It was the goo at the end that clearly summed up the sentiment.  The part right before the goo was just a polite way of getting there.  This foreign-sounding phrase (possibly a Bhutan dialect or some other land where goo is all that was left after everything else is gone) was exactly what the doctor ordered when it was very important to be at least a little diplomatic… to shield a harsher opinion.  It was uttered when folks wanted to sound open-minded about something we knew they really didn’t care for at all.  A seemingly non-committal way of showing disdain without the messy...

Everyone knows all about the shoemaker’s son — but what about the photographer’s daughter?  When I was growing up, everyone in our family helped my father shake trays in our kitchen darkroom.  And when I became a Brownie, my father gave me the official Brownie version of the popular Brownie camera…  And then when I moved into my teens, I was given a 1945 Mercury.  The first camera  with a slick 1/1000 shutter speed.  I still have a photo of a baboon that I shot with my precious camera and brought to life under my father’s watchful eye.  My father had his Leicas and...

I haven’t mentioned how much fun I’m having volunteering as the publicity consultant for Aloha Community Library.  How our local 20 foot tall icon, Harvey the Giant Rabbit, will soon be getting his own super-sized Aloha library card for everyone to see.  And how I’m helping to launch a new speaker series so that the library can step forward as a lively meeting place for all of Aloha. It takes a variety of steps in the right direction to get things going  — But That’s Not What Happened today when I set out to join the Aloha Business Association, planning to meet with the...

I have very few credentials to help me launch an imaginary career as a movie critic.  But if I ever landed an interview, I’d say a little about my high school newspaper profile about the just-emerging  Joni Mitchell, after hearing “Clouds”for the first time — how I once chatted with Dustin Hoffman outside the stage door after watching “Jimmy Shine,” and how I sat not more than 20 feet away from Richard Burton when he dazzled us in “Equus. ” And if my interviewer was still paying attention, I’d go on and on about the time I shook hands with...

I can’t remember who it was  — just who it wasn’t.  The ticket office was frantic: where were all the ticket buyers hiding?   The more obscure the name, the harder PR toiled.  And it happened so early in my days at the Symphony that I had no idea what to do when the general manager sprang the alert:  “We’re papering the house — Sunday, Monday and Tuesday.”  That’s when my boss explained that we needed to do whatever we could to ensure that our artist not be humiliated by rows of empty seats.  Showering schools and whoever we could welcome in with...