Aria Ivory
Originally uploaded by shinyu32.
I just received a lovely drawing in the mail from Steven La Rose.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Robert Heinecken (1931-2006)
Robert Heinecken
Originally uploaded by shinyu32.
Robert Heinecken, who helped to pioneer the photo program at UCLA and who was married to my prof at SAIC, Joyce Neimanas, passed away on Friday. He died in Albuquerque, where Joyce and he moved after she left her job at SAIC to take up a position at UNM Albuquerque.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
September Plans
It looks like I will be spending the last few days in September here.
Opening day coincides with my birthday.
Opening day coincides with my birthday.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Galatea Resurrects
Bill Allegrezza reviews the Bedside Guide to No Tell Motel in the latest issue of Galatea Resurrects and gives one of The Love Hotel Poems a thoughtful mention. Production is behind at Press Lorentz but the book should be out by end of June. Galatea also has a reprint of Tim Yu's review of V. Chang's Next Gen anthology. Read it here. It will be interesting to see if the editor responds.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Seamus Heaney
It was a full house last night at the First Presbyterian Church in downtown Dallas for Seamus Heaney. Carolyn introduced Jack who introduced Seamus. Last time I saw/heard Seamus read, it was at MIT in Cambridge for Bill's series. His translation of Beowulf had just come out and he read passages from that volume interspersed with semi-coherent ramblings. Last night's reading was impressive enough to finally get me interested in Heaney's poetry after many years of teachers saying here, read these poems about Irish bogs when I was in my self-Orientalizing phase. I didn't get it back then, but I think I may now.
Most striking poems included "Digging", "Summer, 1969" - on a summer spent in Spain at el Prado, "Helmet" and "Midnight Anvil" - a wonderful haiku sequence written about a blacksmith who rang in 2000 by striking the anvil 12 times. The reading was in church and wonderfully complemented by two poems - one piece about Brother Kevin who prayed with his arms outspread and had a bird land and nest in one hand. The other poem presented the image of prayer in a chapel and the vision of a ship dropping anchor above the devotees.
Aesthetic swagger in "Digging": "under my thumb, snug as a gun"
Most striking poems included "Digging", "Summer, 1969" - on a summer spent in Spain at el Prado, "Helmet" and "Midnight Anvil" - a wonderful haiku sequence written about a blacksmith who rang in 2000 by striking the anvil 12 times. The reading was in church and wonderfully complemented by two poems - one piece about Brother Kevin who prayed with his arms outspread and had a bird land and nest in one hand. The other poem presented the image of prayer in a chapel and the vision of a ship dropping anchor above the devotees.
Aesthetic swagger in "Digging": "under my thumb, snug as a gun"
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Sending text thru "the blander"
"We're constantly making smoothies of our copy to make it more digestible to our readers."
Friday, May 12, 2006
Death and rebirth
A few months ago when I was home at my parents house in California, I went thru boxes of old correspondence, searching for childhood photographs and letters that I might be able to incorporate into my best friend's wedding slide show. I came across a lot of different things, letters from a close friend from choir who corresponded with me throughout her moves to the East Coast and than Germany. We used to make tape recording letters and send them back and forth. I found old love letters from suitors, some of which I did not recognize or remember. A note, for instance, from GB in Chicago who had asked me to a homecooked dinner on Valentine's Day not long after Kort had departed for Japan. I naively believed that it was an innocent invitation. G called his mother to get her eggplant parmigian recipe and spent hours cooking. When I arrived, another classmate was departing. She gave me a big wink, and I started to have misgivings. Inevitably, the issue was confronted that night.
In my boxes, there were letters from Naropa friends and letters from Andrew from over the years. And buried in one box was a card given to me on the occasion of my refuge vows on May 12, 1998 from my meditation instructor and co-worker Donna McIntosh. The note said simply, "Welcome, dharma sister, welcome." Enclosed in the card were three sheets of gold-squared joss paper. When I rediscovered this treasure, I imagine that the sight of those joss paper had a greater effect on me 8 years out than on the day she gave them to me. I have journeyed far since that night in Boulder, Colo. with Gangteng Tulku, and the idea of burning the papers to celebrate a spiritual death and rebirth is a resonant and appropriate one.
With the card, she also gave me a copy of Suzuki's "Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind." The back cover bore an image of the Zen master at an indecipherable age. Donna described how she'd sometimes zone out just looking at the face of Suzuki. The old master. That book has stayed in my collections, and I have turned back to it more than once over the years.
In my shrine, I keep folded the kata that was given to me by a young German woman taking refuge at the same time as me. Having never taken refuge vows, I had not known what to prepare beyond a gift for the lama. I was blessed that one of the other refugees came prepared with more than one scarf offering for the lama.
After I took the vows, I went over to a classmate's apartment, a friend in the Writing & Poetics program that I have since lost touch with. She was gathered together with a group of women writers. I had a glass of wine in celebration and remember her friends asking me questions about the ceremony. They seemed puzzled that I should make the decision to take refuge before leaving Boulder, especially after my description of the ceremony which included having a lock of hair cut and having rice tossed at me and a name distribution. [I had wanted a Pema name (lotus blossom), but ended up with a greater responsibility to live up to.] I was already preparing for my exit from Naropa and brought items of clothing to give to one of my friends, downsizing my belongings for the journey ahead.
In my boxes, there were letters from Naropa friends and letters from Andrew from over the years. And buried in one box was a card given to me on the occasion of my refuge vows on May 12, 1998 from my meditation instructor and co-worker Donna McIntosh. The note said simply, "Welcome, dharma sister, welcome." Enclosed in the card were three sheets of gold-squared joss paper. When I rediscovered this treasure, I imagine that the sight of those joss paper had a greater effect on me 8 years out than on the day she gave them to me. I have journeyed far since that night in Boulder, Colo. with Gangteng Tulku, and the idea of burning the papers to celebrate a spiritual death and rebirth is a resonant and appropriate one.
With the card, she also gave me a copy of Suzuki's "Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind." The back cover bore an image of the Zen master at an indecipherable age. Donna described how she'd sometimes zone out just looking at the face of Suzuki. The old master. That book has stayed in my collections, and I have turned back to it more than once over the years.
In my shrine, I keep folded the kata that was given to me by a young German woman taking refuge at the same time as me. Having never taken refuge vows, I had not known what to prepare beyond a gift for the lama. I was blessed that one of the other refugees came prepared with more than one scarf offering for the lama.
After I took the vows, I went over to a classmate's apartment, a friend in the Writing & Poetics program that I have since lost touch with. She was gathered together with a group of women writers. I had a glass of wine in celebration and remember her friends asking me questions about the ceremony. They seemed puzzled that I should make the decision to take refuge before leaving Boulder, especially after my description of the ceremony which included having a lock of hair cut and having rice tossed at me and a name distribution. [I had wanted a Pema name (lotus blossom), but ended up with a greater responsibility to live up to.] I was already preparing for my exit from Naropa and brought items of clothing to give to one of my friends, downsizing my belongings for the journey ahead.
Anniversary
With a wish to free all sentient beings
I shall always go for refuge to
the buddha, dharma and sangha.
Today in the Buddha's presence
I generate the mind for full awakening
for the sake of all sentient beings.
As long as space remains
As long as sentient beings remain
until then shall I too remain
to dispel the miseries of the world.
The Bodhisattva Vow
I shall always go for refuge to
the buddha, dharma and sangha.
Today in the Buddha's presence
I generate the mind for full awakening
for the sake of all sentient beings.
As long as space remains
As long as sentient beings remain
until then shall I too remain
to dispel the miseries of the world.
The Bodhisattva Vow
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Works on Paper
The work is in production with Convivio. We've gone thru typesetting and the guys are experimenting with papers and design. Fingers crossed for a summer release, July, or August at the latest.
Check out the Book of Days at the Convivio site and subscribe to the email list/monthly dispatch which features whimsical essays on small town life by the press' own John Cutrone.
Check out the Book of Days at the Convivio site and subscribe to the email list/monthly dispatch which features whimsical essays on small town life by the press' own John Cutrone.
Astrocartography
The results are in. Believe it or not:
Paris, France
Rome, Italy
Auckland, New Zealand
Tokyo, Japan
Portland, Oregon
Paris, France
Rome, Italy
Auckland, New Zealand
Tokyo, Japan
Portland, Oregon
Capturing Motion
Capturing Motion is scheduled to open at the Dallas Museum of Art on June 10. I was commissioned by the museum to create a poem responding to Alex Calder's sculpture "Flower" for the exhibition. The poem, which is a visual piece, will be blown up and installed on a wall adjacent to the Orientation Theater and across from the Gateway Gallery space on the 1st floor of the Museum. The show will be on display for eight months. If you are in the Dallas area, please drop by and check it out.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Obituary from The Dallas Morning News
Robert Trammell: 'The grassroots poet in Dallas'
1939-2006
10:25 AM CDT on Tuesday, May 9, 2006
By JEROME WEEKS / The Dallas Morning News
"Of all the insane things to do," Robert Trammell once said, "to be a poet in Dallas."
Mr. Trammell, who died Monday in his East Dallas home, persisted in his insanity, writing nearly a dozen books of poetry, including Lovers/killers and George Washington Trammell. He also established the local literary organization, WordSpace, which has brought to town such notable writers as the poet Robert Creeley and Man Booker Prize-winning novelist James Kelman.
Mr. Trammell, 66, had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer, cholangiocarcinoma or bile-duct cancer, said his wife, Adrienne Cox Trammell. He had been given six months to live. But after more than two years, he had begun to decline in only the past two months, she said. Two weeks ago, he attended the Hiett Prize award ceremony, presented by the Dallas Institute of Humanities and Culture, where he was a fellow.
"He was the essential, grass-roots poet in Dallas," said Jack Myers, former Texas poet laureate. "He had a nitty-gritty streak. He was mainly self-taught, and he was very encouraging to young black and Hispanic writers. He didn't go through the MFA programs that most writers follow these days. But while he was writing about the back alleys of Dallas and the prairie, he was seriously interested in theoretically difficult poets like Ezra Pound and Charles Olson."
"He was the first bohemian I ever knew," said novelist David Searcy, who met Mr. Trammell in 1966. "He set the mold for me, wearing a beret, getting drunk and reciting the poetry of [Spanish writer Federico GarcÃa] Lorca."
Tall and lean with long hair and a beard, "Bob looked like a cross between a cowboy and a biker," said Dallas writer Ben Fountain. "And people could find him intimidating."
In fact, Mr. Trammell had spent a year in prison for marijuana possession.
"But," said Mr. Fountain, "it didn't take people long to realize that he had this finely developed aesthetic sense, not just in poetry but music and art. He really had a gentleness in him."
Thousands of Dallasites may never have heard of Mr. Trammell, but they've read his words: DART's Lovers Lane light-rail station has 10 enamel "wind panels" featuring his poetry.
A fifth-generation Texan, Mr. Trammell often wrote about the region, from Dallas to Cherokee County in East Texas, where his grandparents lived and where he spent a lot of time as a youth.
Among his ancestors were circuit-riding ministers. On the other hand, Ms. Trammell said, there are historical markers near Jefferson in East Texas designating Trammell's Trace, an early pioneer trail that was used by Mr. Trammell's great-great-great uncle, Nicholas Trammell, a horse thief nicknamed "Hot Horse" Trammell.
Robert and Adrienne gave Clinton, their 12-year-old son, Hot Horse for his middle name.
Mr. Trammell studied political science at Southern Methodist University with the intention of becoming a lawyer, Ms. Trammell said, but gave that up.
"I want to show the people of Dallas that they have more alternatives than being a banker or developer," he said in 1984.
Mr. Trammell wrote his first poem at 30, and it was published in the Southwest Review. Other periodicals to print his work included The Texas Observer and The Exquisite Corpse, the journal edited by National Public Radio commentator Andrei Codrescu.
Mr. Trammell was deeply enamored of singer-songwriters and Texas musicians, notably Townes Van Zandt, as well as spoken-word performance. In the '70s, he ran several New Arts Festivals in Dallas, which featured the area's first performance of the Sam Shepard play, The Tooth of Crime. Through the years, WordSpace, which Mr. Trammell co-founded 11 years ago with his wife, often presented evenings combining writers, slam poets and song lyricists.
"He felt that Dallas' literary greatness was in its music," said Ms. Trammell.
Of Mr. Trammell's several books of poetry, Jack Ruby and the Origins of the Avant-Garde in Dallas was probably his most popular, Ms. Trammell said with a laugh. "We had a lot of conspiracy theorists buying it without realizing what it was."
A complete list of surviving relatives could not be confirmed, but they include, in addition to his wife and son, Mr. Trammell's sister, Billye Sue Byrum; and two previous wives, Ginger Myles and Allison Kraft.
A memorial service for Mr. Trammell will be held at 4 p.m. June 20 at Winfrey Point at White Rock Lake. Donations can be made to Treasurer, WordSpace, 926 Valencia, Dallas, Texas, 75223.
1939-2006
10:25 AM CDT on Tuesday, May 9, 2006
By JEROME WEEKS / The Dallas Morning News
"Of all the insane things to do," Robert Trammell once said, "to be a poet in Dallas."
Mr. Trammell, who died Monday in his East Dallas home, persisted in his insanity, writing nearly a dozen books of poetry, including Lovers/killers and George Washington Trammell. He also established the local literary organization, WordSpace, which has brought to town such notable writers as the poet Robert Creeley and Man Booker Prize-winning novelist James Kelman.
Mr. Trammell, 66, had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer, cholangiocarcinoma or bile-duct cancer, said his wife, Adrienne Cox Trammell. He had been given six months to live. But after more than two years, he had begun to decline in only the past two months, she said. Two weeks ago, he attended the Hiett Prize award ceremony, presented by the Dallas Institute of Humanities and Culture, where he was a fellow.
"He was the essential, grass-roots poet in Dallas," said Jack Myers, former Texas poet laureate. "He had a nitty-gritty streak. He was mainly self-taught, and he was very encouraging to young black and Hispanic writers. He didn't go through the MFA programs that most writers follow these days. But while he was writing about the back alleys of Dallas and the prairie, he was seriously interested in theoretically difficult poets like Ezra Pound and Charles Olson."
"He was the first bohemian I ever knew," said novelist David Searcy, who met Mr. Trammell in 1966. "He set the mold for me, wearing a beret, getting drunk and reciting the poetry of [Spanish writer Federico GarcÃa] Lorca."
Tall and lean with long hair and a beard, "Bob looked like a cross between a cowboy and a biker," said Dallas writer Ben Fountain. "And people could find him intimidating."
In fact, Mr. Trammell had spent a year in prison for marijuana possession.
"But," said Mr. Fountain, "it didn't take people long to realize that he had this finely developed aesthetic sense, not just in poetry but music and art. He really had a gentleness in him."
Thousands of Dallasites may never have heard of Mr. Trammell, but they've read his words: DART's Lovers Lane light-rail station has 10 enamel "wind panels" featuring his poetry.
A fifth-generation Texan, Mr. Trammell often wrote about the region, from Dallas to Cherokee County in East Texas, where his grandparents lived and where he spent a lot of time as a youth.
Among his ancestors were circuit-riding ministers. On the other hand, Ms. Trammell said, there are historical markers near Jefferson in East Texas designating Trammell's Trace, an early pioneer trail that was used by Mr. Trammell's great-great-great uncle, Nicholas Trammell, a horse thief nicknamed "Hot Horse" Trammell.
Robert and Adrienne gave Clinton, their 12-year-old son, Hot Horse for his middle name.
Mr. Trammell studied political science at Southern Methodist University with the intention of becoming a lawyer, Ms. Trammell said, but gave that up.
"I want to show the people of Dallas that they have more alternatives than being a banker or developer," he said in 1984.
Mr. Trammell wrote his first poem at 30, and it was published in the Southwest Review. Other periodicals to print his work included The Texas Observer and The Exquisite Corpse, the journal edited by National Public Radio commentator Andrei Codrescu.
Mr. Trammell was deeply enamored of singer-songwriters and Texas musicians, notably Townes Van Zandt, as well as spoken-word performance. In the '70s, he ran several New Arts Festivals in Dallas, which featured the area's first performance of the Sam Shepard play, The Tooth of Crime. Through the years, WordSpace, which Mr. Trammell co-founded 11 years ago with his wife, often presented evenings combining writers, slam poets and song lyricists.
"He felt that Dallas' literary greatness was in its music," said Ms. Trammell.
Of Mr. Trammell's several books of poetry, Jack Ruby and the Origins of the Avant-Garde in Dallas was probably his most popular, Ms. Trammell said with a laugh. "We had a lot of conspiracy theorists buying it without realizing what it was."
A complete list of surviving relatives could not be confirmed, but they include, in addition to his wife and son, Mr. Trammell's sister, Billye Sue Byrum; and two previous wives, Ginger Myles and Allison Kraft.
A memorial service for Mr. Trammell will be held at 4 p.m. June 20 at Winfrey Point at White Rock Lake. Donations can be made to Treasurer, WordSpace, 926 Valencia, Dallas, Texas, 75223.
Monday, May 08, 2006
In Memoriam, Robert Trammell (1939 - 2006)
Though I've lived in Dallas going on 4 years now, I didn't meet Bob Trammell until last Fall. I had been frequenting more and more WordSpace events, the organization which Bob founded to showcase experimental and innovative literature. Bob had been sick for some time and was going to fewer and fewer events. My friend Karen X invited me to Bob's 66th birthday party at his home in Lakewood. I hadn't seen Karen in what seemed like months and she said to just show up. That day, Kort and I visited his grandparents in Arlington and by the time we arrived at the party at close to 9 or 10, Karen was making her exit. She had worn a sexy leather outfit which was too warm for the weather. But before she departed, she introduced me to the man of the hour, Bob Trammell. Unbeknownst to me until days later, Karen had taken him aside and told him to look out for me and to talk to me, because of my excessive shyness and social awkwardness in large public situations. I walked around Bob's house looking at his artwork and bookshelves and every once in awhile he would come up to me and engage me in a conversation. This went on for a few times and I'd make my way over to the food table or make a beeline for the bathroom, but eventually, Bob invited me into his office where we sat and talked with two other young poets about the poetry of Robert Creeley, Allen Ginsberg and the poets who had been important to Bob. That night, he gave me two chapbooks - "Birds" and a visual-text chap on Dallas history and Jack Ruby. I enjoyed his company tremendously, and when days later Karen asked me how the party went and I enthusiastically raved about Bob and she admitted that she'd asked him to do her the favor of making the extra effort with me, I fell in love with Bob's spirit.
I loved Bob's chapbook birds which is a staple bound, 4 x 11 collection of poems on birds - birdwatching, the significance of birds, myths of birds, birds in our everyday environment. The work seemed quite close to Creeley's diction and sensibilities. The "Bird" chapbooks, along with countless others were produced by Bob's own Barnburner Books which also produced the works of Gerald Burns and other Dallas poets who came into contact with Bob.
What I found rare in Bob was his commitment to young and emerging writers. Many elder writers cultivate their own followings - it looks like different things - maybe you study with them formally or informally, they may advise you on your work, guide you toward success at their own pace, when they feel you have earned it and are ready to proceed to the next step. Or maybe that commitment looks like throwing a young writer a bone by publishing their first low-fi chapbook or anthology or inviting them to read at your coffee house or party where football blares in the background and the alcohol is flowing. Bob's affection for the new generation of writers was apparent in his programming choices for WordSpace and his interactions with people. His love for the poets before him, his contemporaries, for poetry. From the first day, I always felt at ease with him.
When I left for Taipei, Karen arranged a farewell to Dallas "ball" for me at Paperbacks Plus. Rather than make it Shin Yu-fest 2005, I asked my favorite area writers to read their poems - not stuff written for the occasion, but the opportunity to gather as a group and share our work. Bob came and read from "Birds" because he knew my affection for the book. Afterwards, some informal Q & A ensued and Bob threw out a surprising question - keeping me honest - knowing that I was leaving the country, he asked what kept me coming back to Dallas. I gave a fast and easy answer like "my husband and his family," but followed up with a more honest answer about living life off the radar at another pace, staying away from the squabbles affiliated with most scenes and making a place to do the work. It was a question that struck me afterwards - the sort of question encountered when taking one's seat in a warrior exam.
I saw Bob just twice after returning from Taipei in March. At the WordSpace reading at Poor David's Pub, where he read from his work in progress "Glances" - short prose vignettes written as sketches, and this past Sunday after a WordSpace board meeting. My friend Simone and I had been having difficulty coordinating a good time to make the trip to Lakewood to visit with Bob. At the board meeting we learned that he was on morphine for the cancer and that the family was trying to decide whether or not the time had come for 24-hour hospice care. We were told that he was incoherent and coming in and out. I had some time ago, made the commitment to editing his selected poems and wanted to see Bob and to borrow some books for my research. We phoned his wife who told us he was sleeping but invited us to drop by. When we arrived, he was awake, lying in bed. He had lost a lot of weight since I first met him, and he looked frail, child-like. We hugged him and sat down by his bedside and visited briefly before going back to his office with his wife to pull books from his shelves. We returned to his bedside and as we were getting up to leave, he said very suddenly and loudly, "I love you." I was shocked and speechless and so grateful for this man - his undying spirit and his limitless capacity to give until the very end.
One of the board members circulated a message this morning that Bob passed away at home around 11 a.m. this morning. I believe his wife and son were with him at the time.
I loved Bob's chapbook birds which is a staple bound, 4 x 11 collection of poems on birds - birdwatching, the significance of birds, myths of birds, birds in our everyday environment. The work seemed quite close to Creeley's diction and sensibilities. The "Bird" chapbooks, along with countless others were produced by Bob's own Barnburner Books which also produced the works of Gerald Burns and other Dallas poets who came into contact with Bob.
What I found rare in Bob was his commitment to young and emerging writers. Many elder writers cultivate their own followings - it looks like different things - maybe you study with them formally or informally, they may advise you on your work, guide you toward success at their own pace, when they feel you have earned it and are ready to proceed to the next step. Or maybe that commitment looks like throwing a young writer a bone by publishing their first low-fi chapbook or anthology or inviting them to read at your coffee house or party where football blares in the background and the alcohol is flowing. Bob's affection for the new generation of writers was apparent in his programming choices for WordSpace and his interactions with people. His love for the poets before him, his contemporaries, for poetry. From the first day, I always felt at ease with him.
When I left for Taipei, Karen arranged a farewell to Dallas "ball" for me at Paperbacks Plus. Rather than make it Shin Yu-fest 2005, I asked my favorite area writers to read their poems - not stuff written for the occasion, but the opportunity to gather as a group and share our work. Bob came and read from "Birds" because he knew my affection for the book. Afterwards, some informal Q & A ensued and Bob threw out a surprising question - keeping me honest - knowing that I was leaving the country, he asked what kept me coming back to Dallas. I gave a fast and easy answer like "my husband and his family," but followed up with a more honest answer about living life off the radar at another pace, staying away from the squabbles affiliated with most scenes and making a place to do the work. It was a question that struck me afterwards - the sort of question encountered when taking one's seat in a warrior exam.
I saw Bob just twice after returning from Taipei in March. At the WordSpace reading at Poor David's Pub, where he read from his work in progress "Glances" - short prose vignettes written as sketches, and this past Sunday after a WordSpace board meeting. My friend Simone and I had been having difficulty coordinating a good time to make the trip to Lakewood to visit with Bob. At the board meeting we learned that he was on morphine for the cancer and that the family was trying to decide whether or not the time had come for 24-hour hospice care. We were told that he was incoherent and coming in and out. I had some time ago, made the commitment to editing his selected poems and wanted to see Bob and to borrow some books for my research. We phoned his wife who told us he was sleeping but invited us to drop by. When we arrived, he was awake, lying in bed. He had lost a lot of weight since I first met him, and he looked frail, child-like. We hugged him and sat down by his bedside and visited briefly before going back to his office with his wife to pull books from his shelves. We returned to his bedside and as we were getting up to leave, he said very suddenly and loudly, "I love you." I was shocked and speechless and so grateful for this man - his undying spirit and his limitless capacity to give until the very end.
One of the board members circulated a message this morning that Bob passed away at home around 11 a.m. this morning. I believe his wife and son were with him at the time.
Robert Trammell
Dallas poet and WordSpace founder Robert Trammell passed away this morning around 11 a.m. from complications caused by cancer. I saw him yesterday with Simone to say goodbye. We said, "See you Tuesday." He said, "I love you."
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
The Von Stoddards
My friend Dunja Marton is in a rocking new band called The Von Stoddards:
On Monday, May 1st 2006, *The Von Stoddards* are featured on mp3.com's website as their artist of the day, to take a peek go to this link:
http://www.mp3.com
We are currently finishing recording our first cd entitled, *"Ladies & gentlemen....The Von Stoddards"* which is more then halfway done. We will be mastering in May in our new studio relocating to Kingston, NY. You can check out more tracks and news at:
http:www.myspace.com/thevonstoddards
They will be released on *murdermuzic inc*. which is also soon to be recording and producing *The* *Traveling Salesmen*, featuring *Adam Mackie & Clint Chambers*.
website coming soon.
On Monday, May 1st 2006, *The Von Stoddards* are featured on mp3.com's website as their artist of the day, to take a peek go to this link:
http://www.mp3.com
We are currently finishing recording our first cd entitled, *"Ladies & gentlemen....The Von Stoddards"* which is more then halfway done. We will be mastering in May in our new studio relocating to Kingston, NY. You can check out more tracks and news at:
http:www.myspace.com/thevonstoddards
They will be released on *murdermuzic inc*. which is also soon to be recording and producing *The* *Traveling Salesmen*, featuring *Adam Mackie & Clint Chambers*.
website coming soon.
Monday, May 01, 2006
It was a shitty customer service day
The student loan website where I pay my undergrad and grad school loans has been on the fritz for 5 days. Irritated with the lack of response from the company, I called the service center to ask about the issue. I was put on a hold for several minutes during which time I hopped on the net using our DSL to check the site and lo and behold, the stupid site was up and running again. Customer service rep I-am-a-number-not-a-name gets back on the phone and says "What was your question? I forgot." I tell her the issue has been resolved and before she hangs up on me I say WAIT what's the back-up plan when the website's down can you confirm the mailing address for snail mail payments. She says "You'll have to wait, I've got someone else on the line." I hung up.
At work, it was an issue with the IT department. The MAC team rarely answers their telephones and dropped the ball last week on my computing issue - error messages stating that I did not have permission to save my edited files on the server. So I had a co-worker walk me over to IT central and put in a direct request - none of this voicemail email log your request bullshit with a ticket number. MAC tech hops on my computer using his computer and does a save and since it takes without error he sees no problem. Yes, well, I came here to ask you if you'd take a look at MY machine where the error is occuring so I could show you what's going on. Then he says, why can't you just save it where it is? Uh - because my editor wants it in a different format in a different location and that's department protocol. Well, who's your editor? During this whole conversation, the guy never made eye contact with me or turned around from his screen to look me in the face. He turfed it to the network server person who will no doubt drop the ball.
At work, it was an issue with the IT department. The MAC team rarely answers their telephones and dropped the ball last week on my computing issue - error messages stating that I did not have permission to save my edited files on the server. So I had a co-worker walk me over to IT central and put in a direct request - none of this voicemail email log your request bullshit with a ticket number. MAC tech hops on my computer using his computer and does a save and since it takes without error he sees no problem. Yes, well, I came here to ask you if you'd take a look at MY machine where the error is occuring so I could show you what's going on. Then he says, why can't you just save it where it is? Uh - because my editor wants it in a different format in a different location and that's department protocol. Well, who's your editor? During this whole conversation, the guy never made eye contact with me or turned around from his screen to look me in the face. He turfed it to the network server person who will no doubt drop the ball.
Slow on the draw
It was a national Hispanic boycott day and a sea of white faces in downtown Dallas, the absence of brown skin conspicuous. A co-worker read aloud a story about a finger fragment being served on a TGIF hamburger and quipped "that never would have happened if a Hispanic was working." At Union Station, I waited for the red line train to take me north and two middle-aged Hispanics popped up in front of me in front of the pass vending machine. They both wore white t-shirts and painter's pants and the contrast of their skin against their clothing was stunning. "Espanol?" one man asked. They wanted to buy a one-way DART pass for one of the men but didn't want to pay the Day Pass rate ($2.50) for the roundtrip ride, since they were technically doing a one-way. They wanted the disabled/elderly/child's rate of $1.00 and wanted to know how to get the lower rate. I got hung up on explaining in Spanish the distinctions between fares. The man looked at me patiently and said in heavily accented English, "Yeah, but we don't want to pay that fare. It's too much money." And for a minimum wage worker, an extra $1.50 is a lot of money. Had I been thinking instead of trying to piece together coherent Spanish phrases, I would have offered to pay for a pass for the 2nd man in support of the boycott. I don't know if they were striking today, or if they were some of the few who got permission to work, but they stuck out like a sore thumb and my mind was on language and communication vs. comprehension and understanding. But these men weren't asking me for money, they were asking how to navigate a system and asking why.
It would be very interesting to know if Dallas painter Ludwig Schwarz took his cues from Zhou Tiehai, since it appears that Mr. Zhou has had other people paint his paintings since the mid-90s..
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