"Yesterday is but the memory of today; tomorrow is its dream." --Gibran
Considering time in terms of human cognitive activities (memory and dreaming) rather than as discrete, impersonal units...I like that. This statement is predicated on the assumption that time is subjective, a man-made concept, its own existence dependent on the existence of humans-- or at least a human. It predicates an observer, a thinking organism.
So, as for linguistic implications, instead of "What did you do yesterday?" and "What are you doing tomorrow?", we would be bound to ask "What do you remember today?" and "What do you dream of today?"; it always being Today. And different tenses being marked by "remembering" and "dreaming" rather than by inflection of the verb "to do". Not very practical, but very poetic.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
A Kinship with Fish
The longer I look at these moon shots, the more I think that we are like fish in the deep sea. The branches are floating strands of seaweed, the air is our water, and the moon the light in the distant surface of the ocean hinting at an entirely separate stratus of existence.
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| The Deep Air |
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
What to do when it's 2:30 in the morning and you just don't feel like taking out the trash:
Step 1: Visualize taking out the trash. Step 2: Eat Godiva milk chocolate creme brulee deliciousness. Step 3: Turn on music suitable for taking out trash. Step 4: Take out trash. Step 5: Have a dance party. Step 6: Build a Fruit Pyramid.
Step 1: Visualize taking out the trash. Step 2: Eat Godiva milk chocolate creme brulee deliciousness. Step 3: Turn on music suitable for taking out trash. Step 4: Take out trash. Step 5: Have a dance party. Step 6: Build a Fruit Pyramid.
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| Fruit Pyramid: Pommelo, cantaloupe, tangerine, grape |
Monday, January 17, 2011
Extraordinary-Ordinary Dichotomy
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| Bye Bye Birdies |
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Inheritance
Home from another day of work. Feeling fairly exhausted and strangely accomplished. You would think I was conquering the world, but actually I was just making and serving coffee all day long. Today, however, marks an important day in my training as a barista at LC: I am definitely, indubitably, without a shade of a doubt no longer in training. In fact, since plans for the new shop were announced, a handful of new people have joined the crew, and I, along with my other co-workers, have been doing my share of teaching them the works.
That flip happened a couple weeks ago. It has been fun so far to show the newbies the secrets of the trade: the essential play of teamwork, the need for speed and efficiency, the tricks for making the perfect milk, and of course, our colorful clientele. So far there are three new hires, all very different, and all likable in their own way. I've noticed that we've broken the unintentional tradition of hiring only tall, dark, and...lean males. The new ones are of short to average height. Their backgrounds vary-- a French-speaking Berber/Moroccan, a Canadian, and one all-American boy. One tradition carries on, however-- so far they are all male.
It is a strange fact about this place that both the crew and the clientele are very male-dominated. Whereas women are usually the objectified sex in any given situation, LC is known for its "disarmingly friendly", handsome male baristas. Which is totally fine with me. Moreover, the other day, Sarah made the keen observation that about 70% of the customers that walked through the door were male. Initially she made this observation of gender disparity by simply taking a look around, but then we designed an impromptu experiment by keeping a Male vs. Female tally on my coffee cup of all the customers that walked through the door for the next quarter-of-an-hour. Boy, was she onto something. What was it about this place that made it a male magnet?
With regards to the male-dominated crew, I don't understand the gender bend myself, but in my short time at the shop, I've always felt a dependency on the guys-- not because they were guys, but simply because they've been here for 2, 3, 13 years and are so impressively good at their job. I would watch my co-workers either from the sidelines (in the back kitchen) or at the register while I'm handling the business side of the job, and be in awe of their ability to remember so many drink orders in one go, their speed at making the drinks often even before the orders are placed, and above all their ability to keep cool and even hold conversations with the customers under the chaos of long lines that at times go out the door and don't ever end throughout the entire 6-hour shift. It occurs to me now that it's not the guys themselves that are impressive, but rather the job that makes them impressive.
Today, however, for the first time there was no guy behind the bar. It was just Amy and I. Well, one of the new trainees was there, but the main team was made up of two girls who had worked at LC for not even a year. By now, I've had some practice holding my own under the machines, but when the line got too long and I started forgetting and mixing up orders, I would just toss the job back to my co-worker and he would expertly kill the line. This time, though, I had no one to toss the job to in case it got too chaotic. In fact, the job was tossed to me and Amy. The Berber was put on the register for the day. As our manager put it, Amy and I "have been here a longer time and are next in line to inherit the machines." Inherit the machines. I liked the sound of that.
We transitioned into the afternoon shift and it was like someone pressed the power button on a machine, setting it in motion, and never came back to turn it off. I felt like I barely looked up from the machines and pitchers for the first four hours of my 6-hour shift. At one point, I found myself wishing for some face time with the customers, so I put the Berber on the machines for practice and went back to my old comfortable position at the register. Eventually, however, the line got too long so we had to switch back. Later, the Berber came back from a break in the kitchen sidelines.
"I don't know how you guys stay so calm," said he. I had to smile at that because I understood exactly what it must look like to him, this two-man machine. I replied with a truth I had discovered on the job: "You have no choice but to stay calm. If you go crazy on top of all this craziness, than it wouldn't work. It would be an impossibility."
Despite my growing comfort with the job, I've still yet to figure out the multitasking art of talking to people while I'm on the machines. I assume that once you've been doing the machines for a couple years, it become second nature and you can then put your mind on other things like the people in front of you waiting for their drinks. A trick that I learned from Sticks this past Saturday is that a shot takes about the same time to pull as the milk takes to pour and steam, so instead of constantly peering over to see if the shot is finished while you're stuck at the steaming wand, you can assume that it will be finished pulling around the same time or just after the milk is finished steaming. Thus, the best order of action at the machines would be the following: pull the shots, steam the milk, and there, while your steaming is where you can look out into your audience of caffeine-craving customers and either hold a conversation or take the next order. That can happen once you don't need to think to steam good milk. Hmmm, so much to do...
Toward evening, the loud buzz of conversation finally caught my ears. There are times when the cafe can become really quiet, but those times are rare, and today was not one of those days. This evening, the cafe was humming with life and connection that was not wifi, but human. As much as our customers are annoyed by the fact that we refuse to carry wifi, and as much as I understand their annoyance, I also realize that it is a gift. It is one of the not-so-secret ingredients that helped to create this cafe wonder and continues to define it. While cleaning, I suddenly became aware of the medley of human voices that rose quite above the monotonous bass notes of the cafe music. I peered between the display case and giant vase of flowers and the sight gave me pause: every seat was filled, and everyone was engaged. I saw a couple with fingers interlaced, elbows propped on the wooden table; another couple, he was tenderly stroking her hair. I saw two regulars holding some sort of debate that looked pretty serious. Others were engaged in lighter conversation, in groups of 2, 3, 4. Part of me wondered what they were all talking about, but the other part of me didn't care. It was an exotically beautiful sight to behold.
That flip happened a couple weeks ago. It has been fun so far to show the newbies the secrets of the trade: the essential play of teamwork, the need for speed and efficiency, the tricks for making the perfect milk, and of course, our colorful clientele. So far there are three new hires, all very different, and all likable in their own way. I've noticed that we've broken the unintentional tradition of hiring only tall, dark, and...lean males. The new ones are of short to average height. Their backgrounds vary-- a French-speaking Berber/Moroccan, a Canadian, and one all-American boy. One tradition carries on, however-- so far they are all male.
It is a strange fact about this place that both the crew and the clientele are very male-dominated. Whereas women are usually the objectified sex in any given situation, LC is known for its "disarmingly friendly", handsome male baristas. Which is totally fine with me. Moreover, the other day, Sarah made the keen observation that about 70% of the customers that walked through the door were male. Initially she made this observation of gender disparity by simply taking a look around, but then we designed an impromptu experiment by keeping a Male vs. Female tally on my coffee cup of all the customers that walked through the door for the next quarter-of-an-hour. Boy, was she onto something. What was it about this place that made it a male magnet?
With regards to the male-dominated crew, I don't understand the gender bend myself, but in my short time at the shop, I've always felt a dependency on the guys-- not because they were guys, but simply because they've been here for 2, 3, 13 years and are so impressively good at their job. I would watch my co-workers either from the sidelines (in the back kitchen) or at the register while I'm handling the business side of the job, and be in awe of their ability to remember so many drink orders in one go, their speed at making the drinks often even before the orders are placed, and above all their ability to keep cool and even hold conversations with the customers under the chaos of long lines that at times go out the door and don't ever end throughout the entire 6-hour shift. It occurs to me now that it's not the guys themselves that are impressive, but rather the job that makes them impressive.
Today, however, for the first time there was no guy behind the bar. It was just Amy and I. Well, one of the new trainees was there, but the main team was made up of two girls who had worked at LC for not even a year. By now, I've had some practice holding my own under the machines, but when the line got too long and I started forgetting and mixing up orders, I would just toss the job back to my co-worker and he would expertly kill the line. This time, though, I had no one to toss the job to in case it got too chaotic. In fact, the job was tossed to me and Amy. The Berber was put on the register for the day. As our manager put it, Amy and I "have been here a longer time and are next in line to inherit the machines." Inherit the machines. I liked the sound of that.
We transitioned into the afternoon shift and it was like someone pressed the power button on a machine, setting it in motion, and never came back to turn it off. I felt like I barely looked up from the machines and pitchers for the first four hours of my 6-hour shift. At one point, I found myself wishing for some face time with the customers, so I put the Berber on the machines for practice and went back to my old comfortable position at the register. Eventually, however, the line got too long so we had to switch back. Later, the Berber came back from a break in the kitchen sidelines.
"I don't know how you guys stay so calm," said he. I had to smile at that because I understood exactly what it must look like to him, this two-man machine. I replied with a truth I had discovered on the job: "You have no choice but to stay calm. If you go crazy on top of all this craziness, than it wouldn't work. It would be an impossibility."
Despite my growing comfort with the job, I've still yet to figure out the multitasking art of talking to people while I'm on the machines. I assume that once you've been doing the machines for a couple years, it become second nature and you can then put your mind on other things like the people in front of you waiting for their drinks. A trick that I learned from Sticks this past Saturday is that a shot takes about the same time to pull as the milk takes to pour and steam, so instead of constantly peering over to see if the shot is finished while you're stuck at the steaming wand, you can assume that it will be finished pulling around the same time or just after the milk is finished steaming. Thus, the best order of action at the machines would be the following: pull the shots, steam the milk, and there, while your steaming is where you can look out into your audience of caffeine-craving customers and either hold a conversation or take the next order. That can happen once you don't need to think to steam good milk. Hmmm, so much to do...
Toward evening, the loud buzz of conversation finally caught my ears. There are times when the cafe can become really quiet, but those times are rare, and today was not one of those days. This evening, the cafe was humming with life and connection that was not wifi, but human. As much as our customers are annoyed by the fact that we refuse to carry wifi, and as much as I understand their annoyance, I also realize that it is a gift. It is one of the not-so-secret ingredients that helped to create this cafe wonder and continues to define it. While cleaning, I suddenly became aware of the medley of human voices that rose quite above the monotonous bass notes of the cafe music. I peered between the display case and giant vase of flowers and the sight gave me pause: every seat was filled, and everyone was engaged. I saw a couple with fingers interlaced, elbows propped on the wooden table; another couple, he was tenderly stroking her hair. I saw two regulars holding some sort of debate that looked pretty serious. Others were engaged in lighter conversation, in groups of 2, 3, 4. Part of me wondered what they were all talking about, but the other part of me didn't care. It was an exotically beautiful sight to behold.
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
Passageways
Monday evening, I stepped into the stairwell leading to the studio and sighed with happiness. Too many days had passed since I'd seen these dirty khaki-colored stairs and bare walls. I began the ritualistic climb up the stairs, and happily rid myself of the delusion that I had a life and purpose outside of ballet-- a lie I've been telling myself for the past ten days. Piano music drifted down from the studio. I noted that the painting of the T-rex exhilaratingly riding a bike against a purple background was still propped against the wall on the second landing. The tree we had used for the Nutcracker production stood nearby unornamented. After the second set of stairs, I followed the cranes the rest of the way into the studio, a world of its own. Passageways, doors and frames create the feeling of going on a journey, or leaving one world and entering another.
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