Happy New Year...

My one quasi-resolution - Get some real skills. Arting isn't doing it.

The New Year

Things not invited back for 2009 -

1. Samuel L. Jackson

2. Ceramic mugs priced as fine art

3. The phrase "hustla"

4. Youtube parodies (exceptions apply)

5. Nancy Drew ghostwriters

6. Irresponsible vegan parenting

7. Fictional resurrection

8. Intimidating panhandling

9. Halitosis

10. Pirates, kittens, or any combination thereof

New discoveries

Three natural phenomena that mankind had no way of experiencing until the technological advances of the previous century -

1. Jetlag

2. Sonic booms

3. Hydroplaning

Is it coincidence that all three occur because of speed? What are some others?

High Wire

I just came across a great archived article about Philippe Petit, who's also the subject of a documentary I reviewed earlier this year. If either article intrigues you, I hope it also encourages you to find and rent the film.

If you need a little pick-up

I thought this would help inspire me to go out and do something great...



Now I just want to sit down a watch movies. On a side note, while I did not review this, I did add some thoughts to the discussion of it.

Early Comforts

It's Thanksgiving morning and I'm indulging in a bit of Americana. No matter what happens throughout the year, I can always depend on the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade to kickstart my latent yuletide cheer. My siblings and I like to pretend watching the parade is an old family tradition, but in reality, I think it began in high school. As it's become rather crucial to my holiday happiness, I think I need to up the ante and add the national dog show into my viewing itinerary...

Okay, we're now half an hour into the dog show and I'm pretty much done with it.

Shut up!

And listen...



And speaking of kids doing wild things.

There's no place like hometown

"KRRAAWWK! Polly wants a spelt cracker with hummus!"

Some Treasures Should Stay Buried

Strange as it sounds, my sisters consider me to be something of a music expert (Yes Sarah, go see Sam Phillips and Yael Naim; No Katie, I've never heard of Mushu Wave or whoever it was), and while I admit I've never classified myself as such, I do feel that I've finally harvested one particular luscious cherry from the musical orchard - I have discovered the WORST ALBUM EVER CONCEIVED! Much like today's young Disney stars, matinee idols of yesteryear (and their less photogenic co-stars) were expected or at least encouraged to release sickly-sweet albums about love and hardship. Thus, we get particularly bad-but-in-a-fun-way chestnuts from the likes of Hailey Mills, Brigitte Bardot, and even dowdy old Stanley Holloway (Yew knaw, guvnuh! Eliza Dooli'le's pop!). But this one tops them all. Obviously schooled in the Rex Harrison Vocal Training Academy, Dirk Bogarde doesn't even attempt to sing the songs, instead intoning the words oh-so-veddy-Britishly, without any reference to the timing of the tune playing behind his voice. You know it's bad when Elvis Costello has this to say about your album - "Ever needed to get rid of unwanted guests in the early hours? Just reach for Dirk Bogarde’s Lyrics for Lovers, on which the actor inhales audibly on his cigarette before reciting Ira Gershwin’s ‘A Foggy Day’ amid a swathe of violins..." After you've choked down a bit of this tripe, please wash away its filthy taste with a lot of Andrew Bird.



Yeah, I wanted to do harm to myself as well. But don't worry, my dear, it does get better. In 70 years or so.

Grief?

I know that the Culvers do not approve of blogging as a forum for online journaling, but I would like to argue that since I can't air my grievances in person, the internet may be the best method to converse with my family and friends. I abhor the use of the telephone for anything other than information retrieval (as my mom can attest), so unless you want to fly me somewhere for a personal chat, this is what you get.
I had the singular pleasure last night of visiting with an old teacher (as he does not hold a M.A. he refuses to be addressed as "professor", you who know Mr. Kern will I'm sure honor his idiosyncrasies). The conversation lasted well past the midnight hour, and in between cooing over Will and Cole (the two newest members to the Boise baby consortium) Andrew and I got to talking about my knee injury and its effects on my future goals and plans. For those of you not in the know, I'm having an operation on Tuesday that will bench me for the rest of the season, dancing-wise, and I have strong doctoral reccomendations not to dance "professionally" after that. Being the melancholic person I am, I take that to mean ABSOLUTELY NOT! But I have assurances from the doctors that it may be possible still for a few years.
As some of you know, I took a solo retreat in May, a time to reflect on what my goals and aspirations really are, and how my current occupations may or may not be furthering those. The conclusion I came to was that while dancing was certainly a passion, I really was interested in seeking employment in a more secure profession, looking toward providing for my own and any possible family's comfort and happiness. I had hoped that dancing might dovetail into this, that I could continue to perform while working through further education and planning to open up options for a more long-term career, but this injury has accelerated the need for such planning.
It is a strange and uncomfortable proposition, one that I'm barely now beginning to grasp the urgency and necessity of. Although I haven't danced long, I've fallen into the eternal trap of identifying myself as what I do, not who I am spiritually and emotionally. As I said to Andrew last night, I've never been forced to quit anything where I hadn't reached my own personal pinnacle, either in interest or in skill. He very astutely observed that it is the first time I've been faced with my own mortality, limitation being imposed on me. So, in a sense, I'm mourning my own death as a dancer, the body remaining, but the spirit crossing over, and trying to discover what that passing on leaves me as.
An interesting year in all, and the event, while grievous in nature, couldn't be more fortuitous in timing. My aptitude and opportunity for writing is blossoming, and I'm hopeful and excited to see where it takes me. I'm not content to settle for a year of recovery, and am determined to use this time for new discovery (poetry is purely incidental. I have no pretensions in that area). If I'm required to take one step at a time (or one step followed by a shuffle/limp in my case), I don't see the purpose in worrying about steps three and four. I'm grateful for the amazing support that my family and friends are providing, and will continue to be somber, silly, discouraged, hopeful, prayerful, bummed, elated, lethargic, weepy, giddy, and all around ready for this next stage of my life. What else can you expect from a born Gemini?