Something I've taken away from this tragedy: Infamy is much more myth than reality.
The Michael Jackson that the world knew was imagined. Afterall, he hardly seemed like a man - the impossible way he moved, his plastic face, his clothes glittering with money - he had the smoke and mirrors to keep the demons and public at bay.
My heart broke when he died. He was a self-described lonely man who was adored the world over, an irony that haunts Hollywood. Celebrity is a damaging illusion but pop culture requires it. Besides, why would we stop? It's much too fun. It's too engrossing. The curiosity to see behind the mask - whether gorgeous or freakish - is inate. Hence celebrity analyzing, gawking, picking apart, worshipping...
To truly love someone means to do the opposite of these things. I don't have the answer though, because I read the damn tabloids too.
Michael, forgive your overly adoring public for drinking you dry... we pray you rest in peace.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
Silence and space are foods of the spirit; maybe this is how New Orleans has homegrown its vibe – little silence, no space. Many distractions.
For me these are aesthetic distractions, and New Orleans has a specific recipe -maybe street grit meets gorgeous European architecture meets pirate costumes, voodoo bats, skeletons, and red jewels for eyes, meets cheerful squealing brass bands, meets brown wrinkled women in deep V cut dresses meets…this could go on for days.
Last night we went to a jazz venue called Donna’s on the sly to catch a drummer who had applied to the program. They call themselves “The New Orlean’s Moonshiners,” and were fantastic. Just outside the club was some kind of voodoo ritual involving white head dresses, a black frying pan, and low humming. I am told this is because of the equinox.
The culture here seems very much alive and well...
Nola rises!
Ps: If I die an early death, please bring me: red poppies or ranunculus, tomato pin cushions, any partially used perfume bottles, Earl Grey tea, scones, lemon macaroons, baby powder, and cardigan sweaters.
Just kidding.
For me these are aesthetic distractions, and New Orleans has a specific recipe -maybe street grit meets gorgeous European architecture meets pirate costumes, voodoo bats, skeletons, and red jewels for eyes, meets cheerful squealing brass bands, meets brown wrinkled women in deep V cut dresses meets…this could go on for days.
Last night we went to a jazz venue called Donna’s on the sly to catch a drummer who had applied to the program. They call themselves “The New Orlean’s Moonshiners,” and were fantastic. Just outside the club was some kind of voodoo ritual involving white head dresses, a black frying pan, and low humming. I am told this is because of the equinox.
The culture here seems very much alive and well...
Nola rises!
Ps: If I die an early death, please bring me: red poppies or ranunculus, tomato pin cushions, any partially used perfume bottles, Earl Grey tea, scones, lemon macaroons, baby powder, and cardigan sweaters.
Just kidding.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
New Orleans: Days 1-3
New Orleans is beautiful and spooky: beautiful because of original European architechture, spooky in that voodoo colors the entire culture, famous for being the most desperate and violent in The United States.
The buildings though are just beautiful – high ceilings, lots of tile, lots of dark solid wood, all components which lend a specific aroma.
You could compare it to the perfume of an old house, mixed with the smells of whatever’s on the menu – maybe it’s coffee, maybe it’s shrimp. Along with being so rich in other ways, Nola is also rich in smells.
The first night here was fantastic. Walked the French Quarter all the way through. Every last nook is intriguing: dark ominous bars, tons of kitchy antique shops and heaps of local art. We had a drink at The Palm Court, a dim jazz club with black and white tiles and a gaggle of regulars – the most notable being an gangly old woman named Nina who danced alone in front of the band. It was her friend Silva’s birthday, so we all sang as they brought out a cake topped with glazed strawberries. Nina and Silva then danced together, older than most dancing girls, and also with more enjoyment.
Note: Self-consciousness kills fun. This is probably an upside of old age: you are forced to stop paying your looks any thought and are thus set free to be ridiculous. Bring it on.
Late dinner -Fish tacos at a cool joint nearby. Passed 2 costume performers -the token silver silent man and a cheeky fairy sprinkled with glitter. : )
Sonya gets a text reminder for an annual headwashing ceremony(a form of voodoo baptism that anoints the head):
“… on the footbridge over Bayou St.
John, by Cabrini High School, at 7:00 pm. Please wear all-white with a
white headscarf (it will get dirty) and bring an offering for Marie
Laveau. She likes: blue and/or white flowers and candles, Creole
foods, Hairdressing supplies (she was a hairdresser), Voodoo-esque
items, like potions, dolls, gris-gris bags, John the Conqueror Roots,
etc), Salt water, Florida Water, tignons, and jewelry.”
Yea...this place is wild. Whereas the outrageous, restless, and flamboyant of most cities are confined to subculture, New Orleans is itself entire subculture. In fact, being thus allowed, its eccentricities have exploded to overflowing.
The buildings though are just beautiful – high ceilings, lots of tile, lots of dark solid wood, all components which lend a specific aroma.
You could compare it to the perfume of an old house, mixed with the smells of whatever’s on the menu – maybe it’s coffee, maybe it’s shrimp. Along with being so rich in other ways, Nola is also rich in smells.
The first night here was fantastic. Walked the French Quarter all the way through. Every last nook is intriguing: dark ominous bars, tons of kitchy antique shops and heaps of local art. We had a drink at The Palm Court, a dim jazz club with black and white tiles and a gaggle of regulars – the most notable being an gangly old woman named Nina who danced alone in front of the band. It was her friend Silva’s birthday, so we all sang as they brought out a cake topped with glazed strawberries. Nina and Silva then danced together, older than most dancing girls, and also with more enjoyment.
Note: Self-consciousness kills fun. This is probably an upside of old age: you are forced to stop paying your looks any thought and are thus set free to be ridiculous. Bring it on.
Late dinner -Fish tacos at a cool joint nearby. Passed 2 costume performers -the token silver silent man and a cheeky fairy sprinkled with glitter. : )
Sonya gets a text reminder for an annual headwashing ceremony(a form of voodoo baptism that anoints the head):
“… on the footbridge over Bayou St.
John, by Cabrini High School, at 7:00 pm. Please wear all-white with a
white headscarf (it will get dirty) and bring an offering for Marie
Laveau. She likes: blue and/or white flowers and candles, Creole
foods, Hairdressing supplies (she was a hairdresser), Voodoo-esque
items, like potions, dolls, gris-gris bags, John the Conqueror Roots,
etc), Salt water, Florida Water, tignons, and jewelry.”
Yea...this place is wild. Whereas the outrageous, restless, and flamboyant of most cities are confined to subculture, New Orleans is itself entire subculture. In fact, being thus allowed, its eccentricities have exploded to overflowing.
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