Pig Zen

Learn your lines

“Repetition is the mother of learning” is supposedly a Russian proverb.  What do we get out of repeating things?  Are we wearing a path into our neural networks?  Does doing something over and over make it easier because we’re remembering how to do it, or is it just that we grow more comfortable with the process?

How do actors learn their lines?  How do figure skaters learn their routines?  How do painters build technique?  How do surgeons manage to stay within the usually invisible lines?  Do we ever really do something the same way twice?  Does anything ever go according to plan?  Are we actually practicing so that when it comes to do things “for real”, we’re comfortable enough with the way things are supposed to work, we’re free to improvise?

I’d never really thought of something in these terms until I tried learning some lines for an acting class.  By the time I actually gave them, the specific words themselves were no longer important.  I knw them, but when I performed them verbatim, it fell flat.  It wasn’t until I started tweaking things that I could really “own” the words.  It helps that I wasn’t reciting Shakespeare.

The same is true in so many other pursuits.  I think practice is what allows someone to know a scenario so well, she can enter it at any point, leave somewhere different, and come back to it in a third place without losing the beat.  Practice produces confidence, and so does power.  Being able to change the rules also inspires confidence — inspiration is often blocked by working within constraints.

But once that feeling of confidence becomes practiced, just like the original scenario, the constraints do become energizing rather than limiting — anyone can personalize something by coloring outside the lines; the next level of mastery involves making a statement by playing by the rules.  Moving beyond changing things just because you can is the next step.  Improvization allows for spontaneous greatness, but there’s something to be said for the well-rehearsed Shakespearian kind, too.

I have a lousy linear memory; at any given time, I probably wouldn’t be able to reconstruct fifteen minutes of what’s happened to me in the last day.  But there are some timelines I remember pretty well.

A while ago, one of my internet friends decided to stop by for a visit.  By then, this was not an uncommon thing for me — I’d go and visit people I’d met over the ‘net and sometimes they’d come and visit me.  All it really necessitated was making sure the spare bedroom was made up, most of the dirty dishes were in the dishwasher, and the bathroom was reasonably clean.  It made vacation planning easier and more social for people that were often less than outgoing in real life.  It was also very friendly and welcoming and generous, as that’s what online communities were like back then.

I do try to be a good host, though, so I’d spent some time at least planning what we’d do upon arrival.  I lived in a real cow town back then, so finding a decent place to get a snack after the late plane landed was a real pain.  I eventually settled on a bar just south of downtown that was reported to serve a good macaroni and cheese until midnight and had a jazz band in the lounge.  No small effort was put into making this decision — I am wont to over analyze every little thing over which I might have some control.

Being a master of the trivial, I am the most annoying tour guide.  I can’t answer substantial questions about the places I’ve lived, but I can overwhelm with random facts and obscure occurrences.  This continued as we made our way across the city and down to the bar.  There was a cover charge, but I think I had enough cash to cover both of us.  We sat at a table, and a martini and I believe a cosmopolitan were ordered.  My visitor proceeded to eat the olives out of my martini, which was fine.  I think that was the first actual martini I’d ever had.  We listened to the band in the other room, enjoyed the four-cheesy goodness, and made small talk as people do.  A second round arrived and was consumed leisurely; there was no hurry as all of this seemed quite natural.

The hour grew later and we were both tired.  I drove home and carried in the bags.  A brief tour of my stately abode was provided, and some minor unpacking and settling in took place.  I had gone out and procured a wireless access point just for this visit — previously I didn’t trust myself to be productive if infinite distraction was available from any room in the house.  Again, it all seemed so comfortable, so expected.

After a while I went into the guest room and my guest and I talked some more, but said very little.  Some other stories were told and a few secrets were shared, as friends do in the wee hours in strange places.  I sat on the floor for what seemed like an eternity and wondered why the air seemed so heavy and why those brown eyes looked so deep.  I was over analyzing again.

Then I kissed her.

And that’s a story of how people fall in love.

On July 1, herself and I are going to have a little challenge.  A creativity challenge if you will.  It has two parts.

General rules

1. The challenge starts July 1 and ends July 31.
2. Minimum of 20 entries, only one entry per day counts, and the entry must be posted on that day (by 23:59:59 PDT).
3. For an entry to count, it must be posted publicly.
4. The winner is the one that puts up the most entries.

Writing challenge

The internet has these blog things, have you heard of them?

1. Each entry must be over 200 words.
2. Only 2 list-driven entries.
3. Only 2 letters.
4. You can’t have the same theme every day, i.e. a month of “this is what the cat did” is not allowed.

Photo challenge

1. Put up a picture with the entry; it doesn’t have to be related.
2. Each photo must be of a different subject; over the month, only one picture of cat A, one picture of cat B, and one picture of both cats together is allowed.
3. While the photo doesn’t have to be taken that day, it should be “new” (previously unposted on the web).

Fabulous prizes are at stake.

May the most persistent win.

Do you know anyone that had a normal childhood?  I guess the first thing that we have to do is contrive a norm:  mother, father, siblings, no divorce, no abuse, didn’t move around too much, didn’t get in too much trouble, reasonably good health for everyone in the nuclear unit,  economic stability, graduated from high school, and even got an undergraduate degree.  That’s what Republican America thinks people should have, as far as I can tell; I made it up with the help of Leave It to Beaver. Continue reading…

Humans have a fascination with firsts, but I’m not sure why. I’m betting two-thirds of people would gladly skip the first day of the week if they could — find some way to phone it in and get past it. I used to show up late to meetings because the first few minutes weren’t worth the effort. First times, first impressions, first drafts, first words, first dates, and definitely least of all, first posts? Shine them. Over-hyped and under-performing more often than not. The reason why so many new software projects live in perpetual beta? Fear of the first release. Too much pressure and emphasis is placed on the first of anything.

There are only two firsts worth keeping. First looks on things of beauty can shake you to your soul. I could be convinced to extend this to first tastes and so on, but it’s the same class of experience.

First kisses with the right person maybe make it worth all the attempts with the wrong people and all the effort trying to get back to that moment of bliss.

This is the first part of the rest of this story. To be honest, I would have started telling it sooner if I could have just skipped past the uncomfortable “first”.