ceelove: (Default)
I flew yesterday to get to the DC march, but couldn't get a direct flight from Boston, so connected in Rochester, with a long layover. I was waiting at the gate as people trickled in, and I gradually became aware that I was being surrounded by women. And while most were not wearing pussyhats, there was this...energy. At the Rochester airport, the day before the march. As we boarded, I counted 5 men and 40 women on our flight. When we deplaned, we were greeted by a contingent of pussyhatters cheering and welcoming us to the women's march. On the day of the inauguration, remember. When I trained down to my host's house in Springfield, VA, I encountered a lot more reminders of the inauguration, mostly in the form of Trump hats. And yet, none of the Trump people looked happy. Disgruntled, actually. Maybe because it rained on the inauguration, but maybe also because we rained on their parade.

There was no such rain on our parade. We left the house at 8:30 in Springfield and were in line before 9 at the train station to get to DC. We gave up and Ubered at about 10, having then possibly advanced halfway. And yet, even the line felt like a party. Women - and yes, a nice number of men - were hugging, cheering, chanting, adoring each others' signage, and basically thrilled to be there. The party was hugely amplified in DC itself, where it was clear from everything from the overflowing Portajohns to the complete inability of the march to confine itself to the march route that the numbers anticipated by the organizers were...just a hair off. Like, a few hundred thousand shy.

And that was pretty much all that was shy about the event. It was a screamfest and a joyfest, brilliant, hilarious, exhausting and overwhelming. Whether or not it actually breaks records for turnout size, I think it will be known as historic.
ceelove: (serendipity)
I am so sorry. For almost 20 years, I called you "boring." I was so wrong. You are a tireless and unsung workhorse of the body. The tide that washes us of detritus. The silent mystery underpinning the functionality of all those big obvious clodhopper systems like (bah) muscles and skin.

It is so very hard to know you. You can be detected mostly through your lack of absence: when we are made turgid by too much of you pooling within. Subtly, quiescently, patiently clogging up the gaps we didn't even know we had (let alone needed) until they are gone and something is just, indescribably, not right.

For twenty years, I've practiced massage with little more than an occasional roll of the eyes in your direction. Worse, even, I lauded love and attention on your sister system, the network of fascia that undergirds our every cell and organ. I even ignored the evidence of your importance in the times when myofascial work falls short. Voiceless, you proclaimed all along that when lymph ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

So I will endeavor to make you happy henceforth. Along with myofascial work and Thai massage, you will guide me in correcting dysfunction in the body. I will learn deeper listening than I knew possible, and be the lymph whisperer in return, holding conversations with you like atomic sighs. And sometimes, it seems, those will reverberate within you and come back to me like fireworks and voices of thunder shaking the body awake. I have seen; I know.

Oh, lymph, how glorious you are, how deserving of my fascination and amazement. Nevermore shall I neglect the wonder that is you.

Love, Me
ceelove: (serendipity)
I finished two plays last year, and in August I started the process of querying theatres/submitting to contests. It was discouraging until I ran across a (members-only) website clearinghouse of opportunities for aspiring playwrights. Most of half a year later, I'm finally finished the extremely unsexy work of trying to make things happen with my writing.

Final tally: 25 theatres queried and 9 contests entered. (For the two previous scripts I wrote, which were musicals, I found only 12 theatres I could query - of which only 5 even responded - and 5 contests to enter.) I feel like I've got much better chances this time (especially given that two of the first three responses have been positive), that I indeed have a hope in hell of getting my work on the right desk at the right time.

I expect responses will trickle in over the coming year. In the meantime, I'll finish up my other playwright-self-betterment project of reading contemporary plays (27 since the fall, a few more to go, added to the previous year's 39) and start research for my next script, Faustian T-shirt. Gotta get cracking on my standard winter activity of writing, as I make much less headway when there's lots of gardening to be done.
ceelove: (serendipity)
I wish I could make screenshots of my thermometers from various points in the last few days. I've been attending closely to the brutal cold, mostly because of how it might affect the greenhouse. Even when the low temp was down to 13 outside, and with no solar energy available to collect, just geothermal energy kept the greenhouse above freezing.

But last night, when it got down to -4, the greenhouse came down to 23 degrees. Oh noes, Cee, will it kill your plants? Maybe; but they're cold-hardy broccoli, leeks, carrots, Asian greens - it's not like I'm trying to grow tomatoes in there - so I'm not rushing in with a space heater, I'm just noting the data. And right now, the temp in there is back up into the 60s - while we're at the today's high of 16.

There's tinkering yet to do - I bet in years to come, I can do even better at trapping the heat - but I believe I have made my point.

Oh, and just because it amuses me: the broccoli was intended purely as an experiment, to teach me when I would need to plant it to get a yield. But now, in January, when it gets a mouthful of sunlight a day, it's producing heads. With salvaged glass and lots of insulation, I have turned the seasons on their ear.
ceelove: (Default)
There is nothing like spending the morning preparing the garden for a heat wave to make one grateful.

As I got gross and sweaty setting up the watering system, it made me appreciate just how good I've got it, that I have the advance warning and the resources to mitigate the heat's impact - and that then I can escape into a/c. Even more than biking across America made me think on the settlers, gardening makes me think of the many who didn't (and don't) have a choice about toiling in the heat or lugging water around by hand to save the crops. Especially slaves: I spent my youth in the South, I know how miserably hot it gets there.

So even though I'm cranky from being gross and the watering system being broken in several ways and my fingers being cut and sore, I also feel humility, empathy, the urge to be kind for the sake of the billions who have it so much worse.

Now I'm going to go greatly appreciate another shower.
ceelove: (Default)
I was ruminating on some kind of gardeny updatey thing, while I harvested this morning.

Like, there are tomato hornworm cemetaries, their innards becoming the stuff of parasitic wasp larvae instead of my plants becoming the stuff of hornworm innards. I encouraged the wasps with plants that lure beneficial insects. Permaculture: it works, bitches!

Or, ye gods, when I plotted this garden in the winter and planted in the spring, I expected it to be feeding, y'know, plenty of people. Now and for many weeks this summer, I'm the only one in the house eating measurable amounts of it. You can imagine the plotting I do to prepare and share my surplus, which is both great and surreal. I was going to take pictures of today's ridiculous bounty and mock-lament my fate of how to deal with it.

But with my hands full of harvested cucumbers, I met an old homeless Asian man on the sidewalk. I see him around, harvesting recyclables for the return fees. We found enough English and gestures between us to transfer several pints of cukes and tomatoes to his keeping. He was clearly very pleased, and I was very glad to give them to him, and yet the whole thing left me with an overall feeling of pensiveness and melancholy. I share so much food, but it goes to my friends, who are not undernourished. It was pure chance that I could give my fresh veggies this one time to someone who really needs them, and pure chance will not feed him well tomorrow, nor the hundreds of millions who spend much of their lives hungry.

So. Lots of happy ruminations on gardening going gloriously well. Rapture at the plants bejeweled with tomatoes, harmony with the pollinators so busy alongside me, a fair sense of awe at what my hands and some soil and the sun have wrought...all somewhat muffled by sorrow at how very rare it is for people to have this kind of luck and magic at hand.
ceelove: (Default)
I was recently rewatching a favorite movie of yore, Singin' in the Rain, beloved from my teen years when I would watch almost anything Gene Kelly made ('cause back then, I needed all the joie de vivre I could find). I started musing on what actors that's true for nowadays, and then started making a list.

Amy Adams
Naveen Andrews
Daniel Auteuil
Cate Blanchett
Jim Broadbent
Chris Cooper
Russell Crowe
Alan Cumming
Judi Dench
Johnny Depp
Frances Dormand
Colin Firth
Morgan Freeman
Paul Giamatti
Philip Seymour Hoffman
Hugh Jackman
Aamir Khan
Nicole Kidman
William H. Macy
James McEvoy
Ewan McGregor
Edward Norton
Lee Pace
Christopher Plummer
Hrithik Roshan
Hilary Swank
Kevin Spacey
James Spader
Audrey Tautou
Kate Winslett

Now, I watch a LOT of movies, but it was still surprising to see how many people made the list. They're all people who strongly incline me towards seeing a film based on their presence in it. They have, by my standards, both talent and a consistent taste for interesting roles within interesting scripts, so them showing up in a movie biases me towards it.

Examining the list, it's sad to me that it's so dominated by men, and white American men at that. There are a few Indians (Bollywood is my guilty pleasure), a few Europeans, a couple Aussies. On the other hand, it's pretty revealing that most of the white-American-men I will go out of my way to see are not hotties. (Hrithik Roshan, on the other hand, I will watch with the sound off to get through the inanities of the script. The man is scorching.)

Anyway, so now I'm interested. What actors would be on your list?

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