good morning

Nice mood. Early work arrival. Jump on the alarm wakeup. Watched Enlighten Up! which, despite the corn syrup of the title, put me in an excellent state of mind. Far be it from me to do an actual morning yoga practice. Ready w lunch food — feeling preppy all around. Meet Emma tonight?

Karmic justice

Sitting in the cafe at Karma Yoga Studio with earphones stuffed in my ears although I’m with a friend. There’s just so much banal rock one can manage. I’m of course listening to the ever-cool strains of the Velvet Underground. Linger on….

Feeling dissatisfaction, shpilkes, the icky sort of attachment. Difficult to get into the task of jobhunting with my mind a-flutter, so I made some short-term time goals and the focus began.

Green tea urchins of the sea and a greedy vegan brownie w walnuts. I live with 14 cats/and a purple dog that wears spats….

I will feel nothing short of amazing if I finish up my BC rezzy and cover letter. So here I go—

Xmas folly

So it’s the big C, Christmas Day, Merry X and all that.

There are movies to see, places to go.

To begin with, a morning visit to a nursing home in Belmont to play Bingo. Then, a chick flick with S&E. With perhaps further flickage with W later in the day. Perhaps a walk wouldn’t be the worst idea.

Watched the sun rise this morning, the horizon rimmed in orange illuminating a dark blue. Then I feel like I’ve earned the brighter light of morning. My own personal rebirth.

Those are all the words to press for now.

film festivus

I’m gathering the energy to attend my first biffma event — that’s the Berkshire International Film Festival. I’ve gone to surprisingly few events of this kind, given my overall movie madness.

So far nothing has blown me away; and the works have been reasonably engaging. The Answer Man’s a romantic comedy about a reclusive pissed off author of a book that transformed spirituality in the 80s. I liked the dichotomy of someone who has a deeper understanding and is fundamentally not at peace in the most blatant of ways. And I found some of the man’s answers helpful.

I’ve seen short shorts and long shorts. There was a 20 minute piece about the perils of crossing the Mexican border that was well done. And of course that’s followed by a sci-fi piece that’s so obtuse that the Exit signs offered healthy competition for one’s attention.

I felt critical of the documentary on film criticism. It brought up valid questions in a boring, corny style. Although it was a revelation to discover that Andrew Sarris and Molly Haskell are married. Didn’t know about the Kael-Sarris feud. Learned a thing or two about the history of film criticism. Overall it was useful but lacked wit.

Later today: James Gandolfini In the Loop, and Who Do You Love? about Chess Records.

Film festivals can recreate the sort of pressure that I would feel in a comedy club. There’s an explicit intention which is contrary to the spontaneity with which I participate in the moviegoing experience. Is that the problem? Is there any problem?

lung ching dragonwell

I had kind of a full morning doing some non-jobhunting activities—out of the house just after 7. Now it’s time to buckle down. Actually, first I’m going to do 20-30 of Francais. Then hit the desk for many hrs with the less soul-enriching to-dos.
I was thinking about Allin at the beginning of yoga class. It was being taught by a dude who’s actually quite funny. He has this wonderful SoCal surfer vibe, but he’s actually a gifted teacher: gentle but thorough. On Sunday there are (for yoga) a lot of guys in the class. When he talked about achieving “maximal twistage” (as in twisting to maximum capacity) it was an lol moment for me.
then i overspent on stupid food.
and here i am, back in the saddle with a humungous red teapot encircled by a dragon and filled to the brim with, in fact, lung ching dragonwell tea.
off i go.

On bratty youngest children

Went to torah study this morning. It was my first time visiting Eitz Chayim.

I was charmed.

The building was an adorable blue house on Magazine St. with a banner that said “The dreidl stops here.” The folks around the table were classic People’s Republic of Cambridge — among whom I’d like to number myself.

The portion was the beginning of Joseph’s story; thank Yahweh, we’re still in Genesis. The Jster was quite the tattle tale. Bitching about the brothers, the wives. No wonder they sold him. It’s impossible to ignore the Genesis pattern: youngest male child subverting the privileges of primogeniture, major family stress as  a consequence.

some interesting bullets from the study:

• The story is about our partial knowledge of reality, the inevitability of our destiny? (see final bullet)
• Narrative (Jewish) v. doctrinal theology
• Joseph says Hineni in response to his father’s request that he find and look into the wellbeing of the boyz. Intense.
• One of the most significant encounters in the passages we read was one of the most seemingly insignificant.  Joseph goes to find the guys in Shechem. An anonymous man informs him, unsolicited, that they’ve taken off for Dorthan. This chance encounter changed Everything.

10 Reasons Slumdog Millionaire struck me as so-so

What I liked:

1. Dev Patel; he had the perfect countenance for our honest hero. Can he play bad boy, or is he a one-trick pony. One could be so distracted by the horrors as to not notice so-so performances. The electrocuting policeman was rather believable.
2. The final exuberant Bollywood dance; a well earned release after the overwhelming story.
3. An effective portrayal of the slums — the amount of space available to children wanting to play, why they’d risk life and law to play cricket on the neighboring tarmac.
4. Mostly I’m impressed by Danny Boyle going over there and making this movie. What a supreme effort!

What bothered me:

1. The hype. I’m a stickler for being told Absolutely Nothing before seeing a movie. Some innocent passerby couldn’t refrain from exclaiming about how inspiring it was.
2. Formula — the phone in the car, the getting the girl — just two in a long list of predictable events. Although I will say that the surprise twist was in fact a surprise. I would have answered incorrectly.
3. Evil was too evil. The brother was too much of a jerk, the bosses were over the top nasty; the shit swim speaks for itself. This may be true to life; and for some reason it struck me as cartoonish or at the very least unpleasant. Whether or not this is true to the story, it didn’t feel right somehow. Recently I rewatched a well-written violent thug movie with good acting, tight story….this was no that.
4. I’m losing steam….I *was* marking time. This was not a full on suspension of disbelief situation.
5. Grrlfriend Latika bored the crap out of me. Yes, she was beautiful. And…?

Overall, the movie induced a superficial romanced/freaked out by India reaction. I didn’t feel like it brought me to some deeper, more significant awareness. It’s no small feat to communicate the horrors of living in the Muslim slums of Mumbai. That was profound. But there was something about the arc of the plot that felt well-worn. And a lot of the acting simply wasn’t that great.

Commitment phobia: Sondheim 4Ever

Tonight was special. Just after our dinner of cruel paté, Norwegian cheese, sloppy joes on bagel fragments with mozzarella, and leftover chicken close to the bone with an oj chaser, I You Tubed Sondheim. Lisa and Leni were glued to the results.

Phone rings,
Door chimes,
In comes
Company!
No strings,
Good times,
Room hums,
Company!
Late nights,
Quick bites,
Party games,
Deep talks,
Long walks,
Telephone calls.
Thoughts shared,
Souls bared,
Private names, All those photos
Up on the walls–

First Raul Esparza with Company, Being Alive. Then some non-Stritch Lady Who Lunched. Then La Stritch herself, c. 1970, in fullblown divinity. And Stephen himself with hippie locks and supreme discretion coaxing Elaine to go down half a note.

And here’s to the girls who play smart–
Aren’t they a gas?
Rushing to their classes
In optical art,
Wishing it would pass.
Another long exhausting day,
Another thousand dollars,
A matinee, a Pinter play,
Perhaps a piece of Mahler’s.
I’ll drink to that.
And one for Mahler!

And the poor shlepper Dean Jones reaching into his meager soul to yank out Bobby’s desire to Be Alive.

Somebody, crowd me with love,
Somebody, force me to care,
Somebody, make me come through,
I’ll always be there,
As frightened as you,
To help us survive
Being alive,
Being alive,
Being alive!

You go, girl! Nothing remotely ALWeber; everything so tot’lly Sondheimriffic. Even Leni kept returning from the bedroom, lured by the original cast of Company with Hal and Steve and Burt telling them to sing it just one more time.

And the guy at the Donmar Warehouse, who’s Sorry-Grateful:

Good things get better, bad get worse.
Wait, I think I meant that in reverse.

You’re sorry-grateful,
Regretful-happy.
Why look for answers
When none occur?
You’ll always be what you always were,
Which has nothing to do with, all to do with her.

This experience was poignant: a reminder of the ties that bind. Stritch, in her 70s, in an oversized man’s shirt and stockings, mesmerizing with each syllable. She’s incredibly compelling — totally passionate, a sort of emotionality you can swim around in.

What made everything special was the force of the lyrics, music and performance: the way they combined to sweep us off our feet. How long since we’d heard Being Alive? Was Company really that bitter? The travesty of being a gay man living among upper middle class couples in Manhattan in the Seventies — yet such tender appreciation for those who would never be able to understand him, and such deep disdain.

Sorry-grateful.

Zoe!

It is impossible to not like Zoe Stewart, yoga teacher supreme.

O! font of positive cosmic energies, O! blossoming crown chakra, O! eyes of skies and clouds and infinite heights, O! exceptional grace, skill, and, yes, humility.

Zoe is by far the best yoga teacher I have ever had. Flexible, poetic, and a little robotic in a way that’s quite lucid and a little touching, her instruction consists of haikus. Sure she has the killer bod of the yogically transcendent; but she’s a true humanist who eschews the Hitlerian tendencies of many an Iyengar yogi(ni).

Zoe is incandescent. She lights up the yoga room and infuses students with something more than skill in the way of bending and stretching. She is the definition of true blue. Look it up~!

Petite syrah, my ass

Last night we didn’t have a chance of getting into prime time showing of Milk although it was showing before 7. Watching movies in the land of progressive Jews means seeing a fey Sean Penn kiss a boy is a prospect too dear to miss. Waiting in line at some overpriced burger joint was untenable. But I was promised such was not to be the case. First, of course, we go to Washington Sq. Tavern where there’s not only a wait, but, Surprise!, a total gaborama with Steffi. After wandering, Jew-like, through assorted dining options, we finally wend our way to a bistro that seats us at the bar. Which leads me to the stylish point of this picaresque tale: a very nice petite syrah (A very nice little syrah?) lit the way to sharing recent news and current speculation. Curiously varied assortment light fixtures that provided the lowest of light. An upside down teal wedding cake with beads depending from the periphery of each layer. A bathroom with a wooden door, mafalda pasta of no discernable flavor, a nice slice of fish. (w apologies to Th. Wolfe)

And now, a poem.

Sloppy calculated swaying toward dissatisfaction
and ennui with the devil may care solicitude of banged
knees, fecund truths, yeasty bellies and all
kinds of possibility better left untapped.
I should have been a news announcer fore-
casting a rainbow of current eventualities