The Dark Side of Ramona

Uh-oh, I think some of my students found my blog. Now they're all going to learn how strange/lame/human I am. I think we all fear this in a way. As artists, we have to put it out there, but simultaneously we're all a bit scared about that. Someone once told me that getting recognized is more how hard you work your own PR. I'd like to hope that's not true, but I do know one has to work at getting your stuff out there---isn't that what online dating is all about anyway? You need to put the energy out there instead of waiting for something good to come your way. Though I wonder if it is more satisfying if something good comes your way more as if by chance or accident, rather than your constant plugging away at something.

I just found out over the weekend that there is a book group somewhere in Maryland interested in reading the steam sequence and that they're going to buy 20-some copies! And invite me to come and talk to them! That made my Saturday.

And today I went to the Kennedy Center for the first time to hear the Washington Chorus---they had sponsored an elegy contest and one of my former students won third place with her fugue that she wrote and though Cristina wasn't there as she's abroad this semester, it was still so moving to see her poem published in the playbill---though the spacing was all messed up so they could get it to fit on one page---instead of the short Neruda-like sharpness down the left side of the page. Regardless, it was still wonderful.

I was fascinated by all of the body language and movement and ritual associated with a symphony and was intending to write a poem about the harpist, but instead, Ramona was baking brownies and when I went home, it became the darkest one yet. Even Jonathan was freaked out.

Though I think it is a good thing as there needs to be movement within the series---she can't sustain herself on food/sex puns forever. Sometimes the chickens need to hatch in the middle of your Betty Crocker. MMM----good thing I let Jonathan do the cooking tonight. The conservative and even keel pasta with chicken sausage as our offering for the potluck.