The Bearded Truth | Oh Captain, My CaptainTweet
I’m back. And married. Sorry for the lapse in genius. But, let’s be honest, that started a long time ago. I keep writing anyway. Which is the point of today’s post — writing.
November means a few things; namely that I get to sleep in an extra hour on Sundays before football starts (I’m abolishing daylight savings time when I become President). November also means that there are less than 60 days to nail down a New Year’s Resolution. I haven’t decided exactly what it is that I’ll be committing to for 12 months (read: 30 days), but I know that there are a couple things high on the list.
First, my wife Kim and I are contemplating participating in a 100 Mile Diet. With the Phoenix Public Market’s Urban Grocery and Wine Bar now a fully stocked five-day-a-week store, finding local produce and meat is easier than finding excuses not to contribute to a stronger Phoenix and more sustainable earth. If going local is high on your list of things to do in 2010, check out the Local First Arizona Fall Festival on Saturday, November 7.
Second on the list, and one that I could use some help with, is writing. Last week, I went to go see the movie New York, I Love You. It was a collection of short films with love stories and New York at the center of each plot — sort of an homage to Paris, Je T’aime. And, it got me thinking of movies, TV shows, novels and stage plays that treat their locale as a character itself. There’s CSI: New York and CSI: Miami. NCIS puts Los Angeles on display while NBC’s Trauma highlights San Francisco in a way that hasn’t been done since Mary-Kate and Ashley were in diapers. In a similar fashion, Jonathon Larson’s Rent brought New York’s East Village to life the same way Carrie Bradshaw talks about being in a relationship with Manhattan when she’s without a man (but, I don’t watch Sex in the City… promise).
And, don’t get me started on literature. Any good novel relies heavily on its location for fodder (and, for that matter, bad ones do, too — see: any Dan Brown book). Point is, a good place makes for a good story; and intuitively, I’m trusting that the reverse is true. Jack Kerouac and Alan Ginsberg not only wrote drug-induced sentence fragments about self-realization, but each also wrote about the city he lived in — the city he loved.
We have an outstanding portfolio of visual and performing artists in the Phoenix area, but I think it’s time for a writing renaissance in the Valley. Or maybe it’s already happening. One thing for sure: I can promise no genius from my end, but my hope is that if we convince enough people to write about the city they live in (the city they love?), we can add one more piece to this evolving puzzle that is bringing Phoenix to the 21st century.
What do you say? You in?