The Flying Machine

Saw Milk tonight. A powerful reminder of why activism matters. Of how far we've come, and how far we've got to go. Highly recommended.

"And the young gay people in the Altoona, Pennsylvanias and the Richmond, Minnesotas who are coming out and hear Anita Bryant in television and her story. The only thing they have to look forward to is hope. And you have to give them hope. Hope for a better world, hope for a better tomorrow, hope for a better place to come to if the pressures at home are too great. Hope that all will be all right. Without hope, not only gays, but the blacks, the seniors, the handicapped, the us'es, the us'es will give up. And if you help elect to the central committee and other offices, more gay people, that gives a green light to all who feel disenfranchised, a green light to move forward. It means hope to a nation that has given up, because if a gay person makes it, the doors are open to everyone."

Posted by Sarah at 11:21 PM | Permalink

Triple whammy: sick, busy, guest in town. I'll be back on it soon.

Posted by Sarah at 5:20 PM | Permalink

An oversimplification, sure, but:

The ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing the class into two groups. All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on its quality. His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the "quantity" group: fifty pound of pots rated an "A", forty pounds a "B", and so on. Those being graded on "quality", however, needed to produce only one pot -- albeit a perfect one -- to get an "A". Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity. It seems that while the "quantity" group was busily churning out piles of work - and learning from their mistakes -- the "quality" group had sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay.

I like this way of thinking about creativity, and I certainly find it true in my own work. I don't like the crude binary, though, and I'd love to read about some specific examples making the most of both theory and practice. Thoughts welcome.

(via kottke)

Posted by Sarah at 10:18 PM | Permalink

Might make it to NYC in early June for an awards dinner! Well hot dog. I'll let y'all city types know if it comes to be!

Posted by Sarah at 9:53 AM | Permalink

I hate these loose ends and unexpected reminders and bits and pieces that keep popping up just when I'm not feeling low. It's never as simple as packing your toothbrush and pajamas and walking out the door, I guess.

Let me mention something awesome: went down to Eug last week to see the Punch Brothers and it was outstanding. A highlight: their 22-yo bass wunderkind solo with Gabe on You Are My Flower.

Also awesome: seeing all those great friends and getting all those great hugs. Buzzing around town with T and pulling off an ambitious array of dishes for the pre-show eats, including homemade crackers. Who'da thunk they were so easy?

Posted by Sarah at 9:46 PM | Permalink

This has been a dang nice winter thus far. Plentiful sunshine and not too much rain. The bulbs are already poking up out of the ground and I've only had to dig my car out from snow a few times. Nice job, Columbia River Gorge, nice job.

Posted by Sarah at 10:58 AM | Permalink

Seems like even if you know something is for the best and was going to happen sooner or later, it doesn't make it any easier to accept. Even if you yourself were thinking of maybe doing it first, it doesn't matter, because you didn't, you wouldn't have, not yet, but it happened, he did it, it's done, it's over.

Put it all in the box labeled The Past, yes, even those loose ends and unfinished plans and ideas and shoulda- coulda- woulda-s. That door has closed forever, sorry.

Posted by Sarah at 11:21 PM | Permalink

Lately, or perhaps always:

Posted by Sarah at 12:07 PM | Permalink

Sometimes I wish I could run into, say, Rush Limbaugh out on vacation in the Gorge. What if he was just down at the bar, having a brew with his buddies, off guard and relaxed?

I could walk up, shake his hand, introduce myself, and then sock him in the face. Repeatedly. Kick him in the nuts too.

I'm surprised no one's beaten me to it.

Posted by Sarah at 8:15 PM | Permalink

Where I wish I was right now:

Posted by Sarah at 8:04 PM | Permalink