I skipped two days of writing in a row, which I said I would not do! But things happen and I don't feel bad about it. You'll be relieved to know that instead of writing I finally won 2048.
I went for a drive last night. I love going for drives. I haven't Gone For A Drive since I moved here. I've become diurnal, though this writing practice has me remembering and loving the quiet time alone at the end of the day, staying up thinking and writing and fussing on the internet.
I watched game 7 of the NBA Finals tonight, mostly because I really want it to be football time already. Besides, Paul talked me into thinking LeBron James is the best, so when he fell on his knees and SOBBED OPENLY FOR HIS HOMETOWN after the Cavs broke the 52 year title draught in Cleveland, well, there's no talking me out of it now. No long-suffering fan can see that and not cry along with him.
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Earlier this year I wrote about football--between when the Broncos won the AFC Championship game against the godforsaken Patriots and the Superbowl against the Panthers.
toe nails.
cut flowers wilting in the heat.
hand lotion.
black pepper.
cancelled stamps.
uneven sidewalks.
night-blooming cacti.
flies crawling on food.
fluorescent lights reflected in shiny linoleum.
cold pizza.
nasal spray.
soft lemons.
old bras.
sweat under my eyes.
chandeliers at two a.m.
I wrote 1600 words today...but none of it felt ready to share yet. So here is something I wrote around this time of year at least two years ago and just uncovered tonight.
I went for a walk tonight at dusk, which these days is 9 pm. I walked around Lake of the Isles, where the water has flowed over its edges and is covering benches, and trees, and sidewalks. It's lovely. People wade in it, and go fishing. I saw a murmultir (small brown rodent), right up where the bank would normally be. Ducks swimming in a puddle as if it were a lake all to themselves.
You guys, I have a new....email address.
I'm writing about it because it still has that new car smell. The inbox has only a few emails in it. It still seems possible that I could maintain inbox zero, which is actually a lie, but the glimmer of that future is beautiful. My personal inbox is 482 emails that all serve to remind me about how I am a bad friend/record keeper/person.
I thought I could write a love letter to this new inbox, but the best I have managed so far is this: When I look at you, I don't feel a rising sense of panic.
I have been working lately on a few educational offerings for artists and arts administrators--some workshops, some consulting/training gigs, that kind of thing. As I was writing one up today, I realized how much I like sharing my knowledge with others.
There have been times when I felt frustrated: Why do people always want to build their own websites instead of hiring someone like me who is actually quite good and speedy at it? Why do we feel so compelled to learn all the skills instead of asking for help?
There's no graceful way to segue from yesterday's topic to today's, so let's just get to it:
I'm in austerity mode right now. Do I like admitting this? No, I do not.
Today was a beautiful day. Early rain gave way to a cloudy day gave way to bright sun in clear air. Paul and Ryan and I walked around Echo Park, the lotuses growing tall out of the water. Behind a big spray of water downtown Los Angeles glittered in the sun as it started breaking through the clouds. We walked up a public staircase. In a dirty, graffitied alley, we found a trio of girls in yoga clothes doing yoga for, presumably, instagram. We walked on. I took pictures of so many flowers, hibiscus, passion flower, the lotuses. I watched a grandmother with her granddaughter.
Remember when all those articles started appearing about how Grit was the only thing that determined success? It was more important than talent and passion and good looks combined. With grit you could win it all. Grit meant you could dust yourself off and try again, forever and ever.
A lot of these articles included a quiz. "How much grit do you have?" "Are you gritty?" "Do you have what it will take to succeed?"
You don't need an app.
A lot of my clients fret about this: Do we need an app?
They fret about this because a lot of other people (technophilic neighbors, "thought" "leaders") walk around telling other people they need an app, or asking if they have an app, or giving them ideas for apps.
You don't have to listen to them. That excitable guy at your fundraiser doesn't know anything.
You don't need an app.
Why not?
Let's begin with what an app is and what an app is not.
