that is, Pushing Daisies, the television series.
mm. yes, good.
http://abc.go.com/primetime/pushingdaisies/
http://www.youtube.com/user/47alias47?ob=4
ps.
oh yeah, did i mention: PUSHING DAISIES!
Showing posts with label tragedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tragedy. Show all posts
Monday, December 22, 2008
Thursday, November 8, 2007
losing
I've lost all motivation to continue posting here
as few people actually read what I write.
Until further notice,
I am taking a break from this...
"accounting"
of the events of my mind.
Besides,
until further notice,
I am losing all battles with the world .. .
as few people actually read what I write.
Until further notice,
I am taking a break from this...
"accounting"
of the events of my mind.
Besides,
until further notice,
I am losing all battles with the world .. .
Monday, October 15, 2007
Jason Kendall Ray
It took me an hour and a half to read this article...
____Ray of Hope____
about Jason Kendall Ray
aka Rameses, the UNC mascot,
aka youth leader,
aka front man for Nine PM Traffic,
aka etc, etc, etc...
Recently,
as we were discussing how I believe some people I am close to look to me expecting to see pride or strength or success,
a friend asked me who it is that I look up to.
While one may expect some obvious well-known professionals,
directors or artists or writers,
I had never deeply considered the individuals that inspire me to be who I am.
I have never truly kept track of the people and their stories whom,
when I hear of or read of or meet or get to know them,
I am affected, moved, shaped, changed.
I think this record begins today
with Jason Kendall Ray.
____Ray of Hope____
about Jason Kendall Ray
aka Rameses, the UNC mascot,
aka youth leader,
aka front man for Nine PM Traffic,
aka etc, etc, etc...
Recently,
as we were discussing how I believe some people I am close to look to me expecting to see pride or strength or success,
a friend asked me who it is that I look up to.
While one may expect some obvious well-known professionals,
directors or artists or writers,
I had never deeply considered the individuals that inspire me to be who I am.
I have never truly kept track of the people and their stories whom,
when I hear of or read of or meet or get to know them,
I am affected, moved, shaped, changed.
I think this record begins today
with Jason Kendall Ray.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Accidental Hero Vs. Accidental Villian
Today I did some yard work at my friend's house. (When you are poor and struggling for work, friends hire you to help out a bit... and this helps you out a bit.) So I did quite a bit of magifying some bushes and grasses.
Among the taller-than-me bushes I found grapevines abundant. They were covering - no, blanketing the brush, which was fighting just to earn some light. Oh, but the grapes were young and not quite ripe. This posed a dilemma. I did not have trouble deciding... the baby grapes and choking vines must go. So I cut them away - most of them - and tore them from their deadly grasp on the branches. I saved the bushes, but..!!
While I was recklessly and aggressively tearing away vines, I failed to recognize a bird's nest in the tall branches... until I had gone and knocked two infant barely-feathered sparrows from the nest. I noticed them lying on the ground after they began chirping. They could not fly. Their eyes barely opened. They could only but thrust their legs about and cry for help.
I was afraid to touch them, but had to return to them to their nest or they would die. I went to the garage. I gloved my hands up, and found a small nest-sized garden shovel. The birds were lying in some pile of dead leaves. Hopefully this broke their fall and not their fragility. I delicately scooped each up sliding one then the other into their crib overhead.I hope my non-skin interference in the rescue didn't taint their motherbird away from them.
I think I saved these birdlings today, though I also almost killed them. I hope I did not. This could make me a bad person... a little bit.... or at least careless.
Among the taller-than-me bushes I found grapevines abundant. They were covering - no, blanketing the brush, which was fighting just to earn some light. Oh, but the grapes were young and not quite ripe. This posed a dilemma. I did not have trouble deciding... the baby grapes and choking vines must go. So I cut them away - most of them - and tore them from their deadly grasp on the branches. I saved the bushes, but..!!
While I was recklessly and aggressively tearing away vines, I failed to recognize a bird's nest in the tall branches... until I had gone and knocked two infant barely-feathered sparrows from the nest. I noticed them lying on the ground after they began chirping. They could not fly. Their eyes barely opened. They could only but thrust their legs about and cry for help.
I was afraid to touch them, but had to return to them to their nest or they would die. I went to the garage. I gloved my hands up, and found a small nest-sized garden shovel. The birds were lying in some pile of dead leaves. Hopefully this broke their fall and not their fragility. I delicately scooped each up sliding one then the other into their crib overhead.I hope my non-skin interference in the rescue didn't taint their motherbird away from them.
I think I saved these birdlings today, though I also almost killed them. I hope I did not. This could make me a bad person... a little bit.... or at least careless.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Recent Infrequency of Me
.woh...
When I actually get a regular job, keeping up with this all-too-frequent-ness of this story is going to be hard. I take a week("-ish") to mourn the loss of my Buick - which will become a part of this Detroit Dream Project. Then this week I am working on prep and reshooting of some scenes for a film. I am having trouble making time to tell the world about my adventures and thoughts,,, or thoughts and adventures,,, one or the other.
If my life, in fact, becomes all too frequent, I'm afraid this blog will... un-become... it... (all too frequent, that is.)
Will yous miss me more then?
When I actually get a regular job, keeping up with this all-too-frequent-ness of this story is going to be hard. I take a week("-ish") to mourn the loss of my Buick - which will become a part of this Detroit Dream Project. Then this week I am working on prep and reshooting of some scenes for a film. I am having trouble making time to tell the world about my adventures and thoughts,,, or thoughts and adventures,,, one or the other.
If my life, in fact, becomes all too frequent, I'm afraid this blog will... un-become... it... (all too frequent, that is.)
Will yous miss me more then?
Saturday, July 28, 2007
The Buick Is Dead
On Monday, last Monday, I did a bit of work at The Second City in Novi with Amy Duffy, stage manager. I helped her build a new set for the upcoming months. It was fun.
I drove out there in my proud vibrant colorful car of character. Though some of us do not, I know most of us like the Buick... some of us love it.
But on that fateful evening, after I made my way to the car
parked just adjacent to the fancy restaurant patio
for all the rich food eaters to marvel upon,
I found it would not start. This has been a problem for weeks, ever since I returned from my trip out west.
She had trouble starting once on Ann Arbor, but we were able to resuscitate her with help of Mitch from MSU's baby black Beamer.
She had trouble starting once when I stopped at a gas station for a refill. It almost seemed to much for her, but a mechanic helped me revive her.
And then she failed to start again outside The Second City Novi. Amy tried to help me bring her back once more. We tried for a half hour... maybe more. But... but it was hopeless. I had to pull the plug. I couldn't bear hearing her struggle just to crank her engine once. Every turn of the key built a larger frog in my throat. On the verge of tears, I told Amy, "It's over."
I called my father to come help me unload my belongings - the trunk of fun, the Buick paint, the change I kept in her console we would use to pay the occasional parking meter. She would have to carry these burdens no longer.
Before I left her, I painted her over one last time, making sure to tag under her hood and around her interior. I wanted to leave her as pretty as ever.
Now I have.
Her empty shell sits in the rear of a lot in Novi adjacent a barren swamp. As much as I know her soul rests in a better place now, I cannot help but miss our rides together. For my own selfish reasons, I long for her to come back. But she cannot live forever.
Although there is the possibility - perhaps the probability - that what is left of the Buick will become part of a new public sculpture being called The Detroit Dream Project.
Nevertheless our days together are over. Things may never be the same.
I drove out there in my proud vibrant colorful car of character. Though some of us do not, I know most of us like the Buick... some of us love it.
But on that fateful evening, after I made my way to the car
parked just adjacent to the fancy restaurant patio
for all the rich food eaters to marvel upon,
I found it would not start. This has been a problem for weeks, ever since I returned from my trip out west.
She had trouble starting once on Ann Arbor, but we were able to resuscitate her with help of Mitch from MSU's baby black Beamer.
She had trouble starting once when I stopped at a gas station for a refill. It almost seemed to much for her, but a mechanic helped me revive her.
And then she failed to start again outside The Second City Novi. Amy tried to help me bring her back once more. We tried for a half hour... maybe more. But... but it was hopeless. I had to pull the plug. I couldn't bear hearing her struggle just to crank her engine once. Every turn of the key built a larger frog in my throat. On the verge of tears, I told Amy, "It's over."
I called my father to come help me unload my belongings - the trunk of fun, the Buick paint, the change I kept in her console we would use to pay the occasional parking meter. She would have to carry these burdens no longer.
Before I left her, I painted her over one last time, making sure to tag under her hood and around her interior. I wanted to leave her as pretty as ever.
Now I have.
Her empty shell sits in the rear of a lot in Novi adjacent a barren swamp. As much as I know her soul rests in a better place now, I cannot help but miss our rides together. For my own selfish reasons, I long for her to come back. But she cannot live forever.
Although there is the possibility - perhaps the probability - that what is left of the Buick will become part of a new public sculpture being called The Detroit Dream Project.Nevertheless our days together are over. Things may never be the same.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Jeremy Blake Swam Out to Sea
This is a modern day Romeo & Juliet tragedy...
Jeremy Blake wrote a love note, removed his clothes and swam out to sea one week after his love, Theresa Duncan, committed suicide.
Blake was a guest in Ann Arbor as a part of the Penny Stamps Distingushed Visitors Series operated by the University of Michigan School of Art & Design, March 25, 2004. I saw him speak of his work... animating as a painter paints... and on film projects such as Punch Drunk Love. I was impressed with his art and his accomplishments at a relatively young age.
Romantic or insane? I would argue both. And Shakespeare would agree.
Maybe I would do the same.
Beck "Round the Bend" video by Jeremy Blake
Jeremy Blake wrote a love note, removed his clothes and swam out to sea one week after his love, Theresa Duncan, committed suicide.
Blake was a guest in Ann Arbor as a part of the Penny Stamps Distingushed Visitors Series operated by the University of Michigan School of Art & Design, March 25, 2004. I saw him speak of his work... animating as a painter paints... and on film projects such as Punch Drunk Love. I was impressed with his art and his accomplishments at a relatively young age.
Romantic or insane? I would argue both. And Shakespeare would agree.
Maybe I would do the same.
Beck "Round the Bend" video by Jeremy Blake
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