fromthemouthofmoi

First you have to jump in the family car about ten minutes behind schedule, race down River Side Drive so anxious you believe you might throw up. Then you double check everything making sure everything is there: money, glasses and birth certificate, (the last item comes later).. You pull off The Drive at the appropriate exit only to start in on St. Anthony, promising him anything in exchange for one measly parking space within four and a half blocks of the theatre (picky Catholics?) You find one, thank old St. Anthony and you lock up the VW bus. You walk half a block and I scream: We forgot your glasses! At this moment, if you are older than eighteen you mentally say: Oh Shit! (Remember time is running out and you haven't hit the bodega for goodies yet). If you are under eighteen, me, you pray the movie hasn't started yet and that you'll have time to get goodies and that you'll make it to the bathroom real soon. You retrieve the glasses, re-lock the door and run to th

Listening to music in a language or culture other than your own is like watching a film with subtitles; you either love it or you don't. I am trying to think of analogy for why we might not like different sounds found in music. Is it as simple as: we like what we like or is it more complicated than this? I recently listened to a podcast, Here's The Thing, with Alec Baldwin interviewing Paul Simon. Simon was researching the work of a man named Harry Partch who according to Simon realized that on a traditional music scale there were sounds (notes) that were often not heard or used in composition and that there were a wealth of other sounds to be heard and used. When I heard this I had a Eureka moment because living here in Mexico I often perceive Mexicans singers as singer 'off key'. It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps Mexican singers where hearing or using a different scale that my ears were unaccustomed to. We understand this when we listen to traditional Chinese

Nothing bad or sordid can be said about Mike. He was the most gentle and kindest of men, inspiring my life in a multiple of ways. I loved him and was in love with him because he understood me. He whistled in the morning as he made breakfast for whomever was in his home at the moment. His whistling was clear, strong and always cheerful. I write that I was in love with him but he was also peers and had been friends with my parents, and thus, nothing ever transpired between us. Everyone thought we were intimate including his ex-wife but we never were. I was old-fashioned and Mike understood this quality about me. When his kids wanted to go out club hopping I preferred to stay at home with him watching old classic films. He would laugh at me when we watched films together because invariably I would notice a lamp or something else as trivial in the background of a scene and he would laugh and say: This is the best scene in the film and you focus on the lamp! He knew all of the old movie