I just noticed that it's already February 29. That month went by fast! Here are a few of its highlights:
T-- and I have been running around like insane maniacs trying to satisfy all the demands of work. My mom decided to give us a much needed break by taking our kids for the whole Valentine's Day weekend. I'll admit it -- I was looking forward to three days of bliss and decadence. Unfortunately, the romantic weekend began with me waking up with a fever, sinus infection, and a headache. I looked in the mirror and discovered that my tongue was dark green, which is something I only thought happened in cartoons. So I spent the weekend on the futon with the remote control. T-- made the best of it by dragging my sweaty, shaky carcass to Max & Erma's in Erie for an early afternoon Valentine's Day hamburger. I felt like such a loser. I didn't even have a card or present for her as my wallet was missing and I hadn't been able to leave the house (let alone drive) for the previous few days. What a sport -- she let me live anyhow. The storybook evening abruptly ended around 7 pm when I started to pass out in a store. Who says romance is dead?
Not once, not twice, but three times in one month I got to hang out with my good friend B--. I've known him for about fifteen years and don't get to see him nearly enough. We got to spend some time talking about our place in the world, good books, and our faith. B-- is a real authentic guy and he was just what I needed to perk me up in a month adrift in budget woes at work, cold weather, and the flu bug harassing my whole family.
My sad tale of my $288 dollar dinner... T-- and I decided to spend my 36th birthday at a fancy restaurant in Buffalo. We were also going to spend a fun evening with a friend who was moving to NYC. But our front passenger tire had other ideas and blew out on the NYS Thruway. You can imagine what condition the rim was in as I driving 70 mph at the time. But we were safe, and spent the evening at McDonald's while the Pep Boys fixed the car next door. The total? $8 on dinner, $280 on the car... I can't wait until our anniversary! Maybe we can eat at Wendy's while the Neon gets a new transmission!
I had the privilege of sitting by the bedside of a friend during the last few hours of his life. D-- pretended he was an awful curmudgeon, but he really had a good soul. He spent the last couple years of his life caring for his mentally retarded brother and it's one of the greatest examples of love between two people that I've ever seen. Bon Voyage, D--. (Also -- I've really been struggling with the whole "pastor thing" lately. I felt so inadequate in that hospital room with a dying friend, and grieving family and friends, but paradoxically this was one of the few times in the last couple of months that I felt like a minister. Odd.)
Last Friday, J-- organized a trip to see comedian Ken Davis in North Tonawanda. I'm a big fan of religious satire, but I usually shy away from the whole Christian comedy thing because it's so rarely done well. But it turned out that this show was just what the doctor ordered to dissipate some of the stress of my last few days. Thanks, J--. You make church fun. (My 7 year old son hated, hated, hated this event. At one point during the show he turned to the man next to him and said, "This guy's not funny. Pass it on." Afterwards he summed up the evening by saying, "This was the most pathetic thing I've ever seen." The rest of our group thought Ken was a blast, though.)
I have yet again missed the monthly meeting of the Allegheny Region Macintosh User Group meeting in Warren, PA. I love Macs. They love Macs. They are my kind of people. Despite the best intentions of my Palm Pilot, I always find myself forgetting the monthly meeting date and time. Sheesh. It's like being gay and sitting alone in a closet while there's a roller disco next door. I resolve to make it to the March meeting!
And that was the month that was... February 2004...
Sunday, February 29, 2004
Saturday, February 28, 2004
For Hope's Sake
Roald Dahl uses a wonderful mix of sarcasm, realism, and fun in the delivery of “James and the Giant Peach.” The characters are solid and well defined. James is an inexperienced but compassionate leader, Spike and Sponge are consistently nasty, and the collection of creatures inside the peach all take on believable personalities; even if the setting is filled with fancy and imagination.
The seriousness of themes that Dahl covers in this book may be surprising. Some of the situations experienced by James and the other characters are: death of family members, abuse, neglect, interpersonal conflicts, war and fear of the future; but Dahl manages to balance stressful situations with care by adding strange or silly occurrences so as not to overwhelm the young reader.
Dahl uses each difficult situation in the book to allow for the further development of James’s character. In the beginning of the book James is happy and carefree, living in a loving environment with parents, family and friends. He has little to be worried about and is only concerned with his happy little world - but nothing outside of this self focused life.
The sudden death of his parents cracks open the security and self concern of his life; and he finds himself living with his two evil aunts. The aunts Spiker and Sponge are very selfish and vain women, spending their time feeding their obsessive egocentric appetites. The only reason James even exists in their world is so he can serve them.
James takes on all of the adult responsibility in the time he lives with his aunts. James cleans, chops wood and waits upon to wants of these awful women. The work he does is unrewarding and difficult and the home atmosphere is cold and uncaring.
James is at the ultimate limit. He once lived a life full of caring and contentment and now his world is dark and lonesome. Because James has seen such a dramatic change in his personal life, he begins to look outward for ways to improve it. This change is important, because it is the beginning of James realizing that there is more to life that just his personal world. James begins to understand that somewhere, there is a better, happier way to live and he must do something to change the status quo. Up until this point, James never has taken a time-out. He has been in this battle for a very long time, and it is time to admit that it all is just to much. This change in James, a willingness to take a chance, is a catalyst for all the character development there is to come for him.
At this pivotal moment , James meets someone who has the power to change his life. He meets a small, strange little man. Odd that this character could be so important, but often times we are deceived by appearances - aren’t we?
Amazingly, the bag full of glowing, green, living, crystals this strange little man possess contains ... “more power and magic in there ...than in all the rest of the world put together. This is it! This is what James needs! The weird, little man advises James what to do, and what not to do with this wonderful gift , and he disappears.
James runs to do what he was told, but in his hurry he falls and looses his treasure and hope for his future. In this movement when failure looks certain, the power of the crystals begins to work their magic on the old peach tree in the aunt’s dreary, overgrown, garden.
The magic in this story is so influential that it could be said to be a character itself. When life seem hopeless and overwhelming, the magic crystals are dropped into James’s life like, well ...magic. Some readers my criticize the magic of “James and the Giant Peach as too predictable, but I feel that Dahl uses magic to turn and alter the plot in unexpected ways. This idea of magic also supports the idea that there is a power beyond our own strength. The magic of the crystals enter into the base of the peach tree and cause a series of fantastic and wonderful things to happen. The old peach tree bears a beautiful, overgrown peach that draws visitors from all over England to see it.
The aunts are now more concerned about themselves than before and focus their attention completely on making millions from the sale of tickets to see the giant peach. James has changed, as he looks to the outside world for some hope. He thinks that this wonderful peach represents how different his life can be, compared to how horrible it is at the moment. The aunts have remained the same in character, only becoming more obsessed with their greed for more. James is left cold and hungry, to do only more work for his aunts, and in spite of his aunt’s repeated warnings to keep away from the peach, he is drawn to it’s enormous base to get a closer look.
Change, excitement and curiosity are evident as for the first time in this story the approach in description of the scene takes on warmth, color and an overall positive feeling. The peach is " soft and warm and slightly furry, like the skin of a baby mouse."” James finds a opening in the bottom of the peach and climbs in. He is not the hesitating, fearful boy he was only a few moments ago; he is overcome with excitement and nothing is going to stop him now. When James enters the opening of the peach , he is entering a world that is totally foreign to him. The entrance leads to a tunnel, and the tunnel leads to the “stone” or center of the peach that has a little door cut into it. When James opens the door and enters the main room, he is bombarded by the voices of creatures beyond compare.
The cozy room is fill with adult sized insects, that vary in species as well as personality. First, there is a genteel Old-Green-Grasshopper, a surprisingly kind but enormous black Spider, a sweet scarlet Ladybug, a worrisome earthworm and a sassy mouthed Centipede. James, being so used to his aunt’s abuse, backs away from the creatures in a panic and looks for a way to escape. The creatures speak to him, making sure James knows that they don'’t want to eat him. James carefully listens to the creatures, initially out of fearful obedience, but remains attentive due to his growing curiosity.
The group of creatures inside the peach are diversely different from each other. The Centipede proudly describes himself as a “pest”. The Earthworm describes himself as "a useful and much loved creature."” The Old Green Grasshopper is a “musician.” Lady Bug modestly tells the others that her kind is much loved by farmers for the service of eating harmful bugs and keep their fields healthy. Miss Spider knows that she is helpful in her life work, but is bothered that people don'’t think as fondly of her as they would a lady bug. "“It is very unfair the way Spiders are treated"”, Miss Spider says, as she explains how Aunt Spiker flushed her father down the drain just last week. Later, she tells how Aunt Sponge violently squashed her dear grandmother, whom was accidentally trapped in the sticky ceiling that had been freshly painted. The descriptions of life from a bug’s point of view, allow the reader to become connected to characters. The young reader can relate to all creatures because at some point in life they have felt like, a pest, as a useful and well loved person , as a musician or entertainer , as well as having their motives misunderstood or despised - even when doing a good deed. The reader is likely to pick a favorite character from this band of over grown insects, based upon personal experience and the feelings evoked when reading about each character. Dahl shows a great ability in providing colorful supporting characters. even though they a fictional, because they are so easily connected with. James finds himself, in a very short period of time, caring a great deal for the welfare of his new friends. His quick acceptance of these first frightening creatures only encourages the reader to open themselves up to their quirky but lovable personalities. This experiment in a child’s acceptance of the odd and unusual, continues to drive home a primary message of this book. We need to give everyone a chance to grow, before we short-sightedly place limits on what they are capable of achieving.
As the story continues, the reader is introduced to some more subtle creatures that are living in the peach with the rest of the group - glow worm and silkworm. These two are quieter the the others, but they are shown as helpful to the others partially because of light and string they produce when needed. The fact that they are quiet does not suggest that they are less important, in fact it shows that because they are permitted to use their gifts and skills - that they are indeed are appreciated.
Throughout the story, James is given many opportunities to help in dire situations. After centipede chews the peach free from the old peach tree and the evil aunts are killed as they stand in the path of the runaway peach, James seems to be released from the fear and despair that had bound him for so long. In the midst of rolling down the aunt’s hill, billowing into the village, and bouncing across the English countryside, James and his friends in the peach splash into the ocean in a somewhat ruffled and confused state of mind. But James now seems more determined to enjoy the adventure at hand. At this point in the story, the creatures are full of bumps, bruises and a sense of fear of what on earth can happen to us next. James take the lead at this time to calm his friend’s fears and give them the direction they now need. It is out of compassion and concern for the others, that James patently explains that they will be all right as they bob along in the ocean in their wonderful peach.
For James and the others, the crisis's keep coming, from need of food and water to shark attacks; but each time a problem arises James finds an answer. His solutions range from logical (Eat some of the peach.), to quite creative (Lasso hundreds of seagulls with rope made by Silkworm and Miss Spider, using earthworm as “bait”, in order to lift the peach out of the water.). Each situation causes James to consider that his choice could be the wrong one, but this fear of failure does not keep him from doing his best to help his friends. This test of James’s character reinforces another theme in the story; you must be willing to take a risk when helping others if you are to make a difference in people’s lives. In other words: How can you expect people to follow you if you are not willing to lead?
Often times in leadership situations, the hardest thing to deal with is interpersonal conflicts. Either someone in the group thinks he/she should be the leader or someone dosen't trust the leader’s direction. James has opportunity to deal with both of these situations during the adventure-filled voyage. Unfortunately, the Centipede and Earthworm are the foremost culprits in all of these disturbances. James adores both of them, but their actions cause many difficulties for the crew on the trip. As James devises his fantastic plan to escape the vicious sharks, Earthworm fusses and fumes that this idea will never work. In his close refusal to help the others, he wastes precious time and energy needed to succeed in escaping from the sharks. When James takes control of the situation, by going with earthworm to assure his safety on his dangerous task, earthworm reluctantly agrees to help in the effort. It is only after the peach is flying with the aid of the five hundred and two seagulls, that Earthworm believes in James as a leader. It is interesting that though the Earthworm is blind (earthworms have no eyes), he has to experience or “see” James' ability to lead before he believes it.
Centipede proves to be the least able to follow James' leading in comparison to the others, due to his desire for everyone’s attention (Centipede has a game show host personality, complete with jokes, dancing and clever songs about their adventures.) and his inability to control his own behavior.
Throughout the story, Centipede is constantly picking on one member of the crew or another. Much of the time his insults are directed at Earthworm, one of the harshest during the shark attack: “"My dear Earthworm, you'’re going to be eaten anyway, so what difference does it make whether it’'s sharks or seagulls?” ...” You will be a martyr... I will respect you for the rest of my life.") It is in this rough manner Centipede carries on his conversations and it causes many arguments. Centipede’s irresponsible behavior often puts the other crew in jeopardy. After the successful escape from the sharks, Centipede breaks into song and dance and in his distracted state dances right off the top of the peach into thin air. Miss Spider spindles out a line and James reels over the side of the peach to recover Centipede from the freezing water below. The result of his careless action leaves Centipede shaken, Miss Spider frustrated by his behavior, and James reinforced in the role as the level-headed leader.
As the peach floats gracefully through the clouds, the crew discover a strange species of “Cloud Men”, that work at high altitudes making hail, rain, snow flakes and rainbows. The entire crew is amazed and fearful of the Cloud Men, except Centipede; who instead of quietly observing the odd view casts insults at them. Centipede’s outburst causes the Cloud Men to launch a full assault of hailstones causing several of the crew to be injured as well as the peach taking so much damage that it begins to leak peach juice. Next, the dripping peach collides into a freshly painted rainbow - sending the Cloud Men into a full attack. The Centipede finally takes some positive action by chewing off the seagull lines the Cloud men shimmy down in attempt to down the peach. At the end of this attack, the peach is dripping juice more than ever and Centipede is covered in rainbow paint that has dried so he can’t move or speak. In a final effort to repay Centipede for the damage done, the Cloud Men turn on the faucets. The water pours down, drenching the crew completely as though they had walked through a waterfall. The only benefit if this is that Centipede is released from his prison of paint and is free to dance and sing once again. One redeeming quality of Centipede though, is that he does not give up easily when a fight is to be found. The problem though is that he seems to look for fights. In spite of his flaws, Centipede serves a valuable purpose in this story. Centipede’s stories, songs and antics provide much of the comic relief need to balance to stressful and serious themes dealt with in this story.
Night has passed at last, and the crew find themselves stunned to see the coast of America in the early light of dawn. It seems impossible that crossed the ocean so quickly, but much of what they have lived through would have seemed impossible if they hadn't lived it. James finds the peach quickly approaching New York City, and is left to come up with a solution to a new problem. How do they get down? As he works on the solution, all of New York City recognizes the approaching orange mass not as a giant peach, but as a bomb threatening the safety of the city and its citizens. Centipede is given the job of chewing off the seagull lines a few at a time to gradually lower the peach to a gentle landing. The plan is working and the peach is dropping slowly until a jet swishes by the peach, cutting all the seagulls lines leaving James and the crew plummeting to the ground. The city , James and the peach crew all fear the worst and they all share whatever quick words of comfort they can in the midst of their calamity.
Magically, the peach lands directly on top of the Empire State Building. It is perfectly perched atop the building with the needle running directly through the center of the giant peach. The crew inside the peach was secure, but New York still did not know what this giant orange ball was or what it’s intention was. It was not a bomb, or a ship from outer space, but what it was they did not know for sure.
Here we are again, where something unfamiliar, or odd is dropped into our lives and we don’t know what to do with it. The initial reaction to the crew of the peach is what you would expect: fear, bias, rumor and confusion. It is only when the Police and Firemen see James and listen to what he has to say, that they understand that the Centipede, Grasshopper, Miss Spider, Ladybug, Earthworm, Glow Worm and Silk Worm are "the nicest creatures in the world."
At James' declaration and song exhorting the wonderful qualities of his new friends, all of New York welcomes them all as heroes and long lost family. Not only do the adults immediately fall in love with James and his friends, but the children of the city embrace them as well. James invites the children of the city to eat the peach as the city celebrates the new friends that have come join the community.
James and the Giant Peach is a lovely story, complete with a happy but educated ending. The city is delighted, the children adore James and the fantastic stories he tells , and the crew of the peach find fulfilling jobs and new friendships in New York City. Most of all, James is finally, truly, happy. He has a happy home constructed out of the peach stone in Central Park . He has new friends to play with every day, and old his friends from the peach crew visit often.
James has seen the good, the bad and the good side of life once again. The love of his parents he will carry with him always, the lessons of greed and selfishness of his aunt’s he will never forget. By gaining a better understanding of all people, no matter size, shape or species; James has learned some valuable lessons. 1.) Give both the eccentric and common folk around you the time and opportunities to grow into their capabilities. 2.) You can take care of yourself by taking care of those around you.
There are millions of people out there, and every one of us has some growing to do. The journey for each and every one of us is different and filled with many obstacles. It is through these challenges, that we define what in our character needs to stay ...and what needs to go. If we hold onto hurt and loss for too long, we can find ourselves bound by bitterness and pain - unable to help ourselves or anyone around us. James had a great deal of hurt he could have held on too. but clinging too it would have paralyzed him.
Take a risk. James did. Try something impossible. James did. Open your heart to a new journey. James did. Even though the road James took to arrive at a place where he could feel safe and loved was difficult, he never returned to be lost to despair. Even when James’s future seemed to hold no promise, he never let go of hope for a better future. Take the first step, there’s a whole world out there and the journey’s just begun.
The seriousness of themes that Dahl covers in this book may be surprising. Some of the situations experienced by James and the other characters are: death of family members, abuse, neglect, interpersonal conflicts, war and fear of the future; but Dahl manages to balance stressful situations with care by adding strange or silly occurrences so as not to overwhelm the young reader.
Dahl uses each difficult situation in the book to allow for the further development of James’s character. In the beginning of the book James is happy and carefree, living in a loving environment with parents, family and friends. He has little to be worried about and is only concerned with his happy little world - but nothing outside of this self focused life.
The sudden death of his parents cracks open the security and self concern of his life; and he finds himself living with his two evil aunts. The aunts Spiker and Sponge are very selfish and vain women, spending their time feeding their obsessive egocentric appetites. The only reason James even exists in their world is so he can serve them.
James takes on all of the adult responsibility in the time he lives with his aunts. James cleans, chops wood and waits upon to wants of these awful women. The work he does is unrewarding and difficult and the home atmosphere is cold and uncaring.
James is at the ultimate limit. He once lived a life full of caring and contentment and now his world is dark and lonesome. Because James has seen such a dramatic change in his personal life, he begins to look outward for ways to improve it. This change is important, because it is the beginning of James realizing that there is more to life that just his personal world. James begins to understand that somewhere, there is a better, happier way to live and he must do something to change the status quo. Up until this point, James never has taken a time-out. He has been in this battle for a very long time, and it is time to admit that it all is just to much. This change in James, a willingness to take a chance, is a catalyst for all the character development there is to come for him.
At this pivotal moment , James meets someone who has the power to change his life. He meets a small, strange little man. Odd that this character could be so important, but often times we are deceived by appearances - aren’t we?
Amazingly, the bag full of glowing, green, living, crystals this strange little man possess contains ... “more power and magic in there ...than in all the rest of the world put together. This is it! This is what James needs! The weird, little man advises James what to do, and what not to do with this wonderful gift , and he disappears.
James runs to do what he was told, but in his hurry he falls and looses his treasure and hope for his future. In this movement when failure looks certain, the power of the crystals begins to work their magic on the old peach tree in the aunt’s dreary, overgrown, garden.
The magic in this story is so influential that it could be said to be a character itself. When life seem hopeless and overwhelming, the magic crystals are dropped into James’s life like, well ...magic. Some readers my criticize the magic of “James and the Giant Peach as too predictable, but I feel that Dahl uses magic to turn and alter the plot in unexpected ways. This idea of magic also supports the idea that there is a power beyond our own strength. The magic of the crystals enter into the base of the peach tree and cause a series of fantastic and wonderful things to happen. The old peach tree bears a beautiful, overgrown peach that draws visitors from all over England to see it.
The aunts are now more concerned about themselves than before and focus their attention completely on making millions from the sale of tickets to see the giant peach. James has changed, as he looks to the outside world for some hope. He thinks that this wonderful peach represents how different his life can be, compared to how horrible it is at the moment. The aunts have remained the same in character, only becoming more obsessed with their greed for more. James is left cold and hungry, to do only more work for his aunts, and in spite of his aunt’s repeated warnings to keep away from the peach, he is drawn to it’s enormous base to get a closer look.
Change, excitement and curiosity are evident as for the first time in this story the approach in description of the scene takes on warmth, color and an overall positive feeling. The peach is " soft and warm and slightly furry, like the skin of a baby mouse."” James finds a opening in the bottom of the peach and climbs in. He is not the hesitating, fearful boy he was only a few moments ago; he is overcome with excitement and nothing is going to stop him now. When James enters the opening of the peach , he is entering a world that is totally foreign to him. The entrance leads to a tunnel, and the tunnel leads to the “stone” or center of the peach that has a little door cut into it. When James opens the door and enters the main room, he is bombarded by the voices of creatures beyond compare.
The cozy room is fill with adult sized insects, that vary in species as well as personality. First, there is a genteel Old-Green-Grasshopper, a surprisingly kind but enormous black Spider, a sweet scarlet Ladybug, a worrisome earthworm and a sassy mouthed Centipede. James, being so used to his aunt’s abuse, backs away from the creatures in a panic and looks for a way to escape. The creatures speak to him, making sure James knows that they don'’t want to eat him. James carefully listens to the creatures, initially out of fearful obedience, but remains attentive due to his growing curiosity.
The group of creatures inside the peach are diversely different from each other. The Centipede proudly describes himself as a “pest”. The Earthworm describes himself as "a useful and much loved creature."” The Old Green Grasshopper is a “musician.” Lady Bug modestly tells the others that her kind is much loved by farmers for the service of eating harmful bugs and keep their fields healthy. Miss Spider knows that she is helpful in her life work, but is bothered that people don'’t think as fondly of her as they would a lady bug. "“It is very unfair the way Spiders are treated"”, Miss Spider says, as she explains how Aunt Spiker flushed her father down the drain just last week. Later, she tells how Aunt Sponge violently squashed her dear grandmother, whom was accidentally trapped in the sticky ceiling that had been freshly painted. The descriptions of life from a bug’s point of view, allow the reader to become connected to characters. The young reader can relate to all creatures because at some point in life they have felt like, a pest, as a useful and well loved person , as a musician or entertainer , as well as having their motives misunderstood or despised - even when doing a good deed. The reader is likely to pick a favorite character from this band of over grown insects, based upon personal experience and the feelings evoked when reading about each character. Dahl shows a great ability in providing colorful supporting characters. even though they a fictional, because they are so easily connected with. James finds himself, in a very short period of time, caring a great deal for the welfare of his new friends. His quick acceptance of these first frightening creatures only encourages the reader to open themselves up to their quirky but lovable personalities. This experiment in a child’s acceptance of the odd and unusual, continues to drive home a primary message of this book. We need to give everyone a chance to grow, before we short-sightedly place limits on what they are capable of achieving.
As the story continues, the reader is introduced to some more subtle creatures that are living in the peach with the rest of the group - glow worm and silkworm. These two are quieter the the others, but they are shown as helpful to the others partially because of light and string they produce when needed. The fact that they are quiet does not suggest that they are less important, in fact it shows that because they are permitted to use their gifts and skills - that they are indeed are appreciated.
Throughout the story, James is given many opportunities to help in dire situations. After centipede chews the peach free from the old peach tree and the evil aunts are killed as they stand in the path of the runaway peach, James seems to be released from the fear and despair that had bound him for so long. In the midst of rolling down the aunt’s hill, billowing into the village, and bouncing across the English countryside, James and his friends in the peach splash into the ocean in a somewhat ruffled and confused state of mind. But James now seems more determined to enjoy the adventure at hand. At this point in the story, the creatures are full of bumps, bruises and a sense of fear of what on earth can happen to us next. James take the lead at this time to calm his friend’s fears and give them the direction they now need. It is out of compassion and concern for the others, that James patently explains that they will be all right as they bob along in the ocean in their wonderful peach.
For James and the others, the crisis's keep coming, from need of food and water to shark attacks; but each time a problem arises James finds an answer. His solutions range from logical (Eat some of the peach.), to quite creative (Lasso hundreds of seagulls with rope made by Silkworm and Miss Spider, using earthworm as “bait”, in order to lift the peach out of the water.). Each situation causes James to consider that his choice could be the wrong one, but this fear of failure does not keep him from doing his best to help his friends. This test of James’s character reinforces another theme in the story; you must be willing to take a risk when helping others if you are to make a difference in people’s lives. In other words: How can you expect people to follow you if you are not willing to lead?
Often times in leadership situations, the hardest thing to deal with is interpersonal conflicts. Either someone in the group thinks he/she should be the leader or someone dosen't trust the leader’s direction. James has opportunity to deal with both of these situations during the adventure-filled voyage. Unfortunately, the Centipede and Earthworm are the foremost culprits in all of these disturbances. James adores both of them, but their actions cause many difficulties for the crew on the trip. As James devises his fantastic plan to escape the vicious sharks, Earthworm fusses and fumes that this idea will never work. In his close refusal to help the others, he wastes precious time and energy needed to succeed in escaping from the sharks. When James takes control of the situation, by going with earthworm to assure his safety on his dangerous task, earthworm reluctantly agrees to help in the effort. It is only after the peach is flying with the aid of the five hundred and two seagulls, that Earthworm believes in James as a leader. It is interesting that though the Earthworm is blind (earthworms have no eyes), he has to experience or “see” James' ability to lead before he believes it.
Centipede proves to be the least able to follow James' leading in comparison to the others, due to his desire for everyone’s attention (Centipede has a game show host personality, complete with jokes, dancing and clever songs about their adventures.) and his inability to control his own behavior.
Throughout the story, Centipede is constantly picking on one member of the crew or another. Much of the time his insults are directed at Earthworm, one of the harshest during the shark attack: “"My dear Earthworm, you'’re going to be eaten anyway, so what difference does it make whether it’'s sharks or seagulls?” ...” You will be a martyr... I will respect you for the rest of my life.") It is in this rough manner Centipede carries on his conversations and it causes many arguments. Centipede’s irresponsible behavior often puts the other crew in jeopardy. After the successful escape from the sharks, Centipede breaks into song and dance and in his distracted state dances right off the top of the peach into thin air. Miss Spider spindles out a line and James reels over the side of the peach to recover Centipede from the freezing water below. The result of his careless action leaves Centipede shaken, Miss Spider frustrated by his behavior, and James reinforced in the role as the level-headed leader.
As the peach floats gracefully through the clouds, the crew discover a strange species of “Cloud Men”, that work at high altitudes making hail, rain, snow flakes and rainbows. The entire crew is amazed and fearful of the Cloud Men, except Centipede; who instead of quietly observing the odd view casts insults at them. Centipede’s outburst causes the Cloud Men to launch a full assault of hailstones causing several of the crew to be injured as well as the peach taking so much damage that it begins to leak peach juice. Next, the dripping peach collides into a freshly painted rainbow - sending the Cloud Men into a full attack. The Centipede finally takes some positive action by chewing off the seagull lines the Cloud men shimmy down in attempt to down the peach. At the end of this attack, the peach is dripping juice more than ever and Centipede is covered in rainbow paint that has dried so he can’t move or speak. In a final effort to repay Centipede for the damage done, the Cloud Men turn on the faucets. The water pours down, drenching the crew completely as though they had walked through a waterfall. The only benefit if this is that Centipede is released from his prison of paint and is free to dance and sing once again. One redeeming quality of Centipede though, is that he does not give up easily when a fight is to be found. The problem though is that he seems to look for fights. In spite of his flaws, Centipede serves a valuable purpose in this story. Centipede’s stories, songs and antics provide much of the comic relief need to balance to stressful and serious themes dealt with in this story.
Night has passed at last, and the crew find themselves stunned to see the coast of America in the early light of dawn. It seems impossible that crossed the ocean so quickly, but much of what they have lived through would have seemed impossible if they hadn't lived it. James finds the peach quickly approaching New York City, and is left to come up with a solution to a new problem. How do they get down? As he works on the solution, all of New York City recognizes the approaching orange mass not as a giant peach, but as a bomb threatening the safety of the city and its citizens. Centipede is given the job of chewing off the seagull lines a few at a time to gradually lower the peach to a gentle landing. The plan is working and the peach is dropping slowly until a jet swishes by the peach, cutting all the seagulls lines leaving James and the crew plummeting to the ground. The city , James and the peach crew all fear the worst and they all share whatever quick words of comfort they can in the midst of their calamity.
Magically, the peach lands directly on top of the Empire State Building. It is perfectly perched atop the building with the needle running directly through the center of the giant peach. The crew inside the peach was secure, but New York still did not know what this giant orange ball was or what it’s intention was. It was not a bomb, or a ship from outer space, but what it was they did not know for sure.
Here we are again, where something unfamiliar, or odd is dropped into our lives and we don’t know what to do with it. The initial reaction to the crew of the peach is what you would expect: fear, bias, rumor and confusion. It is only when the Police and Firemen see James and listen to what he has to say, that they understand that the Centipede, Grasshopper, Miss Spider, Ladybug, Earthworm, Glow Worm and Silk Worm are "the nicest creatures in the world."
At James' declaration and song exhorting the wonderful qualities of his new friends, all of New York welcomes them all as heroes and long lost family. Not only do the adults immediately fall in love with James and his friends, but the children of the city embrace them as well. James invites the children of the city to eat the peach as the city celebrates the new friends that have come join the community.
James and the Giant Peach is a lovely story, complete with a happy but educated ending. The city is delighted, the children adore James and the fantastic stories he tells , and the crew of the peach find fulfilling jobs and new friendships in New York City. Most of all, James is finally, truly, happy. He has a happy home constructed out of the peach stone in Central Park . He has new friends to play with every day, and old his friends from the peach crew visit often.
James has seen the good, the bad and the good side of life once again. The love of his parents he will carry with him always, the lessons of greed and selfishness of his aunt’s he will never forget. By gaining a better understanding of all people, no matter size, shape or species; James has learned some valuable lessons. 1.) Give both the eccentric and common folk around you the time and opportunities to grow into their capabilities. 2.) You can take care of yourself by taking care of those around you.
There are millions of people out there, and every one of us has some growing to do. The journey for each and every one of us is different and filled with many obstacles. It is through these challenges, that we define what in our character needs to stay ...and what needs to go. If we hold onto hurt and loss for too long, we can find ourselves bound by bitterness and pain - unable to help ourselves or anyone around us. James had a great deal of hurt he could have held on too. but clinging too it would have paralyzed him.
Take a risk. James did. Try something impossible. James did. Open your heart to a new journey. James did. Even though the road James took to arrive at a place where he could feel safe and loved was difficult, he never returned to be lost to despair. Even when James’s future seemed to hold no promise, he never let go of hope for a better future. Take the first step, there’s a whole world out there and the journey’s just begun.
The Butter Effect
I have a confession to make. The second-to-last thing I feel like doing tonight is writing in my online journal, and the last thing I feel like doing is being funny. (The reasons will become apparent in a future journal.) But I made a promise to myself that I would try to write something every day, so here goes:
Ever notice how movie theater marquees abbreviate the titles of movies? "The Passion of the Christ" becomes "Passion", "Lord of the Rings: The Return of the Kings" becomes "LOTR". I don't mind one bit. In fact, I rather enjoy the mental challenge of deciphering whether a marquee proudly announcing "LEAGUE" seeks to infer that the theater is playing "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen", "A League of Their Own", or "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea". But my imagination got the best of me when I saw the following sign outside the Arnott Mall proudly announcing:
THE BUTTER EFFECT
I imagined this scenario: Struggling with high blood pressure and lack of energy, Ashton Kutcher devises a technique of traveling back in time to inhabit his slim childhood body. He discovers that the weight watcher journals he keeps under his bed are a means by which he can travel into the past so he can switch all the cola in his parents' refrigerator to diet. As he attempts to lower his cholesterol, he finds that every trip into the past causes him to have weird blood sugar levels in the present, leading him to travel back again and again and causing irreparable damage to his arteries.
Ever notice how movie theater marquees abbreviate the titles of movies? "The Passion of the Christ" becomes "Passion", "Lord of the Rings: The Return of the Kings" becomes "LOTR". I don't mind one bit. In fact, I rather enjoy the mental challenge of deciphering whether a marquee proudly announcing "LEAGUE" seeks to infer that the theater is playing "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen", "A League of Their Own", or "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea". But my imagination got the best of me when I saw the following sign outside the Arnott Mall proudly announcing:
THE BUTTER EFFECT
I imagined this scenario: Struggling with high blood pressure and lack of energy, Ashton Kutcher devises a technique of traveling back in time to inhabit his slim childhood body. He discovers that the weight watcher journals he keeps under his bed are a means by which he can travel into the past so he can switch all the cola in his parents' refrigerator to diet. As he attempts to lower his cholesterol, he finds that every trip into the past causes him to have weird blood sugar levels in the present, leading him to travel back again and again and causing irreparable damage to his arteries.
Looking for a sign?
I saw a sign outside of a bar and grill in Mayville NY. It advertised:
BIG ASS FISH FRY
FRIDAY
Did the sign maker mean to imply that I'd gain a big ass if I ate their fish fry? Or does it mean that I need a big ass to be served their hearty fish fry, in which case I'm sure I'd qualify. Or does it mean that I would have to be a big ass to get suckered into ordering their putrid fish fry?
It's so nice to see local merchants support with the Lenten season with such sensitivity.
BIG ASS FISH FRY
FRIDAY
Did the sign maker mean to imply that I'd gain a big ass if I ate their fish fry? Or does it mean that I need a big ass to be served their hearty fish fry, in which case I'm sure I'd qualify. Or does it mean that I would have to be a big ass to get suckered into ordering their putrid fish fry?
It's so nice to see local merchants support with the Lenten season with such sensitivity.
Thursday, February 26, 2004
Celtic Prayer
Whew. What a day. It began with a budget meeting, which is never good, and ended by the bedside of a friend who is dying. It would be inappropriate for me to try to write something witty and funny about some B-Movie, and I'm too close to the grief of my friend's condition to articulate my feelings in any coherent fashion. So I just thought I'd share something from my favorite birthday present, Celtic Daily Prayer: Prayers and Readings From the Northumbria Community:
"All that I love
into Your keeping
All that I care for
into Your care.
Be with us by day,
be with us by night;
and as dark closes
the eyelids with sleep,
may I waken
to the peace of a new day."
"All that I love
into Your keeping
All that I care for
into Your care.
Be with us by day,
be with us by night;
and as dark closes
the eyelids with sleep,
may I waken
to the peace of a new day."
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
An incurable disease is fun!
I saw another commercial last night for Valtrex, that new drug that is supposed to supress Herpes outbreaks. Ever seen an ad? Young and beautiful twentysomethings dance around a garden. They go sailboating and hiking. They run through parks flying kites or holding balloons. They splash around in a fountain. C'mon -- do you know any couples that actually do anything like that? I didn't think so. One would get the impression from repeated viewings that contracting a venereal disease is like holding a winning lottery ticket. Then I realized that I had finally got the message of the ad campaign: "people with herpes have way more fun than the rest of us." It was so obvious that I don't know why I didn't see it before. Man, I wish I had herpes!
Could I have possibly screwed this up sooner?
With the Lenten Season approaching on Wednesday, I decided Tuesday afternoon that I would give up soda pop for Lent. You know, the whole "give those couple of bucks a week to charity" and "pray for the hungry when I was craving a Coke" sort of stuff. Anyways, I was driving back from Buffalo very late on Tuesday night and picked up a Pepsi at Kwik Fill. I noticed when I got back in the car that it was 12:00 am on Ash Wednesday. That plan lasted long!
Monday, February 23, 2004
Purpose Statement
I had the opportunity a few years back to participate in a "Seven Habits of Highly Effective People" seminar. After a lot of reflection, I finished the week by preparing a personal mission statement. It doesn't so much reflect "what I want to do" as much as "who I want to be." A yellowing copy still hangs on the wall of my office, and I still refer to it from time to time when I get overwhelmed at the craziness of life. Here it is:
I want to be a Christian without being religious. I want to unlock that dusty sanctuary and let God out. I'll follow Him around to find out what He does on the other six days of the week. I'm gonna set aside a little time each day to intoxicate myself on the Person that likes making stuff like the harvest moon, zebras, thunderstorms and funny people like me. I want to know what it all means.
Wisdom has all the answers, but she doesn't give 'em up until you catch her. I'll start running smarter... I'll search for her in places that I used to pass by with a dismissive look. I'll dig for the elusive needle-in-the-haystack even though I know it'll probably cut me when I find it.
You see, truth is both comforting and scary at the same time. Pleasure, pain, history, misery, joy, jazz -- there's something to learn and pass along in each one, so I gotta drink it all down. The nourishment will work through my system and give me the strength to act in accordance with what I've learned.
My purpose is to communicate discerned truth to people in a way that they can understand... Sometimes with words, sometimes with pictures, but mostly be the way I treat them... What they do with the message is up to them, but I can always pray.
Finally, will I know that I am successful when the choices I've made during the day allow me to go to bed at night with a clear conscience before God and people.
August 15, 2000
I want to be a Christian without being religious. I want to unlock that dusty sanctuary and let God out. I'll follow Him around to find out what He does on the other six days of the week. I'm gonna set aside a little time each day to intoxicate myself on the Person that likes making stuff like the harvest moon, zebras, thunderstorms and funny people like me. I want to know what it all means.
Wisdom has all the answers, but she doesn't give 'em up until you catch her. I'll start running smarter... I'll search for her in places that I used to pass by with a dismissive look. I'll dig for the elusive needle-in-the-haystack even though I know it'll probably cut me when I find it.
You see, truth is both comforting and scary at the same time. Pleasure, pain, history, misery, joy, jazz -- there's something to learn and pass along in each one, so I gotta drink it all down. The nourishment will work through my system and give me the strength to act in accordance with what I've learned.
My purpose is to communicate discerned truth to people in a way that they can understand... Sometimes with words, sometimes with pictures, but mostly be the way I treat them... What they do with the message is up to them, but I can always pray.
Finally, will I know that I am successful when the choices I've made during the day allow me to go to bed at night with a clear conscience before God and people.
August 15, 2000
Sunday, February 22, 2004
H-U-H
Dear Fox Network:
I just caught a TV promo for your newest show: THE GREAT AMERICAN SPELLING BEE!!! It sounds real entertaining, and I imagine it will go over better than your alternate plan of just pointing a camera at an aquarium for an hour.
If ideas are that hard to come by in Hollywood, I would like to offer my services as a television executive. I have a wonderful concept I want to discuss with you that would have the Fox Sports Team providing color commentary for the Pillsbury Bakeoff.
Describing your network programming as "a vast wasteland" sounds like I'm damning you with faint praise.
IAN
P.S. Hope you aren't planning on winning the February Sweeps.
I just caught a TV promo for your newest show: THE GREAT AMERICAN SPELLING BEE!!! It sounds real entertaining, and I imagine it will go over better than your alternate plan of just pointing a camera at an aquarium for an hour.
If ideas are that hard to come by in Hollywood, I would like to offer my services as a television executive. I have a wonderful concept I want to discuss with you that would have the Fox Sports Team providing color commentary for the Pillsbury Bakeoff.
Describing your network programming as "a vast wasteland" sounds like I'm damning you with faint praise.
IAN
P.S. Hope you aren't planning on winning the February Sweeps.
Saturday, February 21, 2004
The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
“There is nothing more to say – except why. But since why is difficult to handle, one must take refuge in how (p. 9).”
There are some stories that are so terrible, that hold so much hurt and loss that the how is what can be shared minus the why. Pecola was born to wounded parents, in a broken down house, after the last ember of love and warmth had died away. Sometimes you hear stories of what isolation can do to infants. If no one comes to care for his or her needs: being held fed and loved; the child languishes and dies. Pecola’s mother had to go back to work when she and her brother were young. Her father was there when he felt like it, but was drunk most of the time anyway. The home was ill attended to, and if her parents were there together they would fight. Glass flying, voices screaming, and all Pecola thought was…if I had blue eyes everything would be perfect.
It amazes me how children will absorb the chaos around them, excuse the violence around them, and say it wouldn’t happen if they were good, obedient or beautiful. That is such a lie. Children don’t choose whom they’re born to.
Pecola’s existence is one that astounds me. A girl like her, with a family life like hers’- how did she survive? In a drunken stupor, her father sets fire to their ramshackle apartment because he wants everything to be over. The fire is extinguished, but the destructive power of her father’s rage is only stoked. As her mother tries to pull together a shabby household, Pecola leaves to stay with another family in town. This family isn’t rich. But there is a warm bed, milk to drink and two girls to be her “sisters”. For the first time Pecola has some semblance of a family, even if it is only for a few days.
Pecola has to use the survival skills she learned at home, to make it at school. Rumors about her father’s sexualized and drunken acts spread like wild fire, making her feel more ugly and lost than ever before. Her new “sisters” defend her from the mob of merciless children. But over time, the attacks become too rash for them to continue to provide.
Pecola finds friends where she can. She is particularly fascinated by the Fancy Ladies that live close by her salvaged apartment. She enjoys their songs and sass, although she is too naïve to understand their humor. They don’t tell her she is ugly and she doesn’t feel invisible in their presence.
Pecola is invisible at home. The house is more dead than alive. The only sign of life in it are her efforts to wash dishes or read in the corner of the room. He brother leaves home, as the atmosphere of death is too much for him to bear. Her father sees the clean dishes, read books and the reminder of long lost memories of love and Pecola’s mother. His anger, pity and fear culminate in his misdirected desire for his own daughter; for the life she holds. He rapes his twelve-year-old daughter on the floor of the kitchen. He gives her his death, he takes her life and he leaves.
Pecola’s mother ignores the terrible truth of what has happened, but she has finally received freedom from the chains of this sad man. Pecola is lost and still feels that if she were beautiful, all would be well in her life. She goes to see a Magician to ask him for blue eyes. The man is a fake and is entirely crazy, but he promises her blue eyes –beauty. She believes him, and the madness that infected the magician is passed to Pecola. Although there is no physical change, Pecola believes her eyes are blue. She has the bluest eyes.
Reality takes root and Pecola is found to be pregnant with her father’s baby, and she can no longer go to school. She feels that all the talk and stares are caused by jealousy over her wonderful eyes; instead of the stigma she carries within herself. The people in her town curse her and her baby, her mother pretends the rape never happened, her “sisters” are afraid to talk to her, and her Fancy Ladies disappear from her life. Pecola is now invisible to everyone.
Her baby comes too early and dies. News of her father’s death makes way back to town, but no one seems to care. Pecola has wrapped herself up into the fantasy of beauty and has no attachment to the world around her. Everything that motivates her is the assurance that she is beautiful. She spends her days wandering in the town dump, eating out of trash bins and dancing through the piles of rotting refuse. She could care less, because she has the bluest eyes in the world. She is beauty.
If Pecola had been born to another family, she wouldn’t have been christened ugly at birth. If her mother ‘d loved her for whom she was instead of what she looked like, her spirit would have had a chance to thrive. If her father would have given her bread instead of a stone, she could have had a life. If her community had reached out and held fast, she could have been transformed by their love. Pecola remains to be what her dim world made her: ugly in appearance, sick of mind, ill in spirit, sexually demonized by rape and wandering in the town dump. Like Hamlet, Pecola’s father dammed her to death before she had a chance to live. Madness and death are the “sisters” she now holds on to.
The Bluest Eye tells the “how” of Pecola’s life, the “why” is revealed by the people left to tell the rest of her story. The debt of violence, death and despair is too expensive for anyone to pay – even if they have the bluest eyes.
There are some stories that are so terrible, that hold so much hurt and loss that the how is what can be shared minus the why. Pecola was born to wounded parents, in a broken down house, after the last ember of love and warmth had died away. Sometimes you hear stories of what isolation can do to infants. If no one comes to care for his or her needs: being held fed and loved; the child languishes and dies. Pecola’s mother had to go back to work when she and her brother were young. Her father was there when he felt like it, but was drunk most of the time anyway. The home was ill attended to, and if her parents were there together they would fight. Glass flying, voices screaming, and all Pecola thought was…if I had blue eyes everything would be perfect.
It amazes me how children will absorb the chaos around them, excuse the violence around them, and say it wouldn’t happen if they were good, obedient or beautiful. That is such a lie. Children don’t choose whom they’re born to.
Pecola’s existence is one that astounds me. A girl like her, with a family life like hers’- how did she survive? In a drunken stupor, her father sets fire to their ramshackle apartment because he wants everything to be over. The fire is extinguished, but the destructive power of her father’s rage is only stoked. As her mother tries to pull together a shabby household, Pecola leaves to stay with another family in town. This family isn’t rich. But there is a warm bed, milk to drink and two girls to be her “sisters”. For the first time Pecola has some semblance of a family, even if it is only for a few days.
Pecola has to use the survival skills she learned at home, to make it at school. Rumors about her father’s sexualized and drunken acts spread like wild fire, making her feel more ugly and lost than ever before. Her new “sisters” defend her from the mob of merciless children. But over time, the attacks become too rash for them to continue to provide.
Pecola finds friends where she can. She is particularly fascinated by the Fancy Ladies that live close by her salvaged apartment. She enjoys their songs and sass, although she is too naïve to understand their humor. They don’t tell her she is ugly and she doesn’t feel invisible in their presence.
Pecola is invisible at home. The house is more dead than alive. The only sign of life in it are her efforts to wash dishes or read in the corner of the room. He brother leaves home, as the atmosphere of death is too much for him to bear. Her father sees the clean dishes, read books and the reminder of long lost memories of love and Pecola’s mother. His anger, pity and fear culminate in his misdirected desire for his own daughter; for the life she holds. He rapes his twelve-year-old daughter on the floor of the kitchen. He gives her his death, he takes her life and he leaves.
Pecola’s mother ignores the terrible truth of what has happened, but she has finally received freedom from the chains of this sad man. Pecola is lost and still feels that if she were beautiful, all would be well in her life. She goes to see a Magician to ask him for blue eyes. The man is a fake and is entirely crazy, but he promises her blue eyes –beauty. She believes him, and the madness that infected the magician is passed to Pecola. Although there is no physical change, Pecola believes her eyes are blue. She has the bluest eyes.
Reality takes root and Pecola is found to be pregnant with her father’s baby, and she can no longer go to school. She feels that all the talk and stares are caused by jealousy over her wonderful eyes; instead of the stigma she carries within herself. The people in her town curse her and her baby, her mother pretends the rape never happened, her “sisters” are afraid to talk to her, and her Fancy Ladies disappear from her life. Pecola is now invisible to everyone.
Her baby comes too early and dies. News of her father’s death makes way back to town, but no one seems to care. Pecola has wrapped herself up into the fantasy of beauty and has no attachment to the world around her. Everything that motivates her is the assurance that she is beautiful. She spends her days wandering in the town dump, eating out of trash bins and dancing through the piles of rotting refuse. She could care less, because she has the bluest eyes in the world. She is beauty.
If Pecola had been born to another family, she wouldn’t have been christened ugly at birth. If her mother ‘d loved her for whom she was instead of what she looked like, her spirit would have had a chance to thrive. If her father would have given her bread instead of a stone, she could have had a life. If her community had reached out and held fast, she could have been transformed by their love. Pecola remains to be what her dim world made her: ugly in appearance, sick of mind, ill in spirit, sexually demonized by rape and wandering in the town dump. Like Hamlet, Pecola’s father dammed her to death before she had a chance to live. Madness and death are the “sisters” she now holds on to.
The Bluest Eye tells the “how” of Pecola’s life, the “why” is revealed by the people left to tell the rest of her story. The debt of violence, death and despair is too expensive for anyone to pay – even if they have the bluest eyes.
Having our Say: The Delany Sisters’ First 100 Years
Creating a life that is full of meaning is a challenge for each individual to achieve. Meaning is often represented by an individuals’ successful personal achievement. This success is often viewed through the glasses of academics, material belongings, social status or acquiring a well-rounded healthy psyche. There are many reasons many people never achieve this kind of marvelous life; poverty, personal disability and poor resources begin a long list of “could have been except…” reasons for little achievement in life.
Sarah and Elizabeth Delany were two black women that easily could have fit into the “could have been except…” category, but instead lived their days with sapless courage and determination. In their biography “Having Our Say”, Sadie and Bess speak honestly about the challenges of growing up and living life as black women during socially stressful and dangerous times. Both Sadie and Bess lived long lives filled with the experiences many of us can’t imagine, living to be over 100 years each. These women were born into post Civil War southern society in the late 1880’s to a former slave, black, and college-educated father; and a mulatto, college-educated mother.
The largest question posed by the Delany sisters was, “Is it more difficult to be black, or to be a woman in life?” Both women were raised to achieve all that they could in life and were expected to show great determination to gain a proper education. Persisting to achieve more in life sometime put Sadie and Bess in dangerous situations. Once Sadie was almost lynched because she talked back to a drunk, white man that entered the segregated train car and spoke coarsely to her. It seemed that before anything else, people attacked Sadie or Bess first because they were black and second because they were women in a world that wasn’t ready for them. Prejudice was found in unexpected places for Bessie as she recalls her graduation from Columbia University, “ I suppose I should be grateful to Columbia, that at that time they let me in but they beat me down for being there! I don’t know how I got through that place, except when I was young nothing could hold me back. No, sir! I thought I could change the world. It took me a hundred years to figure out I can’t change the world. I can only change Bessie. And, honey, that ain’t easy, either (p.114).”
Their story passes from their childhood, into early education, then their move to Harlem during the cultural awakening and then on to their days at Columbia University. Most individuals stop the process of learning in life. After they get their degree or dream job people often feel that they have done enough. Bess and Sadie continue to be student’s of life even after achieving their standard breaking careers, as the first black woman dentist and the first black woman high-school teacher in New York City. Education was the motivation that developed their minds and spirits, helping them to learn from life in any circumstance. Bess said, “ You see I still have the urge to change the world. The truth is, you’re born a certain way and there’s some things you can change, and some you can’t”(p.200). Education was something they could use to change themselves…and maybe the world.
Sadie and Bess lived through segregation, Negros and women gaining the vote, World War I, the Great Depression, World War II, integration, Vietnam, The Cold War, JFK and Martin Luther King’s assassination and many other pivotal historical events. But the most amazing thing to each of them is that they have lived beyond the limited reach of those people and ideas that tried to hold them back. Sadie exclaims, “ We’ve out lived those old rebby boys! That’s one way to beat them! That’s justice…Truth is, I never thought I’d see the day when people would be interested in hearing what two old Negro women have to say. Life still surprises me. So maybe the last laugh’s on me (p. 209).”
Sadie and Bess Delany tell their story of changing themselves in such a powerful way that I can’t help thinking they changed the way someone thought, reacted to or treated someone that was different than themselves. Prejudice is the like trying to see with a wool blanket over your head, it’s irritating and blinding. The Delany sisters pull the blanket of prejudice off of one hundred years by living with courage and determination. Sadie and Bess did more that change their lives; they changed mine by sharing their amazing story.
Sarah and Elizabeth Delany were two black women that easily could have fit into the “could have been except…” category, but instead lived their days with sapless courage and determination. In their biography “Having Our Say”, Sadie and Bess speak honestly about the challenges of growing up and living life as black women during socially stressful and dangerous times. Both Sadie and Bess lived long lives filled with the experiences many of us can’t imagine, living to be over 100 years each. These women were born into post Civil War southern society in the late 1880’s to a former slave, black, and college-educated father; and a mulatto, college-educated mother.
The largest question posed by the Delany sisters was, “Is it more difficult to be black, or to be a woman in life?” Both women were raised to achieve all that they could in life and were expected to show great determination to gain a proper education. Persisting to achieve more in life sometime put Sadie and Bess in dangerous situations. Once Sadie was almost lynched because she talked back to a drunk, white man that entered the segregated train car and spoke coarsely to her. It seemed that before anything else, people attacked Sadie or Bess first because they were black and second because they were women in a world that wasn’t ready for them. Prejudice was found in unexpected places for Bessie as she recalls her graduation from Columbia University, “ I suppose I should be grateful to Columbia, that at that time they let me in but they beat me down for being there! I don’t know how I got through that place, except when I was young nothing could hold me back. No, sir! I thought I could change the world. It took me a hundred years to figure out I can’t change the world. I can only change Bessie. And, honey, that ain’t easy, either (p.114).”
Their story passes from their childhood, into early education, then their move to Harlem during the cultural awakening and then on to their days at Columbia University. Most individuals stop the process of learning in life. After they get their degree or dream job people often feel that they have done enough. Bess and Sadie continue to be student’s of life even after achieving their standard breaking careers, as the first black woman dentist and the first black woman high-school teacher in New York City. Education was the motivation that developed their minds and spirits, helping them to learn from life in any circumstance. Bess said, “ You see I still have the urge to change the world. The truth is, you’re born a certain way and there’s some things you can change, and some you can’t”(p.200). Education was something they could use to change themselves…and maybe the world.
Sadie and Bess lived through segregation, Negros and women gaining the vote, World War I, the Great Depression, World War II, integration, Vietnam, The Cold War, JFK and Martin Luther King’s assassination and many other pivotal historical events. But the most amazing thing to each of them is that they have lived beyond the limited reach of those people and ideas that tried to hold them back. Sadie exclaims, “ We’ve out lived those old rebby boys! That’s one way to beat them! That’s justice…Truth is, I never thought I’d see the day when people would be interested in hearing what two old Negro women have to say. Life still surprises me. So maybe the last laugh’s on me (p. 209).”
Sadie and Bess Delany tell their story of changing themselves in such a powerful way that I can’t help thinking they changed the way someone thought, reacted to or treated someone that was different than themselves. Prejudice is the like trying to see with a wool blanket over your head, it’s irritating and blinding. The Delany sisters pull the blanket of prejudice off of one hundred years by living with courage and determination. Sadie and Bess did more that change their lives; they changed mine by sharing their amazing story.
Many Dimensions
A mysterious stone -- a religious artifact from the middle east -- is igniting controversy in Great Britain. Incredible rumors spread about the stone's magical properties, which include healing, travel through space and time, and telepathy.
If you haven't yet guessed, you're in Charles Williams territory again. This time the subject is his second novel, Many Dimensions, first published in 1931. This book differs greatly from my introduction to Williams, the complex and dense Descent Into Hell, as it is a much more straightforward, almost breezy, read. The book is filled with witty, well-defined characters and a storyline that begs a reader to keep turning the pages.
It is revealed that the stone is composed of "first matter" -- the original matter that God called into existence at the creation. The stone was entrusted to King Solomon, who referred to the stone as "The End of Desire." But mankind, in its fallen state, has its heart set on many desires. Some people want to use the stone for good (such as healing people or improving intelligence), but the object has been consecrated for Holy purposes, which goes even beyond our notions of "good." Debates over the correct use of the stone causes unexpected conflict between common people. Even worse is the desire of the government and big business to exert power and control over an object that they simply do not understand. Using the stone for evil ends leads to calamitous results. Everyone desires the stone, but few desire the One who gives the stone its power.
Charles Williams books can be hard to find, which is a shame because I simply could not put this book down. Here's hoping that someday soon he'll get the recognition he deserves and find a place on bookstore shelves with C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien.
If you haven't yet guessed, you're in Charles Williams territory again. This time the subject is his second novel, Many Dimensions, first published in 1931. This book differs greatly from my introduction to Williams, the complex and dense Descent Into Hell, as it is a much more straightforward, almost breezy, read. The book is filled with witty, well-defined characters and a storyline that begs a reader to keep turning the pages.
It is revealed that the stone is composed of "first matter" -- the original matter that God called into existence at the creation. The stone was entrusted to King Solomon, who referred to the stone as "The End of Desire." But mankind, in its fallen state, has its heart set on many desires. Some people want to use the stone for good (such as healing people or improving intelligence), but the object has been consecrated for Holy purposes, which goes even beyond our notions of "good." Debates over the correct use of the stone causes unexpected conflict between common people. Even worse is the desire of the government and big business to exert power and control over an object that they simply do not understand. Using the stone for evil ends leads to calamitous results. Everyone desires the stone, but few desire the One who gives the stone its power.
Charles Williams books can be hard to find, which is a shame because I simply could not put this book down. Here's hoping that someday soon he'll get the recognition he deserves and find a place on bookstore shelves with C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien.
Friday, February 20, 2004
Ice and Immortality
I received the sad news yesterday that my Aunt Evelyn passed away. She was the last of my family's large number of great aunts and uncles. It's impossible for me to sift my memories of her apart from her large white country house and sprawling property because I so very rarely saw her anywhere else. Lebby, as she was known by everyone, opened up her big yard to the rest of the family for any and all occasions: Labor Day, 4th of July, Memorial Day, graduations, and any birthdays that were lucky enough to fall in the warm weather months. I wonder how many bonfires, sparklers, and rounds of Jarts and croquet were enjoyed over the decades? Those lazy days were much more than picnics, though. They provided us with a way of staying connected as a family.
You didn't go to Lebby's house because you received an invitation. You went to Lebby's house because you belonged. People would just drift in over the course of the day, even if only for an hour or two. And it was O.K. to bring a member of your extended family, or a friend, or a girlfriend. As I get older I appreciate more and more her rare gift of hospitality.
Lebby never had children of her own. But you would never guess it, from the warmth and kindness that she showed to all of us kids. She never displayed the impatience of someone who expects children to be little adults -- quite the contrary, she was the type of grownup that had the ability to converse with young people in a genuine and authentic way. We all mattered to Aunt Lebby.
So it was in a rather somber mood that my children, my mother, and I took a drive around Chautauqua Lake to see the Ice Castle. Every year we somehow miss the winter festival itself, but manage to at least take the trek to Mayville to appreciate the community's handiwork before it melts away. The temperatures were in only in the 30s, but it felt warm after our recent bitter temperatures. The sunshine had already eroded away the detail at some of the ice sculptures, obscuring the artist's intent. But the Ice Castle itself was still standing bold against the panorama of the lake. A green-blue light shone through its walls in the most strangely beautiful way. My mom and I took turns photographing the castle. She commented that it would all be gone in a month and we would only have the photographs left to admire.
And it needs to be so. Winter will soon give way to the Spring. And Spring will bring with it something much better -- green grass, flowers, warm breezes, and sunshine.
In the same way, Aunt Evelyn's passing is really her transition into the springtime of her life. She has taken up residence in a new homestead with a new yard. For the first time, she's the one walking into a family gathering already in progress. And she's basking in the hospitality of the One who loves us all.
You didn't go to Lebby's house because you received an invitation. You went to Lebby's house because you belonged. People would just drift in over the course of the day, even if only for an hour or two. And it was O.K. to bring a member of your extended family, or a friend, or a girlfriend. As I get older I appreciate more and more her rare gift of hospitality.
Lebby never had children of her own. But you would never guess it, from the warmth and kindness that she showed to all of us kids. She never displayed the impatience of someone who expects children to be little adults -- quite the contrary, she was the type of grownup that had the ability to converse with young people in a genuine and authentic way. We all mattered to Aunt Lebby.
So it was in a rather somber mood that my children, my mother, and I took a drive around Chautauqua Lake to see the Ice Castle. Every year we somehow miss the winter festival itself, but manage to at least take the trek to Mayville to appreciate the community's handiwork before it melts away. The temperatures were in only in the 30s, but it felt warm after our recent bitter temperatures. The sunshine had already eroded away the detail at some of the ice sculptures, obscuring the artist's intent. But the Ice Castle itself was still standing bold against the panorama of the lake. A green-blue light shone through its walls in the most strangely beautiful way. My mom and I took turns photographing the castle. She commented that it would all be gone in a month and we would only have the photographs left to admire.
And it needs to be so. Winter will soon give way to the Spring. And Spring will bring with it something much better -- green grass, flowers, warm breezes, and sunshine.
In the same way, Aunt Evelyn's passing is really her transition into the springtime of her life. She has taken up residence in a new homestead with a new yard. For the first time, she's the one walking into a family gathering already in progress. And she's basking in the hospitality of the One who loves us all.
Let's Go Play
It doesn't take too long when you look into the lives of infamous or famous individuals before “stories” emerge with tales of sacrifice and challenge. There are stories of actors struggles to make it onto Broadway, politicians who finally win their campaign for office and writers that finally get published.
I would like to suggest that the true essence of every individual's story is not found in the remembrance of their “glory days” or in the cumulative fruit of their labor. The most poignant stories come from an individual's daily execution and pursuit of their hopes, skills and dreams. So much of our life’s value is based upon the bottom line that often we miss the point of the creative act altogether.
The joy and purpose of creating something is not in accessing the material value of a created work; but in the act of creating and expressing a thought or idea - even if no one ever sees the creation. I feel our society can either overstimulate the ego of the creative individual by funneling their efforts into profit in lieu of purpose. Because our society is more interested in the marketability of what is created opposed to the act of creating; critics often trample the enthusiasm and efforts of the creative individual. Criticism often stalls and often stops the creative efforts of many individuals, because they are told it is foolish to work on something that holds no material value. When you apply this idea to anyone’s life and work ethic, how much of our motivation is based upon material reward and the expectations of others?
While critics and society do play a part in creative effort, the final responsibility and motivation falls upon the individual who desires to create. In her book, “A Circle of Quiet”, Madeleine L'Engle says that true creativity occurs when the individual acts outside self and selfconsciousness and wholly concentrates on the act of creating and fully participates in the act by taking an investigative and childlike approach to creating.
The key to understanding and approaching any creative project begins when we look at it through the eyes of a child. A child doesn’t consider the value of a sandcastle before he builds it, or wonder if a song makes sense before he sings it; the child builds his castle because he wants to make it, and he makes up a songs because he wants to sing it. Many people are paralyzed to create anything simply because they‘ve forgotten how to play.
As a child, I remember how I could escape my home, family and even myself when I would play with my crayons, Barbies and a tape recorder. Once when I was in Kindergarten, I remember spending an entire Sunday afternoon playing with the hair of one particular doll. She had a hair extension that made it easy to create unending options for fabulous hairdos. I gave her pigtails first because that is what I wore, and then I took that out. I tied it like a hair band so she looked like Alice in Wonderland. Then I decided to do something with Barbie hair that had never been done before. I was going to create something new. I twisted and tied her hair this way and that. I teased, fluffed and tucked her hair into the most extravagant “up do” that my six year old mind could muster. My plain blond Barbie had been transformed into the most elegant doll on the face of the planet... at least to me.
There was no way that I could let the rest of the people in my world live out the day without seeing my wonderful creation. My sister thought it was neat, my brother just grunted at me, my Dad said it was nice, but my Mom gave me a great idea. She told me that if I was very careful, I could take my doll to school for show-and-tell on Monday. I was so excited. My Mom had never let me take a Barbie to school before. I must have done something really amazing with doll hair for my Mom to let me do this. So I packed her in a soft hand towel, wrapped her in something to keep her from getting wet and put her safely in my bag for school. Before I left for school the next morning, my Mom told me something very wise. “Keep your doll in your bag until you get to school and it’s time for show and tell. You don’t want anything to happen to her hair.”
Walking with a hop in my step and swinging my blue bag with my name on it, I proudly climbed aboard my bright yellow bus with a huge smile. I remember thinking that day was going to be great.
It was great. I told my friends what was in my bag. I told them that they would have to wait to show and tell and that it was going to knock their socks off!
J-- was sitting in front of me and she had been listening to my conversation with great interest. She was in first grade and usually was rather nasty to everyone, especially to little kindergarten girls with long brown pigtails. Today for some reason, she thought I was really cool. I was rather impressed. If this was what hairstyling skills can do for a person, I was gonna be set for life.
Things were going great, until J-- asked to see my doll. If I said yes, she might be nice to me. If I said no, she probably would pull my pigtails. I took a chance. I took my doll out of my bag, out of my water tight wrap, and out of the dishtowel. J-- seemed somewhat impressed and smiled as she asked to “hold” my doll. I had already blown off my Mom’s advice not to show the doll and that was risky enough. Now I was in an unexpected, insecure situation. What to do.
As I pondered what to do, J-- yanked the doll from my hands, ripped the fluffy wig off of her head and screamed, “ This is what I think your stupid doll!”. As she stomped the hair extension under her stinky, untied sneaker and into the tracks of the sticky, muddy floor of Bus number #5, I was dazed, angry, and shocked.
I was somehow able to get my doll out of her rough, clenched hands and pick up the soggy wig before she did any permanent damage. I held my tongue, at least for the last four minutes of the bus ride. But when I got to school and saw my teacher, my tears began to fall as I retold the horrible story. I don’t remember what happened to my doll or what happened to J--. I did remember that even if you make something you think is great, someone else may still hate it.
In the passing of time, I realize the best lesson to remember from this nasty little story should be that my focus shouldn't’t have been on what my family, teacher or even what J-- thought of me or my doll. My focus got off track when I became selfconscious about what I had created. In the end, I didn't’t stop playing with my doll’s hair. I did stop looking to the critics for the value in what I created and I kept on playing.
The act of creating can be art. By using words, numbers, colors and actions; lives can be encouraged, dreams can be realized, and the imagination can be freed to go and play - all for the sake of playing. The act of creating can be like prayer. When you pray you speak what is on your heart and mind. You focus all your attention, concentration, and hope into words free of pride and criticism - all for the sake of a prayer. Creating can be like loving someone. You support the person you love with understanding, loyalty, and hope; giving of yourself because you can’t help but to give - all for the sake of love.
Living a life that allows the freedom of creative thought provides every human with the ability to be and become their true ontological self. People can pursue and develop gifts that would have been dismissed or discarded, if the motivation is to enjoy the process of play. Creativity enables every persons’ life story to be shared without needing to be the center of the world it is shared with.
So let the musician play, even if there is no audience. Let the writer write, even if there is no publisher waiting in the wings.
Take out your dolls and try to create a new hairdo. Don’t be afraid to dance at your next wedding reception. Open your box of colors. Look at the names on the crayon wrappers and smell the pages of your coloring books. Let creativity free you to create an amazing life, not just amazing things. Create a life full of Barbie dolls, art, wedding polkas, prayer, love and crayon colored pictures on your refrigerator... all for the sake of playing.
I would like to suggest that the true essence of every individual's story is not found in the remembrance of their “glory days” or in the cumulative fruit of their labor. The most poignant stories come from an individual's daily execution and pursuit of their hopes, skills and dreams. So much of our life’s value is based upon the bottom line that often we miss the point of the creative act altogether.
The joy and purpose of creating something is not in accessing the material value of a created work; but in the act of creating and expressing a thought or idea - even if no one ever sees the creation. I feel our society can either overstimulate the ego of the creative individual by funneling their efforts into profit in lieu of purpose. Because our society is more interested in the marketability of what is created opposed to the act of creating; critics often trample the enthusiasm and efforts of the creative individual. Criticism often stalls and often stops the creative efforts of many individuals, because they are told it is foolish to work on something that holds no material value. When you apply this idea to anyone’s life and work ethic, how much of our motivation is based upon material reward and the expectations of others?
While critics and society do play a part in creative effort, the final responsibility and motivation falls upon the individual who desires to create. In her book, “A Circle of Quiet”, Madeleine L'Engle says that true creativity occurs when the individual acts outside self and selfconsciousness and wholly concentrates on the act of creating and fully participates in the act by taking an investigative and childlike approach to creating.
The key to understanding and approaching any creative project begins when we look at it through the eyes of a child. A child doesn’t consider the value of a sandcastle before he builds it, or wonder if a song makes sense before he sings it; the child builds his castle because he wants to make it, and he makes up a songs because he wants to sing it. Many people are paralyzed to create anything simply because they‘ve forgotten how to play.
As a child, I remember how I could escape my home, family and even myself when I would play with my crayons, Barbies and a tape recorder. Once when I was in Kindergarten, I remember spending an entire Sunday afternoon playing with the hair of one particular doll. She had a hair extension that made it easy to create unending options for fabulous hairdos. I gave her pigtails first because that is what I wore, and then I took that out. I tied it like a hair band so she looked like Alice in Wonderland. Then I decided to do something with Barbie hair that had never been done before. I was going to create something new. I twisted and tied her hair this way and that. I teased, fluffed and tucked her hair into the most extravagant “up do” that my six year old mind could muster. My plain blond Barbie had been transformed into the most elegant doll on the face of the planet... at least to me.
There was no way that I could let the rest of the people in my world live out the day without seeing my wonderful creation. My sister thought it was neat, my brother just grunted at me, my Dad said it was nice, but my Mom gave me a great idea. She told me that if I was very careful, I could take my doll to school for show-and-tell on Monday. I was so excited. My Mom had never let me take a Barbie to school before. I must have done something really amazing with doll hair for my Mom to let me do this. So I packed her in a soft hand towel, wrapped her in something to keep her from getting wet and put her safely in my bag for school. Before I left for school the next morning, my Mom told me something very wise. “Keep your doll in your bag until you get to school and it’s time for show and tell. You don’t want anything to happen to her hair.”
Walking with a hop in my step and swinging my blue bag with my name on it, I proudly climbed aboard my bright yellow bus with a huge smile. I remember thinking that day was going to be great.
It was great. I told my friends what was in my bag. I told them that they would have to wait to show and tell and that it was going to knock their socks off!
J-- was sitting in front of me and she had been listening to my conversation with great interest. She was in first grade and usually was rather nasty to everyone, especially to little kindergarten girls with long brown pigtails. Today for some reason, she thought I was really cool. I was rather impressed. If this was what hairstyling skills can do for a person, I was gonna be set for life.
Things were going great, until J-- asked to see my doll. If I said yes, she might be nice to me. If I said no, she probably would pull my pigtails. I took a chance. I took my doll out of my bag, out of my water tight wrap, and out of the dishtowel. J-- seemed somewhat impressed and smiled as she asked to “hold” my doll. I had already blown off my Mom’s advice not to show the doll and that was risky enough. Now I was in an unexpected, insecure situation. What to do.
As I pondered what to do, J-- yanked the doll from my hands, ripped the fluffy wig off of her head and screamed, “ This is what I think your stupid doll!”. As she stomped the hair extension under her stinky, untied sneaker and into the tracks of the sticky, muddy floor of Bus number #5, I was dazed, angry, and shocked.
I was somehow able to get my doll out of her rough, clenched hands and pick up the soggy wig before she did any permanent damage. I held my tongue, at least for the last four minutes of the bus ride. But when I got to school and saw my teacher, my tears began to fall as I retold the horrible story. I don’t remember what happened to my doll or what happened to J--. I did remember that even if you make something you think is great, someone else may still hate it.
In the passing of time, I realize the best lesson to remember from this nasty little story should be that my focus shouldn't’t have been on what my family, teacher or even what J-- thought of me or my doll. My focus got off track when I became selfconscious about what I had created. In the end, I didn't’t stop playing with my doll’s hair. I did stop looking to the critics for the value in what I created and I kept on playing.
The act of creating can be art. By using words, numbers, colors and actions; lives can be encouraged, dreams can be realized, and the imagination can be freed to go and play - all for the sake of playing. The act of creating can be like prayer. When you pray you speak what is on your heart and mind. You focus all your attention, concentration, and hope into words free of pride and criticism - all for the sake of a prayer. Creating can be like loving someone. You support the person you love with understanding, loyalty, and hope; giving of yourself because you can’t help but to give - all for the sake of love.
Living a life that allows the freedom of creative thought provides every human with the ability to be and become their true ontological self. People can pursue and develop gifts that would have been dismissed or discarded, if the motivation is to enjoy the process of play. Creativity enables every persons’ life story to be shared without needing to be the center of the world it is shared with.
So let the musician play, even if there is no audience. Let the writer write, even if there is no publisher waiting in the wings.
Take out your dolls and try to create a new hairdo. Don’t be afraid to dance at your next wedding reception. Open your box of colors. Look at the names on the crayon wrappers and smell the pages of your coloring books. Let creativity free you to create an amazing life, not just amazing things. Create a life full of Barbie dolls, art, wedding polkas, prayer, love and crayon colored pictures on your refrigerator... all for the sake of playing.
Thursday, February 19, 2004
Dusting the Cobwebs Off Oldies Radio
A radio revolution is taking place in a musty little basement in Salt Lake City. It is there in a makeshift studio that "Donovan" and "Premium Deluxe" put together Vinyl Cobwebs, a weekly internet program devoted to playing "obscure oldies all the time."
In an era where radio stations refuse to take listener requests but then pay thousands of bucks to consultants to tell them what listeners want to hear, the DJ–driven Vinyl Cobwebs is a real anachronism.
Culling playlists from nearly 10,000 obscure vinyl records rescued from local thrift stores, Vinyl Cobwebs treats its fans to the best rhythm and blues, rock, soul, psychedelia and novelty records that they've never heard. That's what keeps people from as far away as Australia and China downloading the program each and every week.
I.F. recently caught up with music and comedy mastermind Donovan to discuss broadcasting, oddball humor, and how a creepy Colonel Sanders mask purchased on eBay inspired an underground movie.
I.F.: There’s not a place in North America where you can’t find an oldies station or two on the radio dial. Why put a show on the internet?
Donovan: First and foremost, 99% of every oldies broadcast station is consultant driven, meaning that they are geared towards making money thru advertising, etc. They are limited or "handicapped" as we call it, to playing a limited set of tunes that are deemed worthy by the listening public. This includes only the remembered hits. To sustain a show of obscure oldies we found no other avenue but to put it on the internet. No corporate oldies stations would take a chance on our eclectic format.
I.F.: Any college kid with a nose ring and a CD collection feels qualified to gripe about the radio industry. But you guys actually know what you’re talking about -- you have legitimate broadcast backgrounds.
Donovan: Legitimate! (laughs) I guess you could say so... I worked for several years here in Salt Lake City back in the early 90s for KTKK and KCNR, both talk stations. Premium also did some stints at community radio playing his brand of oldies but goodies.
I.F.: What do you enjoy best about being on the internet?
Donovan: The fact that we have don't have a program director! Total freedom. We can just let loose, play whatever we feel like playing, say whatever we feel like saying... That's what makes Vinyl Cobwebs so great. There's no real formula, just two guys spinning what we call "the platters that matter."
I.F.: How has the internet community reacted?
Donovan: We've received quite a lot of praise over the craziness and wackiness of the whole format of the show. We've also had some insulting e-mail in regards to our lame antics and characters on the show. But we love those insulting e-mails almost more than the praise! The funny thing is that 90% of the nay sayers keep e–mailing back every week, so we know they're still listening!
I.F.: It must be like a car wreck... They can't look away...
Donovan: Yeah, right. Some listeners complain weekly, yet they've been on board for years!
I.F.: Oddball humor and hip old records aren’t the first things that come to my mind when I think of Salt Lake City. What’s it like living in the backyard of the Latter Day Saints?
Donovan: Maybe the whole obscure oldies trip we're on comes from living in a strange environment. Utah has a very strong counterculture, and we feel that might contribute to our strange and sometimes devious humor on the show. Everyone has this crazy idea that people in Utah, particularly Mormons, live like the old Quakers of yesteryear. But in reality they drive cars, have electricity and some of them even drink booze! Shocking!
I.F.: Your creative partnership with Premium Deluxe has expanded beyond the radio program. Tell me about your first film venture, Wun Blee Chun Dee.
Donovan: The film follows the plight of a 40 year-old man living with his parents who has a nightmare where a mentally challenged indian gives him his indian name -- WUN BLEE CHUNG DEE! He discovers that this holy name means "heart of a chicken" and embarks on a journey as the Chicken Man -- in a Colonel Sanders mask -- to lead all believers unto the Lord!
I.F.: I'm speechless! Did you ever wonder if you were taking the humor too far?
Donovan: I've never thought that things could go too far! What makes film making fun for me is pushing the envelope. My criteria is that if something makes someone laugh, then it's funny! It doesn't matter how politically incorrect it may be deemed! I've always loved bizarre and b-movie stuff like John Waters and David Lynch films.
I.F.: Joe Bob Briggs would be proud.
Donovan: When we first showed the film at the Utah Media Arts Festival, we saw first hand how some folks were uncomfortable with some of the footage, especially the blackface scene we included. Yet some folks were rolling in the aisles. I guess it just depends on what kind of outlook you have on life.
I.F.: Did any professional media critics see the film?
Donovan: I don't think there's anything "professional" about the Utah Media Arts Fest! It's one of the cheesiest amateur film fest showings around! So no real "media critics" had the opportunity to lambast the film. But reaction from the audience was wild. Love it or hate it, people always had something to say about it.
I.F.: Were you making a statement about religion and race or just being silly?
Donovan: IF a statement exists among the content of Wun Blee Chun Dee, you can find it if you have an open mind.
I.F.: ?
Donovan: Actually, I've never liked it when anyone, including movie makers, story writers, song writers, etc. goes out and insist that you understand their message. It's all up to the listener or viewer. What they make of it is what they make of it... How's that for avoiding the question? I should be a politician!
I.F.: Or a member of the Salt Lake Olympic bid committee!
Donovan: --
I.F.: When should our readers expect to see Wun Blee Chun Dee at their local movieplex?
Donovan: (laughs uncontrollably) How's that for an answer? It should be left among the wasteland of movie wastelands. However good or bad it may be, it's meant to stay underground. I want it to stay underground.
I.F.: You guys are really on a creative roll with the weekly radio show and your first movie. Where would you like to see the Vinyl Cobwebs empire end up?
Donovan: I believe that Vinyl Cobwebs will be appreciated more when it's gone. You know, how the old artists never were truly appreciated until they died. They never got to see their paintings sell for millions of dollars. I hope someday 40 or 50 years from now, someone somehow will be shopping in a thrift store and be intrigued by a copy of Wun Blee Chun Dee they come across in a dusty old bin of stuff or maybe find a Vinyl Cobwebs show on CD.
I.F.: The same way you and Premium came across most of the gems you play on your program.
Donovan: Or try this scenario on for size... A consultant-driven radio station discovers that people want to hear more than Surfin' Safari for the millionth time and decides to syndicate Vinyl Cobwebs for all to hear!
I.F.: So mote it be!
Donovan: It would be great to wake up some of the stale music radio stations that salt and pepper this terrestrial earth!
I.F.: Are you ever concerned about the recording industry killing off the internet radio community just like they polished off Napster?
Donovan: Not really. The industry is more interested in killing the big guy than dealing with hobbycasters like Vinyl Cobwebs. That's why I love the fact that our show, our movies and our lives will stay in the small time underground. There are people out there who don't want us to sell out. Those are Vinyl Cobwebs kind of people!
I.F.: To a lot of your fans, you guys are like “the little DJs that could.” What advice would you give to those poor souls who feel stifled working in the communications industry?
Donovan: First -- poor baby, you feel stifled! Second, never do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. If you are unhappy, get the fuck out!
Curious about Vinyl Cobwebs? Then point your web browser to www.vinylcobwebs.freeservers.com to downloaded this week's program in convenient mp3 format files or www.live365.com/stations/215676 to listen to an 24 hour a day streaming webcast. Instructions to purchase Wun Blee Chun Dee on VHS or DVD can be found at their website.
In an era where radio stations refuse to take listener requests but then pay thousands of bucks to consultants to tell them what listeners want to hear, the DJ–driven Vinyl Cobwebs is a real anachronism.
Culling playlists from nearly 10,000 obscure vinyl records rescued from local thrift stores, Vinyl Cobwebs treats its fans to the best rhythm and blues, rock, soul, psychedelia and novelty records that they've never heard. That's what keeps people from as far away as Australia and China downloading the program each and every week.
I.F. recently caught up with music and comedy mastermind Donovan to discuss broadcasting, oddball humor, and how a creepy Colonel Sanders mask purchased on eBay inspired an underground movie.
I.F.: There’s not a place in North America where you can’t find an oldies station or two on the radio dial. Why put a show on the internet?
Donovan: First and foremost, 99% of every oldies broadcast station is consultant driven, meaning that they are geared towards making money thru advertising, etc. They are limited or "handicapped" as we call it, to playing a limited set of tunes that are deemed worthy by the listening public. This includes only the remembered hits. To sustain a show of obscure oldies we found no other avenue but to put it on the internet. No corporate oldies stations would take a chance on our eclectic format.
I.F.: Any college kid with a nose ring and a CD collection feels qualified to gripe about the radio industry. But you guys actually know what you’re talking about -- you have legitimate broadcast backgrounds.
Donovan: Legitimate! (laughs) I guess you could say so... I worked for several years here in Salt Lake City back in the early 90s for KTKK and KCNR, both talk stations. Premium also did some stints at community radio playing his brand of oldies but goodies.
I.F.: What do you enjoy best about being on the internet?
Donovan: The fact that we have don't have a program director! Total freedom. We can just let loose, play whatever we feel like playing, say whatever we feel like saying... That's what makes Vinyl Cobwebs so great. There's no real formula, just two guys spinning what we call "the platters that matter."
I.F.: How has the internet community reacted?
Donovan: We've received quite a lot of praise over the craziness and wackiness of the whole format of the show. We've also had some insulting e-mail in regards to our lame antics and characters on the show. But we love those insulting e-mails almost more than the praise! The funny thing is that 90% of the nay sayers keep e–mailing back every week, so we know they're still listening!
I.F.: It must be like a car wreck... They can't look away...
Donovan: Yeah, right. Some listeners complain weekly, yet they've been on board for years!
I.F.: Oddball humor and hip old records aren’t the first things that come to my mind when I think of Salt Lake City. What’s it like living in the backyard of the Latter Day Saints?
Donovan: Maybe the whole obscure oldies trip we're on comes from living in a strange environment. Utah has a very strong counterculture, and we feel that might contribute to our strange and sometimes devious humor on the show. Everyone has this crazy idea that people in Utah, particularly Mormons, live like the old Quakers of yesteryear. But in reality they drive cars, have electricity and some of them even drink booze! Shocking!
I.F.: Your creative partnership with Premium Deluxe has expanded beyond the radio program. Tell me about your first film venture, Wun Blee Chun Dee.
Donovan: The film follows the plight of a 40 year-old man living with his parents who has a nightmare where a mentally challenged indian gives him his indian name -- WUN BLEE CHUNG DEE! He discovers that this holy name means "heart of a chicken" and embarks on a journey as the Chicken Man -- in a Colonel Sanders mask -- to lead all believers unto the Lord!
I.F.: I'm speechless! Did you ever wonder if you were taking the humor too far?
Donovan: I've never thought that things could go too far! What makes film making fun for me is pushing the envelope. My criteria is that if something makes someone laugh, then it's funny! It doesn't matter how politically incorrect it may be deemed! I've always loved bizarre and b-movie stuff like John Waters and David Lynch films.
I.F.: Joe Bob Briggs would be proud.
Donovan: When we first showed the film at the Utah Media Arts Festival, we saw first hand how some folks were uncomfortable with some of the footage, especially the blackface scene we included. Yet some folks were rolling in the aisles. I guess it just depends on what kind of outlook you have on life.
I.F.: Did any professional media critics see the film?
Donovan: I don't think there's anything "professional" about the Utah Media Arts Fest! It's one of the cheesiest amateur film fest showings around! So no real "media critics" had the opportunity to lambast the film. But reaction from the audience was wild. Love it or hate it, people always had something to say about it.
I.F.: Were you making a statement about religion and race or just being silly?
Donovan: IF a statement exists among the content of Wun Blee Chun Dee, you can find it if you have an open mind.
I.F.: ?
Donovan: Actually, I've never liked it when anyone, including movie makers, story writers, song writers, etc. goes out and insist that you understand their message. It's all up to the listener or viewer. What they make of it is what they make of it... How's that for avoiding the question? I should be a politician!
I.F.: Or a member of the Salt Lake Olympic bid committee!
Donovan: --
I.F.: When should our readers expect to see Wun Blee Chun Dee at their local movieplex?
Donovan: (laughs uncontrollably) How's that for an answer? It should be left among the wasteland of movie wastelands. However good or bad it may be, it's meant to stay underground. I want it to stay underground.
I.F.: You guys are really on a creative roll with the weekly radio show and your first movie. Where would you like to see the Vinyl Cobwebs empire end up?
Donovan: I believe that Vinyl Cobwebs will be appreciated more when it's gone. You know, how the old artists never were truly appreciated until they died. They never got to see their paintings sell for millions of dollars. I hope someday 40 or 50 years from now, someone somehow will be shopping in a thrift store and be intrigued by a copy of Wun Blee Chun Dee they come across in a dusty old bin of stuff or maybe find a Vinyl Cobwebs show on CD.
I.F.: The same way you and Premium came across most of the gems you play on your program.
Donovan: Or try this scenario on for size... A consultant-driven radio station discovers that people want to hear more than Surfin' Safari for the millionth time and decides to syndicate Vinyl Cobwebs for all to hear!
I.F.: So mote it be!
Donovan: It would be great to wake up some of the stale music radio stations that salt and pepper this terrestrial earth!
I.F.: Are you ever concerned about the recording industry killing off the internet radio community just like they polished off Napster?
Donovan: Not really. The industry is more interested in killing the big guy than dealing with hobbycasters like Vinyl Cobwebs. That's why I love the fact that our show, our movies and our lives will stay in the small time underground. There are people out there who don't want us to sell out. Those are Vinyl Cobwebs kind of people!
I.F.: To a lot of your fans, you guys are like “the little DJs that could.” What advice would you give to those poor souls who feel stifled working in the communications industry?
Donovan: First -- poor baby, you feel stifled! Second, never do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. If you are unhappy, get the fuck out!
Curious about Vinyl Cobwebs? Then point your web browser to www.vinylcobwebs.freeservers.com to downloaded this week's program in convenient mp3 format files or www.live365.com/stations/215676 to listen to an 24 hour a day streaming webcast. Instructions to purchase Wun Blee Chun Dee on VHS or DVD can be found at their website.
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Quote of the Day
"You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do."
-- Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird
-- Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
Don't make me angry... You wouldn't like me when I'm angry...
One would get the impression from my recent blog posts that all I do is read books by Christian Mystics. So I thought that I would dispel that myth by reviewing some comic books.
The Marvel Essentials series is a cheap way for people like me to buy back my childhood. Each edition reprints about 500 pages of the early years of Marvel Comics in one convenient paperback book. One drawback is that the reprints are in black and white, but what do you expect for fifteen bucks?
The Essential Incredible Hulk Volume 1 collects a few dozen of Ol' Greeny's early appearances in Marvel Comics between 1962 to 1967. That's really not a lot of output for a character that has become one of the most iconic in the Marvel stable of characters. A little bit of comics trivia for you -- the original run of the Hulk was cancelled after just 6 scanty issues. The Hulk was kept alive through guest appearances in other mags until he landed a steady gig as a co-feature with Giant Man and Sub-Mariner in Tales to Astonish. It wasn't until 1968 or so that sales warranted the Not-so-Jolly Green Giant getting his own book again.
This book is probably the best evidence as to why it took so long for the Hulk to move into the limelight. (Sorry about that last pun.) While the Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde meets Frankenstein premise seems straightforward enough, it seems like writer Stan Lee didn't really have a handle on the direction the series should take. For instance, is the Hulk a hero or monster? Some stories have him saving humanity only as a byproduct of his own selfish actions. Other issues portray Bruce Banner intentionally turning into the Hulk to fight crime, ala Batman or something.
And how does Bruce transform into the Hulk anyhow? The first few issues seem to indicate in the best horror movie fashion that the metamorphosis happens at sundown. Others show the "don't make me angry" schtick familiar to TV viewers. And for a run of a few issues, Bruce uses a gamma ray device that he built to change back and forth at will.
Much of the book is made up of stories culled from Tales to Astonish in which the Hulk only made up half the comic. The shorter page count doesn't lend itself to what Marvel did best -- developing characters and fantastic story arcs. Unlike Spider-Man, it's hard to get involved in the lives of the cast of characters. It's hard to sympathize with an anti-hero like the Hulk, and the military base setting just seems too far removed from real life as opposed to the New York setting of most of the other Marvel characters. Sometimes the Hulk appears to have Banner's mind and an antisocial chip on his shoulder, sometimes he just appears dumb.
The inconstancy finds its way into the artwork as well. It seems as if the whole bullpen handled the penciling at one time or another, including Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko, and Bill Everett. Some artists only drew one issue, which leads to a lack of consistency in the look of the supporting cast of characters.
I'd recommend passing on this one. If you want to take a look at Marvel Comics in its prime, check out the Spider-Man or Fantastic Four Essentials instead.
The Marvel Essentials series is a cheap way for people like me to buy back my childhood. Each edition reprints about 500 pages of the early years of Marvel Comics in one convenient paperback book. One drawback is that the reprints are in black and white, but what do you expect for fifteen bucks?
The Essential Incredible Hulk Volume 1 collects a few dozen of Ol' Greeny's early appearances in Marvel Comics between 1962 to 1967. That's really not a lot of output for a character that has become one of the most iconic in the Marvel stable of characters. A little bit of comics trivia for you -- the original run of the Hulk was cancelled after just 6 scanty issues. The Hulk was kept alive through guest appearances in other mags until he landed a steady gig as a co-feature with Giant Man and Sub-Mariner in Tales to Astonish. It wasn't until 1968 or so that sales warranted the Not-so-Jolly Green Giant getting his own book again.
This book is probably the best evidence as to why it took so long for the Hulk to move into the limelight. (Sorry about that last pun.) While the Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde meets Frankenstein premise seems straightforward enough, it seems like writer Stan Lee didn't really have a handle on the direction the series should take. For instance, is the Hulk a hero or monster? Some stories have him saving humanity only as a byproduct of his own selfish actions. Other issues portray Bruce Banner intentionally turning into the Hulk to fight crime, ala Batman or something.
And how does Bruce transform into the Hulk anyhow? The first few issues seem to indicate in the best horror movie fashion that the metamorphosis happens at sundown. Others show the "don't make me angry" schtick familiar to TV viewers. And for a run of a few issues, Bruce uses a gamma ray device that he built to change back and forth at will.
Much of the book is made up of stories culled from Tales to Astonish in which the Hulk only made up half the comic. The shorter page count doesn't lend itself to what Marvel did best -- developing characters and fantastic story arcs. Unlike Spider-Man, it's hard to get involved in the lives of the cast of characters. It's hard to sympathize with an anti-hero like the Hulk, and the military base setting just seems too far removed from real life as opposed to the New York setting of most of the other Marvel characters. Sometimes the Hulk appears to have Banner's mind and an antisocial chip on his shoulder, sometimes he just appears dumb.
The inconstancy finds its way into the artwork as well. It seems as if the whole bullpen handled the penciling at one time or another, including Jack Kirby, Steve Ditko, and Bill Everett. Some artists only drew one issue, which leads to a lack of consistency in the look of the supporting cast of characters.
I'd recommend passing on this one. If you want to take a look at Marvel Comics in its prime, check out the Spider-Man or Fantastic Four Essentials instead.
Monday, February 16, 2004
Suffern the Weekend Away Pt. 4
If you've followed my previous posts, I've already told you about why we went to visit the seminary, our adventures dodging SUVs to get there, our tour, and where to get a good cup of coffee in Suffern. This post is intended to describe my experience of Saturday evening and Sunday morning.
T-- had gone into NYC to visit Times Square. I decided to stick close to the hotel for the evening break. Although I had thus far enjoyed the weekend, there is only so much socializing I can do in a big group before I need to draw away by myself. I took a shower, read my Bible, and prayed for my family and friends a few hundred miles away.
I spent a lot of time in thought about full-time service and ordination. After all, I'm already doing most of the work and getting none of the perks, I liked the seminary, I love school in general, I have no financial reasons not to go, the seminary had good facilities with kids in mind, my wife desperately wants to go, I met and got on well with many of my potential classmates, and everyone says my wife and I would make great clergy. All pluses, right? Sign me up right now!
Try as I did to psych myself into going to school this fall, I just didn't feel any assurance that this was the right move for me to make. (Note: When I write "assurance" I'm writing about something more than a gut feeling. What I mean is something more mystical, in other words, an inner assurance of the Holy Spirit that I was making the right decision.)
T-- was still in NYC at 9 pm, so I went to the evening meeting by myself. McNair Wilson, a former Disney Imagineer and art director for The Wittenburg Door, was performing his one man show, From Up Here. Using just a ladder, a rumpled scrap of paper, and his own imagination, McNair dramatized a number of stories from the Bible in this witty show. Combining religion and humor can be a risky proposition, and I've seen it done badly before, eliciting more groans than laughs from the audience. McNair held our group of 300-plus people spellbound for his entire show. The hour zipped by way too quickly.
After the play, McNair spoke a few brief words to the audience. He said something to the effect that he had long ago decided that he had to be himself, because if he wasn't true to who God created him to be, he was keeping God's creation from being complete. In just one sentence, McNair crystallized what I had been feeling all weekend. The blunt truth is that being an ordained member of the clergy isn't me. And strangely enough, that realization was accompanied by a strange and wonderful assurance.
Sunday morning was the biggest Salvation Army meeting in which I had ever taken part. One of the things I love about the Sallyann is the clarity of preaching, because its more used to talking to regular people than theologians and scholars. Commissioner Lawrence Moretz held to that tradition as he delivered the message, "Ministry -- It's high, It's holy, It's hard."
So that's the way I found myself "Suffern the Weekend Away" on February 6 - 8, 2004. I gave the call to ministry an honest shot. I absolutely loved the seminary but at the same time didn't feel like that was the path laid out before me.
T-- had gone into NYC to visit Times Square. I decided to stick close to the hotel for the evening break. Although I had thus far enjoyed the weekend, there is only so much socializing I can do in a big group before I need to draw away by myself. I took a shower, read my Bible, and prayed for my family and friends a few hundred miles away.
I spent a lot of time in thought about full-time service and ordination. After all, I'm already doing most of the work and getting none of the perks, I liked the seminary, I love school in general, I have no financial reasons not to go, the seminary had good facilities with kids in mind, my wife desperately wants to go, I met and got on well with many of my potential classmates, and everyone says my wife and I would make great clergy. All pluses, right? Sign me up right now!
Try as I did to psych myself into going to school this fall, I just didn't feel any assurance that this was the right move for me to make. (Note: When I write "assurance" I'm writing about something more than a gut feeling. What I mean is something more mystical, in other words, an inner assurance of the Holy Spirit that I was making the right decision.)
T-- was still in NYC at 9 pm, so I went to the evening meeting by myself. McNair Wilson, a former Disney Imagineer and art director for The Wittenburg Door, was performing his one man show, From Up Here. Using just a ladder, a rumpled scrap of paper, and his own imagination, McNair dramatized a number of stories from the Bible in this witty show. Combining religion and humor can be a risky proposition, and I've seen it done badly before, eliciting more groans than laughs from the audience. McNair held our group of 300-plus people spellbound for his entire show. The hour zipped by way too quickly.
After the play, McNair spoke a few brief words to the audience. He said something to the effect that he had long ago decided that he had to be himself, because if he wasn't true to who God created him to be, he was keeping God's creation from being complete. In just one sentence, McNair crystallized what I had been feeling all weekend. The blunt truth is that being an ordained member of the clergy isn't me. And strangely enough, that realization was accompanied by a strange and wonderful assurance.
Sunday morning was the biggest Salvation Army meeting in which I had ever taken part. One of the things I love about the Sallyann is the clarity of preaching, because its more used to talking to regular people than theologians and scholars. Commissioner Lawrence Moretz held to that tradition as he delivered the message, "Ministry -- It's high, It's holy, It's hard."
So that's the way I found myself "Suffern the Weekend Away" on February 6 - 8, 2004. I gave the call to ministry an honest shot. I absolutely loved the seminary but at the same time didn't feel like that was the path laid out before me.
Sunday, February 15, 2004
It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood!
I helped D-- and his mom move into their new apartment today. I'm not sure how much help I was, considering I'm still getting over the flu and didn't have my natural verve.
D-- has gone through the wringer over these last few years. It's all too personal to share in a public blog like this, suffice to say that if I wrote his experiences in a short story you would assume that it was all too outlandish and melodramatic to be true.
It's nice to see how good he's doing now. He finally has a decent paying job, has gone back to school and is doing great, and has a nifty new apartment. I sincerely hope that the next few years of success will outweigh his recent trials.
I'm crossing my fingers that he doesn't break a mirror in transport!
D-- has gone through the wringer over these last few years. It's all too personal to share in a public blog like this, suffice to say that if I wrote his experiences in a short story you would assume that it was all too outlandish and melodramatic to be true.
It's nice to see how good he's doing now. He finally has a decent paying job, has gone back to school and is doing great, and has a nifty new apartment. I sincerely hope that the next few years of success will outweigh his recent trials.
I'm crossing my fingers that he doesn't break a mirror in transport!
Saturday, February 14, 2004
Psst, kid... The first one's free...
I just won a free song in the Pepsi/iTunes promotion! Okay, so it wasn't like I won the Publisher's Sweepstakes or anything, but I hardly ever win anything. (I once won a day-glo lunchbox at school and a copy of The Gospel Reloaded from the HollywoodJesus website. Other than that, I'm a real Schleprock!)
How cool. All I had to do was open up my iTunes player, click on the store and enter in the code that was printed inside the bottle cap. The store allowed me to search under artist, song title or album title, and even would play a 30-second preview of each song. After much indecision I finally settled on "Are You Gonna Be My Girl" by Jet. The song was even downloaded straight to my iTunes music folder, which is located on an external hard drive. This is why I love Apple -- they make everything so simple to use.
The promotion is pure genius. I'm an old-stick-in-the-mud that wants something tangible in my hands, like a CD and artwork, but the freebie convinced me to try the service. I'll admit it -- I'm hooked. The instant gratification of clicking my mouse and owning the song. Also, I could really grow to like the idea of picking just the songs I like, rather than sinking twenty bucks on a whole CD. (For instance, I would never have purchased the whole Jet album.)
I gotta tell ya: considering the ease of use, selection, and low price of 99¢ a song, Steve Jobs may have invented something that will prove to be way more addictive than crack!
P.S. The whole "tangibility" thing was an issue with me a few years back when I switched from traditional video editing to using a nonlinear system. It took me awhile to shake the anxiety of turning off a computer that contained my whole day's work without seeing the reassuring presence of a videotape on the shelf!
How cool. All I had to do was open up my iTunes player, click on the store and enter in the code that was printed inside the bottle cap. The store allowed me to search under artist, song title or album title, and even would play a 30-second preview of each song. After much indecision I finally settled on "Are You Gonna Be My Girl" by Jet. The song was even downloaded straight to my iTunes music folder, which is located on an external hard drive. This is why I love Apple -- they make everything so simple to use.
The promotion is pure genius. I'm an old-stick-in-the-mud that wants something tangible in my hands, like a CD and artwork, but the freebie convinced me to try the service. I'll admit it -- I'm hooked. The instant gratification of clicking my mouse and owning the song. Also, I could really grow to like the idea of picking just the songs I like, rather than sinking twenty bucks on a whole CD. (For instance, I would never have purchased the whole Jet album.)
I gotta tell ya: considering the ease of use, selection, and low price of 99¢ a song, Steve Jobs may have invented something that will prove to be way more addictive than crack!
P.S. The whole "tangibility" thing was an issue with me a few years back when I switched from traditional video editing to using a nonlinear system. It took me awhile to shake the anxiety of turning off a computer that contained my whole day's work without seeing the reassuring presence of a videotape on the shelf!
Friday, February 13, 2004
A Prayer by Thomas Merton
Sometimes someone else's words can express my feelings better than I can express them myself. This comes from the pen of Thomas Merton, a Catholic Monk, Christian Mystic, and poet. It's from his book Thoughts on Solitude.
A PRAYER
MY LORD GOD,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think that I am following
your will does not mean
that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you
does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire
in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything
apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this
you will lead me by the right road
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always
though I may seem to be lost
and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear,
for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me
to face my perils alone.
A PRAYER
MY LORD GOD,
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think that I am following
your will does not mean
that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please you
does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire
in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything
apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this
you will lead me by the right road
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always
though I may seem to be lost
and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear,
for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me
to face my perils alone.
Thursday, February 12, 2004
Please excuse I.F....
Will someone please tell me when staying home sick became a bad thing? I remember what a blast it was as a grade-school student. At the slightest cough or sniffle my mom would swing into action. Extra pillows, some Vicks Vapor-Rub, lime Jello, and free refills on the Canada Dry. My father, who normally detested my predilection of all things science-fiction, would even stop at the B & B Smokeshop and buy me some comic books. The big softie. I really hit the jackpot when my older sister had to babysit -- I could always wait for her to go down to the basement to smoke (a big no-no in our household) and then sneak into the living room and whittle away the day watching TV. The only loose end to tie up came the next day and it easy: handing my teacher the note from my mom that said, "Please excuse Ian for being ill."
Contrast that Nirvana with the adult sick day. The day begins at 8 am by calling in to the office. I dread this part. I was raised in a strict Pentecostal church until I was eighteen, which causes me TO FEEL GUILTY ABOUT LYING EVEN WHEN I'M TELLING THE TRUTH. Then people want to know from which meetings I will be absent. And everyone knows that I'm only a phone call away. In fact, dozens of coworkers with whom I've never spoken suddenly call me up to "touch base" about some "project" so I can be "in the loop." It is now 8:03.
Coming down with Scarlet Fever seemed like a perfectly reasonable trade-off for getting some time off at Pleasant Township Elementary School. It was "me time." I believe Steven Covey would classify it as "sharpening the ax." All I think about now are the things I need to accomplish when I get back to my office. (I actually dreamt I was in a budget meeting as I dozed in bed this afternoon. No kidding.)
And don't even get me started about the lack of Jello. You know who gets to dote on ol' I.F. as an adult? That's right, the guy looking back at him through the mirror. No mommy or daddy appearing on the horizon to get me to the doctor, so I might as well lay in bed and die. Not that I'm pouting, you understand...
The social interaction of being a sick adult is a bust. But the physiological factors aren't gravy either. I had all the "biggies" as a kid: the above-mentioned Scarlet Fever, Chicken Pox, Strep Throat, Influenza, and everyone's favorite, Diarrhea. But no matter how high my temperature, no matter how achey or painy, no matter what part of my body was expelling fluid, I can't ever recall feeling miserable as a child. My pet theory is that my elementary school body must have been so "showroom fresh" that it even felt good to barf.
P.S. One more sick story before I pass. One time when I was sick with a sore throat, my teenage sister insisted that it must be mono. When I got back to school a few days later, I got mixed up and told my third-grade teacher I was out with a venereal disease!
Contrast that Nirvana with the adult sick day. The day begins at 8 am by calling in to the office. I dread this part. I was raised in a strict Pentecostal church until I was eighteen, which causes me TO FEEL GUILTY ABOUT LYING EVEN WHEN I'M TELLING THE TRUTH. Then people want to know from which meetings I will be absent. And everyone knows that I'm only a phone call away. In fact, dozens of coworkers with whom I've never spoken suddenly call me up to "touch base" about some "project" so I can be "in the loop." It is now 8:03.
Coming down with Scarlet Fever seemed like a perfectly reasonable trade-off for getting some time off at Pleasant Township Elementary School. It was "me time." I believe Steven Covey would classify it as "sharpening the ax." All I think about now are the things I need to accomplish when I get back to my office. (I actually dreamt I was in a budget meeting as I dozed in bed this afternoon. No kidding.)
And don't even get me started about the lack of Jello. You know who gets to dote on ol' I.F. as an adult? That's right, the guy looking back at him through the mirror. No mommy or daddy appearing on the horizon to get me to the doctor, so I might as well lay in bed and die. Not that I'm pouting, you understand...
The social interaction of being a sick adult is a bust. But the physiological factors aren't gravy either. I had all the "biggies" as a kid: the above-mentioned Scarlet Fever, Chicken Pox, Strep Throat, Influenza, and everyone's favorite, Diarrhea. But no matter how high my temperature, no matter how achey or painy, no matter what part of my body was expelling fluid, I can't ever recall feeling miserable as a child. My pet theory is that my elementary school body must have been so "showroom fresh" that it even felt good to barf.
P.S. One more sick story before I pass. One time when I was sick with a sore throat, my teenage sister insisted that it must be mono. When I got back to school a few days later, I got mixed up and told my third-grade teacher I was out with a venereal disease!
Oh great! More good news about my diet plan...
Here's a blurb from the latest edition of Sojomail:
Sundance Film Festival documentary award-winner Super Size Me: A Film of Epic Proportions follows the life of 30-year-old Morgan Spurlock during a month-long self-inflicted binge on McDonalds. For 30 days Spurlock, director, producer, and human guinea pig, had to eat everything on the menu at least once and if he was asked to "super size" it he was obligated to do so. All the while Spurlock was visiting three doctors (a cardiologist, gastroenterologist, and a general practitioner) to monitor his health. At the end of 30 days he had packed on almost 30 pounds, his cholesterol skyrocketed from 165 to 230, and his liver had become so damaged it became "toxic." Super Size Me: A Film of Epic Proportions is being shown in limited cities across the U.S.
Sundance Film Festival documentary award-winner Super Size Me: A Film of Epic Proportions follows the life of 30-year-old Morgan Spurlock during a month-long self-inflicted binge on McDonalds. For 30 days Spurlock, director, producer, and human guinea pig, had to eat everything on the menu at least once and if he was asked to "super size" it he was obligated to do so. All the while Spurlock was visiting three doctors (a cardiologist, gastroenterologist, and a general practitioner) to monitor his health. At the end of 30 days he had packed on almost 30 pounds, his cholesterol skyrocketed from 165 to 230, and his liver had become so damaged it became "toxic." Super Size Me: A Film of Epic Proportions is being shown in limited cities across the U.S.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
B
B is for bully, who rigs a fight.
B is for bawdy, uncouth with delight.
B is for bitterness, bundled up tight.
B is for brilliant, for dark not light.
B is for boxy, cold and restrained.
B is for battery, hatred unchained.
B is for buffoon, sweaty and loud.
B is for bastard, unlimited and proud.
B is for beautiful, butterfly or bless.
But this kind of B has nothing to do with the rest.
A bully, so bawdy, with bitterness so brilliant.
(I don’t want anything to with all this B-ness.)
Your boxy, battery and buffoon-like behavior;
Makes me wonder if you ever wanted a savior.
B is for bastard, this suits you so well.
This B describes the life you lead –
You’re the extension of Hell.
B is for bawdy, uncouth with delight.
B is for bitterness, bundled up tight.
B is for brilliant, for dark not light.
B is for boxy, cold and restrained.
B is for battery, hatred unchained.
B is for buffoon, sweaty and loud.
B is for bastard, unlimited and proud.
B is for beautiful, butterfly or bless.
But this kind of B has nothing to do with the rest.
A bully, so bawdy, with bitterness so brilliant.
(I don’t want anything to with all this B-ness.)
Your boxy, battery and buffoon-like behavior;
Makes me wonder if you ever wanted a savior.
B is for bastard, this suits you so well.
This B describes the life you lead –
You’re the extension of Hell.
Suffern the Weekend Away Pt. 3
The bulk of last Friday and Saturday was spent touring the grounds and participating in seminars at the college. It was nice to catch up with so many people T-- and I have met over the last five years and make some new acquaintances, too.
Being a seminary and all, our opening session on Saturday morning had a worship band. It featured an -- uh, shall we say "interesting" bass player. While the rest of the band played the worship standard, "Lord I Lift Your Name On High," the bass player was perfectly content to plunk away on the bass line from "The Joker" by Steve Miller Band. I was hoping that the next song would be "Shout to the Lord" to the tune of "Fly Like an Eagle," but no such luck. The best part of the set came when a band member's jacket fell on the floor and the bassist stopped playing in the middle of the song, walked across the platform, picked up and carefully folded the jacket, set it down on top of a monitor, and finally schlumped back to the rest of the band to finish the song. (I found out later that he was a last minute replacement for the band's regular bassist. Good thing!)
We also had the good fortune of knowing our host couple, with who we shared our meals and received a tour of the campus via the local Starbucks. It was great visiting, but I did have a strange sense of deja vu being led around from classroom to classroom. It finally occurred to me that I had done something very similar thirty years previous during Kindergarten Roundup!
T-- and myself love school and really enjoyed sitting in the sample classes at the colleges. There was just something very charming about the two of us sharing a classroom, although she was the one who carried my books around! Actually we missed out on a great deal of the classroom instruction as a faulty fire alarm necessitated evacuations of the building three times on Saturday.
The wide-eyed innocence of kindergarten roundup coupled with the high-school highjinks of false alarms -- now that's what I call a well-rounded educational experience!
Being a seminary and all, our opening session on Saturday morning had a worship band. It featured an -- uh, shall we say "interesting" bass player. While the rest of the band played the worship standard, "Lord I Lift Your Name On High," the bass player was perfectly content to plunk away on the bass line from "The Joker" by Steve Miller Band. I was hoping that the next song would be "Shout to the Lord" to the tune of "Fly Like an Eagle," but no such luck. The best part of the set came when a band member's jacket fell on the floor and the bassist stopped playing in the middle of the song, walked across the platform, picked up and carefully folded the jacket, set it down on top of a monitor, and finally schlumped back to the rest of the band to finish the song. (I found out later that he was a last minute replacement for the band's regular bassist. Good thing!)
We also had the good fortune of knowing our host couple, with who we shared our meals and received a tour of the campus via the local Starbucks. It was great visiting, but I did have a strange sense of deja vu being led around from classroom to classroom. It finally occurred to me that I had done something very similar thirty years previous during Kindergarten Roundup!
T-- and myself love school and really enjoyed sitting in the sample classes at the colleges. There was just something very charming about the two of us sharing a classroom, although she was the one who carried my books around! Actually we missed out on a great deal of the classroom instruction as a faulty fire alarm necessitated evacuations of the building three times on Saturday.
The wide-eyed innocence of kindergarten roundup coupled with the high-school highjinks of false alarms -- now that's what I call a well-rounded educational experience!
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
Avalanche!
I forgot to mention that we saw the craziest thing on our trip. There was a SUV parked halfway up a considerable snow bank. It was so unbalanced that a snowflake could have landed on the driver's side and flipped the whole thing on it's roof. It wasn't like the parking lot at Outback Steakhouse was full or anything. It was just like someone decided that they wanted to park as close as possible to the restaurant. Silly driver. I realize that commercials show SUVs doing impossible things like driving up a sheer cliff face, sloshing through raging rivers, or flying through hyperspace. But precariously perching one side of a vehicle on a giant snowbank is just a bad idea, no matter what impression Madison Avenue has given you!
Suffern the Weekend Away Pt. 2
It just occurred to me that I never mentioned why I went to NYC in the first place. The obvious reason was that we were driving and being chaparones to a group of high school students and young adults who wanted to learn more about service in The Salvation Army. But the other reason was so T-- and I could devote some intensive time to exploring a call to full-time service. We already pastor a small church, but aren't ordained ministers. If we continue along this path, it's something that we'll have to take care of sooner or later. The two additional years of education would help, too!
Full-time Christian service isn't a career, it's a lifelong vocation. It's not something you choose out of a book of careers -- it's something that God chooses you for. The church talks a lot about the word "calling," which is more than common sense, or even desire to help people. A calling to ministry is an inner prompting from God to that specific work. So we took a few days to get away from all the busyness and noise of life to... listen...
Full-time Christian service isn't a career, it's a lifelong vocation. It's not something you choose out of a book of careers -- it's something that God chooses you for. The church talks a lot about the word "calling," which is more than common sense, or even desire to help people. A calling to ministry is an inner prompting from God to that specific work. So we took a few days to get away from all the busyness and noise of life to... listen...
Friday, February 06, 2004
SKD Version 1
Lives-living, hopes-dimming, deceit drains the
Light.
False-witness, titanic-fitness, division hits the
Ground.
Water-wash, unexpected-loss, devil’s diggin’ the
Fight.
Grand-design, lunacy-prime, darkness-pits the
Sound.
Thief-parade, bawdiness-displayed, desire-drenches the
Flight.
Dark-day, passion-frayed, destiny-determines the
Round.
Light.
False-witness, titanic-fitness, division hits the
Ground.
Water-wash, unexpected-loss, devil’s diggin’ the
Fight.
Grand-design, lunacy-prime, darkness-pits the
Sound.
Thief-parade, bawdiness-displayed, desire-drenches the
Flight.
Dark-day, passion-frayed, destiny-determines the
Round.
Thursday, February 05, 2004
Road Trip to NYC
I'm getting ready to spend the weekend in NYC, so you can bet I'm in full "Murphy's Law" mode. Why is it the night before I leave on a trip..?:
1. The weather forcast looks really horrendous.
2. I can't find my wallet.
This must be how people develop agoraphobia.
1. The weather forcast looks really horrendous.
2. I can't find my wallet.
This must be how people develop agoraphobia.
Monday, February 02, 2004
What's so magic about quick spaghetti?
Here are the ingredients for quick spaghetti: Tomato sauce, ground meat, various herbs and spices, pasta and a group of hungry people.
I guess the magic happens when you invite people to share the "quick spaghetti". It's the mixture of taste, smell and creative individuals that make a dinner so common, so uncommon.
We asked a few co-workers over tonight on the spur of the moment and with "quick spaghetti" as the main dish - it was the best meal ever. (I'm not saying that because I cooked either.)
Color, warmth, laughter and relaxation. On a chilly February night, the meal we shared became a form of therapy for our family and friends.
It was unexpected, but familiar. The company was family and people we work with everyday, but we learned something new about each person. The two girls - H and Y both 10, got to spend some giggle time eating by themselves at the small kitchen table. They felt comfortable, excited and grown up for the independence of their special seating arrangment. The youngest - N (7) was happy to eat his pasta and bounce between the "grown-ups", "girls" and "the game cube". The grown-ups, L, R, I and T shared stories about family, adventures from when we were young, and concerns for today and tomorrow. The moment was imperfect and unpredictable, but it was perfect and peaceful just the same. It felt like home and it was magical.
Many times I used to pass by opportinities for "Quick Spaghetti" nights, because of the clutter of daily living and my fear of missing the mark. You know what? I don't care about the mark anymore. Martha Stewart dosen't live with me, but if she want to come over for quick spaghetti, salad from a bag and french bread and cake bought from the local grocery store, she's welcome at my house. Because "quick spaghetti" is magic.
I guess the magic happens when you invite people to share the "quick spaghetti". It's the mixture of taste, smell and creative individuals that make a dinner so common, so uncommon.
We asked a few co-workers over tonight on the spur of the moment and with "quick spaghetti" as the main dish - it was the best meal ever. (I'm not saying that because I cooked either.)
Color, warmth, laughter and relaxation. On a chilly February night, the meal we shared became a form of therapy for our family and friends.
It was unexpected, but familiar. The company was family and people we work with everyday, but we learned something new about each person. The two girls - H and Y both 10, got to spend some giggle time eating by themselves at the small kitchen table. They felt comfortable, excited and grown up for the independence of their special seating arrangment. The youngest - N (7) was happy to eat his pasta and bounce between the "grown-ups", "girls" and "the game cube". The grown-ups, L, R, I and T shared stories about family, adventures from when we were young, and concerns for today and tomorrow. The moment was imperfect and unpredictable, but it was perfect and peaceful just the same. It felt like home and it was magical.
Many times I used to pass by opportinities for "Quick Spaghetti" nights, because of the clutter of daily living and my fear of missing the mark. You know what? I don't care about the mark anymore. Martha Stewart dosen't live with me, but if she want to come over for quick spaghetti, salad from a bag and french bread and cake bought from the local grocery store, she's welcome at my house. Because "quick spaghetti" is magic.
Descent Into Hell
I finally fulfilled one of my life-long ambitions: I read a Charles Williams novel! Now maybe this doesn't seem like an earth-shattering event to you, but considering that Mr. Williams is frequently out-of-print and I am frequently out-of-cash, just purchasing the book was a big step in my self-actualization.
Williams was a contemporary of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, although his works have never proved as popular as his more-famous friends'. The book, Descent Into Hell, has a much darker tone than anything this side of Narnia or Middle Earth.
Did I just type "darker tone"? I meant DOWNRIGHT SCARY. To Williams, the "spiritual world"” coexists --and quite often collides -- with this physical realm. Spirits roam freely over Battle Hill. A young woman meets her doppelganger to unexpected consequences. A man chooses the embrace of succubus to the uncertainty of a real relationship. The book examines the greatest of all loves -- laying down your life for another's -- and its opposite, the state of being so self-centered that you can no longer love or be loved.
Descent Into Hell isn't an easy read. Williams' prose almost comes off like poetry, and the many references to myth and legend had me reaching for the encyclopedia more than once. The novel jumps back and forth in time and space without giving obvious cues. But the experience was worth the challenge and I look forward to tracking down his other works at used bookstores.
Williams was a contemporary of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, although his works have never proved as popular as his more-famous friends'. The book, Descent Into Hell, has a much darker tone than anything this side of Narnia or Middle Earth.
Did I just type "darker tone"? I meant DOWNRIGHT SCARY. To Williams, the "spiritual world"” coexists --and quite often collides -- with this physical realm. Spirits roam freely over Battle Hill. A young woman meets her doppelganger to unexpected consequences. A man chooses the embrace of succubus to the uncertainty of a real relationship. The book examines the greatest of all loves -- laying down your life for another's -- and its opposite, the state of being so self-centered that you can no longer love or be loved.
Descent Into Hell isn't an easy read. Williams' prose almost comes off like poetry, and the many references to myth and legend had me reaching for the encyclopedia more than once. The novel jumps back and forth in time and space without giving obvious cues. But the experience was worth the challenge and I look forward to tracking down his other works at used bookstores.
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