Archive for September, 2007

I may be in the gutter, but I’m looking at the stars

Saturday, September 8th, 2007

Great quote by Oscar Wilde – last night I took a break to run back to the LaLa and show someone the house. We sat on the terrace and looked up at the stars and a butterfly flew by and it made us both gasp to see this beautiful creature out at night. My friend said butterflies are icons of happiness and I said they are icons of freedom. The caterpillars mate and die – a beautiful poetic euphemism, dying in love, or in orgasm – but I digress, the caterpillars mate and die, but they know they will be born again as butterflies. The metamorphisis. It’s a complete submission to beauty. To be born again free. How lovely they are – these butterflies – creatures of beauty.

Making a mountain out of a molehill

Saturday, September 8th, 2007

The artistry of an overactive mind is a rich fantasy life – as many people as I interact with on a daily basis, it’s amazing to me the conversations and interactions that go on solely in my mind with people who have been fleshed out almost like in a novel – pretty soon real life intersects with this fantasy life and sometimes I find myself taking comments out of context because I can’t discern which landscape I’m moving through at any given time. Was that something I dreamed?

They say a writer has second sight – able to see deeper and broader into any given scenario – I think it is the writer fleshing out other people, situations, conversations, and juicing them up and shaking them down and turning them around. K said she is trying to take things at face value these days – oh really, now, how does one do that? – do you think we only have one face?

Everything is linked and linked and linked.

Why I love New Orleans

Saturday, September 8th, 2007

Last night, flush with memories of Turkey, I dolled up and went out to have some fun and fun was had, indeed. We did the Friday Swirl tasting and picked up a few people for our entourage and then onto Juan’s for a late night snack and then we headed to Bank Street Bar to listen to Egg Yolk Jubilee – how fun were they! I danced with this guy that made dancing seem like breathing – it was fantastic. EYJ played a lot of standards – Lil Liza Jane, St. James Infirmary, and we had a blast. Picture being twirled and twirled and then dipped to Lil Liza Jane. Wow. Too much fun.

On patience

Friday, September 7th, 2007

Two vultures sitting on a branch – one looks at the other and says, “Fuck this, I’m going to kill something.”

When I’m 55

Friday, September 7th, 2007

The dogs and I are walking in the dark around the bayou in the mornings now since the days are growing shorter. We came across a woman I know who lives on the other side of the bayou – she was wearing a shirt with Canseco’s written on it – the new grocery store – I said “what are you doing?” – she said “headed to work.” I said “you work at Canseco’s” – and she said “yeah honey.” I said “that’s good.” She said “na ah. Fifty five years old and standing on my feet all day in a hot kitchen.”

I need to get back on my “before I’m 55” financial plan.

Whoa Saints

Friday, September 7th, 2007

Sigh – Starting a Wit’s Inn, which was so LOUD and so smoky, we watched the kick off to grand applause and gesture. Next, Bacchanal, where three employees sat around a borrowed television (we left promptly), to Vaughn’s, where we walked into a packed house of people with eyes peeled on us (not really, the television was right where the door is), we made our grand entrance, got to the bar, and ordered drinks and bam, the Saints scored – and everyone was cheering us – asking us to go out and come back in again because we’re lucky. Then to Marky’s, and just as the Saints were getting worse, I figured it was time to head back to MidCity – I opted out of the rest of the Saints’ misery tour and came home smelling like bbq’d Rachel – I almost had to undress outside – this morning I got an email from a friend about the Who Dat? quiz – she said she scored 100.

A few interviews and a break on the porch

Thursday, September 6th, 2007

The day started picking up from the malaise that colored the early morn – I had a sorta productive day reaching sources – and then had a nice albeit short visit on my porch with a friend and a Coca Cola or as we like to say here Coke Cola – then a tough round at Pilates – and now off to cheer the Saints – Geaux Saints!!!

Nessun dorma

Thursday, September 6th, 2007

Still listening to Pavarotti today – how sad – but how wonderful that unlike my father there are many excellent recordings of his sonorous voice.

Stopping the monkey chatter and the benefits of listening

Thursday, September 6th, 2007

The best part of my job is doing interviews with industry experts – I love talking about media and through these conversations I learn a lot of other things about life in general. Similarly, when called upon to act as relationship counselor with friends, I learn, from listening to them, things about myself that aren’t immediately apparent to me.

For one thing, I have a lot of monkey chatter – these simian creatures hang from the branches in my brain and choral up whenever there is something to contemplate – and they chatter chatter chatter incessantly telling me what I’ve done wrong, could do wrong, did great, shouldn’t forget, don’t overlook, and what was the lesson I was supposed to have learned here, there, backwards and forwards, and let’s not forget the big one – BEWARE.

These monkeys get a free ride – enjoying a large amount of real estate in my head where I let them squat and squawk – shooo, monkeys, go sit in someone else’s brain – I am shouting right now – SHOOO – I’m too busy for your unproductive noise.

Monkey chatter cancels out my nirvana.

Shed a tear for Luciano Pavarotti

Thursday, September 6th, 2007

Pavarotti died at 71 years of age today – how truly sad. I’m right in the middle of work and trying to hold Eli in abeyance and I flipped to Itunes and listened to Nessun Dorma to commemorate this great singer. Too many roads converged – the call to prayer reminding me of my father, who sang like Pavarotti, and Pavarotti who sang like god, and the coffee grounds that showed my heart as big as my dad’s, as Pavarotti’s, but with no road into it. Oh great malaise – oh passing of great tenor – oh long gone father – but notice in the end – VICTORY.

The libretto of Turandot doesn’t translate easily because it’s so heavily poetic.

The translation, finally:

The Prince
Nessun dorma, nessun dorma …
Tu pure, o Principessa,
Nella tua fredda stanza,
Guardi le stelle
Che tremano d’amore
E di speranza.

Ma il mio mistero è chiuso in me,
Il nome mio nessun saprà, no, no,
Sulla tua bocca lo dirò
Quando la luce splenderà,
Ed il mio bacio scioglierà il silenzio
Che ti fa mia.

Chorus

Il nome suo nessun saprà
E noi dovrem, ahimè, morir.

Dilegua, o notte!
Tramontate, stelle!
All’alba vincerò!

The Prince
No one sleeps, no one sleeps…
Even you, o Princess,
In your cold room,
Watch the stars,
That tremble with love
And with hope.

But my secret is hidden within me;
My name no one shall know, no, no,
On your mouth I will speak it*
When the light shines,
And my kiss will dissolve the silence
That makes you mine.

No one will know his name
And we must, alas, die.

Vanish, o night!
Set behind the mountain stars!
At daybreak, I shall conquer!