Following on the New York Times piece by Caroline Paul that I mentioned in my last update, I listened to a delightful KQED Forum episode with her a couple of days ago about her new book Tough Broad. I especially loved what she said toward the end of her conversation with
about finding women to interview for this book: “I didn’t want anybody who was really, really good at what they did.” She goes on to explain the reasons behind that comment, but even without context I think it aligns nicely with the 10 creative adages applied to physical pursuits I outlined here.Speaking of outdoor adventures, I ran the lake at dawn for the first time in…years.
I was reminded how much I enjoy running, particularly at that time of day. It reminded me a bit of revenge bedtime procrastination, but sacrificing a little early morning sleep instead of a sensible bedtime. I also thought about this tweet of mine from a couple of years ago.
Still true.
This unified theory of fucks is so, so good. This isn’t a novel idea, but one that’s been making the rounds lately. What I love about this take on the general idea, however, is this:
“If you can give a fuck then you must also be able to receive. And that’s the key. You cannot manufacture more fucks. You cannot grow them or graft them or transplant them. You absolutely cannot buy them, not from anywhere or anyone, not at any price. But you can receive them as a gift, you can accept them. And in that way your collection of fucks to give can be renewed.”
And in this bit the author links to The Gift by Lewis Hyde, a book I absolutely adore, really key in my thinking about artists and day jobs (versus those who manage to make a living more directly from their creative practice) and increasingly important to me personally. I wrote a bit about the book in the context of my podcast here on my blog. (The bit about why love your work if your work will never love you back is also appealing.)
Shout-out to my husband for sending me the above on a day I really needed to read it, and for generally putting up with my midlife crisis that won’t quit. I can’t recall now how I came across this Little Golden Book about the Bee Gees, but I sent it to him with the message, “might need this in my life,” and he proceeded to buy it for me. Read it with the 11yo the another night, followed by listening to all the songs mentioned in the book, including crying during this one because I can’t not.
What’s interesting to me about my emotional reaction to anything Bee Gees related is it’s because it reminds me of my Mom, who died when I was 11. She loved the Bee Gees. Like my daughter now, I remember her crying during various Bee Gees songs. So now I love the Bee Gees because it makes me think of and feel closer to her. Not unlike my love of the color green (her favorite) and my collection of owls (also her favorite). I don’t have the psychological vocabulary to describe this phenomenon but I think maybe it’s what I was getting at with the title of this painting from one of my first bodies of work: so we’re the same, but for opposite reasons.
When does something that serves as a memory trigger of someone else become a genuine favorite of your own?
The 11yo and I read that Bee Gees book together because we finally, 4 or so years after starting the first one, finished the Harry Potter series. I can’t recall now exactly when I started reading the books to her (my husband having read the books to our son). I think it was early pandemic when she was still working up to reading chapter books on her own. I enjoyed reading them to her because of the obvious evening bonding but also because I’d never read them. And even though she’s now more than capable of reading chapter books on her own, I’m not sure I’m ready to let go of this tradition. We might read Philip Pullman’s Book of Dust next (we watched His Dark Materials last year).
Meanwhile, we watched Lessons in Chemistry with the 15yo (probably could’ve watched it with both kids). I enjoyed the season overall but particularly loved the finale, especially this line spoken by main character Elizabeth Zott:
“Whenever you feel afraid, just remember. Courage is the root of change – and change is what we're chemically designed to do. So when you wake up tomorrow, make this pledge. No more holding yourself back. No more subscribing to others' opinions of what you can and cannot achieve. And no more allowing anyone to pigeonhole you into useless categories of sex, race, economic status, and religion. Do not allow your talents to lie dormant, ladies. Design your own future. When you go home today, ask yourself what YOU will change. And then get started.”
Did you know that Jon Stewart, like me, is mostly vegan (maybe 100% vegan these days)? This video of him appropriately appreciating nutritional yeast, affectionately known as nooch, was circulating not long ago. I’ve read in a couple of interviews that he credits his wife, Tracey Stewart, for his vegetarian to plant-based journey. In fact, she wrote a book called Do Unto Animals: A Friendly Guide to How Animals Live, and How We Can Make Their Lives Better. I recently went down a bit of a Tracey Stewart rabbit hole and man do I resonate with this quote from her Fresh Air interview (along with the book’s illustrator) back in 2015:
“I always worked in design. I had studied design at Drexel University, and I had taken on a lot of different jobs. I had done well in the jobs, but I kept moving from job to job, because I kept thinking it was the job that I wasn't liking. It wasn't until I started dating Jon that he would mention to me that he couldn't understand how such a passionate person was so uninspired at work.”
I would argue that this (written in August 2022 but mentioned in a more recent New York Times California Today roundup about covering the arts here) feels even more true now (compared to, say, 10 or 20 years ago). There’s a lot of cool stuff going on in the Bay Area if all you’re interested in is consuming art, but if you want to make and show it? Or work in the arts? I see way more opportunities lately in Los Angeles (good thing I enjoy consuming art almost as much as I enjoy making stuff).
A TV that doubles as a work of art? Want, as the kids say.
Finally, not one, not two, but THREE new biking videos since my last update! Can’t stop, won’t stop.
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Love the unified theory of fucks and intend to share it with my co-fuckers at the Strong Language blog.