of this, because, well ... that's everywhere right now.

I will tell you, though, last night, in the epi-center of the elitist liberal elite who think that things like "positivity" and "love" and "solutions" can change this country, I saw the best of humanity celebrating up and down the streets of New York City. The city was filled with people of all colors, ages, and classes, shouting, cheering, and hugging one another.

I can't count how many strangers I high-fived.

And unlike the Giants winning the Super Bowl, or the Yankees doing something Yankee-like, or a group getting together to protest ... this was a pure, electric eruption of a significant Victory. It wasn't fueled by testosterone and alcohol, the celebration of people singing the national anthem on every 4th block, the dancing, the closing off the roads, it was suprisingly sober.

And surprisingly non-threatening. As the howls gained strength through the night, there was never any fear that this might turn bad. Never any feeling that we may be looking at what the media would coin 'The Obama Riots.' For hours, thousands upon thousands of people took to the streets to smile with one another, to cheer, to sing, to dance, to celebrate a feeling of excitement about being an American.

My favorite line of the night came from at about 3 A.M. with my ears still ringing from the crowds cheering in the streets. I saw a kid in his 20s, stuck up in one of the few barren and lonely trees on Broadway and 12th street. He was nestled in a crook of branches 15 feet above the ground.

I looked up and with the biggest smile imaginable, he said, "It's ok. Obama won."

And yes, indeed it was ok. Everything was ok. Regardless of the political implications, we were observing the best people can be. We were experiencing the best people can be.

We were actually being the best people can be.

Personally, I experienced a complete paradigm shift in terms of how beautifully powerful humanity can be. This was the first time I felt something other than being ashamed of my country. Hell, this is the first time I felt that I belonged to a country. Or that a country belonged to me (AWWWW ...)

This was the first time I couldn't say that apathy was the order of the day, that indifference was the default mandate for anyone American below the age of 40. It was the first time that I thought it was possible for humans to truly evolve, to come together, to unite, to create, and to celebrate.

We truly can enjoy one another, we need not be blinded by fear, hatred, cynicism ... we can have those things, but we can't be handicapped by them.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not giving up my cynicism ... but after seeing the absolutely joy that overtook a city bursting with life and the hope that we can feel positive in our culture ... hell, that we can feel ANY sense of what it means to be united for once.

Even if just for once. It is the power of one that will unite us as a culture, as a nation, and as a race. It was pure beauty, well into the morning, and I saw a spectacle of pure love, hope (and yes, change) that completely changed my perception of what human beings are capable of ...

... even if I did vote for Nader.

A local blogger writes...

I ride the 7 bus to work those mornings I can't face my bicycle. It comes up from south Seattle and traverses rich and poor neighborhoods, the International District, Pioneer square and Downtown. Usually, it is a hateful, loud, messy conglomeration of tired people. This morning, an older black man sat with a grin on his face. He was dressed for construction work. Out of the blue, he shouted, "YES, we can!"

It was completely infectious- people responded in a chorus of "Yes, we can," and there was clapping, and there were grins, ear to ear. And we rode on together.

"You have more than earned the puppy that is coming with us to the White House."

Welcome back to the world!

Things are said that might seem to be nothing at all very much, but that we know without analyzing are the light or serious outpouring from intense or profound or daily and humble sources - a preference for a flower, say, is not just that but also a comment on some quality in life, some soft sweetness or cold or graceful formality, or some old romantic memory or happy or sad association. It might be some shading in the voice, some color of the tone, or the very order itself of the words or phrases, or even what is left out, not spoken at all, that expresses the thing really being said. - Stark Young

Verbo by Pablo Neruda

Voy a arrugar esta palabra
voy a torcerla
si,
es demasiado lisa
es como si un gran perro o un gran río
le hubiera repasado lengua o agua
durante muchos años.

Quiero que en la palabra
se vea la aspereza
la sal ferruginosa
la fuerza destentada
de la tierra ,
la sangre
de los que hablaron y de los que no hablaron

Quiero ver la sed
adentro de las sílabas:
quiero tocare el fuego
en el sonido:
quiero sentir la oscuridad
del grito. Quiero
palabras ásperas
como piedras vírgenes.

Verb by Pablo Neruda

I'm going to crumple this word,

I'm going to twist it,

yes,

it's too smooth,

it's as though a big dog or

a big river

had been licking it over and

over with tongue or water

for many years.

I want the word

to reveal the roughness,

the ferruginous salt,

the toothless strength

of the earth,

the blood

of those who walked and of those

who did not talk.

I want to see the thirst

inside the syllables,

I want to touch the fire

in the sound:

I want to feel the darkness

of the scream. I want

rough words,

like virgin rocks.