Analog ... it's going ... going ... gone ...
They've been touting it, warning us, no more rabbit ears, don't worry, it'll work. just get a converter, or apply for one, it'll cost next to nothing.
When CD's were invented, you knew sooner or later all your records, 45's,78's, LP's were going to have to be replaced. Reel to reel tape recorders disappeared. Video cassettes might as well be thrown out. DVD's are IN and JD our son says were heading toward Blu-ray.
We've got a new set in the kitchen. Our favorite channels look great. Our favorite commentators -- wow, they look so young! No frown lines, minimal smile creases, definitely no wrinkles. The background, the foreground ... it looks ... almost unreal, such bright neat colors ... kind of like colored cardboard, a new-fangled cartoon.
(Reminds me of those commercials where they outline the bodies, faces, movements of real actors and make them look like comic book characters.)
Anyhow, we've had the set for more than a week. No doubt about it -- the colors are great, the focus is crisp, and clearer than ever before. We're in tune with the times, right on in the trend.
"Digital" is progress!
Our RCA (twelve years old but still works) is on the red bench in the hall waiting to be given away or put in the trash. It was temperamental, had to be re-booted much too often. And the picture wasn't as clear, or reliably focused. But I have to admit it was, still is what I think of as TV, not what we're getting on the new Toshiba -- that poster perfect vision of reality.
Reality today ......
Well, I'm enjoying the way the set turns on, tunes in, and its wonderful reliability, even though reality today isn't that bright, neat, poster perfect, digital picture.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
THE MOGLIES
Mornings when you don't want to get up ... school days ... no matter how old or wise you are, you'll never forget the dread, the knot in your stomach because of the test for which you don't feel prepared.
When was it -- was it when I was working on "Dream Dances"? It was an ambitious full-length ballet, featuring each of my eight dancers in his/her dream.
The state unemployment bureau informed me by mail that I owed them money. One of the dancers had applied for unemployment insurance. I phoned the bureau. Was told I had to pay into the fund, and prove that I had disability insurance.
Huh? What's that?
Mrs. Moglia, a clear-speaking, humorless, not friendly head of the department had said, "It's the law. You need a policy. Basic coverage is - - - - - -"
Did she say 1000, or 10,000, or what? I don't remember the amount, just the awful feeling in my stomach. The amount was a flock of blue birds in the sky, flying over my head. In Manhattan I'd seen gray wrens and pigeons. I'd never seen a blue bird.
All too well, I remember the days when we had no money -- nothing for salaries, dancers rehearsing without pay. Home was a 9 x 12 room in the back of the rehearsal space. We had to tiptoe through it to get to the bathroom. When I wasn't rehearsing, I rented out the space for $1.25 an hour. The Sunday Times had asked for a picture of my dance group. Pictures could be picked up with a check for $50. I didn't have $50. Rent was due, other bills were pending. We needed groceries. We'd been eating rice, chuck steak and apples, a dish I'd invented.
Mrs. M. said, "I've sent you a Proof of Insurance form. You need to file it within ten days."
I remember the tenth day. The phone ringing. I didn't want to get up. I wanted to lay in bed, snuggled in, safe, in my house of sheets, blanket, and JC's arms.
I don't remember how the problems were solved. I just remember Moglia -- that authoritative voice -- the feeling in my stomach. Even now, when too many things to do pile up, I get the Moglies.
When was it -- was it when I was working on "Dream Dances"? It was an ambitious full-length ballet, featuring each of my eight dancers in his/her dream.
The state unemployment bureau informed me by mail that I owed them money. One of the dancers had applied for unemployment insurance. I phoned the bureau. Was told I had to pay into the fund, and prove that I had disability insurance.
Huh? What's that?
Mrs. Moglia, a clear-speaking, humorless, not friendly head of the department had said, "It's the law. You need a policy. Basic coverage is - - - - - -"
Did she say 1000, or 10,000, or what? I don't remember the amount, just the awful feeling in my stomach. The amount was a flock of blue birds in the sky, flying over my head. In Manhattan I'd seen gray wrens and pigeons. I'd never seen a blue bird.
All too well, I remember the days when we had no money -- nothing for salaries, dancers rehearsing without pay. Home was a 9 x 12 room in the back of the rehearsal space. We had to tiptoe through it to get to the bathroom. When I wasn't rehearsing, I rented out the space for $1.25 an hour. The Sunday Times had asked for a picture of my dance group. Pictures could be picked up with a check for $50. I didn't have $50. Rent was due, other bills were pending. We needed groceries. We'd been eating rice, chuck steak and apples, a dish I'd invented.
Mrs. M. said, "I've sent you a Proof of Insurance form. You need to file it within ten days."
I remember the tenth day. The phone ringing. I didn't want to get up. I wanted to lay in bed, snuggled in, safe, in my house of sheets, blanket, and JC's arms.
I don't remember how the problems were solved. I just remember Moglia -- that authoritative voice -- the feeling in my stomach. Even now, when too many things to do pile up, I get the Moglies.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
DOODLER HINT
Save water!
Do you try? I try. Brushing teeth, one turns on the water, and leaves it on.
DON'T.
Rinsing hands, one turns on the water and leaves it on. DON'T.
After a meal, I don't know about you, but we clear the table and put utensils in a tall plastic container that's filled with water, and a little liquid soap. End of the day instead of running the dishwasher, we soap up a sponge, sponge-wash each utensil, then rinse them all together, set them in a drying holder.
Flushing the toilet. (DON'T, not each and every time you use the toilet.)
DO (gently) remind other members of the household, to do the same.
DON'T take long showers -- DO make them shorter.
Washing clothes: DO larger loads.
Shampooing: Once your hair is wet, turn OFF the water while you're applying it. Turn water ON when it's time to rinse. Water OFF while applying conditioner. ON when you're ready to rinse.
DON'T drift into a contented reverie, enjoying the flow, and forget.
Picture people in other countries -- drinking, washing clothes, washing themselves in a contaminated river -- we've all seen those pictures. Smile inwardly, give yourself a gold star, pat on the back, a Yay Team, for economizing. WE'VE GOT TO SAVE WATER.
Why post this today? It's time to do my hair. Time to do machine-washable clothes. JC's hamper is full; mine is black exercise togs (oft used, the black won't run) With vigilance his load and mine can be done together.
Do you try? I try. Brushing teeth, one turns on the water, and leaves it on.
DON'T.
Rinsing hands, one turns on the water and leaves it on. DON'T.
After a meal, I don't know about you, but we clear the table and put utensils in a tall plastic container that's filled with water, and a little liquid soap. End of the day instead of running the dishwasher, we soap up a sponge, sponge-wash each utensil, then rinse them all together, set them in a drying holder.
Flushing the toilet. (DON'T, not each and every time you use the toilet.)
DO (gently) remind other members of the household, to do the same.
DON'T take long showers -- DO make them shorter.
Washing clothes: DO larger loads.
Shampooing: Once your hair is wet, turn OFF the water while you're applying it. Turn water ON when it's time to rinse. Water OFF while applying conditioner. ON when you're ready to rinse.
DON'T drift into a contented reverie, enjoying the flow, and forget.
Picture people in other countries -- drinking, washing clothes, washing themselves in a contaminated river -- we've all seen those pictures. Smile inwardly, give yourself a gold star, pat on the back, a Yay Team, for economizing. WE'VE GOT TO SAVE WATER.
Why post this today? It's time to do my hair. Time to do machine-washable clothes. JC's hamper is full; mine is black exercise togs (oft used, the black won't run) With vigilance his load and mine can be done together.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
DAY OFF
Today is, was ... definitely not a Day Off. It was an OFF day.
Nothing went wrong but nothing went quite right. JD and Shareen are taking over the loft on the 2nd floor, one flight below our studio and office on 3. (Our home is the 4th floor loft.) All day underneath me I can hear and feel things being hammered, plaster being chipped, as the place is readied to become her NYC store.
It'll be unusual, funky, jammed with customers like "Shareen Vintage" in LA and Venice. Women and girls love what she finds, re-designs, and with startling intuition, helps them chose for themselves. How lucky we are, that our son married a girl who's like a daughter, sister, pal, best friend, to me.
The noises fit my thoughts. My sense of order is itchy irritated, jangled. Writing a novel is different from writing a letter, which is, I've discovered in the past couple of weeks, similar to creating a post for your blog. Letter writing just flows. But a letter that's going to get POSTED?
You gotta polish it! Gotta make it make sense!
Read a first draft to JC? He loves me, enjoys my writing, but Cormack McCarthy, the writer, I am not. It's better for me to flounder. Take a break, do something else, turn off my computer, and try again later.
I started out early early this morning, backing up my computer. Reorganizing a lot of files. Did it carefully, thoughtfully, logically, creatively! Did it so excellently that I have to make a guide for myself, to find out where, oh where did I put things?
Nothing went wrong but nothing went quite right. JD and Shareen are taking over the loft on the 2nd floor, one flight below our studio and office on 3. (Our home is the 4th floor loft.) All day underneath me I can hear and feel things being hammered, plaster being chipped, as the place is readied to become her NYC store.
It'll be unusual, funky, jammed with customers like "Shareen Vintage" in LA and Venice. Women and girls love what she finds, re-designs, and with startling intuition, helps them chose for themselves. How lucky we are, that our son married a girl who's like a daughter, sister, pal, best friend, to me.
The noises fit my thoughts. My sense of order is itchy irritated, jangled. Writing a novel is different from writing a letter, which is, I've discovered in the past couple of weeks, similar to creating a post for your blog. Letter writing just flows. But a letter that's going to get POSTED?
You gotta polish it! Gotta make it make sense!
Read a first draft to JC? He loves me, enjoys my writing, but Cormack McCarthy, the writer, I am not. It's better for me to flounder. Take a break, do something else, turn off my computer, and try again later.
I started out early early this morning, backing up my computer. Reorganizing a lot of files. Did it carefully, thoughtfully, logically, creatively! Did it so excellently that I have to make a guide for myself, to find out where, oh where did I put things?
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