muscle memory

Today I went cross-country skiing alone. I was not far from my home--just up the street at a church that adjoins some soccer and baseball fields. A little woods bisects the area.

For me, cross country skiing is nothing like playing tennis. I learned to play tennis when I was seven or eight--and I played until I was 16. Then I picked it up again at age 36, and have been at it 2-3 times a week for 15 years.

My body learned tennis from those seemingly endless hours on the country club courts. The lessons were reinforced by watching some of the greatest tennis players of the 1970s, all of whom came to play at out club every summer, including Billie Jean King, Evonne Goolagong, Margaret Court, Chris Evert, Linda Tuero (OK--Linda was just excellent on clay, but whatever), Arthur Ashe, Ilie Nastase, Stan Smith, Jimmy Connors, Bjorn Borg.

So when the time came to take the game back up, it wasn't all that hard for me to figure out what to do. In fact, it was not hard at all. I wasn't great at 16 and I am certainly not now, but despite a 20-year layoff, my body knew the motions. Every shot had made an imprint on my mind in the 1960s and 1970s, and if I could just exert precise muscle control (the problem), I could make the shot.

Not so with XC skiing. Vaunted as one the very best forms of exercise, I just happen to love feeling nice-and-warm in the midst of the snow and wind. But I have no idea how to do it. The sport uses muscles I did not know I had. I try to grip phantasmal things with things inside my insides--just to stay upright. No balance, wobbly wobbly, all fall down. Sitzmark. But I ski along because it is bright and beautiful and quiet and chances are--for just a moment--you are the ONLY one who sees what you see.

The most beautiful thing I saw today was a simple streak in the snow--a track that started in the middle of nothing and ended just beyond. No tracks in or out. Just a relatively broad point of impact, and a narrow streak leading up into nothing. Oh....and a small explosion of downy feathers littered a cross the undisturbed snow just before the mark begins. Some raptor swooped in and picked up...what..a mouse? Another bird?

It was weird--like a drawing of a death.

return of a legend, and so easy on the eyzz

Australian tennis great Patrick Rafter plays the Australian Open today, entered in men's dubs, Legends division, with partner and fellow Aussie Wally Masur.

I always liked watching Rafter play because he was intense, displayed a lot a heart, and was always a good sport--always respectful of opponents. He peaked during the era of Sampras, and though he could not dominate like Pete (who was living magic), he was way more interesting to watch.

Rafter won the RCA Championship in Indy in 2001--his last year on the tour.

The magic revisited:

Thanks to Richard McCoy

Thanks to Richard at the IMA for sharing this.

This should be required viewing for anyone who attends a museum. All true. Even when Pinky dies.

Brain Rot and Dancing Bears

So, this is what happens when you spend too much time job hunting. You think ads like this one from Craig's List are really, really funny, and you send an email to all your friends to let them know about your latest potential pursuit.

Dancing Bear
I need someone to dress up in a bear costume and dance around.
$12/hr
Telecommuting OK

I think I may pushing the limits of friendship with this one!


But just when I think I am onto something, my son Elliot sends me this video clip by his Brooklyn friends Claymation Velociraptor. Wonder if I can make this work in Indy?

a wedding reading

Steve and I are spiritual, but not necessarily religious. When we were married, we chose this reading, from Shakespeare (a good one for the death-obsessed):

Sonnet 60

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end,
Each changing place with that which goes before
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith, being crowned,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight
And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of natures truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow;
And yet, to times, in hope, my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

so much to watch, not enough time to take it in

What can I possibly do? Wall-to-wall coverage of the Obama inauguration already, and live coverage of the Australian Open (the Happy Slam) starts in just moments. For me, this means two solid weeks of TV viewing, and over the next couple of days, it means I will be flipping back and forth between coverage of these events. Morning, afternoon, and all night until the next morning in the case of the Australian Open.

Of course, the Obama inauguration is far more important, but in these bleak times, it's impossible to do too much Happy Slammin'. Only downer--Maria Sharapova won't be back to defend her title because of a shoulder injury. Too bad--the Williams sisters are the only other players on the w omen's side right now who consistently entertain and amaze. Get well soon Maria!

Leonardo's bad day....

This work is Leonardo's St. Jerome Praying in the Wilderness, now in the collection of the Vatican Museums. It is an unfinished painting that was at one time, apparently, cut into smaller pieces and separated among different owners to live separate lives in separate environmental conditions. At a later date, the various pieces were located and rejoined. You can see one of the sections that lived a separate life in the center of the saint's torso.

But, I don't really want to write about the oddities of this particular work's life--I want to talk about why I think it is not a very good piece by Leonardo. Please note that any work by Leonardo is at the very least a good work--and given their rarity, maybe I should say by great...but by Leonardine standards, this one seems pretty weak to me.

The problem, in my view, is in the rendering of muscles and tendons in the neck where they attach to the collarbone. It has the appearance of a big, flat, formless X cutting Jerome's head away from his body. It looks to me like a rendering error--a failure to create a sense of depth, which is precisely the sort of frustration that can put an artist in a dismal mood--especially if you cannot figure out how to correct it.

I am no art historian or conservationist. I just look long and hard at lots and lots of work. Leonardo's paintings are so rare--and I think I can actually say I have seen most of them in the flesh. They are always shimmering and elegant, and seem to have almost infinite depth.

This painting, like so many other things Da Vinci approached, was left unfinished. In the back of my mind I wonder--I would almost bet--that the artist was frustrated and unhappy with it. Of course, he may have just stopped working on it because he found himself in the midst of one of his major relocations, and just left it behind and never took it back up once he got to Milan, or wherever. But that harsh X would be enough for me to put down the brush.

As for St. Jerome, he is one of the most famous biblical scholars and considered a Doctor of the Catholic church. He is often depicted with a lion (as here in Leonardo's version) referencing a medieval story in which Jerome removed a thorn from the paw of a lion. Jerome also spent time in the Syrian desert studying the Bible and purportedly had a vision there. While there are many other documented aspects of his life and his important theological contributions--the wilderness and the lion seem to hold the greatest interest for Renaissance artists and their audiences.

Top 3 Reasons Not to Have a Job

#3. You can sleep in whenever you want, but this is a double-edged sword.

#2. You can do whatever you want as long as it doesn't cost money--also a double-edged sword.

#1. You can stay up all night watching the Australian Open tennis tournament without fear of screwing up on the job.

Meet Ultimato

I am thinking positively in 2009, which means I am concentrating on dogs. Here is the best advertising gimmick ever--Ultimato, the Jack Russell (?) terrier who lives in an Afro-Cuban bar called Buena Vista, located in Siena, Italy. Ultimato sleeps in the doorway, greets all customers when he is not sleeping, and he loves to attack his owner's pant leg with great ferocity. (He is polite though--he waits for the invitation to attack. Then, watch out!)

Everyone who passes Buena Vista is magnetically drawn to Ultimato, like CNN is to Obama. =D

They sell a lot of rum at Buena Vista.

2008 is a 4-letter world

Yesterday I sliced open my thumb and went for stitches, so I can't write too well. Here is an overview--sent to me by a friend--that covers some of the many reasons I am happy to be living in 2009.