Heard about the Place + Memory Project this morning on NPR. Here’s a description from the Web site:
Using people’s memories and stories, we are recreating places that no longer exist. Places that were important to us. we are creating a series of stories for radio and an online map where you’ll be able to add your own memories through text, photos, sound, whatever.
here’s a poem entitled the lost generation by charles bukowski. i discovered it yesterday:
have been reading a book about a rich literary lady
of the twenties and her husband who
drank, ate and partied their way through
Europe
meeting Pound, Picasso, A. Huxley, Lawrence, Joyce,
F. Scott, Hemingway, many others;
the famous were like precious toys to
them,
and the way it reads
the famous allowed themselves to become
precious toys.
all through the book
I waited for just one of the famous
to tell this rich literary lady and her
rich literary husband to
get off and out
but, apparently, none of them ever
did.
Instead they were photographed with the lady
and her husband
at various seasides
looking intelligent
as if all of this was part of the act
of Art.
perhaps because the wife and husband
fronted a lush press that
had something to do
with it.
and they were all photographed together
at parties
or outside of Sylvia Beach’s bookshop.
it’s true that many of them were
great and/or original artists,
but it all seems such a snobby precioius
affair,
and the husband finally committed his
threatened suicide
and the lady published one of my first
short stories in the
40’s and is now
dead, yet
I can’t forgive either of them
for their rich dumb lives
and I can’t forgive their precious toys
either
for being
that.
I’ve been reading about Samaritans this morning. Fascinating history. Once a people group that was up to a million people in late Roman times, now the Samaritan population is around 700. I found the following paragraph about the dilemma of Samaritan continuity very interesting:
One of the biggest problems facing the community today is the issue of continuity. With such a small population, divided into only four families (Cohen, Tsedakah, Danfi and Marhib; a fifth family died out in the last century) and a general refusal to accept converts, there has been a history of genetic disease within the group due to the small gene pool. To counter this, the Samaritan community has recently agreed that men from the community may marry non-Samaritan (primarily, Israeli Jewish) women, provided that the women agree to follow Samaritan religious practices. There is a six month trial period prior to officially joining the Samaritan community to see whether this is a commitment that the woman would like to take. This often poses a problem for the women, who are typically less than eager to adopt the strict interpretation of Biblical (Levitical) laws regarding menstruation, by which they must live in a separate dwelling during their periods and after childbirth. Nevertheless, there have been a few instances of intermarriage. In addition, all marriages within the Samaritan community are first approved by a geneticist at Tel HaShomer Hospital, in order to prevent the spread of genetic disease.
You’ve probably already seen this by now, but I’ve enjoyed it so much that I would be remiss not to post it.
I saw this on The Consumerist.
“So why isn’t everyone jumping rope? Because it’s too hard. It takes a lot of skill and coordination.”
Visit Jumpsnap if you dare.
Wouldn’t this be a great name for a last-people-on-earth Apocalypse film? After a nuclear holocaust has wiped out most of the world’s population, only two small bands of freakish circus performers are left to determine the fate of the world. It’s clowns vs. mimes. I’d pay to see that on the big screen.
My post has nothing to do with Twitter, although I have wondered if Melville would have been able to write Moby Dick if Twitter had been around. You certainly don’t write a tome like that without a healthy attention span.
My thoughts after having read the first six chapters of Moby Dick:
Did my post yesterday make anyone think that maybe perhaps possibly I was actually joining the men in yellow?
Like many people looking for employment at the moment, I have been doing my fair share of soul searching. Inevitably, this means dusting off long neglected questions such as: What am I passionate about? Helping people. What makes me happy? Helping people. And fire. What did I always say I wanted to be when I grew up? An evil genius? No, after that. A fireman. Yes, that’s right. I can no longer deny what should have been evident all along. I was made to be a fireman.
I have to be honest. The high element of danger alone would make it worth it. But that’s just gravy. You get to wear cool, reflective clothing. You’re honored every year at the 4th of July parade. And if Farenheit 451 is any indication of what the future holds, one day we’ll get to preside over massive book burnings. In South Pasadena, the average salary for a firefighter is $62,000. Nice chunk of change, huh? Well, I’ve got some applications to go fill out. If you’re interested in becoming a fireman also, I will leave you with some links to investigate.
It’s about to get hot up in here. Stay tuned for regular updates as I blog my way through the training program. (I can promise you, my writing will be on fire!)
I have too many Web sites. Okay. There, I’ve said it. That, and I’ve been spending wasting too much time on Twitter trying to build a “readership,” so I can then point people to my sites whenever I post something new. This strategy, however, becomes a problem when you don’t write anything new to point at. (Not to mention the fact that a goodly number of Twitterers–if not a majority–are more interested in talking about how great Twitter is than having an intellectually stimulating discussion.) I have an excuse for being unprolific (Don’t bother looking that word up–it doesn’t exist) this past week. My wife and I drove up to Redwood City when we thought her sister had gone into labor. (She hadn’t.) We left South Pasadena after midnight on Tuesday morning and got in around six, which effectively meant that I spent the last three days walking around in a sort of waking dream, somewhere in the gray area between lucidity and REM sleep.
In other news, I’ve started reading Moby Dick. I thought about committing to post a response after each new chapter I read. But this guy seems to have that base covered. Besides writing insightful responses and crafting cerebral songs in response to each chapter of the book, he was also mentioned in the New York Times. I think I could definitely best him in the musicianship category, though. Not that it’s a contest or anything. Now, to sharpen my spear…