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capri0mniThis is me, on film, reading a piece I wrote for the Art Garden back in 1990 (The reading is from this last November); YouTube tells me it's been up a month, but I swear, it only showed up on my subscription page tonight.
This was also the piece I was asked to read for the Art Garden's 20th Anniversary, btw. So it's a favorite with some, but it makes me cringe, because I cannot read it aloud without laughing, and every time I laugh, I hear my mother chiding me -- it's rude to laugh at your own jokes (though I think it's fair to say that in this particular case, it's Mother Nature's joke, rather than mine).
Anyway, it's entitled "Why I did not go see Arachnophobia":
Behind a cut, because I don't want to trigger anyone who actually has Arachnophobia.
Why I Did Not Go See “Arachnophobia”
By Ann Magill
Like Most people, I am awed with the power and grandeur of nature: thunderstorms that fill the sky with blue-green light for minutes at a time, the exploding crack of trees breaking under ice, or the spires of mountains ringed by clouds. But I am impressed most with the little things: the reflection of sunlight off water, the sound of dew dripping from the leaves at night, last autumn's leaf curled amid the grass of spring.
And while I coo at all the cute and cuddly things: baby seals, rose buds and squirrels – I feel most protective toward the creepy-crawlies. If I ever found a bug in my college dorm, I tried to get the creature out the door before she or he met with an unfriendly shoe. I guess, when you spend a lot of time crawling from place to place, as I do, you have a different perspective on life.
Spiders hold a special place in my heart, particularly the web weavers. These creatures erect what for them are huge structures, all of pure silk and glue – not even Donald Trump could do that (though if he could, he might not be having all his money problems). Every spider's web is different. The little brown house spider weaves the three-dimensional web we see in corners-marvels of geometry.
One night, while sitting in the bathroom, reading, I had the privilege of watching a house spider build her web up close. I looked up from the page to find her going from finger to finger on my right hand. I laughed to myself: the image of me, sitting on the toilet, book in hand, covered with cobwebs, was too apt to be ignored. I left my book and turned my attention to the joke in progress.
She (usually, only the females are avid web-weavers) first ran down the inside of my pinky, playing out the silk behind her. Then she ran up the ring finger and over, forming a triangle with a bridge across the fingers. She then crossed this bridge, and continued playing out the silk across the tops of all the other fingers down to the thumb – the top of the web-frame completed. A drop from the thumb to the palm formed the first real three-dimensional element, She went from there to the index finger, back to the palm and then to the ring finger. Crossing once more to the thumb, she began to eat the silk she had laid out before, playing out more silk behind her at a slightly faster rate (reading up on spiders later, I learned that this was to create slack needed in the design). Halfway across, she dropped to the palm and up again across the pinky-ring finger bridge. Then she played out five or six layers of silk across the ring-middle finger bridge.
Whether this was for strength, or if she was planning to spread the strands out later, I'll never know. My legs were falling asleep, and I was ready for bed. I carefully guided her off my hand onto the wall. I felt bad about destroying her creation, but I knew it would never work out. I am, after all, right-handed. I'd probably clobber the poor thing by accident. If a spider ever decides to build a web on my left hand, I'll let you know how it turns out.
This was also the piece I was asked to read for the Art Garden's 20th Anniversary, btw. So it's a favorite with some, but it makes me cringe, because I cannot read it aloud without laughing, and every time I laugh, I hear my mother chiding me -- it's rude to laugh at your own jokes (though I think it's fair to say that in this particular case, it's Mother Nature's joke, rather than mine).
Anyway, it's entitled "Why I did not go see Arachnophobia":
Behind a cut, because I don't want to trigger anyone who actually has Arachnophobia.
Why I Did Not Go See “Arachnophobia”
By Ann Magill
Like Most people, I am awed with the power and grandeur of nature: thunderstorms that fill the sky with blue-green light for minutes at a time, the exploding crack of trees breaking under ice, or the spires of mountains ringed by clouds. But I am impressed most with the little things: the reflection of sunlight off water, the sound of dew dripping from the leaves at night, last autumn's leaf curled amid the grass of spring.
And while I coo at all the cute and cuddly things: baby seals, rose buds and squirrels – I feel most protective toward the creepy-crawlies. If I ever found a bug in my college dorm, I tried to get the creature out the door before she or he met with an unfriendly shoe. I guess, when you spend a lot of time crawling from place to place, as I do, you have a different perspective on life.
Spiders hold a special place in my heart, particularly the web weavers. These creatures erect what for them are huge structures, all of pure silk and glue – not even Donald Trump could do that (though if he could, he might not be having all his money problems). Every spider's web is different. The little brown house spider weaves the three-dimensional web we see in corners-marvels of geometry.
One night, while sitting in the bathroom, reading, I had the privilege of watching a house spider build her web up close. I looked up from the page to find her going from finger to finger on my right hand. I laughed to myself: the image of me, sitting on the toilet, book in hand, covered with cobwebs, was too apt to be ignored. I left my book and turned my attention to the joke in progress.
She (usually, only the females are avid web-weavers) first ran down the inside of my pinky, playing out the silk behind her. Then she ran up the ring finger and over, forming a triangle with a bridge across the fingers. She then crossed this bridge, and continued playing out the silk across the tops of all the other fingers down to the thumb – the top of the web-frame completed. A drop from the thumb to the palm formed the first real three-dimensional element, She went from there to the index finger, back to the palm and then to the ring finger. Crossing once more to the thumb, she began to eat the silk she had laid out before, playing out more silk behind her at a slightly faster rate (reading up on spiders later, I learned that this was to create slack needed in the design). Halfway across, she dropped to the palm and up again across the pinky-ring finger bridge. Then she played out five or six layers of silk across the ring-middle finger bridge.
Whether this was for strength, or if she was planning to spread the strands out later, I'll never know. My legs were falling asleep, and I was ready for bed. I carefully guided her off my hand onto the wall. I felt bad about destroying her creation, but I knew it would never work out. I am, after all, right-handed. I'd probably clobber the poor thing by accident. If a spider ever decides to build a web on my left hand, I'll let you know how it turns out.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-08 10:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-08 07:36 pm (UTC)Thank you. I do love to spread a little spider-joy whenever I get the chance.
... and so beautifully filmed...
*nod.* indeed. All the pieces done for this channel are done in a similar way (the earlier ones, though, were done in a different venue, with different acoustics)-- you should check out the others (and subscribe! [/pimp]).
The camera people who are helping to do this are professionals in the field, working with professional grade cameras and lights, and it shows: Three cameras, two camera operators (one working by remote control).
At the end of this one, where I'm laughing? The woman behind the camera in front of me worked for most of her life as a soap opera star on TV, so knows how to suppress everything while cameras are rolling. After I finished, she turned off her camera and just about fell over laughing. I was so surprised, I burst out laughing, too. I was sure the other person had turned off his cameras, too (he was running a manual and the remote), but he kept rolling (the sneak!).
BTW, that woman also wrote something for the Art Garden that weekend, and read her piece after I finished my set. You can it, here: http://youtu.be/41BTL8nFErQ
no subject
Date: 2012-04-08 11:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-08 11:40 pm (UTC)