He's five, the kid from the sidewalk. It's a surprisingly sunshiny moment under Portland's gray sky, and as he swings his arms and walks with his family, he engages his little sister. He is totally amused...
KID: Remember that movie? Remember the Wizard of Oz? Remember those Munchkins?! They were like tiny grownups! Isn't that so cool? They were SMALL grown ups.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Poetry of Living
Remember scratch n sniff stickers? This is listen n read blogging.
Play this:
To read this:
Sometimes you drive around doing errands, buying office tools, buttoning up against the rain and eating a fast lunch so you can get back to work.
And then you get home and dive in. To the work. Organizing paragraphs and making up story lines. You're listening to George Winston because you remembered that pretty sound recently, when it was way past midnight, and you were suffocating in wordsand--a letter-y kind of quicksand that writers fall into, especially after midnight. It can show up right there in the middle of their apartments, one step backward and s-s-s-squish, there they go, if they are not careful, and they are barely surviving a Code Bleak, wordsand kind of night. If you still have a hand sticking out, though, you can open iTunes and see what can save you. For me, three nights ago, it was the memory of the sound of George Winston's piano. The sound of it bounced inside my skull. Such non sequitur memories get squeezed out of the desire to survive.
Then day returns. Lunch is finished. You've turned on George's DECEMBER. And you're working, and you look up, out your window at the bridge. And over the rooftops, it has begun to snow. It's snowing. And you're writing, in the middle of the day. And you're listening to DECEMBER and you remember, of a sudden but softly as snow falling, you've dreamt this again and again your whole life through. To be a writer. By day. With a window. And quiet. And snow.
Play this:
To read this:
Sometimes you drive around doing errands, buying office tools, buttoning up against the rain and eating a fast lunch so you can get back to work.
And then you get home and dive in. To the work. Organizing paragraphs and making up story lines. You're listening to George Winston because you remembered that pretty sound recently, when it was way past midnight, and you were suffocating in wordsand--a letter-y kind of quicksand that writers fall into, especially after midnight. It can show up right there in the middle of their apartments, one step backward and s-s-s-squish, there they go, if they are not careful, and they are barely surviving a Code Bleak, wordsand kind of night. If you still have a hand sticking out, though, you can open iTunes and see what can save you. For me, three nights ago, it was the memory of the sound of George Winston's piano. The sound of it bounced inside my skull. Such non sequitur memories get squeezed out of the desire to survive.
Then day returns. Lunch is finished. You've turned on George's DECEMBER. And you're working, and you look up, out your window at the bridge. And over the rooftops, it has begun to snow. It's snowing. And you're writing, in the middle of the day. And you're listening to DECEMBER and you remember, of a sudden but softly as snow falling, you've dreamt this again and again your whole life through. To be a writer. By day. With a window. And quiet. And snow.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
But Wait! There's More! TALKING DOGS Jan 30
Here I am, back already. 
For your theatrical pleasure and nighttime intrigue, you are welcome to TALKING DOGS, my new comedy about men and marriage, er, I mean, divorce.
My new play, TALKING DOGS, is receiving a staged reading at Portland Center Stage's the Armory. It's part of the new FERTILE GROUND FESTIVAL, garnering a national focus on Portland's local theatre scene. Come be a part of the scene, literally, in the Armory's gorgeous reception venue: My crazy farce is set at a wedding reception.
EMAIL LIST: welovetalkingdogs@yahoo.com
(Email me here to receive updates on pre-party and play info)
PURCHASE TICKETS: Click here to buy tix online and save yourself a seat.
DATE: FRIDAY, JAN 30
TIME: 11pm (Pre-party starts at 9pm - details to follow)
LOCATION: Portland Center Stage's Gerding Theatre at the Armory, Mezzanine Stage
TALKING DOGS, by Pema Teeter
"Sit! Heel! Stay. A fetching comedy about men and marriage."
Marriage is not about getting the girl anymore. It's about keeping her. Grab a cocktail and pull up a chair to this raucous comedy about five men facing various stages of divorce and dissolution, all while discovering love they never noticed, and possibilities they never knew they possessed. Set at one man's second wedding, a group of lifelong guy friends--straight, gay, transgender, young and old--all face the same hard challenge: not tying the knot, but breaking it.
See you there!
For your theatrical pleasure and nighttime intrigue, you are welcome to TALKING DOGS, my new comedy about men and marriage, er, I mean, divorce.
My new play, TALKING DOGS, is receiving a staged reading at Portland Center Stage's the Armory. It's part of the new FERTILE GROUND FESTIVAL, garnering a national focus on Portland's local theatre scene. Come be a part of the scene, literally, in the Armory's gorgeous reception venue: My crazy farce is set at a wedding reception.
EMAIL LIST: welovetalkingdogs@yahoo.com
(Email me here to receive updates on pre-party and play info)
PURCHASE TICKETS: Click here to buy tix online and save yourself a seat.
DATE: FRIDAY, JAN 30
TIME: 11pm (Pre-party starts at 9pm - details to follow)
LOCATION: Portland Center Stage's Gerding Theatre at the Armory, Mezzanine Stage
TALKING DOGS, by Pema Teeter
"Sit! Heel! Stay. A fetching comedy about men and marriage."
Marriage is not about getting the girl anymore. It's about keeping her. Grab a cocktail and pull up a chair to this raucous comedy about five men facing various stages of divorce and dissolution, all while discovering love they never noticed, and possibilities they never knew they possessed. Set at one man's second wedding, a group of lifelong guy friends--straight, gay, transgender, young and old--all face the same hard challenge: not tying the knot, but breaking it.
See you there!
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Happy New Year
Hi Friends and Park Benchers.
So, uh, where HAVE I been?
What have I been doing to be so neglectful of the Bench?
Something happened.
That ever occur in your life? Something, that isn't necessarily any one thing at all, but some turn occurs in your direction, and you are cruising, or trekking, or careening along on another path a fur piece before you turn around and realize what you left behind? In my case, a (mostly) daily exercise in painting pictures in the ether.
Park Bench Daily is going to continue slumbering a while. It started in a poof, one day when I kept running into funny, and thought I should share. It became a practice in writing for the public and included many exercises in stretching and scratching past being shy and inhibited.
I still have to stretch sometimes. But I don't have to try as hard anymore. For your audience and participation and curiosity, I thank you.
PBD will be back...in some incarnation. Whether it's more internet text, or a few books, or more plays, all these thoughts and observations will find a landing, and you will be invited to read them. Send me a comment with your email address if you want to invited to the new blog, or be updated on my work. I will send you a note when the letters have landed, so that you can be the first to read.
From the comment section, your info will reach my inbox, won't be published, and I'll add you to my distribution list for notices (new plays, published articles, random observations on a less frequent scale, etc.).
For immediate fixes, you are invited to read the archives.
WHAT happened?
Well...I'm writing a book on a deadline, producing a staged reading of my new play, "Talking Dogs", transitioning to Portland, setting up a new freelance writing business, writing occasional articles for others, looking for an apartment, playing with my new iPhone, and watching snow fall. Snow!
Till the next incarnation...
...sit naked.
xo
Pema
So, uh, where HAVE I been?
What have I been doing to be so neglectful of the Bench?
Something happened.
That ever occur in your life? Something, that isn't necessarily any one thing at all, but some turn occurs in your direction, and you are cruising, or trekking, or careening along on another path a fur piece before you turn around and realize what you left behind? In my case, a (mostly) daily exercise in painting pictures in the ether.
Park Bench Daily is going to continue slumbering a while. It started in a poof, one day when I kept running into funny, and thought I should share. It became a practice in writing for the public and included many exercises in stretching and scratching past being shy and inhibited.
I still have to stretch sometimes. But I don't have to try as hard anymore. For your audience and participation and curiosity, I thank you.
PBD will be back...in some incarnation. Whether it's more internet text, or a few books, or more plays, all these thoughts and observations will find a landing, and you will be invited to read them. Send me a comment with your email address if you want to invited to the new blog, or be updated on my work. I will send you a note when the letters have landed, so that you can be the first to read.
From the comment section, your info will reach my inbox, won't be published, and I'll add you to my distribution list for notices (new plays, published articles, random observations on a less frequent scale, etc.).
For immediate fixes, you are invited to read the archives.
WHAT happened?
Well...I'm writing a book on a deadline, producing a staged reading of my new play, "Talking Dogs", transitioning to Portland, setting up a new freelance writing business, writing occasional articles for others, looking for an apartment, playing with my new iPhone, and watching snow fall. Snow!
Till the next incarnation...
...sit naked.
xo
Pema
Happy New Year
Hi Friends and Park Benchers.
So, uh, where HAVE I been?
What have I been doing to be so neglectful of the Bench?
Something happened.
That ever occur in your life? Something, that isn't necessarily any one thing at all, but some turn occurs in your direction, and you are cruising, or trekking, or careening along on another path a fur piece before you turn around and realize what you left behind? In my case, a (mostly) daily exercise in painting pictures in the ether.
Park Bench Daily is going to continue slumbering a while. It started in a poof, one day when I kept running into funny, and thought I should share. It became a practice in writing for the public and included many exercises in stretching and scratching past being shy and inhibited.
I still have to stretch sometimes. But I don't have to try as hard anymore. For your audience and participation and curiosity, I thank you.
PBD will be back...in some incarnation. Whether it's more internet text, or a few books, or more plays, all these thoughts and observations will find a landing, and you will be invited to read them. Send me a comment with your email address if you want to invited to the new blog, or be updated on my work. I will send you a note when the letters have landed, so that you can be the first to read.
From the comment section, your info will reach my inbox, won't be published, and I'll add you to my distribution list for notices (new plays, published articles, random observations on a less frequent scale, etc.).
For immediate fixes, you are invited to read the archives.
WHAT happened?
Well...I'm writing a book on a deadline, producing a staged reading of my new play, "Talking Dogs", transitioning to Portland, setting up a new freelance writing business, writing occasional articles for others, looking for an apartment, playing with my new iPhone, and watching snow fall. Snow!
Till the next incarnation...
...sit naked!
xo
Pema
So, uh, where HAVE I been?
What have I been doing to be so neglectful of the Bench?
Something happened.
That ever occur in your life? Something, that isn't necessarily any one thing at all, but some turn occurs in your direction, and you are cruising, or trekking, or careening along on another path a fur piece before you turn around and realize what you left behind? In my case, a (mostly) daily exercise in painting pictures in the ether.
Park Bench Daily is going to continue slumbering a while. It started in a poof, one day when I kept running into funny, and thought I should share. It became a practice in writing for the public and included many exercises in stretching and scratching past being shy and inhibited.
I still have to stretch sometimes. But I don't have to try as hard anymore. For your audience and participation and curiosity, I thank you.
PBD will be back...in some incarnation. Whether it's more internet text, or a few books, or more plays, all these thoughts and observations will find a landing, and you will be invited to read them. Send me a comment with your email address if you want to invited to the new blog, or be updated on my work. I will send you a note when the letters have landed, so that you can be the first to read.
From the comment section, your info will reach my inbox, won't be published, and I'll add you to my distribution list for notices (new plays, published articles, random observations on a less frequent scale, etc.).
For immediate fixes, you are invited to read the archives.
WHAT happened?
Well...I'm writing a book on a deadline, producing a staged reading of my new play, "Talking Dogs", transitioning to Portland, setting up a new freelance writing business, writing occasional articles for others, looking for an apartment, playing with my new iPhone, and watching snow fall. Snow!
Till the next incarnation...
...sit naked!
xo
Pema
Sunday, December 14, 2008
To Blog
I told Tania, who is visiting, that I need to write down a list of blog topics, as they have been adding up. She suggested I blog the blog topics. So here they are, in no particular order.
Coming to a blog near you...
- Racial Profiling
- He really does resemble your dad!
- Portland Snot!
- Actually, that was a typo. Should say Portland Snow!
- Tania's visit
Coming to a blog near you...
- Racial Profiling
- He really does resemble your dad!
- Portland Snot!
- Actually, that was a typo. Should say Portland Snow!
- Tania's visit
Sunday, December 7, 2008
What U Did Last Summer
Don't you hate when it comes back to haunt you? Need an exorcism? This one's FREE!
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Dolla Dolla Bill Y'all
Hey folks, KISS MY FACE offered you all 30% off at their webstore:
The promo code is at the end of this article I mentioned them in...you may remember it. If you already read it, snoop around elsewhere on the CarrieAndDanielle.com site for cool stuff to read. :-) You won't have to look too far.
P.S. I LOVE Kiss My Face. Fabulous products.
The promo code is at the end of this article I mentioned them in...you may remember it. If you already read it, snoop around elsewhere on the CarrieAndDanielle.com site for cool stuff to read. :-) You won't have to look too far.
P.S. I LOVE Kiss My Face. Fabulous products.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Sponge Breakfast
CAUTION: Breakfast making and bath tub cleaning don't mix. 
Just ask Gina, who was making French toast and handing the sponge to Regina. Oh sad fate of the naked bread, never to be bathed in its French Toast future.
It wasn't fun cleaning the tub with cinnamon egg yolk either.
*
Just ask Gina, who was making French toast and handing the sponge to Regina. Oh sad fate of the naked bread, never to be bathed in its French Toast future. It wasn't fun cleaning the tub with cinnamon egg yolk either.
*
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Antibiotics Kill Even Pride
REGINA: Pema, do you have acidophilus?
PEMA: No but I have fixyourpussilous.
(Mama said there'd be days like this. Be prepared, with these two supplements in the herb cabinet: 1. Oregano oil capsules, and 2. Cell Food trace minerals.)
PEMA: No but I have fixyourpussilous.
(Mama said there'd be days like this. Be prepared, with these two supplements in the herb cabinet: 1. Oregano oil capsules, and 2. Cell Food trace minerals.)
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Love School
Maybe to a degree we teach people how to love us. If love fails, is it we, personally, who have failed to teach our partner how to best love us?
If we are not loved the way we want to be loved, should we not take it upon ourselves to teach our partner how to love us?
And if they fail, do we call it a personal failure because they have not learned from the best person to have taught them?
Do we take any accountability for that?
No doubt, it takes a willing student. But I've always found that a student's capacity to thrive increases with the enthusiasm, commitment, creativity and drive of the teacher.
As a chronic single person who finds plenty of reasons not to date people past a certain knowledge of them (something to the effect of: we'd never get along, that would drive me crazy about him, no, no, that's dangerous, and i would never want to deal with that the rest of my life...), I wonder if it is a matter of picking an apt candidate and teaching like my love depended on it.
If we are not loved the way we want to be loved, should we not take it upon ourselves to teach our partner how to love us?
And if they fail, do we call it a personal failure because they have not learned from the best person to have taught them?
Do we take any accountability for that?
No doubt, it takes a willing student. But I've always found that a student's capacity to thrive increases with the enthusiasm, commitment, creativity and drive of the teacher.
As a chronic single person who finds plenty of reasons not to date people past a certain knowledge of them (something to the effect of: we'd never get along, that would drive me crazy about him, no, no, that's dangerous, and i would never want to deal with that the rest of my life...), I wonder if it is a matter of picking an apt candidate and teaching like my love depended on it.
Friday, November 21, 2008
How to Be Sesame Street
Remember that little Sesame Street guy who is learning to read? Big and bold on the board in front of him is the word he is learning. He sounds out each of the letters and slowly--with so much suspense!!--pulls the sounds together to say the word:
BLOG
Buh Ll Ah Guh
BLl Ah Guh
((Meanwhile you're pinging in your seat, "blog! blog! it's blog! say BLOG!!!"))
BLl AhG
((BLOG! BLOG!! SAY IT!! (boing! boing! boing!))
BLOG. BLOG? BLOG!
And then he's pleasant and pleased and you, whew, are spent and relieved.
((Blog, I told you.))
The suspense of learning has really worn me out over the years, and my doctor suggested I do something regular to balance it out. So I turned to my pen and decided to share some tips of my own, sneak over to the teaching side a little while.
Take a peek at today's post on CarrieAndDanielle.com: Five Unexpected Tips to Get You Writing. Go ahead. Sound it out slowly. You'll be pleasant and pleased, like on Sesame Street, richer for your knowledge, like on Main Street, and maybe even a bit surprised, like on Wall Street.
BLOG
Buh Ll Ah Guh
BLl Ah Guh
((Meanwhile you're pinging in your seat, "blog! blog! it's blog! say BLOG!!!"))
BLl AhG
((BLOG! BLOG!! SAY IT!! (boing! boing! boing!))
BLOG. BLOG? BLOG!
And then he's pleasant and pleased and you, whew, are spent and relieved.
((Blog, I told you.))
The suspense of learning has really worn me out over the years, and my doctor suggested I do something regular to balance it out. So I turned to my pen and decided to share some tips of my own, sneak over to the teaching side a little while.
Take a peek at today's post on CarrieAndDanielle.com: Five Unexpected Tips to Get You Writing. Go ahead. Sound it out slowly. You'll be pleasant and pleased, like on Sesame Street, richer for your knowledge, like on Main Street, and maybe even a bit surprised, like on Wall Street.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
SAVE THE DATE - Jan 30, 2009
No, I'm not getting married on that date. One of my characters is!
Come visit me in Portland, OR, on January 30, where my new play TALKING DOGS will get its first public reading.
Taking place at Portland's poshest digs for theatre, Portland Center Stage's The Armory, you can grab a cocktail and pull up a chair to a wedding reception featuring five men facing various stages of divorce and dispossession, all while discovering love they never noticed, and possibilities they didn't know they possessed.
TALKING DOGS is a COMEDY. A farce. A run-around-naked good time. Oh wait, that's the honeymoon. I haven't written that scene yet.
Drop what you're doing and come play with me this winter at the first ever FERTILE GROUND FESTIVAL. I'll promise you a rose city.
Come visit me in Portland, OR, on January 30, where my new play TALKING DOGS will get its first public reading.
Taking place at Portland's poshest digs for theatre, Portland Center Stage's The Armory, you can grab a cocktail and pull up a chair to a wedding reception featuring five men facing various stages of divorce and dispossession, all while discovering love they never noticed, and possibilities they didn't know they possessed.
TALKING DOGS is a COMEDY. A farce. A run-around-naked good time. Oh wait, that's the honeymoon. I haven't written that scene yet.
Drop what you're doing and come play with me this winter at the first ever FERTILE GROUND FESTIVAL. I'll promise you a rose city.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Lovin' Feeling
Wanna date on the cheap without looking like a cheap date? Allow me to show you how...Check out my latest on C&D.com.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Gut Feeling
If you pardon the typos, you might like my new post on trusting your intuition at C&D.com. I know...you knew I was going to say that.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Coffeeshop Overheard
Man: I'm not a germ phobe or anything, but--eww.
Woman: I'm not borrowing a swim suit. It's a yoga mat!
Woman (cont.): Do you have those tiny spoons? I love a good cappucino with a tiny spoon.
(Man hands her a cappucino)
Woman (cont.): That's not a really tiny spoon, FYI.
Man: Maybe you should get back to yoga and get a little more zenned out.
Other Man: Or have one of these white chocolate chip yummy cookies with coconut and cranberries...
Woman: You lost me at white chocolate.
Woman: I'm not borrowing a swim suit. It's a yoga mat!
Woman (cont.): Do you have those tiny spoons? I love a good cappucino with a tiny spoon.
(Man hands her a cappucino)
Woman (cont.): That's not a really tiny spoon, FYI.
Man: Maybe you should get back to yoga and get a little more zenned out.
Other Man: Or have one of these white chocolate chip yummy cookies with coconut and cranberries...
Woman: You lost me at white chocolate.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Eateritas
On Alberta Street in Portland, I dropped into La Sirenita to bring home dinner. The Mexican restaurant sits in between two others, La Bonita and La Playita, all on the same block.
I haven't eaten at the others, but have wondered about them. While waiting for my food, I got confirmation I was in the right place. A woman wearing a black apron that had a red embroidered "La Bonita" on it came in, got in line and placed her order.
Dinner break? Good thing she works so close to a good Mexican joint.
I haven't eaten at the others, but have wondered about them. While waiting for my food, I got confirmation I was in the right place. A woman wearing a black apron that had a red embroidered "La Bonita" on it came in, got in line and placed her order.
Dinner break? Good thing she works so close to a good Mexican joint.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
In the Name of Research
I ate grasshoppers last night.
Served sun dried in a bowl with chili flakes and lime. Garnished with salsas, cilantro, and corn tortillas.
I resisted temptation to wash it down with a shot of tequila. I was on a date, after all.
The bigger story is that I'm doing research for a story that involves entomophagy. The grasshoppers were listed on the menu as appetizers, under "pre-hispanic" food. With the opportunity right there in front of me, I didn't know how I could rightly refuse it. Granted, I wouldn't kill anyone if I were writing about murder. But...I felt a little guilty thinking I would pass up such accessible research. I felt the draw of exotic adventure. And I felt curious enough, both, to say I tried them, and have an excuse to be so bold as to order grasshoppers on a date.
They were less crunchy than I thought they would be. Not a lot of taste. They felt scratchy in my mouth. They were indeed little carcasses. I couldn't bring myself to pick one up and eat it by itself, or any part of it that had fallen off in the bowl. Actually, there was a moment there, as I sat and chatted with my date, grasshopper-stuffed tortilla rolled in my hand, that I glimpsed in my peripheral vision a bug sticking out of my food!! I jumped. Then realized I just hadn't taken that bite yet. I tucked it back in the taco and took a deep breath, allowing myself only a half second to wonder what the HELL I was doing.
As we left the restaurant, my date joked, "Ah, grasshoppa-eater, you have come so far."
Served sun dried in a bowl with chili flakes and lime. Garnished with salsas, cilantro, and corn tortillas.
I resisted temptation to wash it down with a shot of tequila. I was on a date, after all.
The bigger story is that I'm doing research for a story that involves entomophagy. The grasshoppers were listed on the menu as appetizers, under "pre-hispanic" food. With the opportunity right there in front of me, I didn't know how I could rightly refuse it. Granted, I wouldn't kill anyone if I were writing about murder. But...I felt a little guilty thinking I would pass up such accessible research. I felt the draw of exotic adventure. And I felt curious enough, both, to say I tried them, and have an excuse to be so bold as to order grasshoppers on a date.
They were less crunchy than I thought they would be. Not a lot of taste. They felt scratchy in my mouth. They were indeed little carcasses. I couldn't bring myself to pick one up and eat it by itself, or any part of it that had fallen off in the bowl. Actually, there was a moment there, as I sat and chatted with my date, grasshopper-stuffed tortilla rolled in my hand, that I glimpsed in my peripheral vision a bug sticking out of my food!! I jumped. Then realized I just hadn't taken that bite yet. I tucked it back in the taco and took a deep breath, allowing myself only a half second to wonder what the HELL I was doing.
As we left the restaurant, my date joked, "Ah, grasshoppa-eater, you have come so far."
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