Oral storytelling

I am totally addicted to listening to mp3 recordings from The Stoop. This American Life, hosted by the sultry and seductive Ira Glass, along with storytelling nights in other major cities, is largely responsible for the active storytelling scene being enjoyed by our country, and by our amazing Charm City, too. Though we think that TAL has done a little shark-jumping since their cable TV series came out. But we still love you, Ira. The intro for This American Life works well to introduce The Stoop: "Every [show] we choose a theme, and present [seven seven-minute] stories about this theme." Laura Lippman of the Baltimore Sun and several non-fiction titles (on the topic of failure at The Stoop): See, that's the thing--failure is kind of beautiful. Failure is spectacular. Failure is memorable. Failure is Lucille Ball in the candy factory and the conveyor belt is backing up and she's putting chocolate in her apron and chocolate in her bra and chocolate in her mouth, and she's fired by the end of the shift. Failure is a story, every time you tell it it gets better. What's really bad is mediocrity, which is private and boring. Mediocrity is like body odor or a piece of toilet paper stuck to your shoe. Mediocrity is something that happens behind a closed door most of the time. If you enjoyed the Black Panther:Rank & File symposium and exhibit, you'll enjoy Marc Steiner's storytelling of a generation before mine in cities all across America working together for revolution and to fill the needs of their fellow men. The Stoop is partnered with The Creative Alliance, a great great non-profit here in the city that has artists' residencies, shows, benefits, film, performance art, workshops, and has flourished for over a decade. The next The Stoop show is June 9th, 2008, and the topic will be stories about camp (This American Life's camp episode here) and you can buy tickets here, a steal at $12.

Heart of Glass

Sarah Hepola on her lust for NPR This American Life personality Ira Glass (via Nerve.com personal essays.) Delicious.

Sleepless nights

I tossed and turned. Shuttered the blinds, throw the curtains closed. Maybe it was the kona blend coffee I drank while watching Employee of the Month with W. Every crumb and particle that sandwiched between my skin and the sheets was a pea under my mattress, rendering it impossible for me to sleep. I brushed away the detritus, made and re-made my bed, tried to reach some sort of equilibrium of temperature where my nose was cool but not cold and my body was warm but not quite beginning to sweat. I went to bed at 11:40. At midnight I was up. I woke up and puttered around for a few minutes around two, when I finally unplugged my night-light. I covered the ambient blue light shining from the spine of my laptop. I wrote, re-wrote, deleted text messages, unsent, to lots of different people. From experience, I know late-night text-messaging is a risky business. At 8 o'clock, I was up. By half past I was waiting at the desk of the Commons for my New York Times to come so I could read Modern Love, maybe walk to City Cafe and get some coffee. As the paper arrived, he and I crossed paths. Twice, since I realized I needed more appropriate footwear for the grungy, icy walk to the supermarket. Today I'm making Magnolia cupcakes with my friend, I splurged on organic butter, eggs, and sugar. I have never made cupcakes from scratch. Instead of going to the cafe, I stopped at Dunkin' Donuts for coffee and a french cruller doughnut on the way to Safeway. I vaccilate between my head being cold and enjoying the breeze tracing paths across my shorn head and neck. And now I'm back in PJ's, avoiding the winter fund drive and guilt that comes along with it on WYPR, listening to Pandora, contemplating the days ahead. And, G-d, is there a lot to be contemplated.