The 3-Day Komen walk in Seattle

Last weekend I went to Seattle to fulfill my 3-day Komen Walk with two friends, Harriet Baskas and Lisa Siegel. As I wrote earlier, we had a bunch of reasons for walking: to honor friends who had died, to celebrate those, including Lisa, who are surviving, and thriving—and to support further breast cancer research. A huge amount of progress has been made even in my lifetime, and the more support and community brings to bear on research and treatment options, the more positive outcomes there can be.

These fundraising walks are designed to be cheery, and when you add in "breast" you get acres of pink in the forms of ribbons, boas, tiaras, leggings, tutus, sneakers, and much, much more. Though I'm not much of a joiner or cheerleader, I really did enjoy the team get-ups, like this:

Of course, this kind of effort is a very personal one for many of those walking or crewing. It was common, and always touching, to see people wearing home-made signs commemorating their own loved ones: a grandma, mom, aunt, sister, best friend.

The walk took us through parts of Seattle I knew (Pioneer Square, International District) and parts I didn't know (Magnolia, swaths of Bellevue and Redmond). It was exciting to cross the I-90 bridge to Mercer Island, and to cover ground in some of the wonderful local parks. Most of all, it was great to spend time walking with friends and banter with kindred spirits along the way. The locals were great, too—cops and firefighters who volunteered their time to join or crew, friends and families who came to designated cheering stations to greet their walkers, and some, like this woman, who popped up every day on the route to offer her drumbeat. (She was great. Here she is with Harriet, who knew her.)

Besides the team outfits, there were slogans, puns, and bad jokes galore—one of the things that makes these "good cause" events so much fun. Some we spotted:

• "The original happy meal" (on a silk screened T-shirt featuring a pink bra)
• "Leave It to Cleavage" (team name)
• Moms for Mams
• Breastie Boys 
• "Big or small, we love them all" (supportive men!)
• "Honk if you love ta-tas"
• Testicles for Chesticles 
• the Half-Racks (my vote for best team name)

And there was this, surely an instant classic:

As for our metrics: Our team of 3 raised $10,175 from 112 people. Thanks to everyone who chipped in to help us reach our (required) goal and then exceed it. It's a terrific feeling to see the energy and generosity that emerge for such causes and community events. As for me, I'll look forward to further support for this and other vital causes (though I admit it: campaigns shorter than 3 days are mighty appealing) Even so, I'm very glad to have seen this one through.

Here's the Komen organization Fact Sheet ("Why We Walk"), and their summary of the Seattle event.
Finally, if you crave more pink, here's my photo album. Enjoy, and onward!

Komen 3-Day Walk, Sept 2011

Walking for breast cancer research

I recently signed up for the Susan G. Komen 3-Day 60-mile walk in Seattle September 16-18. While I'm usually not a joiner however much I support a cause, these walks are designed to raise awareness as well as money, and they offer great community spirit across the country. Eleven years ago my friend Ellen and I walked for our college friend Lucy, who died at 49 after 11 years of dealing with breast cancer.

Since then other wonderful friends have died; even more have been diagnosed and/or are living with the effects of breast cancer. My good friends Harriet and Lisa, who live in Seattle, decided to walk in honor of our dear mutual friend Mary Catherine Lamb, who died in 2009. And then earlier this year, Lisa was diagnosed. Fortunately her early stage and fast surgical response mean she is now cancer-free. So I decided to join them in gratitude for Lisa's survival and in memory of M.C.

In my life, more women I know have died—or lived—with breast cancer than any other threatening illness. These wonderful women are now gone from my life:

Letitia Brown

Lucy Wicks

Ellen Olinger Longsworth

Jennifer Lovejoy

Lynnly Labovitz

Mary Catherine Lamb

I'm walking for them, and equally important for friends who continue to survive, and thrive. Thanks to major advances in research and treatment, there are millions who do. Some of my friends in this camp:

Lisa

Sandy

Barbara

Marcia

Ingrid

A generation ago the number of those diagnosed who lived a good life after a breast cancer diagnosis was dramatically smaller, treatments were more extreme (and caused plenty of other problems). There's been a lot of improvement, as this post by a male breast cancer survivor attests. And as you might expect, around the world, treatment does improves with income and education (see data guru Hans Rosling's explanation).

All of this gives me determination to help more. I'll update now and again here on my progress. Here's my personal donation page on the Komen site where you can support me/the walk. (Don't forget corporate matching!)

One more thing regarding Komen: Charity Navigator gives them a 4-star rating (most income goes to program activites, not administration & overhead).

Thank you so much for your support.

My TED list of favorites

I was happy when the TED folks invited me to be one of 20 curators of book picks for the bookstore at this year's conference in Long Beach. One of life's simple pleasures as far as I'm concerned is organizing information into a list and annotating it! So the same thing I sent to TED, which is now on display at the bookstore (though this is the full list; they didn't stock all of these). Just for kicks I threw in a few forever-favorite movies too.

They asked for a short profile and rationale for what I chose:

I’m a reader, writer, art collector and Internet lover. I’ve lived in San Francisco for 25 years, and work for Google, where I search and find every day.

If I had to pick among my rooms full of books to a single batch, what would I keep? I picked titles that speak to some of my passions: art, words, technology, and real life. This mix gives me heart, makes me laugh, helps me understand, lets me dream of what has been, is, and could be.  (Ditto for the movies.)

When Everything Changed: The Amazing Journey of American Women from 1960 to the Present. Gail Collins, Back Bay Books/Little, Brown, 2009.

In her unmistakable “just between us” style, Collins wryly documents the astonishingly fast and deep changes that American women (and therefore men) have experienced in a generation. Her story is a compelling reminder that things that are “givens” really don’t have to be.

The Uncommon Reader: A Novella. Alan Bennett, Picador, 2008. There are numerous collections of Bennett’s inimitable personal stories and characters, and every one is wonderful. This imagined tale is not so different in that we share the point of view of certain quirky, practical, droll people who lead rich interior lives - in this case, the Queen and her household. Also recommended: any of Bennett’s audio readings and the performances with the world-class actors who play his characters. Every one gives you the tangy sweet and sour only he can do.

52 McGs: The Best Obituaries from Legendary New York Times Writer Robert McG. Thomas Jr. Scribner, 2001.

Reading good obits is like discovering a hidden stained glass window: You get a designed view into a life and a world you couldn’t have imagined. McG was a master at “raising the dead”, especially for unsung eccentrics who make the world so wonderful.

Death Sentences: How Cliches, Weasel Words and Management Speak are Strangling Public Language. Don Watson, Gotham Books/Penguin, 2005.

“Even as English spreads, the language is shrinking.” In this slim book Watson examines the dangers of obfuscation and bullshit language in the realms of politics and business like nobody else. I send this book to wordsmith friends for ammo.

Most of The Most of S. J. Perelman. Modern Library, 2000. S.J. is my go-to for heady and richly layered humor writing. There is no one else who takes you down the garden path, beneath the house and to the moon in a few short, sharp pages. As he says, “before they made S.J. Perelman, they broke the mold.” This is a full serving of gems from 1930-58, and my favorite of his many collections.

Everything is Miscellaneous, David Weinberger. Times Books, 2007.

One of the Clue Train gang, Weinberger is terrific at characterizing the digital world (“small pieces loosely joined,” he might say). Consider this book a great explainer of how we’ve learned to absorb digital conventions in order to operate in a world of UX, UI, and virtual world taxonomies IRL.

Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic - Alison Bechdel. Mariner Books, 2007. An amazing memoir told with tenderness, ruefulness and wisdom. Bechel is a wonderful visual storyteller. This book makes me appreciate the nuances and forgotten details of a life, and always sparks a flood of my own memories.

Stitches: A Memoir. David Small. Norton, 2009.

You don’t know dark till you page through this harrowing story of a six year old’s grim experiences. The great thing about graphical memoirs is that you can see the creator’s hard-won wisdom and healing through the telling (and showing), in this case a horrifying tale told through beautiful ink-wash images worthy of Bergman.

Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art. Scott McCloud, Harper Books, 1994.

Though it predates the flood of graphic novels and memoirs by many years, McCloud articulates the social and aesthetic meaning and value of visual storytelling. Thanks to MAD Magazine I’ve loved comics for a long time. This book explains why.

You Are Here: Personal Geographies and Other Maps of the Transformation. Katharine Harmon, Princeton Architectural Press, 2004.

I have always loved maps, and in recent years savored the new wave of social / psychological / art map books. This is one of my favorites, with gorgeous map illustrations of everything: the mind, Heaven, life, a walk, a day, the body, love -- we should all draw our many maps.

News of the Universe: Poems of Twofold Consciousness. Robert Bly, editor. Sierra Club Books, 1995.

Bly collects poetry from around the world that reflects the intertwined consciousness of humans, animals and nature, from Rumi and Kabir to Mary Oliver and Charles Simic. If I could have just one book on a desert island, it’s this one.

Nobody’s Perfect: Writings From the New Yorker. Anthony Lane, Vintage, 2003.

His movie reviews are reliably incisive, clever and complete, and the longer pieces here, on books, people and events (like the Sound of Music Sing-a-long, or the joy of Legos) are good stellar fun. I always feel like I’ve had a great meal after finishing a piece, but I bet you can’t read just one.

Night of the Gun. A Reporter Investigates the Darkest Story of His Life - His Own. David Carr, Simon & Schuster, 2008.

A very dark memoir that NY Times writer Carr undertook as an investigative project, since he doesn’t actually remember much of what happened or who he was in the bad old days. His saga is redemptive, but never sweet. Carr’s writing is knowing, sly and resonates like hell.

What the Dormouse Said: How the 60s Counterculture Shaped the Personal Computer Industry. John Markoff, Viking, 2005.

Markoff illuminates the very tangible and critical role that hippies, peaceniks and drugs du jour played in creating the technology culture we now can’t seem to live without. A vivid history that explains so much about the underpinnings of business, technology and culture we take for granted.

Hackers. Steven Levy, O’Reilly, 2010 (25th anniv. edition).

Levy’s iconic book has been a computer geek’s bible for 25 years. If you want to understand the origins of the software developer ethic that rule today (seen “The Social Network”? own an Apple product? use Google?), read this great tale.

Pursuit of Happiness. Maira Kalman, Penguin Press, 2010.

A portrait of America filled with lessons from the past and hope for the future - it’s the best kind of history book from Kalman, whose quirky and sweet paintings and stories illuminate the best and most challenging aspects of our complicated country.

Posters for the People: Art of the WPA. Ennis Carter, Quirk Books, 2008.

It seems impossible now, but there in the 1930s the US Federal Government paid artists, writers, performers to create and produce work on government wages. This wonderful book captures the political excitement, creative spirit, and instantly recognizable design sensibility from that heady period.

MOVIES

Laura - Directed by Otto Preminger.

Literate, sharp noir dialogue and a fabulous cast of character actors (Clifton Webb, Judith Anderson, Vincent Price, Dana Andrews, Gene Tierney) make this a real 40s whodunit. I watch it at least once a year.

Notorious - Directed by Alfred Hitchcock.

Ingrid Bergman was never more intriguing, and Cary Grant never more tormented, in this postwar spy thriller. Bonus points for chills and laughs: Claude Rains as the Nazi has-been and his domineering German mutter.

Some Like It Hot - Directed by Billy Wilder.

A classic for so many reasons - I know it by heart. So much that is great about the gender-bending farce starts with the screenplay by Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond, whose muscular and irreverent American lingo makes the whole thing sing.  

Topsy Turvy - Directed by Mike Leigh.

A visual and musical confection with acid undertones for fans of Gilbert & Sullivan - and those who think they could care less. This elaborate production surfaces the creators, and the troupe’s, very different personalities and aspirations, the challenges of show biz, and considerable drama behind the scenes. Every time I watch it I root for them all.

Auntie Mame - Directed by Morton DaCosta.

Before Liza was Sally Bowles, Roz Russell was Mame. Her inimitable rat-a-tat delivery, the great character cast, and the indelibly witty screenplay by Comden and Green - really, it is perfection.

May 31: Photo a day update

Two weeks in, and I can see some patterns emerging. I really like framing close-ups (a cheat code for forcing a better image?) and I am really paying attention to patterns I spot. No real time for rumination today, but I have managed to upload a selection to Flickr as part of the 365 set.

And here's one pick with gratitude for the fabulous weather this and last weekend - the sort of days that make me grateful all over again to live in San Francisco. The light, the breeze, and the landscape all conspire to foster an incredible sense of well-being.

"The Goddess of 17th Street"

First week of Project 365

Based on my grand plan that began a week ago, I've heard a few grumblings that faithful readers expected me to post a new photo a day. Which as you'll see here, I have not done. I warned ya then that the idea was to *take* photos each day, but not necessarily to post daily. Reason being that it's rather a pain to download/upload, caption, tag and most of all edit down a selection. 


I've also discovered that Flickr and Picasa have their own quirks re management and organization. So - enough excuses - here are a few shots from this week. I hope to get a smoother process going this coming week and beyond. Meanwhile - extremely random glimpses from the last few days. 

Side door for apartment building - probably just behind it are the building's garbage bins. 

Las Palmas Mexicatessen, 24th & Florida.

Older mural that used to be gorgeous. I still love the light on the hills and the pitcher handle. 

It's so easy to shoot in the Mission - the pix practically take themselves. 

From earlier in the week ... 

Mika, looking terrifying? No. She's just really coming in close for a lick. 

Straight up the lightwell at my building (2 condos and a blue sky above). 

Holiday leftover on 27th Street. 

A favorite Yerba Buena sculpture: Shaking Man, by Terry Allen. 

The very epitome of 'gladhanding'. 

Entrance to the 60s exhibit at the newly-revamped Oakland Museum. 

Closeup from Lois Anderson's "Chinese Tower", Oakland Museum. 

She was an absolute Bay Area free spirit who called 

herself "Lotus Carnation" and died at 77 in 2004. 

Yes, there really is a sea dragon horse in the lobby 

of Bldg 46 (my office!) at the Googleplex. No, I don't know why. 

And that's a wrap for the week past. I'll sort out some other ways to upload and share as the days progress. What I can say is I love the idea of looking each day and shooting random images. The harder discipline is the editing and sharing. But maybe you knew that. 

A photo a day: my 365 project

Like many people I have creative fantasties. But also like many I get bogged down in a daily routine, and tend to believe that only weekends or vacations are available to break out of it. Of course, during those allotted times, when I'm self-consciously trying to stay unscheduled I inevitably end up, as they say, 'vegging out.' Nothing to show for it, and the weekends start blurring together. And when I do head back to work,  I pine again for some eventual day when I really will make time to be creative. Most of the time I think, well, when I retire, then I'll have enough time.

Yes, I do know how stupid this sounds (and how I'd counsel against thinking this way should a friend ask for advice). So lately I've been thinking maybe making art is kind of like losing weight: you have to fit it in to your life so that it works. Don't bother with elaborate schedule upheavals or acquiring brand-new and unfamiliar equipment. Just — make it work within what you already do.

Which is why I've arrived at a simple-sounding creative project for myself, just for fun, for the new year that begins with my birthday, which is tomorrow.  Here's my thinking.

I have long loved taking photos - the act of framing and attempting to capture an image in the world always reminds me of Dorothea Lange's great line, "A camera is a tool for learning to see without a camera." I think this is how I approach photography whenever I do it, because I am forever looking around to see what stands out, what's new that I haven't seen before, what pleases my eye - camera or no camera.

Clock repair shop on Sanchez Street. Rarely open; working cat inside.

 It's certainly never been easier to take photos and share them, and that's the other part of this project: having some discipline about uploading or send pix somewhere. This serves at least two purposes. Over time, I'll see myself what patterns emerge - what draws my eye, what describes my day or conveys a feeling I have. Sharing with others is also fine, and nominally a way to stay in touch. But I'm a bit disinclined to be ubiquitous: I see altogether too many chatty lapel-grabbers online, and that's not my intent at all.

Then there's the question of what the exercise should be: take the first thing I really can focus on each day? limit myself to one photo? find something I've never noticed before? take a bunch and pick just one to upload? In the beginning, I don't think I can commit to just one approach. I read a helpful piece on a site called Photojojo, "Project 365: How to take a photo a day and see your life in a whole new way". One helpful tip: don't worry about posting every day. Shoot daily, yes, and then post maybe a couple of times a week. Ah. That I could do without fear of inundating readers with unwelcome frequency.

I already know some things that never fail to get my attention: handmade stuff in an otherwise machine-made environment. Handpainted signs, graffiti. Funny juxtapositions. Art in unexpected places (like alley murals, or quirky window displays). Patterns within patterns. Unusual colors, decorative bits where they "shouldn't" be. You'll see all of this for sure. What I'm looking forward to is to see a bunch of it over time, so that maybe I can hone my technique and think about what comes from it.

This is how art works for everyone else who makes it. I figure it's about time I follow their lead.

So the housekeeping bits: I'll probably use Flickr, and point this blog to sets I've parked there. I'll use my Canon PowerShot SD880 IS, along with my iPhone and Nexus One to shoot and upload. I'll use Picasa Web Albums to create some 'playlists' now and again, and will comment here along the way to explain what I like about what I saw.

Now then - I'm off to look. Really look.

I'm feeling thankful

It seems that lots of people are now in the habit going online to enumerate their feelings of gratitude on Thanksgiving. It's a good habit to get in, and not just once a year. I'm often aware of feeling grateful for so many small things - regular things - the stuff of daily life. But in the spirit of enumerating, here's a list about this year in particular, but not reflecting a fixed order of importance - gratitude should rotate.

1) I'm grateful to have made it to India (and fervently hope to go again). For many years I've wanted to go, and now I understand a little more about why. I experienced a warmth and gentleness among people that felt, well, familiar. I was knocked out by the incredible visual feast, the seen-it-all energy, and the ancient sensibilities butting up against resourcefulness and modernity. In a very real way, it felt like my pilgrimage to Mecca.

2) I'm grateful for physical therapy, about which I knew little until my knee wrenched in London in July. A diagnosis of torn meniscus + "joint degeneration" didn't faze my PT expert, let alone require surgery. Four months later I don't have to think about my knee very often. Sometime I might investigate arthroscopy, but knowing that PT really works is a huge relief.

3) Ten years after I bought it, I still love my haven of a home. And still haven't run out of places for all the wonderful art finds I discover!

4) I'm grateful for my far-flung friends, who saw me through two painful deaths this year: my darling mom's last December, and my wonderful pal Mary Catherine Lamb, who left us in August. And I'm glad for new friendships with members of M.C.'s extensive Portland tribe.

5) At the risk of sounding super-corny, I'm grateful for our 44th president. What a massive difference he has made in so many ways - in processes, in perceptions, in expression of values. Even when I worry over inevitable missteps and shortfalls, having him in office is truly something to be thankful for, especially given the awfulness of what came before.

6) Social media aren't new, but this year feels like a real taking-off point - a more mainstream adoption - of Twitter in particular and lots of other tools that enable sharing, expressing, reporting. The widespread adoption means people I knew at age 7, and people I'd like to know better, can be "small pieces loosely joined" in my constellation - and so can I be in theirs. It's an important new aspect of living that's not going away.

7) I'm still very appreciative of Google - quirky, life-changing, energetic, never dull. As an employer, it sets a very high bar, and I still feel engaged and loyal.

8) As always, I'm grateful for the pile of books, magazines, music and films that are now and forever at my beck and call. The new challenge is really about how to consume anything: Hard copy, digital, streaming, real-time, small screen or large? I appreciate having the options.

I could keep going, but these represent the sorts of things on my mind today. As the NY Times said so eloquently in an editorial today, "Most of what life contains comes to us unexpectedly ... It is our job to welcome it and give it meaning. So let us toast what we cannot know and could not have guessed..."

Me and my meniscus

Rather than re-regale everyone with my entire current health saga, suffice it to say:

1) On July 25, while walking around London, I wrenched my left knee.
2) The ongoing limping, pain and worry that I was screwing it up further caused me to cut my vacation short so I could come home and have it looked at.
3) I have now had 4 medical visits, 3 X-rays, and 1 MRI in relation to said knee, all in 2 weeks' time.

Today I got the lowdown (he read all the film) from Dr. Dave Atkin, the orthopedist (whom I like very much - a sports guy who seems to know his stuff). Official diagnosis: osteochondritis and a meniscal tear.

My left knee has always had this osteochondritis problem, apparently - it's been slightly weaker, and has clicked, popped and occasionally buckled slightly for many years. As for the meniscus, well, tearing is very common, and I guess it's helped along by the other condition. Both things are somewhat treatable, and neither is dire. Of course, either or both could get worse.

The upshot is that I have a range of options: I can do nothing and see if my knee continues to bother me (and the fact is it's gotten a lot better in the past week). I can opt for physical therapy and see how that goes; I can get it all cleaned up via arthroscopy, or even look into more extensive surgery.

Given my life-long ability to pretty much ignore (and get over) my body's minor aches and pains, I'm not inclined towards drastic action, let alone anything that involves skin incisions. (And apparently the arthroscopy, which might come into play sometime, would mean crutches for a month. Urk.)

Having moved beyond spring-chickenhood, it seems to me to be kind of a no-brainer: I'm going to undertake physical therapy (prescription: 2 sessions/week x 4 weeks) and focus on losing weight too. And I'll also start taking glucosamine & chondroitin more faithfully.

The main thing I dislike about this situation is how it makes me think about the future. I don't like to have to factor in a physical condition when making plans, or for that matter a treatment schedule. But at the same time I am seeing a new eagerness to make things aright, to move progressively towards a better future (without the slightly gimpy knee, dare I hope). It's interesting for me, so often inclined towards a deterministic view of life, to want to focus on change and improvement of this sort. It's a fairly new awareness - something I've noticed more since my mom died. I take that as a good sign, even as I prepare to stumble along towards what I hope will be a healthier, stronger state.

I'm SO a dog person

Dogs are like cartoon characters - oblivious to normal constraints and wise beyond their species. And that incredibly endless array of sizes, looks, and breeds -- ! What can I say? They speak to me.

Even more than words, some phrases are irritating...

The words that rub me the wrong way when I hear or read them are often fine on their own, but when overused, or used badly in context, I shudder.

jug
has a vulgar connotation plus a jug-ugly sound

snack
sounds too cute by half, as if it were made up by a Mad Man

impacting, impactful
NOT REAL WORDS! use "affect" and variations thereof

What's in a care package for a traveling friend?

What might I send a homesick friend who's gone on a long trip? Bits of home that could be disposed of, but almost as easily packed up, along for the ride.

MAD Magazine
There's nothing like American humor. MAD was an early purveyor of knowing, slightly juvenile, culturally-aware laugh lines. (More recently, The Onion would work too.)

ear buds
Assuming my friend has a digital device that goes to the ear, you can always use an extra pair.

"Best American Essays"
Any volume of this will trigger US appreciation for the million untold stories from here.

power bars
Larabar is a favorite, or maybe a Clif. Fruit rollups too. Portable and familiar snacks.

Tiny framed photo
A little art is a big comfort. I'd pick a favorite of that friend (celebrity, landscape, abstract).

A year in (some) pictures

Here's my take on last year in an extremely edited collection of photos. I got much more interested in casual photography during the year, and want to get further into it.

KW's 2007 in photos

Taking stock

Picking up the reins again, as usual hoping to be more frequent in the days ahead.

- Today was Marjorie's birthday; she would have been 54. My thoughts continue to be about her as I try to make sense of a missing friend. She disliked birthday fuss and especially disliked the fact that it coincided with Dec. 31, so it's not as if the day is fraught with celebratory memories. But all the same, I am remembering her. Particularly after my foray a couple of weeks ago to our Belmont Road building, now a condo, now looking far better than it did in 1978. That year and all that followed were key to me.

- I'm nearing the end of a week of down-time. As always, near the end, I feel I need twice the time. Which should be signal enough.

- Just saw Michael Clayton, which was predictably good --workmanlike. Clooney, Soderbergh and their gang know how to put a solid story together. Sydney Pollack and Tom Wilkinson in particular were perfectly cast. In fact, they were all good. What's not to like about a corporate espionage story with morals?

Goddamn it, MEB

May 2007 photo by William Rodarmor.

An old and dear friend -- someone I always admired and was sometimes a bit scared of -- has died, I learned today. Marjorie Ellen Baer. She was 53, and she suffered from brain cancer. All day long my own brain has been flooded with images and thoughts of her, someone I met 31 years ago in Washington. Someone I lived with in Adams-Morgan as we both muddled through grad school. Someone I relied on when I ventured west. I stopped to see her in New Mexico, where she lived on the Laguna Pueblo, and then absolutely mooched off her when she landed at 545 Frederick. Visiting her is really how I got to know San Francisco well, walking endlessly, meeting her SF pals and exploring odd corners with her.

Later, I had landed a job at IDG, and at some point she came in as a freelance editor -- a copyeditor at first, though of course she was capable of much more (as I think most good copyeditors are). She moved up at Macworld and then eventually on to Peachpit, where she really made her mark as executive editor and acquisitions editor.

But this was years later than our original connection. By the time she moved from the Haight to Berkeley she had blossomed into a bona fide Whole Person with a Real Life -- something I usually felt I hadn't quite mastered. She was in a long-term book group. She was an instinctive cook. She read far more than I did -- and remembered everything she read. She had a sharp and encompassing sensibility for art of all kinds. She traveled to interesting places and absorbed them fully. She had strong opinions about many things. All of this marked her as a somewhat daunting person to me, though of course her mien was far from daunting.

When we reconnected after years of absence, we finally got to see each other's houses -- we'd both managed to become Bay Area homeowners (no small feat). Hers was as homey and unpretentious as all her previous homes, of course. Once we met at Pt Isabel to walk Mika (a longtime cat owner, she was as delighted by dogs as any canine fan I know). Another time we toured Alice Waters' garden for kids at the school near her place. And last July we exchanged notes about finally having an in person visit when she felt better.

I meant to get over after she'd been sick, and I didn't. I just -- didn't. Every reason sounds lame now, but I was waiting for her to let me know it was OK to come. She wasn't one you could fly to and start with the heavy-duty caretaking. She couldn't stand that.

There are so few people around from that era of my life -- and even fewer whose interests and beliefs continued to mesh with mine, that cover the same territory. I'm just -- heartsick. Knowing her and knowing she's gone makes me want to change many things in my life. Because she made her life work. She was one of the few people I always looked up to. And now I do even more. Goddamn it.

"Strangely addictive"

Two weeks in to Facebook and I agree with my friend Dan: "it's strangely addictive." There are two great appeals to people like me, who spend a lot of time online (or in my case, also believe the Internet is most closely akin to tribal drums out in the wild -- they're always beating; you just don't always hear them). The sense of "small pieces loosely joined" fits the world of FB: you're sort of connected, the tribe is busy, people are leaving tidbits, there's a sense of group throb. You dip in and out. You see what's new. You get inspired yourself, or laugh, or share. Your actions spark others, and vice versa. (It's like real life, or meatspace, as we used to call it, but -- better. Fewer requirements for responsible follow-up.)

Much more than LinkedIn, which is a reasonably straightforward business connection service I've enjoyed, FB entices you back every day (or multiple times a day). One of the big advantages of FB is the ability to send and receive messages within the app -- no upsell or walled garden to scale to reach people directly. (Classmates especially, and LinkedIn perhaps, will lose out in part because of this.) With LinkedIn, I feel as if I need to go there every week or two to see who's pinging me for a favor. (It's all about where you work and who you know.)

But meanwhile on FB, in the last couple of weeks I've literally heard from 10 people I wouldn't have thought to reach via email, or couldn't have found another way -- in a couple of cases, people I hadn't been in touch with for 20 years. I've heard about cross-country moves, a divorce, new jobs, new ideas. This information flow just would not have occurred without FB.

Another great aspect is the web of connections - who knows who from where. I just noticed that two friends I know *don't* know each other just joined the San Francisco network today. Maybe it's all idle, random, forgettable stuff, but it's early days yet. The rise of the affinity groups (business, entrepreneurial, fan-based, fun-based) are another element worth watching. Smart companies are engaging here, and it seems a natural for both media businesses and startups in particular. (Journalists must surely be having a field day just watching the network action.)

Of course, there's a shortcoming or two. One obvious one is the missing reason why I might know someone: a business acquaintance! We didn't work together. We didn't go to school together. We didn't travel together. We didn't sleep together. Our paths crossed because of our business or business network dealings. In its obvious and recent rush to cater to grownups, that's a huge miss I hope FB gets hip to pronto. Another one: limiting the geo networks you can join. Why should I have pick between San Francisco and Silicon Valley, or have some silly waiting period when switching? What does FB care about how many geo networks I might be affiliated with? Social networks work when individuals can express and find connections for all their affiliations, interests, locations. This oversight mystifies me.

Even so. The third party apps are quite interesting, though I'll be damned if I'm going to pick among ~200 people every time I want to invite someone to try out a new one I just discovered. (The Simpsons avatar-maker is, of course, fantastic.) Meet my alter-ego.


In other words, for the time being, I'm kinda hooked. I'll keep futzing around, and I'll keep signing in. (And I'll keep ignoring the ads - they're quite lame and forgettable.)

Mad at iTunes UI

Is it just me, or is the iTunes Store interface irritatingly bad? Why can't I see a list of albums/cuts/artists? Why do I have to face an unalphabetized selection of thumbnail images of cover art? Why can't I save interesting possibilities when I'm browsing (hello, tags) instead of having to reconstruct my searches? And -- why can't I easily organize the playlists on my iPod any longer? I can't find half the stuff I've burned or bought, because iTunes won't let me drag them into existing or new playlists.
And that's how I whiled away a good couple of hours on Labor Day...

Well, at least one person agrees there are problems.

Big-boned gals in the media

Just back from tending to Ma for a few days. When I'm there, the TV is often on, so as the news blares incessantly, I've noticed something heartening. Most of the blow-dried anchors are forgettable even-featured types - there is of course a preponderance of young blonde women - but two of the major D.C. political correspondents are big-boned gals. And guess what? They have something to say. They seem to be real reporters covering a beat. With sources. Getting stories.

Lisa Myers (NBC):


Candy Crowley (CNN):


Nice.

Speak, memory

A couple of weeks ago I got an email from someone named Jackie Sanders. She's working on a film about Arlene Francis, and wondered if I was the same Karen Wickre whose name she found on a cassette tape in Francis' things which her son, Peter Gabel, had lent Jackie for research. The strangest part is that she, ahem, Googled me and found me at, well, Google. She nailed my email address (I forgot to ask how many naming schemes she tried).

So anyway, I reached her in New York and we chatted about her project. Most people today probably don't even know Francis, but she was a radio, film and TV star from about the 40s-70s. (Not sure she was as well known in the 30s, when she was for a short time on the WPA payroll.)



Photo found at http://www.curtalliaume.com/wml.html

Likely she's best known today as a panelist on What's My Line? along with those other leading lights of the day, Bennett Cerf, Dorothy Kilgallen and Kitty Carlisle. (I even watched this show.) I was in this heady mix because at the tender age of 26 I interviewed her at her apartment in New York (upper East Side, I seem to recall) about her (minor) work in the WPA Federal Theatre Project. This was my first "real" -- connected to my studies and meaningful to me -- job just after grad school, as oral historian for an NEH-funded project at George Mason University. I interviewed about 200 people who had been paid by the FTP between 1935-39, when it was killed by HUAC.

Sanders sounds savvy and committed - she's done a ton of research and has found many Francis partisans. She even got one of my thespian heroes, Cherry Jones, to narrate! (Jones already knows the realm of the FTP, having played Hallie Flanagan in that odd but endearing film, Cradle Will Rock.)

The whole thing made me think about long-past experiences - how fleeting (or not), how memorable (or not), how life-shaping (or not). I can't say Francis herself had a huge impact on me - god knows research was a lot harder then, and I probably didn't appreciate all she'd done - but I do remember that she was gracious to a nervous young woman fiddling with a tape recorder. I doubt there was anything too revelatory in her remarks, but perhaps it filled a niche in her own memory - after all, I was interviewing her c. 40 years after the FTP ended. And now, it's 30 years since I did that work. There's a kind of baton-handing effect here I like thinking about.

The other baton-handing has to do with getting in touch with one of my George Mason colleagues from that long-ago time. Urk: he's now a grandfather of four. My memories are (of course) frozen back then. Has everyone but me really gotten this old? =8-/

Frank Langella is a god

In Frost/Nixon on Broadway. Of course, he was helped by that stunning Peter Morgan script (which I can't yet find online - it's one you need to read to fully appreciate). I had such complicated feelings about F/N. I watched the 1977 program, I was a fan of Frost's from the earlier U.S. version of "TW3", but didn't know of his later somewhat-falling star, which the interviews obviated. Of course given my dad's huge love of Nixon, my fascination is for this Shakespearean-sized character. I always felt I understood the sorrowful, dark part of him, believing there was much overlap was with my dad's own demons. He was dogged his entire life by similar feelings of an impossible loneliness, of an outsider status that no amount of success could assuage. Langella really delivers on that premise - that Nixon's own fears and hurt fueled his massive hubris, and his colossal, deadly mistakes in Vietnam and with Watergate, among others.

Ben Brantley: "Mr. Langella’s Nixon has come across as a man of quick intellect, maudlin sentimentality, vulgar wit and studied social reflexes that have never acquired the semblance of natural grace. You are always aware of someone who struggles to conceal not only a defensive self-consciousness but also a cancerous anger and fear."

There a few unforgettable moments in my theatregoing life: the original M Butterfly and Rent; the late '90s revival of Carousel; anything by Anna Deveare Smith, Spaulding Gray or Sarah Jones. Langella's drunken late-night call as Nixon about 2/3 of the way through was another such moment. You can't convey that depth of anguish in another medium. (I'm glad Ron Howard & Brian Grazer are producing the film version. But it can't possibly go as deep.)

Early August at Ma's

Just spent four days at Ma's, which I'm committed to do at least every four weeks. It's getting harder now -- because of her pulmonary hypertension, her brain is increasingly affected by lack of oxygen, which mostly shows as extreme short-term forgetfulness. She can't remember which meal she's had, what time of day it is, and who's been to see her. There are long periods of quiet. Conversation consists mostly of someone asking if she is hungry, or thirsty, or needs to get to the bathroom, and her responding. She's still so good-natured and accommodating to virtually any request that her caretakers enjoy helping her.

So I sit and read or watch TV while she stares at the screen or (more often) naps. I think long and hard about "quality of life" when I'm with her. On one hand, she has a comfortable apartment, visitors who care about her, and doesn't lack for looking after. She knows who the key people are (her children, her immediate neighbors, and also the most regular caretakers, her doctor, the hospice team), she can enjoy the greenery outside, the sun filters in, and she's in a safe and homey atmosphere. On the other hand, she can't really do anything anymore. She led an astonishingly active life - traveling, gardening, churchgoing, tending to friends, reading, following Washington politics - and that's all gone, as is her house of 38 years, and many of her closest friends, whom she's outlived. Day by day, she gets more frail, more forgetful, and is slightly less interested - or rather, slightly less able to be interested - in the doings of the more robust. Things do enter her consciousness, but they don't stay long or grow in value.

After I left her I headed to New York, where after a couple of days of a regular work routine I found myself getting sadder and sadder as I thought of her diminishing world. Because that's what's happening - she is slowly departing this life. The vividness of the world is almost beyond her now. The texture of life is thinning. This awareness, for me, is a sharp reminder of how much I'm missing her already - and how much more missing is to come.