LIRR Excursion: Mission Aborted!

Tuesday, I got on the train to explore [place in Long Island] and in Jamaica, the loudspeaker told me to get off for "connecting bus service to [place]."

Heeeeyaal, nah!

I ain't takin' no BUS to way out there. They ain' got no toilets on a BUS!
Last time I took a bus for more than 20 min, some meddler threw a rock at the bus (Peter Pan Line) from an overpass and had there not been a window there, the rock woulda killed me 'cause it hit the window RIGHT WHERE MY HEAD WAS LEANIN' ON IT!!
And besides, it's RAININ'!! An' I'm COLD!
The whole point is the FUN TRAIN RIDE!
I brought my knitting!
I was having such a good time until JAMAICA all snuggly in my window seat, knitting a scarf when the almighty voice of the LIRR come along and tell me to get my ass off for a connection.

THEN NEXT THING I KNOW THEY WANNA TRY AN' HAUL me on a BUS!!



Dammit.

I didn't "yes and" the MTA.

I wasn't listening to the MTA. I didn't support.

I was all:

ME: Shut up and listen to my idea, MTA, my idea is better. My idea is superior even though you presented me with the option of a less predictable and more complex scenario. I'm a PERSON. YOU are NOT.

MTA: I'm actually a Transportation AUTHORITY!

ME: Uuuahhhhgggghh. You're always right. You're always trying to move the scene forward!

MTA: I can't go backwards! I don't WANT to argue with you. I WANT to take you to [place] in an unconventional and probably more humor-provoking manner.

ME: I WANT to take the TRAIN to [place].

MTA: You're mean for not going with my idea.

ME: Edit.

MTA: Your loss.

ME: I'm gonna go to the gym and see I [Heart] Huckabees. ALONE!

(Then I'm all walking down the stairs to the . . .)

MTA: Hello there, little miss "no, because."

Then MTA smiled and I was pacified. Benevolent arms embraced my human form and I broke and flowed into the familiarity of it's humble reconcile.
MTA was all, "shhhhh. The buskers. Listen to the buskers. Now, take the E to 23rd street. Here's a map on my wall."

So giving, the MTA. So willing to take you anywhere you wanna go. So many accommodating friends in other cities around the world.

When I'm 100 years old, I'm gonna totally rock scenes like the MTA.

Arnold/Howard

Arnold/Howard is the one on the left.

theremin info

1.)What is a theremin?


The theremin is one of the first electronic instruments. It was originally called the aetherphone, because the thereminist (never touching the instrument) seemingly plays music "out of the ether." It was invented in 1919 by Lev Sergeyevitch Termen. At the time, Russian citizen Lev Termen was working in Petrograd as a scientist in the oscillator laboratory for the Russian Military. He was working with gases and vaccum tubes when he discovered that a radio reciever would become detuned when in proximity of his body. He whipped up some blueprints and developed a prototype for an instrument with the same principle. Later, Mr. Termen changed his name to Leon Theremin. Thus the name, Theremin. Oh, boy, does he have a story or what. If you are interested in him and his instrument, watch the documentary, Theremin: An Electronic Odyssey.

2.)How does it work?

There are two antennas. The horizontal antenna is for volume control. The vertical antenna controls the pitch. The closer your hand is to the volume antenna, the softer the sound. The closer your hand is to the pitch antenna, the higher the note. So, you wave your hands in the air.

3.)Oh! Okay, but like, how does it work?

Oh. I'll copy the techinical stuff from a website called theremin-saw.com:

"The sound is produced by the interaction of two radio frequency oscillators which normally are operating above the range of human hearing. However, if one of these oscillators is slightly detuned by varying it's frequency while the other oscillator remains fixed, the difference in the frequencies (known as the beat frequency) is in the audible range and can be amplified. This process is known as heterodyning.

The vertical pitch antenna controls the variable oscillator. The electromagnetic field which surrounds the pitch antenna can be changed by the proximity of the human hand, body, or other object placed within proximity of the pitch antenna. The human body possesses a stored electrical charge, which is called its capacitance. This body capacitance can disrupt the electromagnetic field of the pitch antenna, thus affecting the variable oscillator. The closer the hand gets to the antenna, the greater the effect, and, therefore, the higher the beat frequency and the higher the pitch. The farther the hand gets away from the antenna, the less effect of the body capacitance, and, therefore, a lower beat frequency and lower pitch.

The pitch range (tessatura) can be adjusted for four, five, or sometimes more octaves. In addition the pitch can be tuned to allow for variations in playing distance from the pitch antenna (and thus the physical space between pitches) by increasing or decreasing it's sensitivity to body capacitance. The horizontal volume antenna, which is in the shape of a loop, also controls a high frequency oscillator, which when detuned by the proximity of the player's hand capacitance, lowers the sound volume. Moving the hand away from the volume antenna raises the volume. Carefully controlled up-and-down movement of the left hand (although the antennas may be reversed for left-handed thereminists) helps in the articulation of discrete notes as well as playing dynamics, crescendos, decrescendos, etc."

4.)What on earth made you want to play the theremin?

I saw an experimental music show at Tonic about four years ago with some musicians from Ciba Matto and Pamelia Kurstin played a few songs. I thought the sound was beautiful and I found the instrument fascinating. About a year later, a friend encouraged me to try it.

5.)What does it look like?

This is what mine looks like. It's a Big Briar Etherwave Theremin. I did not make mine myself, although most hard-core theremininsts buy a kit on the internet. I found Hammy already assembled in a music store below Canal Street and it cost me about $200.

I should be in my office or on the playground after school if you have any other questions.

He seems to have an invisible touch, yeah!

I was not aware that there was a contest, but I think we have a winner.

"Aboard his hot rod Theremin riding on a magnetic path through a forest of almost - ancient reflections"

Exploring Emotion: Anger

My Favorite Story (Pt. III)

(The Red Shoes by Hans Christian Anderson, con't)

During the whole week she was sad and wept many bitter tears, but when Sunday came again she said: “Now I have suffered and striven enough. I believe I am quite as good as many of those who sit in church and give themselves airs.” And so she went boldly on; but she had not got farther than the churchyard gate when she saw the red shoes dancing along before her. Then she became terrified, and turned back and repented right heartily of her sin.

She went to the parsonage, and begged that she might be taken into service there. She would be industrious, she said, and do everything that she could; she did not mind about the wages as long as she had a roof over her, and was with good people. The pastor’s wife had pity on her, and took her into service. And she was industrious and thoughtful. She sat quiet and listened when the pastor read aloud from the Bible in the evening. All the children liked her very much, but when they spoke about dress and grandeur and beauty she would shake her head.

On the following Sunday they all went to church, and she was asked whether she wished to go too; but, with tears in her eyes, she looked sadly at her crutches. And then the others went to hear God’s Word, but she went alone into her little room; this was only large enough to hold the bed and a chair. Here she sat down with her hymn-book, and as she was reading it with a pious mind, the wind carried the notes of the organ over to her from the church, and in tears she lifted up her face and said: “O God! help me!”

Then the sun shone so brightly, and right before her stood an angel of God in white robes; it was the same one whom she had seen that night at the church-door. He no longer carried the sharp sword, but a beautiful green branch, full of roses; with this he touched the ceiling, which rose up very high, and where he had touched it there shone a golden star. He touched the walls, which opened wide apart, and she saw the organ which was pealing forth; she saw the pictures of the old pastors and their wives, and the congregation sitting in the polished chairs and singing from their hymn-books.

The church itself had come to the poor girl in her narrow room, or the room had gone to the church. She sat in the pew with the rest of the pastor’s household, and when they had finished the hymn and looked up, they nodded and said, “It was right of you to come, Karen.”

“It was mercy,” said she.

The organ played and the children’s voices in the choir sounded soft and lovely. The bright warm sunshine streamed through the window into the pew where Karen sat, and her heart became so filled with it, so filled with peace and joy, that it broke. Her soul flew on the sunbeams to Heaven, and no one was there who asked after the Red Shoes.

The End

My Favorite Story (Pt. II)

(The Red Shoes by Hans Christian Anderson, con't.)

Now the old lady fell ill, and it was said that she would not rise from her bed again. She had to be nursed and waited upon, and this was no one’s duty more than Karen’s. But there was a grand ball in the town, and Karen was invited. She looked at the red shoes, saying to herself that there was no sin in doing that; she put the red shoes on, thinking there was no harm in that either; and then she went to the ball; and commenced to dance.

But when she wanted to go to the right, the shoes danced to the left, and when she wanted to dance up the room, the shoes danced down the room, down the stairs through the street, and out through the gates of the town. She danced, and was obliged to dance, far out into the dark wood. Suddenly something shone up among the trees, and she believed it was the moon, for it was a face. But it was the old soldier with the red beard; he sat there nodding his head and said: “Dear me, what pretty dancing shoes!”

She was frightened, and wanted to throw the red shoes away; but they stuck fast. She tore off her stockings, but the shoes had grown fast to her feet. She danced and was obliged to go on dancing over field and meadow, in rain and sunshine, by night and by day—but by night it was most horrible.

She danced out into the open churchyard; but the dead there did not dance. They had something better to do than that. She wanted to sit down on the pauper’s grave where the bitter fern grows; but for her there was neither peace nor rest. And as she danced past the open church door she saw an angel there in long white robes, with wings reaching from his shoulders down to the earth; his face was stern and grave, and in his hand he held a broad shining sword.

“Dance you shall,” said he, “dance in your red shoes till you are pale and cold, till your skin shrivels up and you are a skeleton! Dance you shall, from door to door, and where proud and wicked children live you shall knock, so that they may hear you and fear you! Dance you shall, dance—!”

“Mercy!” cried Karen. But she did not hear what the angel answered, for the shoes carried her through the gate into the fields, along highways and byways, and unceasingly she had to dance.

One morning she danced past a door that she knew well; they were singing a psalm inside, and a coffin was being carried out covered with flowers. Then she knew that she was forsaken by every one and damned by the angel of God.

She danced, and was obliged to go on dancing through the dark night. The shoes bore her away over thorns and stumps till she was all torn and bleeding; she danced away over the heath to a lonely little house. Here, she knew, lived the executioner; and she tapped with her finger at the window and said:

“Come out, come out! I cannot come in, for I must dance.”

And the executioner said: “I don’t suppose you know who I am. I strike off the heads of the wicked, and I notice that my axe is tingling to do so.”

“Don’t cut off my head!” said Karen, “for then I could not repent of my sin. But cut off my feet with the red shoes.”

And then she confessed all her sin, and the executioner struck off her feet with the red shoes; but the shoes danced away with the little feet across the field into the deep forest.

And he carved her a pair of wooden feet and some crutches, and taught her a psalm which is always sung by sinners; she kissed the hand that guided the axe, and went away over the heath.

“Now, I have suffered enough for the red shoes,” she said; “I will go to church, so that people can see me.” And she went quickly up to the church-door; but when she came there, the red shoes were dancing before her, and she was frightened, and turned back.

My Favorite Story (pt. I)

The Red Shoes
by Hans Christian Anderson

Once upon a time there was little girl, pretty and dainty. But in summer time she was obliged to go barefooted because she was poor, and in winter she had to wear large wooden shoes, so that her little instep grew quite red.

In the middle of the village lived an old shoemaker’s wife; she sat down and made, as well as she could, a pair of little shoes out of some old pieces of red cloth. They were clumsy, but she meant well, for they were intended for the little girl, whose name was Karen.

Karen received the shoes and wore them for the first time on the day of her mother’s funeral. They were certainly not suitable for mourning; but she had no others, and so she put her bare feet into them and walked behind the humble coffin.

Just then a large old carriage came by, and in it sat an old lady; she looked at the little girl, and taking pity on her, said to the clergyman, “Look here, if you will give me the little girl, I will take care of her.”

Karen believed that this was all on account of the red shoes, but the old lady thought them hideous, and so they were burnt. Karen herself was dressed very neatly and cleanly; she was taught to read and to sew, and people said that she was pretty. But the mirror told her, “You are more than pretty—you are beautiful.”

One day the Queen was travelling through that part of the country, and had her little daughter, who was a princess, with her. All the people, amongst them Karen too, streamed towards the castle, where the little princess, in fine white clothes, stood before the window and allowed herself to be stared at. She wore neither a train nor a golden crown, but beautiful red morocco shoes; they were indeed much finer than those which the shoemaker’s wife had sewn for little Karen. There is really nothing in the world that can be compared to red shoes!

Karen was now old enough to be confirmed; she received some new clothes, and she was also to have some new shoes. The rich shoemaker in the town took the measure of her little foot in his own room, in which there stood great glass cases full of pretty shoes and white slippers. It all looked very lovely, but the old lady could not see very well, and therefore did not get much pleasure out of it. Amongst the shoes stood a pair of red ones, like those which the princess had worn. How beautiful they were! and the shoemaker said that they had been made for a count’s daughter, but that they had not fitted her.

“I suppose they are of shiny leather?” asked the old lady. “They shine so.”

“Yes, they do shine,” said Karen. They fitted her, and were bought. But the old lady knew nothing of their being red, for she would never have allowed Karen to be confirmed in red shoes, as she was now to be.

Everybody looked at her feet, and the whole of the way from the church door to the choir it seemed to her as if even the ancient figures on the monuments, in their stiff collars and long black robes, had their eyes fixed on her red shoes. It was only of these that she thought when the clergyman laid his hand upon her head and spoke of the holy baptism, of the covenant with God, and told her that she was now to be a grown-up Christian. The organ pealed forth solemnly, and the sweet children’s voices mingled with that of their old leader; but Karen thought only of her red shoes. In the afternoon the old lady heard from everybody that Karen had worn red shoes. She said that it was a shocking thing to do, that it was very improper, and that Karen was always to go to church in future in black shoes, even if they were old.

On the following Sunday there was Communion. Karen looked first at the black shoes, then at the red ones—looked at the red ones again, and put them on.

The sun was shining gloriously, so Karen and the old lady went along the footpath through the corn, where it was rather dusty. At the church door stood an old crippled soldier leaning on a crutch; he had a wonderfully long beard, more red than white, and he bowed down to the ground and asked the old lady whether he might wipe her shoes. Then Karen put out her little foot too. “Dear me, what pretty dancing-shoes!” said the soldier. “Sit fast, when you dance,” said he, addressing the shoes, and slapping the soles with his hand.

The old lady gave the soldier some money and then went with Karen into the church.

And all the people inside looked at Karen’s red shoes, and all the figures gazed at them; when Karen knelt before the altar and put the golden goblet to her mouth, she thought only of the red shoes. It seemed to her as though they were swimming about in the goblet, and she forgot to sing the psalm, forgot to say the “Lord’s Prayer.”

Now every one came out of church, and the old lady stepped into her carriage. But just as Karen was lifting up her foot to get in too, the old soldier said: “Dear me, what pretty dancing shoes!” and Karen could not help it, she was obliged to dance a few steps; and when she had once begun, her legs continued to dance. It seemed as if the shoes had got power over them. She danced round the church corner, for she could not stop; the coachman had to run after her and seize her. He lifted her into the carriage, but her feet continued to dance, so that she kicked the good old lady violently. At last they took off her shoes, and her legs were at rest. At home the shoes were put into the cupboard, but Karen could not help looking at them.

"I Heard THAT!"

As soon as I have a photo of Arnold/Howard, I'll tell you all about him.
Sometimes, Arnold dances into Julep.
Last night, he was wearing gray and he had lost his hat.
He told me that he was going to stay up until dawn in order to make his doctors appointments in the morning.
So, he put down his bags and ordered a Pabst and a Bloody Mary.
Most eighty-five year-old men can't do this.
Most eight-five year-old men aren't pool sharks, either.
He beckoned.
"Precious!"
Then he just said, "Rodney Dangerfield died. He was 82."
I nodded and paused.
"He had a heart problem."
"He partied 'till the end!"
Were I the same age as Arnold/Howard, I would keep partying, too.
Then he gave me a gift.
"You want a car, precious?"
"Yeah."
Of course I do.
It's Engine 19. FDNY no longer has an Engine 19. Engine 19 used to be a 1939 Ward LaFrance 1000 gallon pumper. The photo of this engine was replaced by a little red "x", but luckily, Engine 30 was a 1939WFL1000 at one time:
This week is fire prevention week in NYC.

From Merriam-Webster OnLine:

Main Entry: car·a·vel

Function: noun
Etymology: Middle French caravelle, from Old Portuguese caravela
: any of several sailing ships; specifically : a small 15th and 16th century ship that has broad bows, high narrow poop, and usually three masts with lateen or both square and lateen sails

Other caravelles:

Click here to find out more about Bulova

Click here to find out more about Time.

Luckily, prior to receiving Arnold/Howard's gift, I had found a slightly used matchbox hotrod with exposed engine on the steet. It had been in storage in a pretty plush garage in my bag. I couldn't accept Engine 19 without giving the Hotrod to Arnold/Howard. He was pretty enthusiastic about the trade.

Did that make me feel like a f-ing champion, or what.

today's suggestion: feather

I opened my eyes this morning to see a feather floating down from the skylight in my ceiling.

Run Forrest Run.

I have a nasty habit of adding two's and getting metaphors.

I play games in my head a lot.

I don't use the connections that I make in my mind to crack secret government codes or because I am sent from another galaxy to save the planet, I just do it for brainsport.
It's like a never ending multi-dimensional puzzle that is on a the game table in the vacation house in my brain.

It's fun and it makes me laugh!
Crazy is relative.

Another hobby I have had for the last three and a half years is the research of symbols.
Let's research the symbolism of the feather, shall we?
My favorite reference book is The Penguin Dictionary of Symbols.
Unfortunately, I gave that away.

So from An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Traditional Symbols by J.C. Cooper:

Feather Truth, which must rise; lightness; dryness; the heavens; height; speed; space; flight to other realms; the soul; the element of wind and air as opposed to the humid principle. To wear feathers or feathered headdress is to take on the power, or mana, of the bird and puts the wearer in touch with the knowledge of the birds ('a little bird told me'), and with their transcendent and instinctual knowledge and magic power. Two feathers together represent light and air; the two poles; also resurrection. Three feathers are associated with the Fleur-de-Lis and are an emblem of the Prince of Wales. The white feather symbolizes clouds, sea-foam and cowardice since a white feather or feathers in the tail of a fighting cock was taken as a sign of faulty breeding and therefore disinclination to fight. A feather-crown represents the rays of the sun. Amerindian: Eagle Feathers depict the Thunder Bird, the Great Spirit, universal spirit, also rays of light. Celtic: Feathered cloaks worn by priests represent the journey to another world; fairies also wear feather-trimmed dresses. Christian: Contemplation; faith. Egyptian: Sovereignty; truth; flight; weightlessness; dryness; height; emblem of the goddess Maat as Truth. Dieties with feathers as attributes are also the solar Amen Ra and Anheru, Osiris, Horus, Shu, Hathor, Amsu, Mentu, Nefertium. In Amenti Osiris weighs the soul against feathers of truth. Scandinavian: Freyja owned a magic robe of feathers which enabled its wearer to fly through the air. Shamanistic: The feathered robes of shamans give power of flight to other realms and to undertake knowledge-gaining journeys. Taoist: Attribute of the priest, the 'feathered sage' or 'feathered visitor'; communication with the next world. Toltec: Feathered sticks represent prayer, contemplation.

Wow. So, each of these cultures or spiritual belief systems agreed on one meaning for Feather. Interesting.

This may be lofty of me, but I believe that every individual person has their own personal belief system. Every individual has his or her own brain, right? It is my personal belief that any organized religious system is just a conglomeration of a bunch of individual brains that all concentrate on melding together to believe in something so strongly that it manifests! If this is true, then in order to believe something into existence, I have to get other people to believe in my universe.

Isn't that completely narcissistic and hierarchal?!!!!??? I thought all men were created equal!!!

How does one person believe that he or she is worthy of leading other people? How can any single human being accept a position like President of the United States or King of England without fancying themselves of greater value than the rest of world?

In North America, there are 14 species of the Columbidae family. These are Key West Quail Doves, White-tipped Doves, Mourning Doves, White-winged Doves, Eurasian Collared-Doves, Ringed Turtle-Doves, Spotted Doves, Inca Doves, Common Ground-Doves, Ruddy Ground-Doves, Rock Doves (Common Pigeons), Band-tailed Pigeons, Red-billed Pigeons, and White-Crowned Pigeons. -from about.com

Three Line Scene?

Okay, fuck it. Let's make the Big Boomerang Theory a little more personal.
Nothin' says improv like a NON-ID

Background Narrative: Jennifer Townsend Hammaker

Jennifer Hammaker was born on 4-22-77 at 5:51 a.m. She was born of a full term pregnancy in which the mother began prenatal care during her fifth month. She was born of a spontaneous delivery. Jennifer was given the name Dana at birth, and weighed eight pounds, and eight and a half ounces and was nineteen and a half inches long. . . Baby Dana was placed in Foster care on 4-25-77, and was the only child in her foster home during her stay there. . . Dana received excellent physical care and mental and emotional nurturing. She had very good development and alert responses.

Dana's mother was a young girl in her late teens who had dark red hair, hazel to green eyes, fair complexion and was a little above average height and slender. She was a freshman in college and was talented in music and crafts. She was described as an attractive, pretty young girl with short curly hair. She was at least average or above in intelligence, and seemed motivated for her age. She was described as a very charming, outgoing personality. Dana's mother came from a very close family. . .Dana's mother sings and plays several musical instruments. When she went to college she was put in the advanced musical classes because her skills were so inherent to her and well developed.

Baby Dana's father was in his early 20's, had brown hair, blue eyes, olive skin, five feet, eleven inches and slender. He served in the military and was a freshman in colege at the time Baby Dana was born. He was described as handsome with a muscular build and was witty and outgoing with average intelligence. He was from a solid middle-class family. He was also described as being an artist.

Baby Dana's mother and father met at a church camp. Baby Dana's mother felt adoption was the appropriate course of action for her to follow and she did not tell Baby Dana's father about the pregnancy because she was not sure he would keep this confidential. Although she had known him for many years, they had only dated briefly during one summer at church camp.

SWEET JESUS (literally) is that the kicker or WHAT!!

EDIT!

HIGHTEN!