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Sailing Ships
Mar. 20th, 2004 02:28 pmI was just reading Salieri's lovely entry about moments of grace -- birds, and moose, and such -- and my first reaction (and the one I replied to her with) was, "Hell, I live in Brooklyn -- no moments of grace here!"
But I take it back.
I was driving home from the library today, on the Shore Parkway which parallels the Narrows (the strip of water between Brooklyn and Staten Island that links the Atlantic Ocean to the Upper Bay, and which then splits into the Hudson and East Rivers). I had to pull over and stare: just clearing the Verrazzano Bridge was a sailing ship, all sails out -- a real ship, the kind you see in "Master and Commander." Heading for Manhattan, probably, to the South Street Seaport, where they have a couple of smaller ships for the tourists, and where other nations' sailing ships occasionally come.
If not a moment of grace, it was certainly a thing of grace -- the day was sunny, the ship sailed smoothly along, and I just sat and watched it for a few minutes. My only regret is that I didn't have my camera with me...
But I take it back.
I was driving home from the library today, on the Shore Parkway which parallels the Narrows (the strip of water between Brooklyn and Staten Island that links the Atlantic Ocean to the Upper Bay, and which then splits into the Hudson and East Rivers). I had to pull over and stare: just clearing the Verrazzano Bridge was a sailing ship, all sails out -- a real ship, the kind you see in "Master and Commander." Heading for Manhattan, probably, to the South Street Seaport, where they have a couple of smaller ships for the tourists, and where other nations' sailing ships occasionally come.
If not a moment of grace, it was certainly a thing of grace -- the day was sunny, the ship sailed smoothly along, and I just sat and watched it for a few minutes. My only regret is that I didn't have my camera with me...
Snarky Stargate
Mar. 18th, 2004 01:56 pmHas anyone here sampled Nialla's Breadbox Editions? They're parodies of recent Stargate episodes, together with "comments" from various fan factions, writers, actors, and others. I love 'em; my reactions tend to range from mildly amused to helplessly-gigging-for-ten-minutes.
They can be found at http://www.stargate-sg1-solutions.com/episoderedux/s7/s7bbe.shtml.
While I think she does a really fantastic job on all the episodes (or, at least, the too few she's been able to do up to now), my favorite thus far is her take on Chimera. I've got a sample ( here )
They can be found at http://www.stargate-sg1-solutions.com/episoderedux/s7/s7bbe.shtml.
While I think she does a really fantastic job on all the episodes (or, at least, the too few she's been able to do up to now), my favorite thus far is her take on Chimera. I've got a sample ( here )
Opening a New Door - Literally
Mar. 16th, 2004 12:00 amOkay, so I've got two Web sites I've got to baby sit, and two other clients I need to handle, and in the middle of all this, my mother tells me I have to be at her place first thing Monday morning because she's having a door installed.
Actually, it wasn't that much of a surprise, because we've been dealing with this door for several months now. The door that's always been on the house is old, and cracked, and has been repaired umpteen times, and we all agreed she needs a new one. But solid wood doors are apparently prohibitively expensive, and so we went with a newfangled poly something-or-other. But she didn't want it installed in cold weather, so much to the irritation of the door company, we put it off until today.
I drove over there at 8 a.m., bleary-eyed and irritable because I got up extra early to get some work done beforehand, and found that the door guy had already started the job, with my mother anxiously watching. It all seemed to go well -- except, of course, the color of the inside door is too light, which is making my mom crazy, but it looks fine to me -- and I hung out there for four hours while the guy put in the door, put in the locks, the handles, the peep-hole, and the knocker. I checked to make sure everything seemed okay, dealt with some Medicare mixup or other, had lunch, and drove back. relieved.
Why is this important to anyone but me? It isn't, really. But it's amazing how many small- and medium-sized events make up a life, things like taxes, and birthdays, and holidays, and getting doors installed. Among other things.
Oh, yeah, and I've got a fanfic recommendation ( here )
Actually, it wasn't that much of a surprise, because we've been dealing with this door for several months now. The door that's always been on the house is old, and cracked, and has been repaired umpteen times, and we all agreed she needs a new one. But solid wood doors are apparently prohibitively expensive, and so we went with a newfangled poly something-or-other. But she didn't want it installed in cold weather, so much to the irritation of the door company, we put it off until today.
I drove over there at 8 a.m., bleary-eyed and irritable because I got up extra early to get some work done beforehand, and found that the door guy had already started the job, with my mother anxiously watching. It all seemed to go well -- except, of course, the color of the inside door is too light, which is making my mom crazy, but it looks fine to me -- and I hung out there for four hours while the guy put in the door, put in the locks, the handles, the peep-hole, and the knocker. I checked to make sure everything seemed okay, dealt with some Medicare mixup or other, had lunch, and drove back. relieved.
Why is this important to anyone but me? It isn't, really. But it's amazing how many small- and medium-sized events make up a life, things like taxes, and birthdays, and holidays, and getting doors installed. Among other things.
Oh, yeah, and I've got a fanfic recommendation ( here )
Sometimes I think that being "grown up" is simply a matter of pretense. You pretend to be responsible and serious; you pretend to care about the work that you're doing in order to pay the rent and put food on the table (and pay for the cable television hookup); you pretend that it all makes sense to you.
When I was in college, I determined that, by age 40, I was going to be one of those really cool, wise, together middle-aged women who knew what life was about, who enjoyed their partners (men or women), worked at what they wanted to work at, and didn't take any shit from anyone.
The problem was, when I did hit 40, I didn't feel like I had reached that. I didn't feel that at 45 either. And now I wonder whether all those really together, wise, cool women whom I admired when I was 20 and they were 40 were as responsible and knowing on the inside as they appeared to me on the outside. Maybe they were also simply pretending to be grown up -- but had just had more experience at it.
When I was in college, I determined that, by age 40, I was going to be one of those really cool, wise, together middle-aged women who knew what life was about, who enjoyed their partners (men or women), worked at what they wanted to work at, and didn't take any shit from anyone.
The problem was, when I did hit 40, I didn't feel like I had reached that. I didn't feel that at 45 either. And now I wonder whether all those really together, wise, cool women whom I admired when I was 20 and they were 40 were as responsible and knowing on the inside as they appeared to me on the outside. Maybe they were also simply pretending to be grown up -- but had just had more experience at it.
No, I'm not talking about the season five opening episode of Stargate. It's also the name of a one-act play by a man named Arkady Leokum that played on television in 1971, and that I recently saw on cable.
It starred Ned Glass and Sam Jaffe as an insulting, taunting man who ate at the same restaurant every day for five years, and the patient waiter who had to put up with him. By the end of the play, the man's loneliness and desperation is revealed, and the waiter gets his gentle revenge. It's an absolutely marvelous play, but the real wonders were the performances by the two actors, especially Ned Glass as the diner. By the end of the hour, he broke your heart.
It also reminded me of when I was a child, surrounded by adults whose parents all spoke in the same Eastern European Yiddish accents that Jaffe and Glass spoke in the play. I was convinced that when you became old -- say, 40 or so -- you automatically began speaking in a Yiddish accent. It came along with the white hair and argumentative nature. It was just how the world was.
It starred Ned Glass and Sam Jaffe as an insulting, taunting man who ate at the same restaurant every day for five years, and the patient waiter who had to put up with him. By the end of the play, the man's loneliness and desperation is revealed, and the waiter gets his gentle revenge. It's an absolutely marvelous play, but the real wonders were the performances by the two actors, especially Ned Glass as the diner. By the end of the hour, he broke your heart.
It also reminded me of when I was a child, surrounded by adults whose parents all spoke in the same Eastern European Yiddish accents that Jaffe and Glass spoke in the play. I was convinced that when you became old -- say, 40 or so -- you automatically began speaking in a Yiddish accent. It came along with the white hair and argumentative nature. It was just how the world was.
Is there a certain type of person who obsesses over various TV shows, books, movies, etc? Or does everyone do it, and just not everyone admits it?
I've been choosing stuff to obsess over since I was young, and thought at some point that I'd get over it, slow down, only think about Important Things, etc. etc. So when I went absolutely apeshit over Man from U.N.C.L.E. at the age of 11 or so, replaced that with Star Trek a few years later, spent hours in my high school library absorbing Asimov's stories and novels, replaced those with every word that Dickens wrote, I comforted myself that once I graduated college, I'd leave those things behind.
Yeah. Right.
Let's not even talk about Stargate right now. That's futile. However, I've added to that an obsession with the Aubrey novels of Patrick O'Brian. I bought the first four back about eight years ago, when a friend showed me a Web site where the publisher was sending out free copies of Master and Commander to anyone who signed up. I read the first, liked it, went though the next three, and then stopped.
When the movie opened, I started rereading the novels, and this time, I haven't been able to stop. Most of them are available through the Brooklyn Public Library, so I've gotten as far as The Thirteen Gun Salute, and am now waiting for Half.com to deliver The Nutmeg of Consolation (which, for some reason, my library doesn't seem to have). After that, there are only six more novels. What I'll do when I finish those -- start again at the beginning? -- I really can't imagine.
I've been choosing stuff to obsess over since I was young, and thought at some point that I'd get over it, slow down, only think about Important Things, etc. etc. So when I went absolutely apeshit over Man from U.N.C.L.E. at the age of 11 or so, replaced that with Star Trek a few years later, spent hours in my high school library absorbing Asimov's stories and novels, replaced those with every word that Dickens wrote, I comforted myself that once I graduated college, I'd leave those things behind.
Yeah. Right.
Let's not even talk about Stargate right now. That's futile. However, I've added to that an obsession with the Aubrey novels of Patrick O'Brian. I bought the first four back about eight years ago, when a friend showed me a Web site where the publisher was sending out free copies of Master and Commander to anyone who signed up. I read the first, liked it, went though the next three, and then stopped.
When the movie opened, I started rereading the novels, and this time, I haven't been able to stop. Most of them are available through the Brooklyn Public Library, so I've gotten as far as The Thirteen Gun Salute, and am now waiting for Half.com to deliver The Nutmeg of Consolation (which, for some reason, my library doesn't seem to have). After that, there are only six more novels. What I'll do when I finish those -- start again at the beginning? -- I really can't imagine.
Praising Peter
Mar. 4th, 2004 11:42 pmHad a long, if satisfying, day today, and came home to find my S.O. ready with pasta and the last DVD for Stargate Season 4. We know all the episodes, having seen each at least twice, and so we always dive immediately into the narrated versions.
Tonight, we were up to Prodigy, one of the few Stargate episodes I truly loathe, but because my partner likes it, and we've vowed not to skip any, I sigh and decide to brave it out.
But I didn't have to. Because it was directed by Peter DeLuise, who is truly, utterly, delightfully insane. As soon as he and the writers started a choral singing of the Stargate song, I knew I would enjoy this one.
He's great at narrations. He's absolutely up front about which movies his ideas are stolen from, when something is done strictly for sex appeal (rather than the coy professions of fascinating intellectual Tokra stuff we get from the other directors when Anise shows up, DeLuise describes her abbreviated costumes with relish), and makes incredibly dumb and funny jokes. He's also great at explaining directorial decisions without getting too escoteric.
I may not like all his episodes, but I want him to narrate all the stuff on the DVDs....
Tonight, we were up to Prodigy, one of the few Stargate episodes I truly loathe, but because my partner likes it, and we've vowed not to skip any, I sigh and decide to brave it out.
But I didn't have to. Because it was directed by Peter DeLuise, who is truly, utterly, delightfully insane. As soon as he and the writers started a choral singing of the Stargate song, I knew I would enjoy this one.
He's great at narrations. He's absolutely up front about which movies his ideas are stolen from, when something is done strictly for sex appeal (rather than the coy professions of fascinating intellectual Tokra stuff we get from the other directors when Anise shows up, DeLuise describes her abbreviated costumes with relish), and makes incredibly dumb and funny jokes. He's also great at explaining directorial decisions without getting too escoteric.
I may not like all his episodes, but I want him to narrate all the stuff on the DVDs....
Today were the New York primaries for the Democratic nominee for President. So I went to vote.
The polling place that we go to is in the basement of a small church that used to, according to the sign out front, cater mainly to the sailors who travelled up and down the Narrows (the narrow sea route that runs between Brooklyn and Staten Island). It's usually staffed for the occasion by a set of retirees who, when they aren't checking your name in their little books to make sure you're registered, gossip and eat doughnuts and go outside for a smoke.
The voting machines are older than I am (which makes me feel better about aging, actually). I remember going into those machines with my parents. They no longer work as well as they used to -- there are long levers which you move one way when you go into the booth, and then move back to register your vote, and the leavers used to open and close the curtains that shield the voter. No more -- you have to push into the threadbare curtains, and try to remember to push the lever one way before you vote, and the other way after.
Still, I like those voting booths, and will be worry to see them go. And as rickety and cranky as they are, I trust them to register my vote. I can't help thinking that if they had been using the old-fashioned voting booths in Florida, we'd be having an altogether different type of election today.
The polling place that we go to is in the basement of a small church that used to, according to the sign out front, cater mainly to the sailors who travelled up and down the Narrows (the narrow sea route that runs between Brooklyn and Staten Island). It's usually staffed for the occasion by a set of retirees who, when they aren't checking your name in their little books to make sure you're registered, gossip and eat doughnuts and go outside for a smoke.
The voting machines are older than I am (which makes me feel better about aging, actually). I remember going into those machines with my parents. They no longer work as well as they used to -- there are long levers which you move one way when you go into the booth, and then move back to register your vote, and the leavers used to open and close the curtains that shield the voter. No more -- you have to push into the threadbare curtains, and try to remember to push the lever one way before you vote, and the other way after.
Still, I like those voting booths, and will be worry to see them go. And as rickety and cranky as they are, I trust them to register my vote. I can't help thinking that if they had been using the old-fashioned voting booths in Florida, we'd be having an altogether different type of election today.
Watching the World Go Grey
Mar. 1st, 2004 05:41 pmI went to Rite Aid today and picked up a bottle of hair coloring.
I wear my hair pretty short, but I'm also lazy about getting it cut. My usual pattern these days -- especially now that I'm freelancing, so I'm sitting at home most of the time -- is to let it grow out until I have a business meeting, or just can't stand the mop any more. Because my hair grows out instead of down, the grey at the roots is usually hidden by the dyed stuff, and so I don't notice it until I get home from the salon.
Then I notice it. Boy, do I notice it.
My grandmother, according to my mom, never had to dye her hair. It got thinner in her old age, but never changed color. I was sort of hoping that would happen with me, but no -- here they are, bright silver streaks in what used to be a thick hank of reddish brown hair.
I can't even bitch about it to the guy who cuts my hair. Every time I do, he gets enthusiastic. "You don't understand," he says. "A lot of people, it comes in grey, or dull white. Yours is coming in silver. People dye their hair to be the color yours is coming in. It'll be great!"
Except I don't want it to be silver. I want it to be brown. The same brown that I grew up with, and that is part of my idea of what "me" looks like. Dammit.
I wear my hair pretty short, but I'm also lazy about getting it cut. My usual pattern these days -- especially now that I'm freelancing, so I'm sitting at home most of the time -- is to let it grow out until I have a business meeting, or just can't stand the mop any more. Because my hair grows out instead of down, the grey at the roots is usually hidden by the dyed stuff, and so I don't notice it until I get home from the salon.
Then I notice it. Boy, do I notice it.
My grandmother, according to my mom, never had to dye her hair. It got thinner in her old age, but never changed color. I was sort of hoping that would happen with me, but no -- here they are, bright silver streaks in what used to be a thick hank of reddish brown hair.
I can't even bitch about it to the guy who cuts my hair. Every time I do, he gets enthusiastic. "You don't understand," he says. "A lot of people, it comes in grey, or dull white. Yours is coming in silver. People dye their hair to be the color yours is coming in. It'll be great!"
Except I don't want it to be silver. I want it to be brown. The same brown that I grew up with, and that is part of my idea of what "me" looks like. Dammit.
Incidentally...
Feb. 29th, 2004 01:01 pm...being unfamiliar with the rules of courtesy in this particular culture, I hope that all those I am listing as Friends, and who don't have the vaguest idea of who the hell I am, won't mind. It's just that I've been reading your postings, and I like 'em a lot.
First Entry - Happy Birthday Frederic!
Feb. 29th, 2004 12:15 pmI've been introducing myself to LiveJournal over the past couple of weeks, and am now experimenting with my own entry. I have no idea whether I'll stick with this; for one thing, my life is pretty busy right now, and I'm way too easily distracted. For another, my impression is that this is a very young community, and I'm not quite sure how well somebody who recently discovered (to her considerable dismay) that she is almost 50 years old will fit in here.
So I'll simply hang out for a while, add the occasional modest entry, and see what develops, if anything.
Meanwhile, I just want to add that those who are Gilbert & Sullivan fans should note that today (leap day, 2004) would have been Frederic's 37th birthday. A celebration would probably in order...
So I'll simply hang out for a while, add the occasional modest entry, and see what develops, if anything.
Meanwhile, I just want to add that those who are Gilbert & Sullivan fans should note that today (leap day, 2004) would have been Frederic's 37th birthday. A celebration would probably in order...
