|
Michael Parker's Journal
 |
Tuesday, February 28, 2006 |
In many respects, American cinema for families simply missed the mark in 2005. How, you might ask?
It’s simple, dear Watson. They were too formulaic, predictable, and lacked interest. Furthermore, it seemed to be the year of the re-hashed and the ripped off–rarely did an American film look or sound original. Besides all of the inane sequels such as Cheaper by the Dozen 2, The Legend of Zorro, and Herbie: Fully Reloaded, there were films that tried re-capturing the magic of yesteryear’s versions – Charlie and the Chocolate Factory; Yours, Mine, and Ours; and The Bad News Bears. Even Zathura seemed to be Jumanji’s sequel played out in space.
Other than the smell of retread, America’s output of the family-fare simply was mediocre and forgettable. Let me name names: Madagascar, Chicken Little, Racing Stripes, Zathura, Because of Winn Dixie, Shark Boy & Lava Girl, Ice Princess, and Pooh's Heffalump Movie.
And critics weren’t the only ones complaining. People were staying away from many of these films as well. According to Britain’s Guardian newspaper, 2005 was one of Disney’s three worst years at the box office. What was Disney’s response? It’s all Miramax’s fault. Right. [wink, wink]
(Alright. I have to fess up to something. There was one Disney film I thoroughly enjoyed enough to include it as an honorable mention– Sky High, starring Kurt Russell, Kelly Preston, and newcomers Michael Angarano and Danielle Panabaker. Sky High is about two of the world’s greatest super-heros who send their teenage son off to the high school for super-heros, only to learn that he isn’t a super-hero. Kurt Russell gives an over-the-top performance that reminded me of his hilarious turn in Big Trouble in Little China. Preston and Russell have great chemistry; and Cloris Leachman’s cameo as the school nurse delights. Sky High never expects to be taken seriously and that is why it works. It’s loads of fun. Besides, the remakes of some of 80's great songs adds to the fun.)
Another note of interest: Many films that I planned taking my whole family to, I couldn’t. They were simply too disturbing, mostly of the psychological nature. For example: Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith and Batman Begins, which I consider to be one of the best super-hero films of all-time. Yet, alas, the sight of a worm-invested mask and people losing their mind isn’t something I want playing in my six and nine year-old’s memories when they try going to sleep. They have over-active imaginations without such prompting. Steven Spielberg’s War of the Worlds, Terry Gilliam’s The Grimm Brothers, and Peter Jackson’s King Kong are other films applicable to this argument.
So, you ask, what does Michael Parker have in his top ten list of family films for 2005. Well, thank goodness filmmakers in foreign lands were working. Here is my list of the more creative, stylish, and memorable films for families last year:
- Howl’s Moving Castle (Hauru no ugoku shiro) (Japan)
- Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (UK)
- Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit (UK)
- Millions (UK)
- March of the Penguins (Marche de l'empereur, La) (France)
- Oliver Twist (UK)
- Steamboy (Suchîmubôi) (Japan)
- Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (USA)
- Corpse Bride (UK)
- The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe (USA)
Honorable Mentions: Sky High, Robots, and St. Ralph (Canada).
I was unable to watch the film Duma before compiling my list. It may have affected my list.
Reviews of all of these films forthcoming.
10:20:32 PM  | |
|
|
|
Monday, February 27, 2006 |
Today, I received a link to watch a news story about a young autistic teen. On the Internet today, he's known as the autistic basketball player. His name is Jason Mcelwain, and he is from Greece, New York. This past week, he was given the opportunity to play the last four minutes of his school's basketball game.
Jason had been serving as the coach's assistant all year. Because of his hard work all year, the coach invited him to put on the uniform and sit with the players for the last game of the year. "Just so he would know what it feels like to be on the team," the report said. But with four minutes left to go in the game, coach stood up and pointed to Jason to go in.
What transpired is simply magical. This is the feel good story of 2006. Hell, I take that back. It is one of the most inspirational things I've seen.
Praises to the coach for giving Jason a chance! And thanks Jason for giving us something extraordinary to cheer about!
Click here to view the story.
7:55:45 PM | |
|
|
|
Sunday, February 26, 2006 |
MiPoesias, published by Didi Menendez, realesed an extraordinary All Ladies Issue, Vol. 20 Issue 2 for the month of February. The issue is replete with poignant little (and not so little) stories of growing up in England during the war; being raised to love someone you don't know; being the perfect mother; bearing children; bearing a stillborn babe; and losing a fireman father to a tragedy.
There are the usual poems on the amazing qualities of nature, one especially notable poem regarding the thawing of winter.
There is the unique and amazing rumination on loss--the loss of a friend leads the narrator to a wall of ivy covered with singing sparrows; and even insights to miracles--the healing properties of Christ's saliva.
The All Ladies Issue is an impressive collection of quality poetry. Though I'm familiar with many of the names in the collection because of the MiPoesias community, and thus my opinion could be construed as biased, I dare say that this issue highlights some of the best poetic voices writing today.
I'm including a list of my favorite poems below, but please don't take this to mean that I don't think the other poems are anything less. I just have my favorites, is all.
"Honey" by Amy Gerstler
"Doctor Pepper" by Birdie Jaworski
"Principes Negros" by Rita Maria Martinez
"Mammatus" and "Reservoir" by Lorna Dee Cervantes
"Units" by Sawako Nakayasu
"Hardball" by Pris Campbell
"Tastes Like Lot's Wife" by Laurel K. Dodge (Best title of the issue)
"My Grandmother" by Jenny Boully
"Ivywall of Sparrows" by Amy King
"The Bells Never Stop in Varanasi" by kari Edwards
"Dead Girls, Dying Girls" by Lyn Lifshin
"Once Was a Mouse" by Laurel Snyder
"Silence" by Jill Chan
"Fudge" by Shiela Murphy
"Elocation (Or, Exit Us)" by Evie Shockley
"God is Mad..." by Michelle Buchanan
"Wifely Attempt at a Poem" by Reb Livingston
"From 0 to Sixties" by AnnMarie Eldon
4:56:23 PM | |
|
|
|
Thursday, February 23, 2006 |
I've been working on my chapbook for the Poetry Exchange. Oh, and watching the Olympics as well. And as a sidenote: so many of our talented US Olympians are letting golden opportunities slide by, be it because of mental errors, injury, or just bad luck. And who knew Hedrick and Davis would embarass the US with their highly immature exchanges.
One of the poems I'm placing in my chapbook was inspired by the suicide poem (letter) that Virginia Woolf wrote to her husband. My intent was to mimic her thoughtful, and impressively lucid approach to suicide. If you have seen the exceptional film The Hours, you will know of the this onset of madness I write of; you will also know well the scene in which she escapes the care of her maids, walks to river, fills her pockets with stones, walks into the river, and gets swept away.
The Letting Go
On the Suicide of Virginia Woolf
Madness materializes like night,
strikes land like a flood-tide.
I can’t outrun its reach.
Sunlight forsakes or is taken, captive.
Dense fog leaves shadows so deep I lose
grounding, slide in. I'm lost.
Voices haunt my sagacity, destroy
ability-- reason's raped; peace is war-
torn. I am all undone.
Hold to the end of the unraveling. I can't.
Faster comes illusion, deeper cuts its pain.
I entertain rest, the letting go.
Beyond the harvest-ready fields winds a river,
wild as the wind-tossed sea, strong as its tide.
Walk to its shore keeping secret intentions.
Wade to its depth, appear unsuspecting.
Let it take me.
10:59:50 PM | |
|
|
|
Tuesday, February 21, 2006 |
I’m going out on a limb and trying to get into the practice of preparing poetry for a collection. Now that I have said this, let me digress and be honest. I feel like a fool in a room full of professionals. If a laugh escaped your mouth that is because one has escaped from mine. I do NOT consider myself even in the same league as you dear readers and poets whose names line my blog roll. For me, this opportunity is good exercise, like a long training run before the marathon.
Last week, Michelle posted on her website that she was going to be participating in the Great Poetry Exchange. I opened the link to their website, read about the exchange, and decided that I was going to participate also.
What is the Great Poetry Exchange?
The mission of the Great Poetry Exchange is to expose as many people to as many other people's poetry as possible. So there are no judges, no winners, no losers, no harsh comments by Simon Cowell, etc.
To participate, you must volunteer to mail one copy of one poetry book that you have written to another participating poet. In exchange, you will receive in the mail a copy of a poetry book written. (E-books are not allowed!)
If you are interested in participating, click here. You will need to fill out a standard form (name, mailing address, email, website, and the name and description of your poetry book).
As for my submission, [kicking myself] I could not decide which title I liked the best so I just put them both down, Departure, or At the End of the Street Lies the Sky. I’m suddenly regretting that I didn’t go with the latter. Maybe I’ll change it and confuse the poet receiving my chapbook. And don’t even ask me about the description I wrote. I might as well have said "poems created since pre-school" and it would have been more intriguing.
Speaking of titles: There are some great ones already short-listed for the Exchange. These are the titles I find of most interest:
28 Days: The PMS Series by Michelle M. Buchanan
All the Ways We Could Have Met by Susan Culver
Cheating the Sphinx by Howard Camner
Driven into the Shade by Brandon Cesmat
The Frequencies by Noah Eli Gordon
The House That Hijack Built by Adeena Karasick
I Write My Name in the Mist by Jon Mundsack
I'd Like to Bake Your Goods by Rick Lupert
Incomplete by Khadijah Queen
Let Winter Come by Elizabeth Marchitti
Making The Most Of The Light by Matt Merritt
Shedding the Angel Skin by LaDonna Witmer
Since I Saw You Last by Lisa Helene Donovan
We Wish To End All by Lob
9:40:39 PM | |
|
|
|
Sunday, February 19, 2006 |
With the Oscar’s just around the corner, Ang Lee’s film Brokeback Mountain seems unstoppable. Brokeback won big at the British Academy Awards this weekend, taking home awards for Best Supporting Actor (Jake Gyllenhaal), Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Director (Ang Lee), and the grand-daddy of them all, Best Film, besting out Capote, The Constant Gardener, Crash, and Good Night, and Good Luck.
In a surprise win, the animated film Wallace & Gromit in The Curse of the Were-Rabbit beat out The Constant Gardener and Pride & Prejudice for the Outstanding British Film of the Year.
Philip Seymour Hoffman (Capote) won the Best Actor award. He was among an impressive cast of actors and performances, Ralph Fiennes (The Constant Gardener), Heath Ledger (Brokeback Mountain), Joaquin Phoenix (Walk the Line), and David Strathairn (Good Night, and Good Luck.)
Reese Witherspoon (Walk the Line) won the Best Actress award, besting the performances of these talented actresses: Judi Dench (Mrs. Henderson Presents), Charlize Theron (North Country),
Rachel Weisz (The Constant Gardener), and Ziyi Zhang (Memoirs of a Geisha).
Jake Gyllenhaal, winner of the Best Supporting Actor for his performance in Brokeback Mountain, beat out actors Don Cheadle and Matt Dillon for Crash, and George Clooney for his performances in Good Night, and Good Luck, and Syriana.
Crash came away with two awards. Brit Thandie Newton won the Best Supporting Actress award, beating out Brenda Blethyn (Pride & Prejudice), Catherine Keener (Capote), Frances McDormand (North Country), and Michelle Williams (Brokeback Mountain). Crash would also win the Best Original Screenplay.
Here are the other winners:
Best Cinematography: Memoirs of a Geisha - Dion Beebe
Best Editing: The Constant Gardener - Claire Simpson
Best Production Design: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - Stuart Craig
Best Costume Design: Memoirs of a Geisha - Colleen Atwood
Film Music: Memoirs of a Geisha - John Williams
Best Make Up/Hair: The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
Best Achievement in Special Visual Effects: King Kong
Best Film not in the English Language: De battre mon coeur s'est arrêté
Most Promising Newcomer: Joe Wright (Pride & Prejudice) (director)
10:10:33 PM | |
|
|
One of my favorite books is Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five. I want to share with you my favorite scene. And it is, indeed, a poignant scene in which Billy Pilgrim gets out of bed in the middle of the night and decides to watch a war film backwards. He’s awaiting the return of the flying saucer that will take him away.
For your enjoyment, here is Vonnegut’s remarkable description of what Pilgrim was watching:
It was a movie about American bombers in the Second World War and the gallant men who flew them. Seen backwards by Billy, the story went like this:
American planes, full of holes and wounded men and corpses took off backwards from an airfield in England. Over France, a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, sucked bullets and shell fragments from some of the planes and crewmen. They did the same for wrecked American bombers on the ground, and those planes flew up backwards to join the formation.
The formation flew backwards over a German city that was in flames. The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes. The containers were stored neatly in racks. The Germans below had miraculous devices of their own, which were long steel tubes. They used them to suck more fragments from the crewmen and planes. But there were still a few wounded Americans, though, and some of the bombers were in bad repair. Over France, though, German fighters came up again, made everything and everybody as good as new.
When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United States of America, where factories were operating night and day, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals. Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work. The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody ever again.
The American fliers turned in their uniforms, became high school kids. And Hitler turned into a baby, Billy Pilgrim supposed. That wasn’t in the movie. Billy was extrapolating. Everybody turned into a baby, and all humanity, without exception, conspired biologically to produce two perfect people named Adam and Eve, he supposed.
(Vonnegut, Kurt, Slaughterhouse Five, Dell Publishing, New York, New York, 1991, pages 74-5.)
5:49:16 PM | |
|
|
|
Thursday, February 16, 2006 |
I received an email inquiring about whether there will be a Deseret News Marathon for 2006. The answer is "yes," on July 24th. While I was looking up information regarding this race, I decided I would track down all of the dates and websites for all of the Utah marathons this summer. Here they are:
March 25: Eureka Casino Tri-State Marathon & Half Marathon, St. George, UT
April 1: Moab Marathon
May 6: Ogden Marathon
June 3: Salt Lake City Marathon,
July 24: Deseret News Marathon, Salt Lake City, UT
August 26: Park City Marathon
September 9: Mid Mountain Marathon, Park City, UT
September 23: Top of Utah Marathon, Logan, UT
October 7: St. George Marathon
If you are interested in finding a marathon in your state or region, go to Marathon Guide.com or Runners World. Both of these sites have comprehensive list of marathons and websites.
Happy Training!
10:33:03 PM | |
|
|
|
Wednesday, February 08, 2006 |
Wow! In an evening that had Mariah Carey and Kanye West written all over it, and for good reason, the big Irish band U2 swept up every category they were nominated for, going five for five, including the biggest awards of the evening for Song of the Year ("Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own") and Album of the Year, How To Dismantle an Atomic Bomb. Other wins came in the category of Rock Album of the Year, Rock Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocal, and Best Rock Song ("City of Blinding Lights").
U2 is the sixth most successful Grammy winning act, with 22 awards.
Congratulations U2!
For previous posts about U2, read Out on the Town With Vertigo and my review of the winning CD How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb.
10:48:33 PM | |
|
|
|
Tuesday, February 07, 2006 |
Michelle e o tagged me to complete this post. So bear with me if you find a similar format with this list. And as an introduction: I admit, I definitely have my idiosyncrasies.
1 I place three large heaping tablespoons of creamy peanut butter with my bowl of ice cream. If my wife J makes her homemade chocolate sauce, the stuff my youngest sister calls "chocolate death," then I add that with the "PB" and ice cream. (Actually, it becomes a bowl of chocolate, peanut butter soup with a dollop of ice cream.)
I can’t abide hot dogs, bologna, or the thought of going to Arby’s. Just the mention of the name evokes nauseating images and I feel ill.
I love to eat raw yams. Dip them in a beaumonde dressing. Yum.
I don’t like candy, except Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
I never try new dishes at restaurants. I always order the same thing.
2 I can touch my nose with my tongue. Move over KISS, you have competition.
3 (I’m like Michelle e o in this oddity.) I don't like to touch things like door handles, railings, etc. in public places. If someone sneezes or coughs in my personal space, I close my eyes and hold my breath. I heard that doctors close their eyes if a patient sneezes or coughs while they are in a close proximity because the bacteria/germs can get into the tear ducts.
4 If I’m driving on a long family trip, and the kids become talkative or noisy, I’ll turn off the radio or CD so there is no conflict of sound.
5 We live in a haunted house. And yes, we have seen things (during the middle of the day or at night), heard voices, smelled smells (luckily good ones), etc. We call them "the guests" because they come and go during certain times of the year and they have been quite cordial. We wonder if it is one of our deceased ancestors watching over us.
We have had quite a few strange experiences but one of the strangest occurred when my five-year-old daughter (K) and I were in the kitchen last spring. K was eating lunch at the counter and I had just been talking on the phone by the back door. It was the middle of the day. We were both facing toward the entrance to the kitchen; we could see into the north area of the living room. Suddenly, this tangible shadow just taller than our standing piano walked out of the hall and into the living room. K immediately said: "Daddy, who was that?"
Startled beyond belief, I replied: "You saw that??!!"
"Yes," she said, quite unconcerned:"who was it?"
"I don’t know," I said, moving toward the living room. "But let me see if he is still here."
I recall feeling the hairs on my neck standing at full attention as I began to turn the corner and walk into the living room. I was going to be very surprised if someone was there. No one was.
Challenge: I know this challenge has gone around for awhile now and I'm terrible at recalling which sites have posted theirs. So, I'm going totrust my readers who have not completed this challenge to do it. And then please, return here and report so that I can read them. Thanks.
9:03:20 PM | |
|
|
| You Are From Saturn |
You're steady, organizes, and determined to achieve your dreams. You tend to play it conservative, going by the rules (at least the practical ones). You'll likely reach the top. And when you do, you'll be honorable and responsible. Focus on happiness. Don't let your goals distract you from fun! Don't be too set in your ways, and you'll be more of a success than you ever dreamed of. |
8:02:24 PM | |
|
|
|
Monday, February 06, 2006 |
Birdie Jaworski has just made Time Magazine! And what she reveals inside the article about dealing with bizarre requests from seemingly normal Avon clients is a hoot. Check it out here.
I came across Birdie’s wonderful blog Beauty Dish just over two years ago. I remember being captivated by her stories, by the humanity in which she told them. I was a fan after reading just one of her posts, Agua Caliente. In this post, she takes her friend Patrick, who is dying of cancer, south of San Diego to the Baja for an afternoon ride in her "crappy minivan." It was going to be her last birthday with him. Consider her closing paragraphs, how she relates her experience sitting with strangers in the hot springs:
I shed my clothes, left them in a heap by a bush of black sage, and joined the women.
"¡Buenas tardes!" I whispered, easing into the hot water. I never felt water this warm, I thought, never felt such a rush of heat and emotion. I looked at the other women in my circle, knew they couldn't speak my language the same way I couldn't speak theirs, at least not well enough to hold conversation. But words didn't matter. We vibrated heat together, all of us mothers, with those scars and natural lumps our children gave us, all of us simple and human and soft and beautiful. One woman with a wide smile and round face pointed at my Avon Rose Drop necklace, the one with the iridescent stone and beadwork around the silver chain like a set of rosaries. She asked me something, but I didn't understand her. I unhooked the clasp and gave her the necklace.
"¡Est ás en vuestra casa!" I said this with a flourish as I handed her the jewelry. It means "make yourself at home" which was the closest Spanish I could think up to mean I wanted her to keep it. The women laughed, smiled, the two on each side of me grabbed my hands. We sat like that for a long time, as long as my body could take the heat, and I hugged them and rose from the water to find Patrick rising from his pool at the same time.
We drove home, through those Baja lands, past those cows and coyote, but this time I felt them breathe, as if the spring water seeped into my skin, gave me a new Mexican identity. I listened as Patrick gave me my birthday present, a grand idea of what I should do with the time I have left on this planet, a good and sound and fun and important idea. Soon we found ourselves back in San Diego, back into our alien frazzle dazzle life.
Birdie’s stories show a caring woman who has a knack, an exquisite ability, to interpret expressions and body language, and to befriend anyone. Another one of my favorite series of posts about her friend Comet highlight this quality. In the first post, Birdie has been canvassing a neighborhood on her bike. Not only had she been turned away, but one homeowner even threatened to call the cops on her.
After awhile, she gave up and plopped herself down on the side of the curb. She looked down Hillside Street and noticed how "the scarlet bougainvillea cast tendrils over every fence in just the same way [she] felt the blood drip from [her] heart. Oh Patrick, [she thought], send me some kind of a sign that you're still there. Come on Patrick. I need something today."
Across the street from where she had planted herself, six immigrants were standing there. Soon after she had sat down, a truck drove up and the driver yelled out that he needed five strong men. Everyone was able to jump into the back of the truck except for an older fellow who was left alone. As he turned dejectedly and began walking away, she empathized with him:
"Hola!" I screamed a little louder than I intended. "Hola, se ñor!"
I held out two baggies. I wanted to offer the man some almonds and my peanut butter sandwich. He turned, looked at my face then at my hands, and crossed the street and accepted the food.
"Gracias." His voice was delicate, gentle, a stark contrast to the scars running up and down his arms and his dirty clothes.
"Si éntese, por favor." I invited the man to sit with me. I apologized for my poor Spanish, and I tried to ask him where he was from, what was his name. I told him my name and pointed in the direction of my house. I told him I had five children and I sold things to women. I didn't know how to say beauty products so I pulled out an Avon brochure and handed it to him...
"My name is Comet." He spoke in English, surprised me. "My name is Comet." He repeated himself, pointed to his chest.
....Comet was forty-two years old. He crossed the border a few weeks ago near Calexico. He had a sister who was ill, who needed money. He was sending her the earnings from his time in the fields, digging ditches, picking up trash, any odd job anyone would give him.
....We finished our snacks in silence, or at least I thought it was silence but I must have been singing my death song because Comet asked me a question, something about a song, music, sing, I knew those words, and I explained.
"My best friend died a little over a week ago. I'm singing because I miss him. I don't feel like I can do anything without him." I was bungling my Spanish, adding English words like sprinkled cheese and as I explained tears fell out of my eyes, fell too fast, covered my cheeks and my shirt, so many tears I didn't know I still had.
"I feel arrested, Comet. I can't do anything right anymore. I used to tell Patrick everything, we talked all day long over the computer or the phone, you know? Now I'm stuck. I can't even sell Avon things anymore. My magic is gone."
Comet watched me cry, stayed still and quiet as my flood of sadness turned into full sobs over the bad morning, the loss of my best friend, all the things I wanted to accomplish in life but stood wrecked and rusted on the roadside.
"Look." He took two purple flowers, squished the petals. He spit into his hand and rubbed until a light lavender ink spread across his fingers. He used his middle finger of his right hand and began to draw on the cement in front of us. He drew a hummingbird, a flower. He reached into the ice plant, felt around, pulled out a dirt-covered stone. He added some shading, a sprig of leaves. The painting was delicate, small, almost imperceptible to the eye unless you knew where to look. He wiped his hands on his pants, and in his own flood of words he spoke. His eyes seemed darker, more lined, as if what he told me came from a place of sorrow.
"My name is Xihuitl. It means comet. I come from Milpa Alta. I paint. I am an artist. I have painted many murals in my home city. I do the work I must do now, but I can make a mural wherever I am. I hope to return home some day. All of this life is sad."
I left him with my name and phone number written on the Avon brochure. I asked him to call me in a few weeks. I told him I would try to make some extra money so that he could paint me a mural on my fence. He said he would call. We shook hands, and our eyes echoed something primal and grateful in each other.
I tried to return to the mural later that day. I wanted to take a photo, to show my boys and tell them the story of the man with a space name, the man who makes art wherever he lands. But I stood in the same spot, now blank and wet from the subdivision sprinkler system, and I thanked Patrick for sending me this sign, thanked the universe for all the ways I make my own art, and thanked Xihuitl for his humanity.
But it is her humanity seasoning her posts that make her writing so endearing. Like many other good writing friends, her stories of reaching out, caring for, or being there for others is inspiring.
Indeed, over these past two short years of Birdie’s Beauty Dish, it’s popularity resides not only in her beautiful stories but in her down-to-earth perspective on reviewing Avon products, revealing the experiences she has had with clients, and her amazing stories of her life as a devoted single-mother--from being reacquainted with her birth daughter; befriending a pet pig; dealing with her son’s school for suspending her son 9-year-old son for creating and reciting a Pledge of Allegiance to the Star Trek Federation (which became national news); running a marathon with her oldest son; moving to New Mexico; and searching for the Church of Scientology in New Mexico’s desert, to name a few.
Last year, Birdie confided in me that she didn’t think she was a good writer or even a writer at all. I didn't believe that then. I don't think anyone else believes that now. And to her credit, Birdie has marketed herself and her skills effectively. I am thrilled for her and this attention. I hope to see her one day on the New York Best-Seller List.
Birdie Jaworski is currently Director of MiPO Radio. She is the creator and director of Birdie Dish Radio. Her poetry and stories have been published by Virtual Occuquan, MiPo Zine, Caf é Café, and at her website Birdpoems. Birdie is a musician and plays banjo, Native American flute, glass harmonica, and tenor saxophone.
10:09:41 PM | |
|
|
|
Sunday, February 05, 2006 |
My poem "From the Backs of Birds" was chosen today to represent the MiPo poetry community at the monthly IBPC. This came as a complete surprise. I'm thrilled. More than anything though, I'm deeply honored. This group consists of exceptional poets who I not only respect but most of the time just sit in awe of.
The other poems selected to represent MiPo include the wonderful "we are the hollow men" by Lyle Daggett and "Ode to a Tearful Dishwasher" by Laurel Snyder. Congratulations!
The IBPC is a community of 15+ poetry online workshops, magazines, and groups such as About Poetry, Atlantic Unbound, Blueline Poetry, Cafe Utne, Critical Poet, Desert Moon Review, Enter the Muse, Frugal Poet, iVillage, Lit with Kick, Melic Review, Minister Joe, MiPO Zine, Moontown Cafe, OZpoet, Rabbit Hole, Salty Dreams, SC Writer's Workshop, SplashHall Poetry, The Writer's Block, and Wild Poetry Forum. I am a proud member of the MipoZine group of poets.
These 15+ online forums submit three poems each month to IBPC, who then selects the best poems -- first, second, third, and honorable mentions.
10:36:40 PM | |
|
|
|
Friday, February 03, 2006 |
I was recently struggling through mile 23 of the St. George Marathon when I lifted my eyes off of the road to meet the bright eyes and smile of a young boy sitting in a high-tech wheelchair, a seeming sign that this wasn’t a temporary mode of transportation. As I approached him, he lifted his left arm out in front of him and opened his hand, palm facing toward me. It was thin and meek. He wanted me to give him a high-five. I immediately smiled, said "thank you," and gently touched his hand as I ran by.
Quickly succumbing to the morning heat and feeling the pain of over-taxed muscles, I had been struggling to continue on. This little boy’s gesture was a boon to my drained spirit. His outreach to me touched and overwhelmed me with unexpected emotions. I will never forget that moment. Nor will I ever forget him.
Continue reading my MiPoesias article Running and Flying here.
Oil Painting "Marathon" by Michael Parker. It was a gift to some dear friends, the Dayton’s. We have trained and ran many miles and marathons together.
8:50:23 PM | |
|
|
|
|
