i once saw...

This is my fourth day in New York.  Already.

I'm lazier than I thought, it turns out.  The purpose of this trip, other than seeing my brother and friends, is to work on the script with my writing partner.  We've finished the first draft of all 15 episodes, and now it's time to rewrite, rewrite, and rewrite.

But it's soooo hard.  Sitting down in front of a computer and letting my fingers fly and translate whatever ideas I had in my head into words was one thing; rereading these words and then fixing all the necessary changes is really something else.  I know that this one particular part isn't good enough, it simply doesn't work; but I don't want to delete it or revise it - it's like you bought a new home (some of us need to really pretend on this one), it's not exactly how you thought it would be after you move in; there are things you need to fix, but you just don't want to.

Maybe I'll learn to love it.  Probably not.

On the subway today.  I saw this seventy-year old Chinese woman.  In pigtails.  Just like Pippi Longstocking.  She was adorable.  Immediately I think that some people would ask, "why doesn't she get a haircut more appropriate for her age?"  Whether or not I am one of these people is beside the point.  (I'd like to think I'm not, but then if I'm not, why would I have thought of it in the first place?)  Wouldn't it be nice if people never have to act their age?  I want to see fifty-year olds playing hide and seek.  I want to hear a sixty-year old sing whenever and wherever she wants to.  I want to find a seventy-year couple on a see-saw, talking about stories of their past and envisioning plans for the future.

And I don't want to see or hear anyone judge them or laugh at them.

Only admire them.

no caution

Earlier this week, I saw the movie "Lust, Caution" for the second time.

I didn't like it the first time.

I liked it more the second time around, but that wasn't the only difference.

Ang Lee was there.  In the auditorium.  In front of me.

I like movies that make me think.  I like movies that let me think.  Ang Lee's movies do both.

During the Q & A after the movie, as I watched and listened to Ang Lee up on stage, I saw myself up there.  I was comfortable, funny, engaging, and more importantly, I was a movie director.

That's my lust.

i say, i say

I had one of those enlightening moments last night.  In the shower.

I've been ruminating over how to deal with my neighbor upstairs who insists that I hear her every footstep.  Pleading with her several times to lighten her steps has yielded no results; she even turned this issue around and accused me of harrassing her!  The nerve of some people!

So I decided to change tactics.  I realized it was futile to reason with an unreasonable person - after all, if she was going to change, she would have done so after my first plea months ago.  I decided to treat this as a challenge.  Each one of her annoying steps would be a test - a test for me to overcome my easily perturbed emotions.  Rather than feeling the flames of anger consume me, I would welcome each step and make a conscious effort to find my inner peace.

I know, they're just footsteps; it's not like I'm living in a war zone or something.  But, it's still a big deal to me.  When I made this decision and the calming shower was drowning out all extraneous noise from my ears, I told myself:  you know very well that you can't expect other people to change for you; all you can do is change yourself.

A second later, I realized I had heard someone say the exact same thing in the very recent past.  

What wise person uttered these words?  I realized a few seconds later that it was me - I had said this to my mother the day before when I offered her advice on how to deal with a difficult child (no, not me, another one - she's got plenty of them, the poor woman).

At the moment, I just laughed out loud for some reason.  I don't know what it was - realizing my own wisdom or some other random reason - but it continued for a good fifteen seconds.  We're always telling people that they are adept are solving others' issues, just never their own, and that they should listen to their own advice to others sometimes.  I guess I finally did it.

I listened.  

And I hope to hear more than footsteps.

when i write i get it right

I've been in a bad mood the past 24 hours.

Silly, really.  Just can't get some issues out of my mind.  I keep asking myself - why, why, why.  And, of course, I might as well be asking a worm since no answers came.  (Why a worm, you ask?  Well, I was going to say a tree at first, but I do believe that some trees are magical and will reply like the one in Pocahontas, whereas no one has ever heard a worm talk back, right?  But I digress.)  I'm troubled by affairs of the heart, you see, and as some of you who are more experienced in such matters would likely tell me as I so wisely inform you that I got no answers:  no, duh!

This afternoon, I took my mind full of unanswerable questions and a heart leaden with anger and jealousy and took them along to the Café de Soleil to work on episode 13 of my script.  There, without my cello, the internet, the TV, or my noisy upstairs neighbor to distract me, I sat and wrote for over three hours.  I got 15 minutes of the script done.  In case you're wondering, that was excellent.

On my way home, I felt a slight relief.  Perhaps I unloaded some of my angst on a character, or maybe I transferred my jealousy onto another.  I don't know; I felt a bit better.  

Notting Hill was on tonight.  For me, it's one of those movies that I don't mind watching over and over, at least some parts of it - mostly the group dinner scenes - they're full of... well, life.  One of its characters said this to me:  don't take it personally.  There is no rhyme or reason in life.  No one knows why some things work out and some things don't, why some of us get lucky and some of us don't.

Some of you may disagree.  You might tell me that everything happens for a reason, although that reason isn't always revealed to us.  Or you may say it's all karma - every action is a reaction to something either in this life or a previous one.

That doesn't work for me.  Because you see, I'm one of those people who would obstinately search for that reason now, however elusively, no matter if it is meant to arrive in 30 minutes, 30 years, or 30 lifetimes.  

And that's why no rhyme or reason works better for me.  I don't know why some things work out and some things don't, why some of us get lucky and some of us don't.

It all ends up the same way anyway.  The world doesn't work differently just because you believe it to.  But I do.  

And that's what's important.

what you see and what you hear...

I had the opportunity to see at play put on by the ACT last night called Souvenir.  What an amazing (and funny) experience that was!

The play tells the real life story of a society woman in New York in the 30s and 40s.  She was a singer who loved to perform and eventually did so at Carnegie Hall.  The problem was, she was tone deaf.  She couldn't carry a tune - not to its rhythm or melody; yet she wasn't aware of this deficiency.

As funny as the play was, what got me thinking was the idea that our reality - each and everyone of us - is based on what we see, hear, and know.  So if this woman believed that she sang well, that melodious music came forth from her vocal cords like poignant phrases from Shapespeare's mind, is that a reality just as worthy as our own, whatever they may be?

It is often said that geniuses like Da Vinci, Einstein, and Van Gogh saw the world different than the rest us do, and that is why they have been able to teach us new ideas and create for us unfathomable constructs (at least to the majority of the mundane world).  So then who are we to judge what others believe?

That said, I heard William Hung is making a come back.  

Just kidding.  I hope not.

it came to me

It's truly strange how inspiration works.

I've been sitting around for about a week, procrasting on writing episode 12 of my TV script because I haven't found the first word.  I was just hoping that some little thing would tell me how to take my character through the first few days after the death of his girlfriend.

So today, determined to progress beyond a blank page, I sat in front of my computer, waiting for the muses.  They didn't come.  Not any of the nine.

I decided to listen to some music instead, so I played Sarah MacLachlan's "Angel," a piece that I love to listen to when I'm in this purplish blue mood that has settled in me for the last four days due to various things going on with work and elsewhere.  

After the song ended and still staring at a blank page, the next song on my iTunes began - "I will remember you."  Within five seconds, images of the first scene of my script filled my mind, and I couldn't wait to start writing.

I will remember this.  What will you remember?

what, are, you, saying?

On January 20, 2009, most of the world watched America as we inaugurated the first President who is not a white male. Honestly, for me the entire ceremony was mostly a big yawner, other than seeing the massive number of people gathered in D.C. to witness the event.

The quartet that included Yo-Yo Ma was somewhat interesting. I took the opportunity to observe his technique and finger positions on the cello in hopes of improving my own. No such luck - the camera's focus on the musicians' faces didn't do me any good.

A bit later, a poet named Elizabeth Alexander was introduced to read her poem written for this occasion. Did you all remember that part of it? The title was "Parise Song for the Day." Not a terribly interesting title, but what the heck, it could still be good... I turned off the TV thirty seconds after she began talking; I couldn't understand what she was saying.

A few days later, in my acting class called "textwork for actors", the instructor brought a recording of Ms. Alexander's reading for us to analyze. It was then that I understood why I didn't understand. If you watched the ceremony, this is what you heard. "Praise, song, for the day. Each, day, we go, about our business, walking past each other, catching each other's eyes, or NOT, about, to speak, or speaking. ALL, about us, is noise. ALL, about us is, noise and bramble, thorn, AND din, each, one of our ancestors ON, OUR, tongues."

Did you understand? Yes, that's really what she said. No wonder I couldn't understand her - she never took the textwork for actors class at the ACT! I suppose she was nervous and awed by the occasion; therefore she wanted to enunciate properly to make sure each word of her carefully composed sentences was heard. But that was exactly the problem - we heard words. Some were louder than others, most were separated by unnecessarily long pauses after another.

So in class, we practiced how we might give the speech ourselves, and wouldn't you know it - I suddenly understood her poem.

Praise indeed.