Popsicle music courtesy of the Lovin’ Spoonful
Move it!
June 29, 2010
On some mornings, I get up thinking about Twyla Tharp (left), the American choreographer. And I’m not even a dancer, I’m a writer. I don’t know Twyla, but I do know that she moves like Fred Astaire (leading, not following) and once directed a line of classical ballerinas to sing en pointe. Years of studying the novels, poems, high kicks, howls and — louder still — the silence of generations of women before her inspired moves like that.
Lately, though, Twyla’s been crossing the globe picking up honorary doctorates (19 at last count). I don’t care about her trophies, to be honest. And I’m guessing that beneath all the thank yous, neither does she. The only thing an artist cares about is getting back their routine.
Apart from the artistry and sheer grace, I think a fierce commitment to routine and an unwavering allegiance to ideals are what draw so many writers to dancers. Wendy Wasserstein, the late playwright and Grand Dame of balletophiles, took the greatest pleasure in being a patron of the New York City Ballet. “While they danced, I sat in the audience and stored their fat,” she joked.
So I think about Twyla as I’m tying my running shoes in the early morning and heading out the door for the footpaths of High Park because I know, at that very moment, she’s climbing into the back of a New York taxi cab and telling the driver, “Take me to the Pumping Iron gym at 91st and First.” She believes the ritual of the cab is what counts the most, not the stretching and weight training she puts her body through once she’s at the gym. It’s all about the triumph of first steps over apathy, pain and fear.
In fact, Twyla has attached a quasi-religious significance to first steps. The repetition of beginnings is the only way to get the creative ball rolling, whether you’re staring at a blank page, an empty studio or a musical instrument waiting to be held. Performance anxiety comes when you think too much and move too little.
Those of us, then, who admire Twyla “the artist,” not Twyla “The Legend,” know that her trophies are really just icing on a life of stunning sameness.
Woof!
June 22, 2010
The front hallway of the house I grew up in was a grotto of potted plants and hanging baskets placed in and amongst a collection of modern art made from highly polished cast steel.
A floating staircase linking the hallway to a second level cut through the middle of this exhibition of vines and metal in pure seventies fashion (think of Mike Brady* and Tarzan colliding in Chicago‘s Millennium Park). It always drew gasps from house guests as they handed us their coats, in the same way I’m sure the foyer in Toronto’s Metro Reference Library inspired nods of approval when it first opened in 1977. We laugh now, but everything about the seventies was earthy and overgrown.
One plant in our foyer had been steadily dropping its tendrils for 10 years at a rate of about a foot a year. Its planter was suspended from a macrame hanger made from a kit which featured a rope long enough to hook into the ceiling 25 feet above. Mum watered it every week. Leaning over the floating stairs in her quilted house coat, she’d give the planter a good soak and watch the liquid disappear into the soft earth. The plant dripped for about an hour after. Usually on us. It was part of mum’s morning routine, along with putting on the kettle, opening the curtains and watching the sun rise.
The tiles in the front hallway under that plant were oven-baked and dark brown. They matched everything else in the house except for the dog who used it as her horizontal canvas. That floor was forever in bloom with flower-print paw marks, especially in the spring. “Sit, Penny, sit!” You needed more than a damp sponge to wipe up the marks; water just seemed to spread the mud, leaving behind a milky film. I know because it was my job to keep the front hall tidy.
We put down two large rugs and frowned the dog into sitting on them until her feet dried. But something always lifted her rump and got her damp feet dancing and tail wagging. Every one of Penny’s moves was recorded on the floor. She didn’t care. And, come to think of it, neither did we.
* Apologies to my dad for the Mike Brady crack. You’re a much better architect than he ever was, Pops!
While you were sleeping
June 21, 2010
Here’s an update on two earlier sleep posts, “You snooze, you lose” and “Rubin Naiman in conversation.”
Hey all you cool kids! When it comes to apps, Caveat Emptor.
Technology’s war on boundaries continues with “Social Sleeping.” Here’s another case of, just-because-you-can-doesn’t-mean-you-should.
The iHome + Sleep app lets you “post updates to your social networks in the morning and at bedtime, and even wake to a summary of what your friends did while you were sleeping.” And, get this, you can also “check the weather, track your sleep habits, and sleep and wake to your iPod tunes,” and it’s FREE!
“One-third of your life just got a lot more fun,” say the creators.
OK, this is a slippery slope. Tell this dealer to go on his way. Get out the shotgun if you have to. You don’t want what’s in his pocket.
Writer Judith Warner observes, quite rightly, that our inability (and disinterest) in controlling ourselves is the defining social feature of our time. “Something is amiss in our inner mechanisms of restraint,” she tells The New York Times, because we’re losing the ability to self-regulate our appetite, emotions, impulses and cupidity. I like that word. It means “an eager desire to possess something.”
We’re hooked on bursts of pleasure, and this, says Peter Whybrow, director of the Semel Institute for Neuroscience and Human Behavior at UCLA, has disturbed “the ancient mechanisms that sustain our physical and mental balance.”
So keep “social sleeping” to spooning, not fretting from a horizontal position about updating your Twitter account or following posts from that awesomely epic barhop down College St. you missed because you were tired.
Sleep is not for wimps, so keep social media out of the bedroom, and “Just Say No!”
Image: iPhone Handbook (Spring/Summer 2010, p. 21)
Great in its day
June 18, 2010
It’s really hard watching one generation replace another, especially when the older one is filled with heroes (I’m thinking of how technology is forcing the early retirement of some perfectly good minds). It’s like witnessing a grand ship sink … all the way down to the bubbles on the surface.
The End
Where we belong
June 16, 2010
That’s me, age 6, in my dad’s office squeaking up a storm with some markers on the backside of a blueprint (he’s an architect). Look how shiny my hair is.
Of the hundreds of photos I have of myself — goofing around with friends, smiling for the school photographer or posing in front of a fountain in an Italian piazza — this one, snapped by my dad, stands out because it captures the essence of who I am, and have always been.
All the things I was instinctively drawn to as a girl — paper, pens, quiet work spaces and imaginary flights — have travelled with me through four decades of living. My blueprint now may be tilted up and backlit (read: my laptop), but I’m still applying myself with the same joyful intensity. That consistency is reassuring to me.
Penelope Trunk, one of my favourite bloggers, wrote a post last year called, “Why you already know what you should be doing next.” Penelope writes about careers and life, and here’s what she said,
Look at what you were doing when you were a kid. Nothing changes when you grow up except that you get clouded vision from thinking about what you SHOULD do — to be rich, or successful, or to please your parents or peers … the possibilities are endless. I think that you can figure out who you are and what you should be doing by telling yourself the stories of your childhood.
[pullquote]The things you look back on most fondly speak volumes about where you belong now.[/pullquote]
What were you up to when you were six? Were you taking apart computers? Cutting up dresses? Running around brushing everyone’s hair? Now what are you doing? Are you being consistent?
Recommended reading
June 13, 2010
Slip this charmer into your tote bag this summer. College co-eds, Lee and Jacqueline Bouvier, write and sketch their way across Europe in pursuit of the “Lah De Dah” set in One Special Summer. This slender volume shows that travel can still be a glamorous affair (it was 1951, afterall).
Read it and you’ll realize that Jacqueline really was following her heart when she became a book editor 25 years later. All of her expressive talents aligned in publishing.
*Okay, so “Society Pages” does follow the rich and famous every now and then, despite what my bio says up top. But this is The Hamptons of yore, not Kelly Ripa or Lindsay Lohan.
Sandbox tools
June 2, 2010
Before the sun sets on today, do at least one playful thing. Laughing out loud definitely counts.
If you’ve already laughed, do it again. You’ve got seven more hours to find something funny.
The progress of the world depends on it.
Really.
From an evolutionary standpoint, humans are supposed to be pretty playful creatures compared to, say, raccoons or ladybugs. The smarter the animal, the more it plays, scientists insist. The New York Times wrote about this last fall.
Play-deprived adults are often rigid, humorless, inflexible and closed to trying new options. Playfulness enhances the capacity to innovate, adapt and master changing circumstances. It is not just an escape. It can help us integrate and reconcile difficult or contradictory circumstances. And, often, it can show us a way out of our problems.
Drawing courtesy of my playful pal, Alanna Cavanagh.
Anne is back!
June 1, 2010
A happy follow-up to my post Best Before Dates, written three months ago.
Broadcast journalist, Anne Mroczkowski (left), fired last February as co-anchor of Toronto’s CityNews at Six on City TV, is back on air tonight.
The rumours on Twitter were true. Global wooed and won her as the new co-host (with Leslie Roberts) of the network’s 6 o’clock News Hour.
Speaking of getting fired from City, Mroczkowski told the Toronto Star‘s Rob Salem, “There were a couple of tough days. Suddenly, after years in the business to be told that your experience, your work ethic, your passion and dedication are no longer valued … I was understandably upset.” As she said, “I just figured, ‘That part of [my] life is over. Time to look forward.'”
[pullquote]I just figured, ‘That part of [my] life is over. Time to look forward.'”[/pullquote]
Kudos to Global for recognizing her worth. Their website bio on the anchor also deserves tons of praise (words in bold are mine):
For more than 30 years, award-winning news anchor Anne Mroczkowski has brought local television audiences stories that have moved, shaken and stirred their hearts, minds and lives. Anne has been at the forefront reporting on major events – from the fall of the Berlin Wall to the global recession, from SARS to 9/11 plus, heartwarming stories including liver recipient, baby Lindsay Eberhardt as well as her ground-breaking documentary on infertility. Her ability to relate and connect with her viewers has made her a household name across the GTA.
