Archive for March, 2008
I’m a very slightly superstitious person. It’s not so much that I believe in the power of jinxing something as much as it is I’m afraid it’ll turn out to be real and powerful and I might have been imprudent in failing to observe said power. Thus, I don’t plan too far in advance for celebrating anniversaries or birthdays or things as I don’t want the universe to think I’m being cavalier and that they’re a given.
Yes, I’m insane.
Anyhoo, I decided to tempt fate this time around by making plans for Chris’ and my seventh wedding anniversary two months ahead of the curve. I feel fairly confident that we will make it to that milestone unless I discover that, say, instead of fighting stock fraud, he’s been committing it. On the other hand, that might just make me proud of him and a lot, lot wealthier — both worth staying in the marriage. But I digress. Focus, Julia! Focus!
I noted while on the Ticketmaster website, laughing at how much one might pay to see the double bill of The Police and Elvis Costellos*, I noticed that the singularly fabulous Eddie Izzard is doing a show in Detroit the day after our wedding anniversary. And what better way to celebrate your love than seeing live one of my idols, an acerbic, dazzlingly intelligent, mildly insane cross-dressing British comedian? Answer: none!
If you haven’t experienced Eddie Izzard’s one man show-stylings, rent the DVDs. (I think I like Dress to Kill best) His is a truly unique approach, offering up a dizzying array of historical observations and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sly bon mots. Keeps your brain on its toes, so to speak. (You may also be enjoying Eddie’s pretty-darn-good American accent on FX’s The Riches, which I also, naturally, dig.)
In other words, I can’t wait. (Plus, the show’s at the Detroit Opera House, which is supposed to be a stunning venue. Double score!)
*Answer: $94-$229.50 for Pavilion seats at the DTE Energy Music Center! A mere $44.50 for lawn. LAWN! And that’s before the ridiculous fees they pile on.
March 31st, 2008
It’s been a long time since I watched a music video. Which is funny, because I’m of the generation that came of age just as the moon man bounced in the dawn of MTV. I remember being in middle school and going over to a friend’s house — we didn’t have cable — to breathlessly await a new Duran Duran video. (The Reflex! With the wave of water coming out at the end like it was COMING RIGHT AT YOU!) Or staying up late to watch Friday Night Videos so that I’d be in the loop around the proverbial middle school water cooler the next day.
All of this is a very long-winded way of saying that I just watched the new music video for the song “Good Day” by Ann Arbor band Tally Hall. I’m so out of the loop on local music — hell, on new music in general — but these guys seem to have garnered quite a following and have been popping up everywhere from the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson to MTVu. (See, I don’t even know what MTVu is.) I read in this month’s Observer (a local rag) that they’re re-releasing their first album “Marvin’s Marvelous Mechanical Museum” on a major label. Good for them.
But back to the video. I don’t know what the other kids are doing with their videos these days (and thus, it may turn out this video isn’t remarkable at all) but the “Good Day” video is a tad infectious, a little dizzying and fun to watch, especially for Ann Arborites, since many shots were done around town. (They’re playing in front of Rackham Hall! Now they’re in the Big House!) Anyway, I’m not entirely sure about the song — might be a little Queen-esquely operatic for my tastes — but the sheer effort that must have gone into making this video makes it worth a nod. And who doesn’t love a local-boys-make-good story?
March 31st, 2008
Haven’t blogged much lately because, believe it or not, I haven’t had much to say. I’m still struggling with the switch in medications and while my newest fibromyalgia meds are alleviating some of my pain, they also leave me exhausted much of the time. It doesn’t leave much time, energy or (to be honest) inclination to blog. Nor does it make for an exciting life filled with inspiration for blogging. You get the picture.
I always hesitate, in fact, to write too much about my fibromyalgia and pain too much. I’m terribly self-conscious about and afraid of boring people. In my house, being sick could be seen as weakness or even a ploy for attention, so I have trouble letting go of all of that. I worry that I’m being overly-dramatic or I question myself about my motives: am I just trying to get attention, etc. In fact, I’ve gotten so good at acting like I’m fine that it would actually surprise most people who know me to learn that I’m in pain all day, every day, at varying levels.
I don’t want to court pity, but it’s difficult to talk — or, in this case, write — about my life without bringing it up. So there you have it. It’s where I am. Right now, it’s making working difficult, making writing difficult and even making the making of things more challenging, so I haven’t been distracting myself as much with sewing or knitting projects. But I’m back in physical therapy, doing yoga, eating well and getting massage therapy occasionally, so I’m doing what I can.
Huh. Yep. Even bored myself with this post. I do know, however, that I have a couple of readers who suffer from fibromyalgia and, at the very least, maybe they’ll get some comfort out of knowing they’re not alone.
March 28th, 2008
Some things I saw on a late afternoon walk yesterday afternoon around our neighborhood in Ann Arbor. (Okay, so that one above may not technically have been taken on our walk, but if Allie could have come with us, he’d have given up his sunny spot on clean sheets in a heartbeat.)
Turtles seemed to be something of a theme…
…sunning themselves on rocks.
Perhaps this last one’s pushing the theme a tad, but it seemed sad to leave it out.
Above is a very cool building near our house, a series of small-scale lofts nestled just off the street. The building used to be some kind of water station pump thingie. I’m big on details.
One of my favorite streets, Mulholland Avenue, with its pretty painted houses.
A bright and cheery mailbox.
A curious yard ornament against a yellow house.
A sunny spot to sit under a tree.
Two silver boxes on a blue sideboard on a porch. Did I mention I love this town, especially on foot? I’ll never run out of cool little things to notice.
March 17th, 2008
Oh, I’m sure I’ve blogged about her before but after spending this sunny Sunday morning curled up with a cup of coffee in a perky orange mug and a copy of Kalman’s The Principles of Uncertainty, it all seemed worth repeating, worth expanding upon, worth gushing about.
I confess that I don’t recall exactly how I first heard about Maira Kalman – illustrator, painter, author, thinker-of-things, collector-of-stuff — but I think it was when I stumbled upon a copy of her Max the dog (and poet! and dreamer!) childrens books in a sale bin. This seems odd to me in retrospect because I don’t generally read childrens books; I’m not one of those grown-ups. But there was something about the whimsical but sophisticated style of her drawings that grabbed me — no doubt because I recognized it, subconsciously at least, from her numerous New Yorker covers. Not to mention the fact that the storylines and the copy are so sweet, so crazy and namecheck a zillion philosophers, musicians, poets, painters and writers and other folk you don’t normally find in the pages of childrens books.
But I realize the telling of the beginning of our love story is boring. Suffice it to say I have continued to cultivate a love for all things Kalman, including her illustrated edition of the classic grammar book The Elements of Style (which was given to me by my friend Margaret who didn’t even KNOW how much I loved Maira Kalman!!!). I ogle online the textile designs she has produced for Kate Spade and Isaac Mizrahi. I fantasize about owning a print of one of her New Yorker covers.
Right now, as I said, I’m really enjoying reading The Principles of Uncertainty, an illustrated collection of writings that detail a year inside her kooky, sad and beautiful mind. (The writings originally appeared as a New York Times blog and you can still read them online if you don’t want to own the book and hug it to you frequently.) There is, I think, living in equal measure with her kookiness, a real sense of sadness and conflict in Kalman’s observations about life. There’s a wistfulness and a melancholy that coexist with the joy of small, beautiful things and a deep-seated sense of gratitude.
To wit, one of my favorite pages from the book:
Isn’t that just beautiful and sad and true?
If I haven’t overwhelmed you with all things Kalman by now, you might also want to check out this terrific interview with her over at Media Bistro, conducted following the release of The Elements of Style. A couple of gems from it, if you’re uninclined to read the whole thing:
Regarding the comparison of the writing and painting processes:
“I try to paint in a narrative way and I write in a painterly way. I don’t’ know if one is harder…I think there are different difficulties—no, there’s always the same difficulty in finding your voice in whatever you’re doing, and being both inspired and natural at the same time, and traveling the lines of extremes, being smart and stupid and happy and tragic.”
I love that last part: smart and stupid and happy and tragic. What a goal to strive for in painting and in writing and in life, no?
Also, regarding breaking rules in the creative process (a response which I think applies to all expressions of creativity):
“Well, you can decide what your definition of a rule is, but I think there has to be a moment in the process where you make a leap outside of what is expected. There can’t be an original piece of work that isn’t conceived outside of some constraint. Even if you’re bound to grammar, you’re doing something within that context that’s inventive or experimental. That’s how things change and things progress, and that’s why we have new things and things that are inspired. I think it’s learning how to have fun, or the sense of play—it’s thrilling to be able to do that. And also for the reader, or for the person who’s looking at a painting, that there’s some kind of fresh spark that’s set off in you, how to tell your story in your own way. And not everyone wants to do that or needs to do that.”
I think that second line is fascinating: “There can’t be an original piece of work that isn’t conceived outside of some constraint.”
Sigh. So much to think about in this world, isn’t there? I’m so grateful that Maira Kalman is out there noticing things, thinking about them and then writing and/or drawing about it. (I also hope that I don’t get the pants sued off me for publishing, without permission, the two illustrations above, which I nicked from the New York Times website. I’ll just say I conceived the idea outside of their restraint and see where it gets me.)
March 16th, 2008
I married into a pretty amazing family. And I’m not just saying that because my mother-in-law Jean, Jean, the Beauty Queen reads my blog more faithfully than anyone else and actually causes a stir if I don’t post in a while. No, the Carey women are remarkable across the board. To wit, last month I posted a link to an interview my sister-in-law Julie Carey (Chris’ older sister, for those keeping track) did with Obama preceding the Virginia primaries.
Well, while one SIL is busy reporting the news in and around our nation’s capital, another is busy making news in the Pacific Northwest. Chris’ younger sister Amy Carey lives and works on Vashon Island, a beautiful little oasis just off Seattle where she is, among other things, a passionate environmental activist. She’s been featured in her local and regional news quite a bit lately for her work in opposing the expansion of Glacier Northwest’s gravel mining operations on teeny Maury Island, Vashon’s neighbor. Recently, Amy was interviewed by the Seattle Post-Intelligencer last month and is featured in this clip from Channel Five although in the latter she is, oddly enough, not identified. It doesn’t stop her from looking both smart and cappy and being, as is her style, dazzlingly well-informed and articulate. She could have used a little more air time, but I might be biased.
The issue at stake, for those who’s curious, is the environmental impact the mine expansion will have on the ecosystems of both Maury and Vashon Islands, which Glacier Northwest and its proponents seem to be brushing off as both minor and temporary. Many residents of the islands feel quite differently, as you can imagine. You can learn more or get involved by visiting the website of Preserve Our Islands, of which Amy is president.
March 9th, 2008
I’ve been to two concerts at the Michigan Theater in the past week or so. Last weekend, Chris and I joined our friend Fara and her boyfriend Mark to see James Blunt and, while it was a good enough show — it was basically like watching him perform the albums — I was nearly driven batty by everyone using their cell phones all throughout the concert. Some people seemed to be calling friends and holding up their phone so they could here. More were either taking pictures or recording video, which always surprises me because the quality of that stuff is always lousy and I wonder who they’re showing it to, going, “Look! You see that tiny little blurr of light on the stage there? OH MY GOD THAT’S JAMES BLUNT!” There was even a guy two folks down who kept recording portions of the songs. Copyright and piracy issues aside (especially since I’m not a saint in that department), it was just annoying and distracting — at times the glow from the phones around me seemed brighter than the stage.
It all seemed so contrary to actually being present in the moment, to actually experiencing being at the concert. It had me musing about how this younger generation — kids today! — can’t seem to just engage with their surroundings without filtering the experience through some kind of gadgetry. It had me, most of all, feeling old.
Then, on Wednesday night, Chris and I went to see Steve Earle . I am not, admittedly, a big Steve Earle fan, but Chris loves him and the tickets were part of his birthday present. This time, we were on the main floor of the theater, rather than the balcony, and the vibe was entirely different. What struck me first and foremost was that, in sharp contrast to the previous concert, the Steve Earle crowd made me look like a spring chicken. I have to admit it was kind of a nice feeling. Somewhere along the lines, I must have gotten used to feeling old, especially in this college town where youth and its indiscretions are impossible to avoid. Save for a sullen teen behind us whose constant complaining suggested her mother had dragged her to the show across the year, I was the youngest person around me by far. Even Chris got into the humor of it, dubbing it “Steve Earle: The Cocoon Tour.”
Oh, yes, they were old around us! The couple to our right didn’t look like they could stay awake for the whole evening. When a large group entered after the opening act, Chris remarked that the bus from the group home must have been late in arriving. Oh, how we laughed. And then I settled into my seat. I pulled my Icy Hot pain reliever stick from my purse and applied to my neck, a necessary evil for me to sit still for any period of time. And then I pulled my knitting from my purse and Chris and I just looked at each other and laughed. There I was, poking fun at old folk and I’m the only one in the crowd stinking of wintergreen and knitting a friggin’ sweater. Irony, you are a cruel, cruel beast.
On a side note, I should mention that I didn’t not enjoy the Steve Earle show as much as I thought I would. He’s still a tad nasally and twangy for me, although his last Grammy was for folk music and I can get behind some o’ that. And I respect his politics (ol’ lefty-style) and his recovery from drugs and alcohol (which he’s pretty vocal about and committed to.) What I will say is that there were parts of it I truly enjoyed, especially his newer stuff. It was a really pared back show — mostly him on stage with his guitar or mandolin or what have you. But for some of the songs, he was accompanied by a DJ and what I thought was going to be cheesy — who plays the banjo to an electronic beat — was at times really interesting. One might even say enjoyable. Enough so that I even put away my knitting and forgot, at least for a moment or two, to re-apply my pain stick. Kids today!
March 7th, 2008