A Folkin' Good Time

Sometimes when I'm driving I think about the fact that if I turn one way instead of another, it will change my life. There are nights that I'll take a completely different route home, just to shake things up. When I was little I used to shake the heck out of that little blue cup that held the dice in yahtzee, trying hard to effect a good outcome. I heard about a book called "The Tyranny of Email" about email addiction. The author likens checking your email to pulling the arm on a slot machine. Each pull of the arm brings the potential of a reward that can alter your life.....as does each click on your "check mail" tab. There could be an exciting message. You might hear from someone you haven't heard from in ages. Someone might express their love for you. Maybe someone will offer you some incredible opportunity. Makes sense to me. I check mine a lot at work, hoping for a distraction from the monotony of pouring over a budget or re-working a grant proposal. I gave up checking email at home during Lent and it was fantastic. I saved so much time. Anyone else out there oh-so-slightly addicted?

Last night Marianne hosted a folk art and song party at Chez Savell/Armao. Each guest had to make a piece of art and bring it along. They also had to sing a song or speak a poem loosely-related to their artwork. At the end we drew numbers and everyone got a piece of someone else's art. I loved seeing how creative everyone is. I won Rajeev's piece. He decorated a paper plate with cut-outs of people in a business meeting. In the middle was a picture of him at age 5 eating a huge slice of melon. On the was a poem that popped into his head on his last day of work as an engineer. It's called Cantaloupe:

I sit in a meeting, blue suits all around.
Serious looks, thoughts that confound.
The words in my head, like notes run right through
What is he saying? I haven’t a clue!
I don’t stand out, I look almost the same.
Except for one fact, all part of my game.
I hold in my hand, just shaped like a moon.
One lonely cantaloupe, and a new shiny spoon.
The people look round, "That boy is unstable."
My life after this exists only in fable.
I dig my strong spoon, deep into my fruit.
The juice hits my shirt and runs down my suit.
Slurping is heard, my lips and tongue smack.
Sweet as honey, I enjoy my light snack.
By now all have turned to see this new show.
The speaker has stopped, his red face does glow!
Perhaps I should clean up this mess on my face.
I pick up the handout, passed out at this place.
I use the new paper to clean up what’s messed.
The speaker is furious, clearly distressed.
A smile hits my face, as the room is aghast.
A thought enters my mind, it hits with a blast.
My new outlook on life, the one which I tout,
"Never dwell in a room, where a smile stands you out."

T. painted a mountain he climbed as a boy and sang a Bare-Naked Ladies song, M. decorated a box with a Civil War picture and sang a medley of Old South tunes...everyone offered up something groovy.

I had a ton to say tonight and much cycling through my mind, but I'm going to bed instead. I spent all morning cooking for my brother's cast/crew of his movie Bloodsucka Jones and it's sleepy time for me. Here are a few photos from the set before I nod off: