Be Delighted

"Oh my my my my, what an eager little mind!"

Auntie Mame

Friday, December 21, 2012

Sands of Time

It's December. Time to go to the beach. Although a Texas beach in winter is sort of like a northern California beach in summer. And I know this because I nearly froze to death under a blanket off the Sonoma coast once in July. But our jaunt downstate this time was at Carol's invitation to have a Hill/Burdine family get together at Crystal Beach, east of Galveston and on the Bolivar peninsula. Glenn and I drove to Dallas first and spent the evening with Andrea and Tina before heading down I-45 to Houston. In Houston we all wandered around Whole Foods gathering groceries for our cabin retreat. It was to be steaks one night and seafood gumbo the next. Glenn does make a mean gumbo and this time he got to select fresh crab and shrimp.
We drove out east of Houston then down and and around to approach Crystal Beach from the east rather than going to Galveston and across the ferry. The peninsula itself had been devastated by Hurricane Ike in 2008 and looked pretty bare of even palm trees.
  Here was our cabin, a humble but cozy place as compared to some of the beach front cabins that looked more like McMansions on stilts.
At least all six of us got a bed to sleep which is not always the case. (Well, Mark did end up on the porch on top of the couch pillows). On Glenn's side of the family their idea of a fun vacation is to pack as many people in one small space as possible then let things happen. There WAS only one bathroom but as we were all adults we waited in an orderly fashion.
The cabin was about a quarter mile from the beach so we could walk it easily, and there was also a golf cart for dashes back to the bathroom, the refrigerator, or drives along the beach. It even had a radio, tuned to a country western station playing such hits as "I'd Like To Have a Beer With Jesus". Because it was mostly cloudy and in the Sixties, and hardly anyone was around there was a certain lonely melancholy air. I loved that.

 Glenn and I took a stroll as soon as we got there. I had not seen the ocean since I was in Jacksonville in 2008 visiting Dad before he passed away. Even with the rushing of the waves there was a stillness about the place as if everything was in a state of hibernation.




We all set up camp on the beach and I brought my sketchbook and camera.


Mark decided winter be damned, he was going for a swim.

I was happy just to sketch, and amble along the beach.
Gordon also liked his quiet time.
 Other than that we ate lots of good food (the gumbo was heavenly) and played Settlers of Catan, Skip-Bo, and Spades. Lets just say that Glenn's side of the family is pretty competitive and they all like to bicker about the rules.
Here are some of my sketches, although the ones done on the colouful backgrounds make the scenes look a lot sunnier than they actually were.



Later we went home through Galveston so we got to cross the ferry before driving through a Houston rainstorm and getting back home, finally, 12 hours later. It's a long way from beach and palm trees to a sudden winter dust storm on the plains.





Tuesday, November 27, 2012

The Watcher's Guide

Hi, no artworks today, no travel diaries, no trips down memory lane. Instead I am going to be your entertainment critic and tell you what TV shows you should be watching. I won't tell you what NOT to watch because we all have our guilty pleasures, but I'll be the first to say I have never, ever seen an episode of Jersey Shore. I want that to go on the record because my personal dignity is important to me.
 First let me say that I don't have cable, not even basic cable, and yet I rarely watch mainstream TV. My only source for what I think is watchable comes from Netflix DVDs and Instant Watch, plus a bit of Hulu. I hope they appreciate my plug. A free rental would be nice.
   So to begin with the basics, the regular weekly series, my top two shows are Parks and Recreation and Community. They are consistently funny in their genre and actually have a lot of heart. I did not think anyone could top Tina Fey's Liz Lemon character in 30 Rock when it comes to strong comedic women but Amy Poehler's Leslie Knope is such a clever genuine character that I hope to follow her all the way to the White House in her sincere effort to be a good citizen. Although I also live for every moment Ron Swanson is fantasizing about bacon.

Community obviously appeals to an absurdist nerd sense of humour plus an extreme knowledge of popular culture but I raise my hands on both counts. As a long time Monty Python fan this is as close as it gets to a British comedic view of the world. And what's not to love about "Troy and Abed in the Morning"? Best episode ever? The original Paintball episode in season 1, "Modern Warfare", a spot on parody of every zombie apocalypse/post nuclear film ever made.

 On the serious side there is Fringe, which is winding up this final year with one of their weakest seasons, but was always consistently interesting for those who miss X-Files. Watch it in order because, otherwise, it will never make sense. Hint: it involves time travel and alternate universes. And there is Grimm, which involves demon and monster hunters, not as dark or as witty as Supernatural, but aimed for a slightly older age group.
 Speaking of age groups, apparently I must be about 25 years old emotionally because I have always found shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer ( NOT like Twilight, trust me) and Supernatural a lot more fun that lawyer shows, doctor shows, or grisly crime of the week shows. I consider the CSI franchise and Criminal Minds as crime porn, in which they try to titillate by coming up with really twisted villains and imaginatively horrible ways for people to die, especially women, that borders on the truly perverse. Mandy Patinkin bailed out of the latter show because it disturbed him so much, so I respect him for that. I love a good thriller or murder mystery, I just don't like pandering to peoples' worst impulses. Also may I say that any series that runs longer than five years is basically running out of steam and is just rehashing old plots or pulling some weird "jumping the shark" gimmick out of their ass.And CSI is not fooling me by having three shows in three  locations. Miami just has more sun saturated shots and more Cubans.
  Which brings me to BBC and other British network productions. Oh how I love those British shows! And oh how stingy they are with their seasons (some are only three episodes long for crying out loud!) But at least they keep you begging for more. In no particular order....well, forget that......my top favorite BBC show is Sherlock. It is brilliant. The acting, the writing, the cinematography are all outstanding. It has been referred to as a "Rolls Royce" of a show and it does not disappoint. There are only two seasons of three episodes each, the last of which came out in 2011. Season 2 ended with a jaw dropping cliffhanger and we will have to wait until December 2013 to see what happened. Once you see the amazing Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock, and master of subtlety, Martin Freeman as Watson I think you will be hooked.

             (So apparently I like lanky, high cheek boned men with low, sexy voices.......)
 I have talked three separate people into watching this show and now they are completely sucked in. The American version, "Elementary" is a pale imitation. Johnny Lee Miller, a good actor with some charisma, makes an interesting Sherlock but the writers have turned it into just another crime solving show with a quirky lead who could be named anything.
  The rest of my BBC/ITV/PBS obsessions are Luther, with a mesmerizing Idris Alba, Doctor Who, MI-5, and Downton Abbey.
(The one and only Maggie Smith as Dowager Countess Violet in Downton Abbey.)

And then there are the premium cable shows I watch. I know I criticized the CSI franchise and Criminal Minds, so I probably seem like a hypocrite when I say I love Breaking Bad, Boardwalk Empire, and Dexter. If you're going to watch sick people do sick things watch them in the hands of master writers and directors who know all about the endless and ambiguous shades of good and evil, the slippery slope, the wrestling with conscience, the frailty of greed and revenge. In Breaking Bad, especially, the descent into hell is a hypnotic, shocking, and nail biting journey, a morality tale as black as night in a setting scorched by the Southwestern sun. I also enjoy Justified more than I should for someone who does not put hillbillies and meth labs in Kentucky on my list of places to visit. Maybe, just maybe, I am enjoying the view. And by view I mean Timothy Olyphant.
Another cable series we just wrapped up, which films in Albuquerque, like Breaking Bad, is In Plain Sight, about the witness protection program. I always love a strong female character, in all her flaws and quirks, who is not afraid to speak her mind and can toss off a sarcastic remark like nobody's business.

  So that's my particular list. There are shows, like Homeland, that I have not seen yet (long wait on Netflix) and others I have tried to watch and given up on, like The Sopranos. I know that show was a critic's darling but I could never warm up to it. I'll watch the original Godfather any day. Which brings me to my pick for the best show ever made on U.S. TV: The Wire. It's a tough one to initially get into. There are five seasons and I almost gave up after three episodes. It seemed slow and confusing at first. I had to sort all the characters out, and their dialects, and the various sub plots. But stay with it. You get to know the characters, both the police and the drug dealers they pursue, in all their richness, and there are heroes and villains on both sides. It is an unrelenting look at the culture of poverty in an inner city, gritty as any documentary, and it has a perfect arc from beginning to end, with each season featuring a different aspect of social issues plaguing our urban areas including drug dealing, labor unions, public education, the fracturing of the family, and the endless cycle of poverty. And yet it has humour, it has complex characters (Omar! The Robin Hood of the ghetto), and it even offers occasional glimmers of light.

   If there's a really good show I am missing let me know. I have never seen The Good Wife. Maybe I am put off by yet another lawyer show. And for some reason I have never liked domestic dramas or comedies. Maybe too much like real life. If I want domestic drama I'll just invite my whole family over for a holiday meal then sit back and watch. Based on my choices I tend to like fantasy, period dramas, and dark worlds I would never want to inhabit in real life. I'm only there for the vicarious experience. But I have been spoiled over the years. It's like wine. In college you pretty much drink whatever is poured, then later the discerning nose steps in, and soon you're reading reviews and going on about soil and complexity and hints of pear. The same with TV. Once I discovered really good writing and thoughtful, non-cliched plots and characters I am just not as happy watching Castle or NCIS anymore. If I want me some Nathan Fillion I'm going to have to pull out my DVD of Firefly.

Friday, November 9, 2012

Below the Horizon

Last year, in late Fall, my daughter and I took a day trip to Paladuro Canyon, two hours north of here, which we documented in words and photographs, and which I covered in a previous blog. So about a month ago, as another Fall moved in, and as my daughter was preparing to move out (all the way to San Francisco) I proposed another daytrip/photo shoot/mother/daughter roadtrip, this time to Caprock Canyon, a lesser known sister of Paladuro, not as flashy or deep, not as big, but just as easy to get to. Caprock Canyon is also a two hour drive but this time, instead of going straight north, we struck out at a northeast angle. Unlike the previous trip which took place on a dazzlingly bright, sunny day, this time we were driving in and out of rain under low-hanging clouds, which gave us a greater sense of isolation and emptiness as we drove across the flatlands to the edge of the caprock.



We saw this field of bailed hay just past Floydada, a town billed as the "Pumpkin Capitol of the World". I always want to like the small towns around Lubbock, to find something rustic and charming about them, but in truth they look shabby, worn down, and quite lacking in aesthetic appeal. I preferred the wide empty spaces and the cool, grey sky, and we pretty much had the road to ourselves.
Naomi did not remember but we had been to Caprock Canyon in 1992 when she and Ian were small, joined by my mother, plus my brother and his wife and kids. I recall that it was a blazing hot day in summer, and though we hiked a little way up the trail, neither my mother nor the kids were up for a long walk, so we mainly looked for rocks, enjoyed the view, and ate a picnic lunch.

Here is the canyon in 1992. That's Naomi in the middle with her cousin, Laura, and brother, Ian.


In Lubbock when you want to go UP you drive west towards Santa Fe and the mountains, and when you want to go DOWN you drive east for about 45 minutes until you literally come to the edge of the high plains. The caprock runs north and south for about 200 miles, the result of centuries of water spill off from the Rockies, and lots of shifting and erosion. Some parts of it are very subtle changes in elevation, and others, like Paladuro, appear as if the earth has just opened up and taken you by surprise. In all cases it is a nice surprise to the senses, after the straight and endless horizon line.

Meanwhile in 2012 we ate lunch in Quitique (the local sign adds a friendly prompt "Kitty-kay") then we turned up the road to Caprock Canyon, and after about five miles, it was just there. It's hard to explain. We neither went up or down, there was no sudden change in scenery except the distant rock walls, but still on fairly flat ground was the visitor center, and there was our first greeter, a buffalo wandering across the road, who we immediately named Randy.
He wandered off to join the rest of the herd, who live in the park, while we perused the gift shop and got a map. Caprock is much smaller than Paladuro, with less traffic, but even so, there were campers coming in for the weekend. On our first venture out of the car to view the opening glimpse of the terrain, a large tarantula ambled our way. I have no problem with tarantulas. I have even held one. They are quite peaceful, although this one stepped into an ant bed and was in peril of being swarmed so we made sure he got himself free to continue his daily walk.



I shot that photo and the one of Naomi with my cell phone because I discovered my camera battery was dead. All of the other photos taken that day are courtesy of Naomi and her superior camera and skills. We drove a bit, we walked a bit, we went down to the river bed, which, despite the rain and the recent greening of vegetation, was just as dry as it was in 1992.
Here are a few of her images:



I highly recommend this book written by our friend, Dan Flores, in 1989. He now lives in Montana but for a few years he was a professor of environmental history at Texas Tech and the wild man of Yellowhouse Canyon, outside Lubbock, who used to have summer solstice parties out there.

And I brought back a few small souvenirs:







Friday, October 26, 2012

Make 'em laugh, make 'em cry.

Next week I will be debuting my latest piece of choreography, "What the Flock?"  The overarching theme of Flatland Dance Theatre's upcoming concert, "LOL: An Evening of Humor and Dance" is...... oh wait, it's on the tip of my tongue. Don't tell me.....So a mushroom walks into a bar and the bartender says 'we don't serve your kind in here.' And the mushroom says 'Why not? I'm a Fungi!'  nyuk nyuk nyuk. You get the idea. But choreographing a funny dance? That's hard. Dramatic dance may be more up my alley. A bit of angst a bit of yearning, the right lovely music, a lot of beauty in line and form. Presto! Well, maybe not that easy, but it flows more easily when it comes from that little spot in my brain that likes to wallow in whatever that term is for pleasurable sadness. Just go ask a Romantic poet. Or Radiohead.
 My personal favorite angsty dance that I ever created was done in 1994 and was called "This Portrait". I used the music of Pearl Jam and a Kronos Quartet version of Jimi Hendrix' "Purple Haze" to create a concept piece about the disintegration of a family. I am still proud of that work and it was created using high school students, plus my own two children, aged 6 and 9. I had a wonderful, expressive student named Mitch in the lead role (with my son, at age 9 playing his younger self) and the whole work just fell into place inside my head and poured out, Mozart-like, in a sudden gush of creativity. I have it on video (courtesy of good friend, Jim Goodlett and his clever filming) but have yet to get it up on the internet (I presume that entails a YouTube account). But I did take some stills from the film, frozen in pause on the TV set, old school style. Remember this is pre-digital so lots of grain. It's like looking at the Zapruder film.


This was basically a prodigal son story beginning with a stiff family portrait upstage left. My daughter is the tiny girl far right, but more about her later. A family of five dressed in black and white, including the lead dancer as a boy sit very still, as if waiting for the camera to flash. Downstage right our protagonist is estranged from the family. Cue music: "Indifference" by Pearl Jam. As he dances the family begin to break apart, Dad leaving first, slowly departing the stage until only the younger boy is left. They have a brief duet, older and younger self. I was proud of my son for being so heartfelt at age nine. The family is replaced in the chairs by a ragged looking bunch of female ballet dancers.

 Cue the inner demons (on pointe) to screeching Hendrix music played on violins, like a surreal Hitchcock sound track:
At the end, the prodigal crawls backwards on his hands and knees to the family, who have reappeared in their original pose, and gently lays his head on his mother's lap, like a pieta, but it's only an illusion. Cue "hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away...."
I think I nailed it on that dance and it doesn't happen often. People did cry. Yes!!!





Jump to 2012 and now I'm trying to make people laugh by turning dancers into sheep. I was happy in 1994 to make people miserable. Now I want to hear that reassuring chuckle, titter, giggle, snicker, or guffaw when my little sheep start to perform. Is that Ba-a-a-a-a-a-d of me? And my little tiny six year old daughter? Well, she took the following pictures at my rehearsal of "What the Flock?" two weeks ago. Super digital clear.

I will also be making a brief appearance in my own dance, a la Hitchcock, as a sheepdog, because you're never too old to publicly humiliate yourself.
WTF, Val?