In an assault against the rights of photographers and filmmakers native to and visiting New York, the Office of the Mayor has proposed legislation that would require a Film Permit for any party of two or more using film equipment for more than 30 minutes (including set up and break down time) or a camera on a tripod for more than 10 minutes (including set up and break down time). This severely hinders the efforts of independent filmmakers and photographers, and is a violation of First Amendment rights.

Please sign the petition on the web site below, it's simple and doesn't require much information. Letting this type of legislation pass into law would be a sad comment on our society's appreciation for the arts.

http://www.pictureny.org/petition/index.php 

Read it. Sign it. Post it. Pass it on.

I didn't say goodbye. I would like to think that I didn't have the chance to do so, but the ugly truth is that I spent my chances carelessly, as if they would continue to greet me in an unending line of opportunities. A very dear friend of mine died last week, and since I failed to put into words what he meant to me when I had the time and chance to do so, I'll do it now, knowing full well that it is too late for these words to reach the person for whom they are intended. An important part of any loss is closure, and this is my way of seeking that closure.

I never met my dad's father, so throughout my childhood I knew only one man whom I considered a grandfather. That changed in high school when I met Walter Downs. For some reason I'll never fully understand, this man instantly took a liking to me. His Christmas card was always the first to arrive, and my name was never tacked on to a generic family card; no, I got a special card every year because I was not a child anymore and he respected that. Whenever I sang in church he'd be there with tears in his eyes and a congratulatory pat on the shoulder with some kind word about a job well done. But it wasn't until I left for college that I began to see this man as a grandfather rather than just a nice man at church. Every time I came home to visit he'd ask about my studies and which political cause I was championing at the time, and despite the fact that we hailed from opposite ends of the political compass we shared a deep and mutual respect. Knowing I was a college sophomore desperately seeking a summer internship to pad my CV, he contacted all his friends and colleagues in public service and handed out my résumé to any and every important contact in the political world. I'm sure he was more than a little disappointed when I went off to work with the O'Malley campaign, but he never seemed to hold it against me and continued to inquire after my campaign work and plans for the future. Every week I was away during my senior year, he'd ask my parents about my progress and my big plans for early graduation, telling them they didn't need to worry about me because I was on the right track. He had this unflinching belief that I could and would make something of myself that is bigger than the suburbs of Baltimore. He saw it in me before I did, and even continued to see it when my path diverged from the one he suggested. When I began to worry about life after graduation, he was the first person I called; I knew he would have sage advice for me and sure enough, the first thing he did was ask for my updated résumé and tell me in his characteristically confident manner "I'll see what I can do." Whenever this man would see what he could do on your behalf, everything would turn out alright. The thing is, right after that phone call he got sick. Two weeks later my mom went to visit him in the hospital and he was working on my résumé, sending it here and there in the State legislature and seeing what he could do even in the midst of chemotherapy. That was just the way he was. No one was allowed to visit when he got really sick; he had his pride and did not want anyone to see him in a weakened state. Since I had been away at school, I didn't have the chance to see him at all: he was in the hospital when I was in final exams and by the time I got home he was in his self-induced seclusion. I sent cheer-up cards and notes and occasionally called when word went around that he was out of the hospital for a few days, but when the final days came I turned out to be utterly useless. Our minister went to give him communion, knowing that it wouldn't be long until the cancer won out, and I knew on that day that I needed to write one last note and thank him for all he had done for me. When I sat down to write it, though, nothing sounded right. It was all too cliché and the bottom line was that it sounded like I had given up hope. I didn't like the idea of him knowing that this would be it, because that's a frightening notion, so I did nothing. The next day he died and my unwritten letter was still on my desk. I never told him that I felt lucky to have known him. I never told him that his praise meant the world to me. And worst of all, I never told him that because he believed in me I was able to believe in myself. There are very few people back home who fully understand that I want to be something, that I don't want to spend my life working inside of a cubicle, that I want to change the world, but he knew that even before I told him about my big ideas; I should have thanked him for that when I had the chance.

Not many people have the power to change our lives, to make us believe ourselves capable of achieving our wildest dreams, or to simply allow us to feel loved. It is a tremendous gift if you can count these people on one hand. I'll never have the chance to say goodbye to my self-appointed second grandfather, but maybe this was just one last lesson that he had in store for me. While I know it will be hard to forgive myself for wasting that last chance to say "thank you," I now know that some things shouldn't wait until the timing seems absolutely safe and certain, and that sometimes you just have to trust yourself and risk sounding cliché so that the people you care about know how you feel before it's too late to tell them.

May the road rise to meet you

May the wind be always at your back

May the sun shine warm upon your face

May the rains fall soft upon your fields

And until we meet again

May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Topical musings from the wise Maya Angelou on the silly divisions we create. If only I could express myself with this kind of confidence.

I note the obvious differences
in the human family.
Some of us are serious,
some thrive on comedy.

Some declare their lives are lived
as true profundity,
and others claim they really live
the real reality.

The variety of our skin tones
can confuse, bemuse, delight,
brown and pink and beige and purple,
tan and blue and white.

I've sailed upon the seven seas
and stopped in every land,
I've seen the wonders of the world,
not yet one common man.

I know ten thousand women
called Jane and Mary Jane,
but I've not seen any two
who really were the same.

Mirror twins are different
although their features jibe,
and lovers think quite different thoughts
while lying side by side.

We love and lose in China,
we weep on England's moors,
and laugh and moan in Guinea,
and thrive on Spanish shores.

We seek success in Finland,
are born and die in Maine.
In minor ways we differ,
in major we're the same.

I note the obvious differences
between each sort and type,
but we are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike.

We are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike.

- "Human Family" in I Shall Not Be Moved

On a similar note, and in honor of the impending birthday of America the Beautiful next week:

Tremors of your network
cause kings to disappear.
Your open mouth in anger
makes nations bow in fear.
Your bombs can change the seasons,
obliterate the spring.
What more do you long for?
Why are you suffering?

You control the human lives
in Rome and Timbuktu.
Lonely nomads wandering
owe Telstar to you.
Seas shift at your bidding,
your mushrooms fill the sky.
Why are you unhappy?
Why do your children cry?

They kneel alone in terror
with dread in every glance.
Their nights are threatened daily
by a grim inheritance.
You dwell in whitened castles
with deep and poisoned moats
and cannot hear the curses
which fill your children's throats.

-"These Yet to Be United States" in I Shall Not Be Moved

I seek the horizon

To grasp the unattainable edge

The very limit of all that is.

I want to break free from the shackles

On my mind

And become something new

Whole in my emptiness.

I seek rebirth

To be pure and raw again

To greet life with the newness

And wonder of long ago.

I want to stare into the very corners

Of my soul

And understand all that lies there.

I seek to live

Unabashedly.

To laugh sincerely.

To fall

Into the unknown

With grace.

It is time once again for the bittersweet arrival of summer. Relief from the examined life is readily welcomed, but for that repose we must trade the constant proximity of friends. We must venture from one world back to another, saying a few temporary good-byes and bidding some longer farewells. It was once said that we learn with every good-bye, but no one has ever attempted to claim that that education makes the bidding any easier; so here is my farewell- in the words of another- to those I'll see in a few weeks, to those I'll see again in the fall, and to the friends who must move on into the Real World.  

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann

To my imaginary friend,

It's funny really: you think no one is there, no one is paying attention anymore, so you write what you feel, content that it will never touch another's eyes...but life always has other things in mind. I'm always the one in control of the situation, with mind set on solving the problem, keeping a steady hand. It's hard to abandon that role, even if only for a short time. My steady hand is back, though, and I'm content with my uncertainty.

I found my old student ID the other night while cleaning out my wallet, and by looking at it I see how much I've changed...but I also see that I'm largely the same. The seventeen year-old  in that picture resembles the twenty year-old sitting at this keyboard: the nervous smile, the eyes that mock the camera because of a hatred for posed photography, it's all still there as it used to be. So is the golden treble clef necklace that speaks of a past adventure and maybe even a future one, if fate will have it that way. The girl in that picture knew exactly where she was going: she had one goal and focused all her talents on getting there. This girl now, she has only a vague picture of where she'll be in a few years...but at least she's prepared for the change in plans.

I'm trying to give up labeling everything. What can I say? I kind of like where I am right now...it feels like I'm finally in college.

Until next time, whenever that may be,

-KFC

To the one my words confound most deeply,

Don't take my heart so seriously, it isn't yours anymore. These words that spring from my mind are not daggers aimed at your sensitive and waiting body; these words are my thoughts, incomplete and vague as they may be.

Don't come to me seeking explanations, I don't owe you such things anymore. I can't fix reason to my recent and tempestuous emotions, and demanding that I rationalize that which is not guided by rationality will disillusion me all the more.  

I do not want to hurt you, nor do I want to sit for hours attempting to find what went wrong and why. I want to live my life for a while, circling the sky before I come back to your outstretched hand.

You haven't lost anything but a title. The person who once wore that label is still there, just without classification, but you have to let her find her way before she can tell you which direction that way will lead her. You can chain a heart as easily as you can keep sand grasped tightly in your fist: the loss is inevitable and you just have to let go. 

Do not seek what isn't here. There is no malice, no hidden intention, no conspiracy. If you are confused, you are in good company.

The world has swept me away into a series of endless days and sleepless nights, but it is fleeting. I will return to normalcy in good time, and then perhaps I'll be able to make sense of it all.

You are still the picture on my wall and the letter in my desk drawer. You will always live in the memories that make me smile. Your armor will always be shiny, even if you can't see it yourself.

Remember these words.

-KFC

I'll never leave you behind or treat you unkind, I know you understand.
And with a tear in my eye, give me the sweetest goodbye that I ever ever ever did receive.

To the not-so-imaginary friend,

Once again I discovered that my words aren't as silent as I hoped they'd be. I assumed that I could simply banish my thoughts to an unknown entity that would swallow them just as quickly as they were uttered. I was wrong.

I'm sorry if my words bring doubts to your troubled mind. Perhaps my pen is still as sharp as it was once heralded to be, but I promise you, dear friend, this I did not intend. After all, for the last two years I've been more adept at writing complex research papers than exhuming the whispers buried beneath my own surface.

Why is it that we're so afraid to allow others to get close to us, to see that side of us that feels most at home in the darkest shadows of our minds? All it takes is one experience of heart-break and we're jaded for all eternity. There are a few lucky ones, those hopeless romantics who sacrifice it all, wearing their hearts on their proverbial sleeves all in the name of that confounding emotion. Maybe they're not so lucky after all, maybe they just find away to tuck away their fears.

It seems as though I should stay confined to my role as crying shoulder and care giver, because when I fall apart I seem to take others down with me. It's not a cry for help, or a request for pity. It is what it is, and one of these days I'm going to find the strength to be everyone's Supergirl again.  

Still you're suffering, my love, oh who's to blame? You might be tired but I'm not through fanning the flame. Oh, have mercy on me, I'm a girl. Though I'm cruel and you cry, I won't shiver 'cause I know how to break a man in two.

-KFC

To that great void and anyone out there who is reading this,

I let myself step away for a while. I was convinced that my life couldn't be interesting to anyone outside of, well, my life. I developed an intolerance for people who write about their day's events- as if someone out there actually cares about that grilled cheese eaten at lunch- and I feared slipping into that habit. I tried writing about the world, politics, and anything that wasn't remotely personal. I tried pushing everything inside myself, knowing it would be safe there until I could properly sort it out and pack it neatly away in the past. I couldn't.

My life has become of sequence of "have to's" and due dates. I live from day to day, just trying to get everything done, and I owe this to my habit of perpetually biting off more than I can chew. There's a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells me I'm not doing this whole college thing right. I also know, however, that it's far too late to change the way I'm doing it at this point, so it's best just to enjoy what's left of it and try to actually live each day.

I tried being spontaneous. I went to a few parties, despite my nearly crippling fear of crowds, especially drunken crowds. I decided to "go with the flow," and tried not to label everything as I always have. I listened to other people, even though my instincts told me I'd get hurt. I did.

Somewhere along the line I lost myself, and I'm just now coming to terms with that. No, it's not apparent. I haven't started dressing all in black, I'm still the charming, well-mannered, responsible young woman I was raised to be. It's more of an internal loss. I stopped trusting myself for a while. Perhaps it can be traced back to my choice of college or major; maybe it happened somewhere around that time I lost my last serious relationship; maybe it was more of a piece-by-piece process whereby my "self" chipped away over time.

I don't have the answers, and it's only when I get bogged down by cries for solutions that I realize this. I don't have the answers. "Where will I be in five years?" I have no idea. "Why did you give up music?" I really can't remember, but I know that I long for that old part of me.

I need to work on finding myself again, but I know that has to begin with finding my confidence again.

Before the truth goes back into hiding, I want to decide because it's worth deciding, to work on finding something more than this fear. It takes so much to pretend. Tell me now, tell me how to make amends. Maybe I need to see the day light, leave behind the half-life.

-KFC