I swear: I’m a fan, not a stan, but …

I could have gone to bed as soon as I posted last night’s slice. I was certainly tired enough. Could have gone to bed before midnight for the first time in over a month. And I actually thought I was going to do exactly that. I did, in fact, fall asleep at my computer as soon as I shared my slice. I woke up around 12:30, and got ready to go to bed for real.

And then …

Then I remembered that Cowboy Carter would have dropped at midnight. I immediately downloaded it and began to listen, only hesitating for a second over the realization that it’s LONG (over an hour … 27 tracks!). So yes, I stayed up and listed to the whole thing … and had to have a stern talk with myself about not staying up to listen a second time.

To quote the article in PR Newswire:
"This is the work of an artist who thrives in her freedom to grow, expand, and create limitlessly. It makes no apologies, and seeks no permission in elevating, amplifying, and redefining the sounds of music, while dismantling accepted false norms about Americana culture. It pays homage to the past, honoring musical pioneers in Country, Rock, Classical, and Opera."

Every word of that. And, as Beyonce said in her IG post several days ago: “This ain’t a Country album. This is a “Beyoncé” album.”

And I am here for all of it. A Beatles cover. A “Jolene” cover. Linda Martell. A nod to the Beach Boys. Willy and Dolly. The surprising pleasure of hearing her voice mixed with Miley’s. Inject it into my veins. All of it.

I’m really not a stan. I’ll never be part of the hive. But … she wows me. She pleases me enormously. I’m late to the party — I liked her music whenever I stumbled on it, but with Lemonade, the music pulled me up by the scruff of my neck, demanded my attention, and hasn’t let me go.

Have you listened? For those who have … what songs stand out for you? Do you smile every time you hear Rumi’s sweet little baby voice? Which songs have you already danced to? And are you already trying to guess was Part 3 is going to be? I know I am. I feel like there are a couple of strong hints in this album, but I don’t know …

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It’s the 17th annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!
Head on over to Two Writing Teachers
and see what the rest of this year’s slicers are up to!

Baubles and Bangles, redux

I have a dozen pieces — necklaces and earrings — made by a jewelry/artwear designer I was fortunate enough to be connected to in my late 20s, before her work became so sought after that the prices flew beyond my means. All but one of my pieces are made from lucite resin, which the artist carved and shaped as a sculptor would stone. Ten of my pieces I bought at various studio sales she held. One pair of earrings was a gift from the friend who introduced me to her work. And one pair I was lucky enough to find at an accessible price on eBay two summers ago.

I lost an earring 20 years ago, a fact that upsets me to this day. I still have the remaining earring and will eventually make it into a pendant.

I keep her name as an alert on eBay and Google because pieces are put up for sale every now and then. That’s how I was able to buy the gorgeous green earrings I bought two years ago. The alerts make me long for a bigger bank account (or a sugar daddy). Most recently, there was an extraordinary necklace listed, a necklace I would wear the hell out of. It was offered with a $1,000 opening bid. That necklace would look amazing on me, but I’m not a person who can casually make purchases like that, and I’m not sure I could justify the purchase even if I had that kind of disposable cash.

I mentioned that I lost an earring years ago. It’s still crazy to me that that could have happened. They were large and a litle heavy. How could one have fallen off my ear without my noticing immediately, but that’s what happened. I left the house with two earrings, arrived at my destination with one.

That horror almost repeated itself last week. I was wearing a smaller version of the same style of earring. I went to my event and headed to the subway afterward. As my train was coming in, I reached up to put on my mask … and only had an earring in my left ear! I had a few seconds of complete panic and sadness and frustration. But I knew I’d felt both earrings when I’d put on my mask for the bust I’d taken to get to the train. I was about to retrace my steps back to the bus stop, but then thought to check my scarf. Thank goodness that was a chilly enough night that I had a nubbly wool scarf around my neck, and snagged in that loose weave was my earring. The back had slipped off (or been pulled off by the ear loop of my mask?) and my earring had liberated itself. I pulled off it’s mate and put both in my bag as I stepped onto the train. Crisis averted.

Now, maybe you’re thinking, “Com on, Stacie. It’s just an earring.” First, let me say, if you think any of my earrings is “just an earring,” you don’t know about me and my jewelry. I have risked my life for far cheaper and less significant earrings than the one I almost lost last week. But also, the artwear designer who made those beautiful earrings passed away right before Covid, so — even if I could afford the kinds of prices this jewelry sells for today — there is no replacing any of my pieces. Losing one would break my heart. And, too, I’m just entirely ridiculous about my jewelry, particularly my earrings.

Better backs. This is the secret to not losing my precious Croninger earrings. Losing a back was surely how I lost the earring 20 years ago and was definitely what led to my almost losing my earring last week. Better backs.

I wore my earrings today and was grateful for them, breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction at having them and relief at not having lost one. And yes, if I ever hit the lotto (which is unlikely to happen since I never actually play the lotto), I will spend my prize money (after boring things like debt elimination and obvious things like fountain pens) on finding and buying all the necklaces and earrings from this artist that I can. And I will wear the hell out of them and feel touched by Fortune every time I put one on, just as I do now.

Yes, visual aids. The pink, glowy one is the remaining earring of the one I lost in 2003. The blue are the ones I wore today. The blue are about one-inch long, so you can see how much bigger the pink one is. How could that have fallen off without me noticing? #TheGreatMysteries.

Do you have a similar obsessive love for some adornment or trinket? A favorite pair of earrings, a beloved bracelet? Can you relate to my horror at losing an earring, at almost losing another earring?

(Tonight I had some time, so I decided to play a little with the AI Assistant. I revised based on the first feedback then ran the generator again … and revised again … and generated feedback again … and revised one last time and generated feedback again. You can read the feedback if you’re curious. It’s interesting to see what the AI looks for, the suggestions it adds to it’s feedback as my revisions progress. Maybe my post is better because of the edits? Maybe.)

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It’s the 17th annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!
Head on over to Two Writing Teachers
and see what the rest of this year’s slicers are up to!

Purple with leopard spots, to be exact.

Friday’s post made me think of the poem “Warning” by Jenny Joseph. The poem is older than I am (published in 1961), which pleases me.

Warning

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Well, I am already wearing purple (and hot pink and deep blue with glitter stars, and …), and as my title proclaims, some of my purple has leopard spots. On Friday, I complained that people often assume I am much younger than I am. Tonight I’ll admit that, even though that does annoy me sometimes, I’m sufficiently vain to not be too upset when people think I’m 15+ years younger than I am. I’ll also admit that the things I choose to wear probably help people form their assumptions about my age. My sartorial choices have become less and less staid and conservative over time. I mean, I was never wholly staid or conservative, but I bought into societal norms about what I “should” wear, what I “should” look like out in the world. Now … not so much.

Exhibit A: My closet full of mini dresses. An old, fat lady running all over town in short, flippy dresses? ¡Que escándalo! Exhibit B: Many of my short dresses are also “silly.” My (much beloved) Totoro dress. My (equally beloved) Susuwatari dress. And then there are my blue with glitter stars tights and my purple leopard print tights. I’m not likely to choose to spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves (although I like the sound of summer gloves … I’m going to have to take a look at those), but I am fairly likely to continue spending my cash on short-and-silly dresses. Because they please the mess out of me, and because I am more concerned with how happy they make me and how good I feel wearing them than I am with any external notions of propriety. My version of Jenny Joseph’s wonderful poem is a work in progress. I’m still deciding what my old-lady-hood is going to look like, but I have some ideas to start with:

When I am an old woman, I shall wear what makes me smile
with colorful Snag tights and high-top sneakers.
I shall sing along with the Foodtown playlist 
as I shop for clementines and crumbly cheddar.
I shall wear giant, rhinestone-studded cat-eye glasses and learn to drive stick
I will eat all the watermelon and mangoes.
The pomegranates, too.

Hmm … It’s a start. It’s a start. What kind of old person are you going to be? What kind are you already? What will make you laugh the heartiest? That seems to me the best place to start and will be how I guide my own path. ❤

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The AI Assistant is definitely on my side today: The content expresses a personal reflection related to the poem “Warning” by Jenny Joseph, connecting it with the author’s current and future attire choices. The author’s defiance of societal norms and emphasis on personal joy over external propriety are clear and engaging. The post invites readers to consider their own future selves and what brings them happiness. The use of personal anecdotes and specific clothing items adds a vivid and relatable dimension to the writing. The narrative flows well, maintaining the reader’s interest throughout. The personal touch and vivid descriptions make the content engaging and relatable. The integration of the Slice of Life Story Challenge and the provided link adds value to the post. The use of images supports the content and enhances the reader’s experience. The tone and style align with the overall theme and message, creating a cohesive piece. Overall, the post effectively conveys the author’s perspective and invites reflection from the audience.

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It’s the 17th annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!
Head on over to Two Writing Teachers
and see what the rest of this year’s slicers are up to!

Filling My Well

Saturday, I had the honor and pleasure of being playwright/dramaturg Kim Euell’s +1 for one of the final performances of FLEX at Lincoln Center. I met Kim over zoom in January when she taught one of the winter intensive workshops with the writing program I volunteer with, but I was super surprised when she emailed to offer me a ticket. Such a kind and generous gift! FLEX‘s playwright, Candrice Jones, is an alum of that same writing program. She was writing this play while in Kim’s summer workshop a few years ago … and here it is, on stage at Lincoln Center, which is a stunning debut!

I fell in love with all of the young women in the cast. I’m also a superfan of set design, props, and staging, and I fell in love with those aspects of the show, too. Such a spare set, and add-ons that brought every scene to life.

I’m not a playwright, and don’t see writing plays as something I’ll ever really explore (despite writing – in my last year of high school – Snow Purple, a “true telling” of Snow White). But comics scripts – at least the way I write them, pull a lot from this form. Seeing FLEX reminded me that I need to watch more plays, read more plays, start building the muscles that carry over to comics. Because no, I haven’t forgotten about my comics. I’m still determined to make that project a real thing. I drift away because I convince myself that I don’t have the skills to get through it … and then I drift back because I really want to do it.

(Today, a woman I have become friendly with posted on FB about starting to learn about comics and her now goal of a graphic memoir, which made me so happy. A few comments later, and we were offering to share work with one another, which pleased me enormously. I’ll be looking forward to when we both have work to exchange.)

Seeing FLEX and meeting and talking with Kim fall into the category of “Artist Date,” one of the few practices I maintain from The Artist’s Way. And, while I have issues with Cameron’s book, artist dates — the idea that I have to fill my creative well by giving myself time to take in art/music/beauty/nature to support my writing and artwork — resonates with me. I don’t always give myself time for artist dates (something I need to change), but this past week has been rich with them. I had lunch on Wednesday with a writer friend and her children, which was totally soul-filling. She is someone who has a kind of belief in me that I hope to develop in myself. Last night I had dinner with another writer friend who pushes me to push myself. And tonight I have a writing date with yet another writer friend, a young woman whose energy, talent, and ferocity inspire me.

How do you feed your creative self? Do you take yourself on artist dates, fill your well with inspiration? Who’s on your cheer squad pushing you forward? How do you cheer and push yourself forward?

tellmetale

Tonight is the second night of How to Build a Fire, Season 9. HTBAF is a storytelling showcase started by poet Terence Degnan and held at an art gallery in Brooklyn. I had the pleasure of co-hosting Season 6 (the 2019 to 2020 season, the year we went virtual in the middle of the season). And now I’ve been given the gift of co-hosting again!

It should come as absolutely no surprise to anyone that I like telling stories … I am, after all, the keeper of about 47 gazillion anecdotes, a story (or thirty) for every possible situation. But I don’t only like to tell stories. I love listening to them, too. When Terence talks about the creation of HTBAF, he talks about the campfire, of sitting together in a circle of warm light sharing pieces of ourselves, sharing ideas, sharing.

And so, HTBAF. We don’t sit around a campfire, but we do gather in a warm and welcoming space and share stories. I’ve heard some amazing stories in this series, and I’m so looking forward to all the stories I’ll be hearing this season.

For tonight’s event, I invited two wonderful women to share their stories. Lisa Jean Moore – sociology professor and author of such books as Catch and Release: The Enduring Yet Vulnerable Horseshoe Crab and Buzz: Urban Beekeeping and the Power of the Bee (written with Mary Kosut). She’s also my former landlord and a generally excellent person. And the gorgeous, activist, creative, and delightful Substantia Jones, creator of The Adipositivity Project, one of the best things in the world. Substantia is also a generally excellent person. One of the ways that she’s excellent for me right now is that she has been encouraging me to come out of my little Covid-safe cocoon and spend more time in public. For this, I am enormously grateful.

My co-host, comedian Lana Siebel, also invited to fabulous women to share stories. That’s the format: two hosts, two storytellers each, four 15-minute stories, one lovely evening.

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It’s the 16th annual Slice of Life Story Challenge!
Head on over to Two Writing Teachers
and see what the rest of this year’s slicers are up to!