Happy Pi Day

It's 3/14/15, which are the first five digits of pi.

I finally got back to my DIFO meeting in person today, and my support group resumed meeting this week after a hiatus, so I'm basking in the renewed support.

Which is needed. Traveling halfway around the globe without a companion was hard on this introvert, and I'm back on a psychiatric med to keep a current bout of anxiety from blossoming into major trouble.

It was also helpful getting back to my two writing groups: the class with Janell Moon, and writing at Folio Books with Kathy Dalle-Molle. Between an upcoming reading by our Folio group next month, and the musical comedy Corduroy Pants, which is in previews, I've had to write two short autobiographies in the past week. One focused on my writing, and the other focused on my theatrical experience, so there's not much overlap.

So here are some recent writings, including the biographies:

Public Speaking

Surveys relate that more people read public speaking than are afraid of death. Rank me with those who fear death the most.

I've been acting and engaging in various forms of public speaking since I was in grade school. Plays, forensics tournaments, the high school valedictory address. As long as I have a script to follow, or at least have some idea of what I want to say, I'm fairly content to stand up in front of people and sing, or act, or lead worship, or read poems or other writings.

But that doesn't make me an extrovert. No, no, no. Cocktail parties, meeting new people, hanging out in a group all terrify me. I can only spend a few hours in a party situation or with a group of people before I need to escape somewhere alone and replenish the energy I've lost. I'm definitely an introvert, albeit of the showoff or performer variety.

Watch me take a piece of my mind and share it with you. That's OK; it's what I do.

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Cast Bio

Dana Vinicoff played the chief elf in The Elves and the Shoemaker at age 8. In junior high, she played Ulga in Dinny and the Witches, and the Jester in Twelfth Night. She wrote and performed with Mothertongue Readers' Theater in the '80s and '90s. More recently, she played Harvey in Joan Furst's musical comedy, Dykes on Broadway. The next year, she played a Latina with mental health issues in Roke Noir's production, Mad Love.

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Writing Bio

Dana Vinicoff came to San Francisco in 1974 to go to law school and never left. She has retired after 31 years as a legal writer, editor, and publication manager. In between acting gigs and community organizing, she writes creative non-fiction with any group she can find, maintains her blog, and tries to massage her writings into one or more collections that some people might enjoy reading.

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Santa Monica Summers

At the beach, the smell of Coppertone lotion and the pricier Bain du Soleil. The stickiness they left on the skin. The heat of the sun beating down on my hair, freckling my nose, and setting my skin up for cancer and my eyes for cataracts.

Stepping into the water and plowing above, below, or through the waves until I get in a good location for body surfing. I catch one wave, and travel halfway back to shore. Another wave sneaks up on me and I am tumbled in a washing machine.

Sand accumulates in my swimsuit and I duck down and try to swish it out. I step on seaweed and cringe away from its slippery feel.

Having been hit by three more washing-machine waves, I've had enough for today. I head back to my beach towel, after some searching with my near-sighted eyes.

I sit down on the towel, and the sand that already clung to my feet is gradually joined by wind-blown grains all over my body. And I pick up more sand from my towel itself.

But there's a can of soda in a cooler to wash the salt out of my mouth. And a taco stand not far away, where I can buy a mystery meat taco wrapped in yellow paper and a rainbow snow cone. I bring my prizes back to my towel, triumphant.

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I met Beverly Sills once. Nee Bubbles Silverman, she was proudly claimed as Jewish by my family. She was at the peak of her career as an opera singer, and had a voice of the type my voice teacher claimed I was acquiring.

I'm not quite remembering where we met. It probably was the Hollywood Bowl or some other Los Angeles concert venue, since I was a music major at U.C.L.C. in those years - the early 1970's.

I congratulated her on the wondrous facility of her coloratura runs. I've a faint memory that she had sung florid variations on "Ah, vous dirais-je, Maman," a tune we Americans know as Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

I can be fairly sure of having actually met her, because I still have her autograph on the page from that tiny notebook I carried with me even then.

But as for encouraging me to take my musical gifts in the direction of opera? Nope. I decided that I was not going to earn a living in music, and went on to law school.

Now that I'm retired, though, I'm returning to the artistic endeavor I favored in junior high school - musical theater.

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I'm reminded of the time I spent a day at the Elizabeth Arden salon in Los Angeles - a gift from my mother to prepare me for the high school juniors' ball. When I was done there, I looked like a million bucks. To be more precise, I looked like a 35-year-old woman whose husband was a millionaire.

And I didn't exit the building before a young man came up to me and tried to charm himself into my life. Nonplussed, I wound up inviting him to the small Santa Monica apartment where I was living with my mother and brother, to swim in the pool.

When he arrived and saw my true age and circumstances, the dollar scales fell from his eyes, and he faded away at the first opportunity.

Back In One Piece

A few of my hopes came true:

I petted a few kangaroos and a wallaby. I saw koalas and Tasmanian devils. I ate some exotic tropical fruits I'd never had before - passion fruit and dragon fruit.

I set foot in Sydney, Australia; Hobart, Tasmania; Dunedin (accent on the second syllable, and the 'e' is long), New Zealand; the port town nearest to Tauranga and Rotorua, New Zealand; and Auckland, New Zealand.

I met some lovely women from all over the world. Danced a wild tango (with the ship's rolling casting us towards and away from each other} with an Aussie named Lizanne. Exited the Syndey Hop On Hop Off bus at King's Cross station after eyeing a likely looking lady {who I later met in the line to board the ship}, and found my way back to my hotel with a little help from a local lass who was handing out free passes to a gym. Sat at a table in the Lido Restaurant with a woman I knew I had met before. When she gave me her name, I remembered that we had met in the Chinese Garden in Sydney and that she had been knitting something complex.

What are the chances of running into someone I know on the opposite end of the world? A few hours after we disembarked the Oosterdam in Auckland and were back at the ferry terminal for a harbour tour, I heard a male voice call "Dana?" It was Glen Shannon - an East Bay-dwelling recorder player and composer friend of mine. He was headed to board the Oosterdam for a gay male cruise to Sydney for the upcoming gay Mardi Gras festivities.

I'll try to upload some of my better pictures, but don't get your hopes up - they were taken with my ipod touch.

Be it ever so humble, ...

Tomorrow I Travel

How many months have I been planning this trip? Since last July, I learn from checking the paperwork. Which I'm now sorting through several times to see what can be recycled, what left behind, what can be packed, and what needs to go to the airport with me.

It's been raining pretty steadily the last several days and is to continue raining tomorrow. May lots and lots of the rain find its way into the reservoirs. Ordinarily I would be getting pretty depressed about now, since my emotions are solar-powered, but my pre-trip anticipation/anxiety is an effective antidote.

Since I was reminded that my flight leaves in the evening (somehow it had morphed into morning in my mind a few months ago), and especially since learning that I had bid for and won a moderate-cost upgrade to first class, I'm looking forward to the 13-hour flight with much less trepidation, and even a little anticipation. It's also helping with my pre-trip anxiety that I posted my flight on the cruise's Facebook group and found five other cruisers who will be on the flight. We plan to band together Down Under to make our way out of the airport and to our hotels.

A few ladies from Australia and New Zealand seem to be finding their way to this blog from my postings to the FB group. Kia ora, gals, and hope to see you soon!

Pre-Trip Wish List

Written at Write Now! to the prompt "What I want is."

What I want is to have a safe trip Down Under. To get myself where I need to be when I need to be there, in a relatively unfrazzled state.

I want to have packed wisely with clothes and accessories that contribute equal amounts of comfort and attractiveness.

I want to have fun adventures with a minimum of injury, illness, or anxiety. I want to make good enough decisions about what to eat and what to do - not to paralyze myself by trying for perfection.

I want to get to know some of my fellow cruisers better and have deep, nourishing conversations with them. I want to be helpful to my fellow travelers by sharing any information or expertise I can offer.

I want to have cared wisely for myself in choosing when to get out and about, and when to recharge alone in my cabin. I want to fall asleep within a reasonable time each night, and awaken in the morning with as much energy and enthusiasm as I can reasonably expect from myself.

I want to experience no dyke drama. I want to come home with good pictures and stories, and postcards, T-shirts, and maybe a new journal or two.

How to Sort?

So I've been thinking about how to arrange my blog files, and even dreaming about the possibilities. Maybe putting the options down in writing will help clarify matters.

My chief temptation is to present the files sorted chronologically, as if they were historical data whose value rests in part on their timing. There are some older writings that I've copied into the blog, which I'd have to pull out and label separately - writings from junior high and high school, writings from college and law school years, writings for Mothertongue Readers' Theatre - but the bulk of the blog was written for the blog or at least was posted there near the time of its writing.

Or, I could sort the pieces by the purpose for which they were written: English classes and writing workshops, the blog itself, Mothertongue, the synagogue, and Christian self-expression.

Or, finally and most difficult, would be to organize the pieces by the subject of the writing. There are many different subjects and ways of splitting them up, and a single piece often touches on two different subjects. My original subject list: current happenings, my past, my mental blocks, spirituality, commentary on others' writings, and general non-fiction. A list proposed by my writing coach includes: inspiration, observations, musings, memories, faith/shul, san francisco, outside, and panic.

I suppose that the decision should rest less on my convenience and more on what would be most accessible and interesting to a reader. Some authors can tell a story with graceful interjections that seem fairly far afield. I'm reading a book that's the story of the life of a pet pig in New Hampshire, but every so often the author spends a few months in India or Brazil studying other animals, and she manages to weave these trips into the narrative without any loss of momentum.

If I were to identify a basic story arc, say moving into retirement or recovering from major depression, maybe I could weave my political, artistic, and other excursions into the narrative. Maybe.

My original sorting included prioritizing my first three topics: current happenings, my past, and my mental blocks. But the downside of that was that the chosen topics included some relatively dull stuff and this sorting omitted some pieces I really liked from the excluded topics. So then I pulled out some of the duller stuff and pulled in some stuff from the other topics. But then I resorted the pages in chronological order and lost the original sort. And the more I look at the current pile of pages, the less cohesive and more amorphous it seems.

Maybe some subjects need to be in chronological order. Certainly reports of what I was then doing would make more sense in the order of their occurrence. But even a biography is seldom told in strict chronology; the author chooses an angle of approach and opens with a good hook before digging into the subject's ancestors and early childhood.

I seem to have a bit of a dilemma: I can't find a good arrangement for the pieces until I decide what I'm trying to accomplish with them, and I can't figure out what I'm saying with them until I get the pieces sorted in my mind. Along with whatever explanation and expansion seems necessary.

And part of the problem is that the pieces are so disparate in origin, subject, and purpose. Por ejemplo, I've got prayers and sermons on the one hand, and bawdy pieces about sexuality and lesbianism on the other hand. Now, reconciling these parts of myself has been one of the major themes of my life. Maybe that could be an organizing principle. Hmm.

Alternatively, breaking the pieces into several different projects may be the way to go. For example, I could pull together all the Christian, Jewish, and Buddhist material, and enough of the circumstances of my life to explain my interest in all three religions. But queer spirituality has been written about in each flavor, I'm sure. Don't think I'd buy a book on that subject alone.

Well, this has all been pretty helpful. I'll be curious to see if I stop dreaming about editing the files or if the content of the dreams changes.

Stay tuned for future developments.

Some New Stuff

German Coincidences

This morning I was talking to myself in German, which I do from time to time. I never lived in Germany; I only studied German in college. But every so often, a simple phrase or sentence springs from me, apparently without cause.

This morning, though, it occurred to me to wonder why. I've studied other languages, and while an occasional French exclamation or Latin saying will issue from me, that's about it. No Hebrew, no Spanish, no Italian, or New Testament Greek.

So it occurred to me, maybe German arises spontaneously because I grew up with relatives who spoke Yiddish, which is essentially German written with Hebrew characters.

Then later this morning I met with my weekly coffee/brunch group. I shared with the three women sitting nearest me, who were all Jewish, what I had realized about my Yiddish and German experiences. They seemed to agree with my reasoning.

A bit later still, Maria came to the group for the first time in several months. She had returned to her home in Germany after her stay in San Francisco, and was now back for another visit.

So, first I spoke to myself in German, then I wondered about why I spoke in German, then I talked with my friends about why I speak in German, then finally an actual speaker of German returns to our group after a long absence. What are the odds of all that happening within a few hours?

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Fast Food

Fast food is the choice of the poor, unhappy, or both. It's cheap and readily available. To put together even a hamburger from fresh, organic scratch would cost considerably more than the buck price of a fast food burger. And a restaurant burger? Forget it.

As for the unhappy, I tend to equate unhappiness with depression. And as I well know, a depressed person thinks so little of herself and is so immobilized that she's not about to take herself out to a nice restaurant or buy and fix herself a lovely meal.

And that's assuming she's even hungry. When I was depressed, I had no interest in food. I lost some 60 pounds because I just didn't want to eat anything. So, no food at all would have been my choice then, not fast food.

And I think that patience and anticipation are both characteristics that are not abundant in unhappy or depressed folks. And the ability to plan ahead and then follow that plan? Not so much. I don't think about food until I'm hungry or in a restaurant, and then I want that food now.

Fast food is also tremendously unhealthy - see "Supersize Me." If you weren't unhappy before eating it, indigestion and ill health are likely to sour your mood afterwards.

That said, about once a year I just have to have some Jack in the Box tacos. Because they remind me of Santa Monica beach tacos, they have major nostalgia value.

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Disputing About Tastes

My favorite Latin saying comes to mind, and usually then issues from my mouth, every couple of weeks. The saying is "De gustibus non disputandum est," there can be no arguing about tastes.

I probably picked it up in a Latin class. I continue to use it because I live by the sentiment and love the way it sounds. It's certainly less sexist than the roughly equivalent saying, "One man's meat is another man's poison." And it's much more elegant than "Different strokes for different folks." And I'm not sure how to pronounce the French version, "Chacun a son gout" (or spell it, for that matter).

More to the point, I keep on needing to assert this concept because I'm surrounded by people who believe that their own tastes are eternal verities, and that, if mine differ, I must be flawed, stupid, cowardly, or dull.

No, no, no, no!

Every person has the right to her own likes and dislikes. The only fault that could possibly attach to a dislike is to assert it without actually having tried the substance or activity in question. And I would maintain that we have no moral duty to try any new thing. Some activities I can be fairly confident that I won't enjoy without having to sample them - especially ones that are apt to result in pain, bleeding, or nausea.

Keeping an open mind is a virtue to some folks, so I usually try a new food or drink, say, at least once.. On the other hand, my mind doesn't need to be so open that things fall out. By which I mean that revisiting known pleasures is also a good thing.

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State of the Union Rant

Pres. Obama certainly deserves to take a victory lap after all the disrespect, trash talk, lies, and nearly treasonous obstruction he has received from Republicans and other haters.

He inherited several steaming messes courtesy of the Decider, Bush Junior - Iraq, Afghanistan, Wall Street collapse, real estate collapse, job losses, etc. etc.

And by ignoring the haters and following Democratic principles and just plain persistence, he saved the American economy, encouraged the creation of millions of new jobs, got millions of people health insurance, got Don't Ask Don't Tell repealed and the Defense of Marriage Act off the books, and cut gas prices by half, and saved the American auto industry, and, oh yeah, while bringing budget deficits way down.

If anything, we need to be spending much more federal money to repair roads and bridges, and on education, child care, and Social Security.

Our economy is doing so much better, yet the country is still so divided. Why people vote to preserve the privileges of the 1% at their own expense is nearly impossible to understand. My best guess is that they believe Republican lies about the government getting in the way of opportunity. And they think that they actually have a decent chance of getting rich without relying on their parents' wealth or government help re education, policing, roads, food and water safety, etc. etc. But the evidence is strongly to the contrary. In fact, upward mobility in other countries is strongly tied to the extent to which the government maintains a strong safety net.
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Having Too Much

In this age of clutter-consciousness and voluntary simplicity, having too much stuff is a problem for all but the homeless, and maybe for some of them. Our problems with stuff support reality shows about hoarding, and new books about clearing out clutter appear every day.

I buy too much stuff. I'm given too much stuff. I have no place to put all my stuff. I don't remember where I put my stuff.

After two complete rounds of going through every item I own, paring them down, and organizing the remainder, things are starting to build up again. And it's oppressive and depressing. And that's literally depression-inducing, which is a risk I shouldn't be running.

There must be some member of my interior committee who wants to have lots and lost of stuff, who is greedy and acquisitive. Well, acquisitiveness is a very common failing (and one deemed patriotic for us 'consumers'), especially for Americans. But, more charitably, maybe my inner child, who got plucked up and transplanted twice during her tender years, gets security from having stuff that stays with her. Surrounding herself with toys and memories and books acts as a barrier to change, as a cushion against threat and danger.

Thinking about my talismans, books, and teddy bears, and the records that have given me joy, brings a warm feeling to my chest.

I like knowing where my next teddy bear and my next good read are coming from. I don't have to be greedy to want some touchstones for security. But enough is probably enough.

More Editing, Less Writing

So, what I've been up to in recent weeks is working with the last ten years of blog entries and other writings that I've posted in the blog. I dumped it all into a single Word document, and it was nearly 400 pages long!

I got it printed out on heavy paper, and sorted it into rough categories: current happenings, my past, my mental blocks, spiritual matters, poems and songs, general writings, and my responses to others' writings.

I asked Kathy (the leader of Write Now!, a professional "Editorial Strategist") for some guidance, and her first suggestion was to choose the 50% of the pieces that most interest me. Not wanting to undo my sorting efforts, I chose the first three categories as my favorites. However, they included pieces that weren't so fascinating and left out other pieces that were pretty good. So I went back to Kathy with an update. She didn't know I had already done the sorting, and her second suggestion would have been to sort my favorites. So I went back to the rejected categories and pulled in my favorite pieces, and went through the chosen categories and pulled out my less favorite pieces.

I've been doing the sorting and choosing in the paper version, and updating the Word document as I go along. This morning I've been deleting the deselected pieces and copying in the newly chosen ones. Then I don't know what I'll do, but am inclining to want to stick to working with the paper version for the nonce.