I saw this banner celebrating the America's Cup sailboat race in San Francisco, and they congratulated "Oracle USA" on making history in San Francisco Bay. I like the oracle.
Then I was walking by the San Francisco Symphony Hall when I noticed that Andras Schiff will be performing Bach and Beethoven in two weeks. I was very disappointed. I actually know who that composer is, and I'd been wanting to see a great classical concert in San Francisco, yet stubbornly refused to justify the expense. Besides, if I was going to spend money, it was going to be on the greats. It doesn't get much greater than Bach and Beethoven. I guess I'll have to see their works performed live some other time. I imagine that happens in New York.
A few minutes later I was walking by the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. Suddenly I saw someone waving to me and calling my name. It turned out it was a former student who had left the school in June. He's a 21 year old Chinese businessman who already runs his own instrument sales company and is looking to get into restaurants. Last time I saw him he had a Porsche SUV, but he recently traded it in for a truck. I saw him outside the conservatory because he studies clarinet at the school. His love of classical music is what brought him to study in the US to begin with.
I remarked on his amazing ambition and apparent financial talents, and then asked him what he would do after the restaurant venture succeeded. He said he would find something else to invest in. Then I asked what he would do when he had enough money. He said make more money with it. "The point of money is to make more money." I wondered about the language barrier, so I made my point more clear, asking what he would do if he had so much money he didn't have to work anymore. He said he wasn't sure. Maybe he'd buy cars. He hadn't thought about it. He's only 21. He likes what he does. That's what matters.
Meanwhile, as we were talking, a few of his classmates were putting on a mini-performance on the sidewalk. They covered "God Only Knows" by the Beach Boys and "Sing! Sing! Sing!" by Benny Goodman.
He invited me to the next day's show, for free, and I agreed.
So this afternoon I went to see college aged young adults performing symphony pieces in a small auditorium. I missed the first piece, but the second piece was actually by a student still at the school who won some award for his composition. It was called "Tree Ride," and was inspired both by John Muir's descriptions of his experiences in the California wilderness and an experience the composer had during a thunderstorm in the high sierra mountains. I couldn't believe that a 21 year old had written music to be performed by fifty people, making use of just about every instrument, except for the guitar and saxophone. I really enjoyed the feeling of the piece. It was incredibly creative and moving. After the intermission we saw a smaller, less diverse orchestra play Johannes Brahms, which I found enjoyable but not nearly as enjoyable as the previous work by the unknown artist. I'm sure he has a bright future ahead of him, and he has already accomplished more than most humans and musicians could ever dream of. But what about everyone else in the orchestra? Each of them clearly exceptionally talented, yet all merely working together as part of one whole, playing their assigned roles...
Soon afterward I was walking home in Oakland and feeling pretty strange. I'm leaving the Bay Area later this week after almost a year of residence, and California after a full year of residence. Then I'm going back to New York, where I'm from. I'm also going back to New York City, where I am not from, but I have lived before. I am ambivalent about my future there, but it's where I want to be now and for the foreseeable future. I've written so much since I've been here, but I have yet to take the leap of faith of serious publishing distribution. That's why I'm anonymous.
As I walked on the sidewalk I noticed a stream of incredibly tiny ants lining the bottom of a building for at least fifty feet. Normally I ignore ants, but I was in no rush, so I bent down to look at them more closely. Streams of them were flowing one way, and streams the other. The closer I looked though, I could follow individual ants, and I realized that many of them were turning around constantly. They all seemed to be confused and just wanted to go where everyone else went. Finally I found a brave determined one carrying a piece of food or whatever it was that made it so important to carry. The ant persevered through the stream regardless of how many times it had to stop and readjust when faced with obstacles of opposing forces. I rooted for the ant. It deserved my attention. After all, we can't all be Bach and Beethoven.
One of the movies I watched while I was packing for my move to the West Coast last year was A Bug's Life. I think it was sitting around our house for some reason, and I'd just read about it in the Steve Jobs biography, so I figured it was worth a view, being one of the first major computer-animated films. Basically there's an ant who dreams of being something more than an ant, simply following orders and doing the same things ants have always done for all remembered time because that's just how it is. He makes up wacky inventions and tries his best to improve life for everyone, but screws up a lot. He's also in love with the young new queen, but always gets tongue-tied around her. Meanwhile, the queen is nervous herself about her new role as an authority and leader. The rest of the community wants to get rid of the imaginative and clumsy ant, so they let him go on a journey. He is incredibly excited and expects to find amazing benefits for his people. After much walking with heavy weight, he arrives in the big city with his backpack and eyes full of wonder. Right before he left for the city, he'd had a discussion with a younger ant about the power of imagination:
Flik: Here, pretend - pretend that that's a seed.
Dot: It's a rock.
Flik: Oh, I know it's a rock, I know. But let's just pretend for a minute that it's a seed, alright? We'll just use our imaginations. Now, now do you see our tree? Everything that made that giant tree is already contained inside this tiny little seed. All it needs is some time, a little bit of sunshine and rain, and voilá!
Dot: This rock will be a tree?
Flik: Seed to tree. You've gotta work with me, here. Alright? Okay. Now, y-you might not feel like you can do much now, but that's just because, well, you're not a tree yet. You just have to give yourself some time. You're still a seed.
Dot: But it's a rock.
Flik: [shouting] I know it's a rock! Don't you think I know a rock when I see a rock? I've spent a lot of time around rocks!
Dot: You're weird, but I like you.
As I became strangely inspired by this simple movie, I saw a picture of my first book, Chung Fu, which I wrote when I was nine. Chung Fu is a Chinese term meaning "inner truth." I've got a lot of stories about Chung Fu. For example, there's this book I read where this guy says the "oracle" made him write a novel, and when he asked it why, it told him "Chung Fu."
So I wrote down, "Chung Fu, a seed becomes a tree." Beneath that I wrote, "Ant enters big city with a backpack. 'WOW, the big city!'"
A few minutes later I was walking by the San Francisco Conservatory of Music. Suddenly I saw someone waving to me and calling my name. It turned out it was a former student who had left the school in June. He's a 21 year old Chinese businessman who already runs his own instrument sales company and is looking to get into restaurants. Last time I saw him he had a Porsche SUV, but he recently traded it in for a truck. I saw him outside the conservatory because he studies clarinet at the school. His love of classical music is what brought him to study in the US to begin with.
I remarked on his amazing ambition and apparent financial talents, and then asked him what he would do after the restaurant venture succeeded. He said he would find something else to invest in. Then I asked what he would do when he had enough money. He said make more money with it. "The point of money is to make more money." I wondered about the language barrier, so I made my point more clear, asking what he would do if he had so much money he didn't have to work anymore. He said he wasn't sure. Maybe he'd buy cars. He hadn't thought about it. He's only 21. He likes what he does. That's what matters.
Meanwhile, as we were talking, a few of his classmates were putting on a mini-performance on the sidewalk. They covered "God Only Knows" by the Beach Boys and "Sing! Sing! Sing!" by Benny Goodman.
He invited me to the next day's show, for free, and I agreed.
So this afternoon I went to see college aged young adults performing symphony pieces in a small auditorium. I missed the first piece, but the second piece was actually by a student still at the school who won some award for his composition. It was called "Tree Ride," and was inspired both by John Muir's descriptions of his experiences in the California wilderness and an experience the composer had during a thunderstorm in the high sierra mountains. I couldn't believe that a 21 year old had written music to be performed by fifty people, making use of just about every instrument, except for the guitar and saxophone. I really enjoyed the feeling of the piece. It was incredibly creative and moving. After the intermission we saw a smaller, less diverse orchestra play Johannes Brahms, which I found enjoyable but not nearly as enjoyable as the previous work by the unknown artist. I'm sure he has a bright future ahead of him, and he has already accomplished more than most humans and musicians could ever dream of. But what about everyone else in the orchestra? Each of them clearly exceptionally talented, yet all merely working together as part of one whole, playing their assigned roles...
Soon afterward I was walking home in Oakland and feeling pretty strange. I'm leaving the Bay Area later this week after almost a year of residence, and California after a full year of residence. Then I'm going back to New York, where I'm from. I'm also going back to New York City, where I am not from, but I have lived before. I am ambivalent about my future there, but it's where I want to be now and for the foreseeable future. I've written so much since I've been here, but I have yet to take the leap of faith of serious publishing distribution. That's why I'm anonymous.
As I walked on the sidewalk I noticed a stream of incredibly tiny ants lining the bottom of a building for at least fifty feet. Normally I ignore ants, but I was in no rush, so I bent down to look at them more closely. Streams of them were flowing one way, and streams the other. The closer I looked though, I could follow individual ants, and I realized that many of them were turning around constantly. They all seemed to be confused and just wanted to go where everyone else went. Finally I found a brave determined one carrying a piece of food or whatever it was that made it so important to carry. The ant persevered through the stream regardless of how many times it had to stop and readjust when faced with obstacles of opposing forces. I rooted for the ant. It deserved my attention. After all, we can't all be Bach and Beethoven.
One of the movies I watched while I was packing for my move to the West Coast last year was A Bug's Life. I think it was sitting around our house for some reason, and I'd just read about it in the Steve Jobs biography, so I figured it was worth a view, being one of the first major computer-animated films. Basically there's an ant who dreams of being something more than an ant, simply following orders and doing the same things ants have always done for all remembered time because that's just how it is. He makes up wacky inventions and tries his best to improve life for everyone, but screws up a lot. He's also in love with the young new queen, but always gets tongue-tied around her. Meanwhile, the queen is nervous herself about her new role as an authority and leader. The rest of the community wants to get rid of the imaginative and clumsy ant, so they let him go on a journey. He is incredibly excited and expects to find amazing benefits for his people. After much walking with heavy weight, he arrives in the big city with his backpack and eyes full of wonder. Right before he left for the city, he'd had a discussion with a younger ant about the power of imagination:
Flik: Here, pretend - pretend that that's a seed.
Dot: It's a rock.
Flik: Oh, I know it's a rock, I know. But let's just pretend for a minute that it's a seed, alright? We'll just use our imaginations. Now, now do you see our tree? Everything that made that giant tree is already contained inside this tiny little seed. All it needs is some time, a little bit of sunshine and rain, and voilá!
Dot: This rock will be a tree?
Flik: Seed to tree. You've gotta work with me, here. Alright? Okay. Now, y-you might not feel like you can do much now, but that's just because, well, you're not a tree yet. You just have to give yourself some time. You're still a seed.
Dot: But it's a rock.
Flik: [shouting] I know it's a rock! Don't you think I know a rock when I see a rock? I've spent a lot of time around rocks!
Dot: You're weird, but I like you.
As I became strangely inspired by this simple movie, I saw a picture of my first book, Chung Fu, which I wrote when I was nine. Chung Fu is a Chinese term meaning "inner truth." I've got a lot of stories about Chung Fu. For example, there's this book I read where this guy says the "oracle" made him write a novel, and when he asked it why, it told him "Chung Fu."
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