David De Angelo — my good friend and fellow Pittsburgh blogger — got a peak behind the scenes at the preparation underway for the Public’s upcoming production of 1776 – The Musical. And, because he’s a grand fellow, he posted all about it on his blog. He shares some insights from cast members about the politics of the play, as well as the Public’s creative set design. Check out his post. Continue reading “Theater preview: 1776 – The Musical at Pittsburgh Public Theater”
Merry Christmas and happy holidays, dear Reader.
This song captures so much of what I feel about Christmas. It talks mostly about family, but I feel that you’re part of my family, so I dedicate it to you.
Watch and listen on YouTube if you like.
Here’s a rocking little holiday tune to warm up your December weekend, via If Charlie Parker…
My painting of a cardinal in the snow, from an Art Party that Eileen Stroup led last night.
Yes, the media are the ones engaging in these practices. But the reason that they’re doing so is because we – the public – are gawking at the public displays of pain. Our collective fascination with tragedy means that we encourage media practices that rub salt into people’s wounds, all for the most salacious story. And worse, our social media practices mean that the media creators are tracking the kinds of stories that are forwarded. And my hunch is that people are forwarding precisely those salacious stories, even if to critique the practices (such as the interviews of children).
— danah boyd, “Dear Media, Back The F*** Off Newtown”
I’m standing at the bus stop, waiting to ride downtown. A #54 bus pulls up to the red light — not my bus.
The driver beeps, and when I look up she points to her head and elaborately signs and mouths, “Your hair. Pretty!”
I mouth back, “Thank you!” and smile and look down, pleased and shy.
Made my day.
The past few mornings, those mornings which haven’t been overcast, I’ve awakened before dawn to see the moon glowing down at me through the skylight.
This must be a seasonal thing, like the one day a year when the setting sun comes into ancient tomb, or The Well of Souls (for Raiders of the Lost Ark fans), or straight down the Infinite Corridor (for MIT grads).
Also the past few weeks, each morning around dawn, flocks of birds seem to gather in a holding pattern over my apartment building, calling to each other and swooping around the Strip. Sometimes they sound like geese, the kind of migrating flocks everyone in this part of the country is used to hearing. Other times they are other kinds of birds, generally largish birds with coarse calls. Max heads to the window and stares up at them, now and then squeaking out his best imitation of their cries as if to tell them to come down and hang out for a while.
Each day, each week brings a new perspective on the new to me place I’m living. The trick seems to be taking the time to stop and look around, and appreciate the slight changes, not to get caught up in the hustle of keeping up with the dailiness of life.