Dear Ms. Sandman,
You've probably been wondering where I was all week. Well I just tallied up the results and I worked 57 hours this past week, and slept (or was available to sleep) 28. A wise fella once said something like "work smarter, not harder." Obviously those words don't always penetrate my cerebral cortex. But then again, I'm too tired to think about it.
I already knew it, but it most certainly was reinforced, just because you work twice as much as you sleep, doesn't mean you will get twice as much done. At a certain point your little brain just shuts down and everything seems as if it is underwater. Swim little fishies swim. Still I got my work done and I defy anyone to sit through a six hour Senate hearing about spending $60 million on a power plant that will burn turkey poop as fuel, and not feel just a little bit bemused. How did I do it? It really makes a difference when you actually enjoy your work- doesn't seem so much like work then.
I've written this column in pretty much every one of my multitudes of moods but I think this is the first time I've written one groggy. You were quite notable by your absence this past week. One gets used to something being there every day and when it's gone, even for one week, you really struggle to get by without it. Your moods are different but more than that your whole outlook is different. Every thing can really change in a week. Beauty is often hard to forget.
Oh Ms. Sandman. Believe me you're on my mind more than you know. When you're not there I swear you used to be. I like sleep as much as the next person just sometimes I'm not so good at it. Sometimes it scares me. Sometimes it evades me. Sometimes it's all I can do. But why can't you be always be there when I close my eyes? Maybe it was because you weren't around much this week that I acted the way I did when you asked what was on my mind. I couldn't find the words to say, the ones I thought you might want to hear. You said you had a difficult time reading me. "Tell me your thoughts, what you are feeling..." Whoppers, I just wanted to munch on my carton of Whoppers.
You and I always measured the moments not by time but by the distance. A bent fender. A fent bender. You said, "I feel the same as always." And it was then when the journey seemed to be over. Sometimes the silence can be because you have too much to say. Sometimes it can be that you don't know what to say. Sometimes it's because you don't know how to say it. But sometimes it can even be because you have nothing to say. It's not as if I don't want you to know what's going on. It amazes me because in sleep years you have known me for such a short time. Still in many ways you know me better than anyone ever has or perhaps ever will. All this time I was thinking it was I didn't have a chance to say good-bye. I really truly believed that. It was kind of what kept me going. Now I see it goes beyond that. Sometimes a person doesn't want to say good-bye and doesn't understand why they have to.
Pardon moi, if none of this makes any sense. It does to me. Besides, the editor went to sleep hours ago. It may seem absurd a person can even reach a point where they are too tired to sleep. I really should know, I've been down that road once or twice. Sometimes your mind is racing a mile a minute and you see yourself careening toward the wall but it can also be there is too much on your mind that nothing gets through and the numbness isn't so much a fog as it is twenty pound bag of goose feathers strapped to those sheep you've lost count of.
I wanted you to visit this week, Ms. Sandman. I really did. I knew you were out there. And it is a brand new experience to reach out to you and somehow get what I need in return and yet still come up short. I'm only five feet five after all. And I swear you seem to be able to see right through me. I know you know what's going on or should know. I'm not only a window I'm a mirror and the reflection is as transparent as it is empty. Glassy eyes. Best fishes to you too.
A person can dream while they're awake after all and sometimes sleep isn't so much about rejuvenation as it is being unable to escape those dream demons. This is all there is and it's just as important to be awake for it as it is to sleep. To grab just a few winks I'd even ask everyone who ever mattered to sleep with me but I honestly don't think I have enough room in my bed. Actually I have two beds, well one is technically a futon, as well as a very uncomfortable couch, so maybe it's a matter of not having enough blankets. And don't expect much of a breakfast. We can all have pop tarts. But the whoppers are mine. All mine. By the way I've seen this movie before and you were with me then too. Three little fishies and a momma fishie too. So be not such a stranger, OK?
Monday, March 22, 1999
Monday, March 15, 1999
Smiley Smile
"God only knows what I'd be without you."
I'm nothing if not a Taebo fanatic. I love Taebo. Lately, it's all I think about. The workout is always exhilarating and uplifting. Everything in the world feels right after you do Taebo. Although I was only introduced to it a few weeks back, it feels like it has always been a part of my life and I'm looking forward to many more strenuous Taebo moments. When I'm feeling sad all I have to do is close my eyes and think of Taebo and the image I see warms my heart and melts the blues away.
I think sometimes my passion for Taebo frightens Mr. Max. He's not quite sure what to make of it yet. Last week as I was out front trying to dig my way out from snow that was up to my lil' arse, Mr. Max sat watching me from the front picture window and I think he thought I had taken my Taebo outside to another extreme. Believe me he saw more than a few curse words come from my mouth. By the time I had my sidewalk clear, it felt like I had been Taeboing for days.
The snowstorm made for a long week, the type of week that would have been nice to spend in, say, Mexico, but there was plenty of work to do here. Occasionally I'd close my eyes and when I wasn't thinking of Taeboing, the music I heard didn't quite get me to Mexico but did get me all the way to sunny California. It is always inspiring when you discover something that doesn't so much change your life as it does rearrange the other pieces so they make a little more sense and you can appreciate them even more.
And rarely do you have a chance to go to a concert of a living legend where twenty minutes before the show is supposed to start, you see the artist being walked out by his assistant holding his hand showing him around the stage. When Brian Wilson finally hit the stage for real with his twelve piece band Saturday night at the State Theater, he still seemed a little unsure of himself. Opening with The Little Girl I Once Knew, his voice struggled to hit the high notes, and his falsetto disappeared into the harmonies as it did for most of the night (a Beach Boys song without a falsetto is like Taebo without the kicking). As shaky as his voice sounded at times, and despite how deliberately he moved around the stage, there was something very special about being in the same room with the man who has created so much wonderful music. His best songs are raw nerves and emotion, as courageous an expression as they are breathtaking.
Early on he announced his intentions for the evening, "I'm sorry the Beach Boys couldn't be here, but I'm here to represent them." Represent them he did, with nostalgic performances of many of the group's best known songs (Good Vibrations, Surfer Girl, Surfin USA, Fun Fun Fun, Barbara Ann, Help Me Rhonda, Don't Worry Baby, and In My Room to name just a few). Although it was disappointing he only did three songs from his latest CD, Imagination, the performance of the title track was the highlight of the evening. At times he seemed to lose himself in the music and other times he seemed lost in other ways. Yet moments like his cover of Phil Spector's Be My Baby showed he was in charge of what was going on musically around him. Brian the perfectionist played the part during Do It Again, when he told the crowd to clap along and then scolded them for continuing to clap during the quiet bridge of the song.
Generally the first half of the show was exactly what you'd expect, polished, professional and entertaining yet it lacked the spontaneity of the best live performances. He opened the second half with two songs from Pet Sounds- Wouldn't It Be Nice, and Sloop John B. The poignancy of the moment was astounding. Pet Sounds is my all time favorite CD, one of the few I have that takes me to a different place no matter where or how I am. The performances on both songs was downright spine tingling . (How many rock stars include a french horn player in their sonic mix on stage?) He introduced the next song, Lay Down Burden, by saying, "This is the sad part of our show. My brother Carl passed away last year and I wrote this for him." From a nakedly passionate version of Lay Down Burden he segued into the song Carl sang with such heart, God Only Knows. Brian's voice wavered at times and it was the most moving moment of the evening. Clearly he is still mourning the loss of his brother and singing the two songs meant something special for him, and being able to share in the moment is what makes his music so cathartic. (It was just one of the few times during the show where I cried.)
The first song of the encore was Brian without the band for the first time all night, sitting at the piano singing Love and Mercy from his 1988 solo album. He screwed up the piano part and abruptly ended the song, and yet the fragility of his voice was matched by the confidence of knowing that even though he messed up the song, it still said what needed to be said. He is a survivor, and it is somewhat of a minor miracle that he was up on that stage seemingly having the time of his life (who would have imagined that possible fifteen years ago?). Through his music he continues to prove there is a lot in life that can break down but there's nothing so resilient as the human spirit.
I'm nothing if not a Taebo fanatic. I love Taebo. Lately, it's all I think about. The workout is always exhilarating and uplifting. Everything in the world feels right after you do Taebo. Although I was only introduced to it a few weeks back, it feels like it has always been a part of my life and I'm looking forward to many more strenuous Taebo moments. When I'm feeling sad all I have to do is close my eyes and think of Taebo and the image I see warms my heart and melts the blues away.
I think sometimes my passion for Taebo frightens Mr. Max. He's not quite sure what to make of it yet. Last week as I was out front trying to dig my way out from snow that was up to my lil' arse, Mr. Max sat watching me from the front picture window and I think he thought I had taken my Taebo outside to another extreme. Believe me he saw more than a few curse words come from my mouth. By the time I had my sidewalk clear, it felt like I had been Taeboing for days.
The snowstorm made for a long week, the type of week that would have been nice to spend in, say, Mexico, but there was plenty of work to do here. Occasionally I'd close my eyes and when I wasn't thinking of Taeboing, the music I heard didn't quite get me to Mexico but did get me all the way to sunny California. It is always inspiring when you discover something that doesn't so much change your life as it does rearrange the other pieces so they make a little more sense and you can appreciate them even more.
And rarely do you have a chance to go to a concert of a living legend where twenty minutes before the show is supposed to start, you see the artist being walked out by his assistant holding his hand showing him around the stage. When Brian Wilson finally hit the stage for real with his twelve piece band Saturday night at the State Theater, he still seemed a little unsure of himself. Opening with The Little Girl I Once Knew, his voice struggled to hit the high notes, and his falsetto disappeared into the harmonies as it did for most of the night (a Beach Boys song without a falsetto is like Taebo without the kicking). As shaky as his voice sounded at times, and despite how deliberately he moved around the stage, there was something very special about being in the same room with the man who has created so much wonderful music. His best songs are raw nerves and emotion, as courageous an expression as they are breathtaking.
Early on he announced his intentions for the evening, "I'm sorry the Beach Boys couldn't be here, but I'm here to represent them." Represent them he did, with nostalgic performances of many of the group's best known songs (Good Vibrations, Surfer Girl, Surfin USA, Fun Fun Fun, Barbara Ann, Help Me Rhonda, Don't Worry Baby, and In My Room to name just a few). Although it was disappointing he only did three songs from his latest CD, Imagination, the performance of the title track was the highlight of the evening. At times he seemed to lose himself in the music and other times he seemed lost in other ways. Yet moments like his cover of Phil Spector's Be My Baby showed he was in charge of what was going on musically around him. Brian the perfectionist played the part during Do It Again, when he told the crowd to clap along and then scolded them for continuing to clap during the quiet bridge of the song.
Generally the first half of the show was exactly what you'd expect, polished, professional and entertaining yet it lacked the spontaneity of the best live performances. He opened the second half with two songs from Pet Sounds- Wouldn't It Be Nice, and Sloop John B. The poignancy of the moment was astounding. Pet Sounds is my all time favorite CD, one of the few I have that takes me to a different place no matter where or how I am. The performances on both songs was downright spine tingling . (How many rock stars include a french horn player in their sonic mix on stage?) He introduced the next song, Lay Down Burden, by saying, "This is the sad part of our show. My brother Carl passed away last year and I wrote this for him." From a nakedly passionate version of Lay Down Burden he segued into the song Carl sang with such heart, God Only Knows. Brian's voice wavered at times and it was the most moving moment of the evening. Clearly he is still mourning the loss of his brother and singing the two songs meant something special for him, and being able to share in the moment is what makes his music so cathartic. (It was just one of the few times during the show where I cried.)
The first song of the encore was Brian without the band for the first time all night, sitting at the piano singing Love and Mercy from his 1988 solo album. He screwed up the piano part and abruptly ended the song, and yet the fragility of his voice was matched by the confidence of knowing that even though he messed up the song, it still said what needed to be said. He is a survivor, and it is somewhat of a minor miracle that he was up on that stage seemingly having the time of his life (who would have imagined that possible fifteen years ago?). Through his music he continues to prove there is a lot in life that can break down but there's nothing so resilient as the human spirit.
Monday, March 8, 1999
Carpet Recycling Saves the World
Sustainable development, high profits, and good economics are mutually supportive of each other, the CEO of a leading manufacturing company told the Senate's Environment and Agriculture Budget Division, Wed., Feb. 24. Sen. Steven Morse (DFL-Dakota) chaired the hearing.
"We are myopically focused on financial capital, yet we ignore human and natural capital," Ray Anderson, of Interface Inc., said. The Atlanta based company is the world's largest producer of commercial floor coverings.
Anderson said that in 1994 he was asked to give a speech about his company's environmental practices. "I sweated over what I would say. When it came to an environmental vision I couldn't think of anything beyond complying with the law," he said. It was then that Anderson read "The Ecology of Commerce" by Paul Hawken, a book he said that forever changed his life. He said reading Hawken's book, a stark look at how business practices are destroying the Earth's resources, was "like a spear in the chest." He said the book convinced him his company had to act upon what he believes is "the crisis of our times."
Interface manufactures over 40 percent of the world's commercial carpet tiles, employs over 7,500 people, and has 33 manufacturing sites in seven countries. "By any conventional measure you would have to say Interface is successful, but not by every measure. We were terribly unsuccessful in one important area. We never gave one thought to what we were taking from the Earth," Anderson said.
He said the current environmental condition of the planet is disastrous. "We have polluted rivers, polluted and over-fished oceans, lakes dead from acid rain. We have forests that are dying, polluted crop fields, wetlands disappearing, aquifers depleted and farm lands that are toxicated. The ozone is stressed and in decline," he said, "There have been some improvements. You can now see across the street in Pittsburgh, and the Cuyahoga River no longer catches on fire."
Sustainable industrial development, Anderson said, means not only taking as little as possible from the planet, but putting back more than what is taken. He said that in order to begin to achieve this goal, Interface began working on a seven-step process. The first step was achieving zero waste by developing an internal reduction effort on eliminating product costs that don't add customer value. Next was eliminating emissions that have negative or toxic effects on the environment, and developing renewable energy sources by focusing on sustainable sources such as solar power instead of nonrenewable sources such as carbon based fuels. The plan also included "closing the loop" meaning redesigning products and processes for recycling, and using technology to increase the flow of information while reducing the distance people had to travel. Anderson said the final steps were creating a community that understands the value of natural systems and the human impact on them or "doing well by doing good," and focusing on delivery of value rather than on the delivery of material.
He said the company's use of the processes has led to improvements. In 1994 for every dollar of revenue earned, Interface consumed 1.59 lbs of natural resources, while in 1998 a dollar of revenue was equal to .94 lbs of natural resources used. He said Interface continues to explore environmental programs such as leasing carpet to its customers so the company better controls recycling. The company is also currently looking to develop a fabric that is more recyclable than the nylon used in most carpets, Anderson said.
Morse asked Anderson what role government could play in sustainable development. "Government has two roles, that of the carrot and that of the stick," Anderson said. He said that by ending government subsidies to businesses, incentives would be created to encourage businesses to seek ways to maximize their profits in other ways. Interface has increased its profits from securing business, despite submitting higher bids, with companies in support of sustainable development practices. "Government also has to continue its regulatory efforts to businesses that just don't get it. Creating a floor below which businesses are not allowed to operate," he said.
Anderson said while government has a key role in the process to better the environment, the business community is at the forefront of what must be accomplished. "The business industry must lead in pioneering the next industrial revolution. The first one is just not working," he said, "We have to learn to see the economy as a wholly earned subsidiary of the environment."
"We are myopically focused on financial capital, yet we ignore human and natural capital," Ray Anderson, of Interface Inc., said. The Atlanta based company is the world's largest producer of commercial floor coverings.
Anderson said that in 1994 he was asked to give a speech about his company's environmental practices. "I sweated over what I would say. When it came to an environmental vision I couldn't think of anything beyond complying with the law," he said. It was then that Anderson read "The Ecology of Commerce" by Paul Hawken, a book he said that forever changed his life. He said reading Hawken's book, a stark look at how business practices are destroying the Earth's resources, was "like a spear in the chest." He said the book convinced him his company had to act upon what he believes is "the crisis of our times."
Interface manufactures over 40 percent of the world's commercial carpet tiles, employs over 7,500 people, and has 33 manufacturing sites in seven countries. "By any conventional measure you would have to say Interface is successful, but not by every measure. We were terribly unsuccessful in one important area. We never gave one thought to what we were taking from the Earth," Anderson said.
He said the current environmental condition of the planet is disastrous. "We have polluted rivers, polluted and over-fished oceans, lakes dead from acid rain. We have forests that are dying, polluted crop fields, wetlands disappearing, aquifers depleted and farm lands that are toxicated. The ozone is stressed and in decline," he said, "There have been some improvements. You can now see across the street in Pittsburgh, and the Cuyahoga River no longer catches on fire."
Sustainable industrial development, Anderson said, means not only taking as little as possible from the planet, but putting back more than what is taken. He said that in order to begin to achieve this goal, Interface began working on a seven-step process. The first step was achieving zero waste by developing an internal reduction effort on eliminating product costs that don't add customer value. Next was eliminating emissions that have negative or toxic effects on the environment, and developing renewable energy sources by focusing on sustainable sources such as solar power instead of nonrenewable sources such as carbon based fuels. The plan also included "closing the loop" meaning redesigning products and processes for recycling, and using technology to increase the flow of information while reducing the distance people had to travel. Anderson said the final steps were creating a community that understands the value of natural systems and the human impact on them or "doing well by doing good," and focusing on delivery of value rather than on the delivery of material.
He said the company's use of the processes has led to improvements. In 1994 for every dollar of revenue earned, Interface consumed 1.59 lbs of natural resources, while in 1998 a dollar of revenue was equal to .94 lbs of natural resources used. He said Interface continues to explore environmental programs such as leasing carpet to its customers so the company better controls recycling. The company is also currently looking to develop a fabric that is more recyclable than the nylon used in most carpets, Anderson said.
Morse asked Anderson what role government could play in sustainable development. "Government has two roles, that of the carrot and that of the stick," Anderson said. He said that by ending government subsidies to businesses, incentives would be created to encourage businesses to seek ways to maximize their profits in other ways. Interface has increased its profits from securing business, despite submitting higher bids, with companies in support of sustainable development practices. "Government also has to continue its regulatory efforts to businesses that just don't get it. Creating a floor below which businesses are not allowed to operate," he said.
Anderson said while government has a key role in the process to better the environment, the business community is at the forefront of what must be accomplished. "The business industry must lead in pioneering the next industrial revolution. The first one is just not working," he said, "We have to learn to see the economy as a wholly earned subsidiary of the environment."
Monday, March 1, 1999
The Same Game
I can see clearly now, the rain is gone
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It's gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day
If this column has proven one thing in the past six and a half years, it is that I am not a man possessed with a great depth of knowledge. The more I go along, the less I seemingly know. At the same time I think it fair to say that the things that I do know, I'm somewhat neurotically obsessive about. I may not have a lot of different interests but the ones I do, passion prevails and I MUST know everything about them.
Many blue moons ago (or at least two) I tried my best to tone down that passion and try to approach things with a bit more moderation. It wasn't the way I was used to living, but it got me through a rather prolonged string of not too good days feeling a bit too much. For the most part I tried my best to keep doing the things I had done in the past, just without the same amount of intensity. One of the things I cut way back on was going to movies. Movies can enhance emotions like nothing else- the best hit you stronger than a stiff drink, stay with you a long time; the worst can still contain images, snippets of conversations that forever change the way you view things.
During this time a person came along (albeit with a noticeable limp) who convinced me to reconsider my movie ban. One day this person and I were taking a break in the little cubby hole Al had built at #80 for kids to watch videos while their parents shopped. I was telling her about my new approach to things and she said to me, "What you need to do is create new memories to replace the old." She didn't say it in a critical or judgmental way; she said it with a clarity that was more than a little refreshing. And over the next year we did exactly that- create a bunch of new memories that to this day I can't quite forget.
I think I can make it now, the pain has gone
All of the bad feelings have disappeared
Here is the rainbow I've been praying for
Anyway, this person (albeit with a noticeable limp) and I ended up going to many movies together. Never have I known anyone who I enjoyed the experience with quite as much as her. It wasn't like she did or said anything that made going to movies that much more enjoyable. But only after a few movies I discovered she shared the same passion for a good film (though we didn't always agree on what made a good film) as I did. She was the Siskel to my Ebert. Without being told, she knew the best way to enjoy the entire experience from where to sit, to what kind of food to get, to knowing when to laugh and when to make an appropriate comment during the show.
After she left (albeit with a noticeable limp) I again found it difficult to go to movies although I knew she would be upset to know I had allowed myself to let the experience be spoiled again. I certainly couldn't go with other people, because they just didn't have the protocol down and it was more enjoyable going by myself. I got around this by discovering the best way to determine whether or not someone was worth getting to know better was to go to a movie with them. You can learn a lot about a person by what kind of movies they like, and how they go about watching a movie. Certainly there are better ways to measure the value of a friendship, but in many ways I haven't found a more accurate barometer. Show me a person who goes to a movie as just another thing to do and I'll show you a friendship that will eventually show its lack of depth somewhere down the line. I have gone to plenty of good, bad, and mediocre movies with plenty of good, bad, and mediocre moviegoers.
A couple years back I finally found another suitable movie going partner. She and I seldom agreed on the merits of a movie but I quickly learned to respect her opinions on the effectiveness of a film. Despite being one of the few people I've ever known who didn't like popcorn, I still rediscovered my own love by her own enthusiasm for movies. She will probably go down in history as the only one I actually appear in a movie with, and for that and many other reasons, I will always be more than a little grateful. It isn't like she left me totally in the dark.
Recently my favorite Nagel Woman and I tested the strength of our friendship by attending a movie together. I must admit I was a little worried that she would be the type who chortled during the inappropriate time, talked incessantly about trivial plot developments, or who viewed watching a movie as a passive activity. I should have known better. The movie we saw was Enemy of the State and she is now on my short list of people who made a movie better by sharing the experience together. Weirdly passionate is how she describes herself. And like in other areas we have shared, I understand fully what she means by that.
Look all around, there's nothing but blue sky
Look straight ahead, nothing but blue sky
I can see clearly now, the rain is gone
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It's gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day
If this column has proven one thing in the past six and a half years, it is that I am not a man possessed with a great depth of knowledge. The more I go along, the less I seemingly know. At the same time I think it fair to say that the things that I do know, I'm somewhat neurotically obsessive about. I may not have a lot of different interests but the ones I do, passion prevails and I MUST know everything about them.
Many blue moons ago (or at least two) I tried my best to tone down that passion and try to approach things with a bit more moderation. It wasn't the way I was used to living, but it got me through a rather prolonged string of not too good days feeling a bit too much. For the most part I tried my best to keep doing the things I had done in the past, just without the same amount of intensity. One of the things I cut way back on was going to movies. Movies can enhance emotions like nothing else- the best hit you stronger than a stiff drink, stay with you a long time; the worst can still contain images, snippets of conversations that forever change the way you view things.
During this time a person came along (albeit with a noticeable limp) who convinced me to reconsider my movie ban. One day this person and I were taking a break in the little cubby hole Al had built at #80 for kids to watch videos while their parents shopped. I was telling her about my new approach to things and she said to me, "What you need to do is create new memories to replace the old." She didn't say it in a critical or judgmental way; she said it with a clarity that was more than a little refreshing. And over the next year we did exactly that- create a bunch of new memories that to this day I can't quite forget.
I think I can make it now, the pain has gone
All of the bad feelings have disappeared
Here is the rainbow I've been praying for
Anyway, this person (albeit with a noticeable limp) and I ended up going to many movies together. Never have I known anyone who I enjoyed the experience with quite as much as her. It wasn't like she did or said anything that made going to movies that much more enjoyable. But only after a few movies I discovered she shared the same passion for a good film (though we didn't always agree on what made a good film) as I did. She was the Siskel to my Ebert. Without being told, she knew the best way to enjoy the entire experience from where to sit, to what kind of food to get, to knowing when to laugh and when to make an appropriate comment during the show.
After she left (albeit with a noticeable limp) I again found it difficult to go to movies although I knew she would be upset to know I had allowed myself to let the experience be spoiled again. I certainly couldn't go with other people, because they just didn't have the protocol down and it was more enjoyable going by myself. I got around this by discovering the best way to determine whether or not someone was worth getting to know better was to go to a movie with them. You can learn a lot about a person by what kind of movies they like, and how they go about watching a movie. Certainly there are better ways to measure the value of a friendship, but in many ways I haven't found a more accurate barometer. Show me a person who goes to a movie as just another thing to do and I'll show you a friendship that will eventually show its lack of depth somewhere down the line. I have gone to plenty of good, bad, and mediocre movies with plenty of good, bad, and mediocre moviegoers.
A couple years back I finally found another suitable movie going partner. She and I seldom agreed on the merits of a movie but I quickly learned to respect her opinions on the effectiveness of a film. Despite being one of the few people I've ever known who didn't like popcorn, I still rediscovered my own love by her own enthusiasm for movies. She will probably go down in history as the only one I actually appear in a movie with, and for that and many other reasons, I will always be more than a little grateful. It isn't like she left me totally in the dark.
Recently my favorite Nagel Woman and I tested the strength of our friendship by attending a movie together. I must admit I was a little worried that she would be the type who chortled during the inappropriate time, talked incessantly about trivial plot developments, or who viewed watching a movie as a passive activity. I should have known better. The movie we saw was Enemy of the State and she is now on my short list of people who made a movie better by sharing the experience together. Weirdly passionate is how she describes herself. And like in other areas we have shared, I understand fully what she means by that.
Look all around, there's nothing but blue sky
Look straight ahead, nothing but blue sky
I can see clearly now, the rain is gone
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
Monday, February 22, 1999
Remote Control
"It will lead you into some strange pursuits, lead you to the land of forbidden fruits. It will scramble up your head and drag your brain about. Sometimes you gotta do like Elvis did and shoot the damn thing out."
In 1990, Columbia opened up its vaults and released 58 previously unreleased or alternate takes of Bob Dylan songs. Because Dylan is the most widely bootlegged artist in history the set was appropriately named The Bootleg Series. What was stunning about the set was that if these 58 songs were the only Dylan songs ever heard, an argument could still be made that he would deserve our respect as one of the finest songwriters and performers ever. Songs like Blind Willie McTell, Mama You've Been on My Mind, Foot of Pride, and Series of Dreams, are among Dylan's greatest songs, and thus some of rock's all time greats.
For Dylan collectors the boxset was appreciated but there was also a sense of disappointment knowing all that wasn't included. Soon after, some entrepreneurial fans compiled an entirely different collection of songs and called it The Genuine Bootleg Series. Again, what's startling is the quality of material Dylan has determined wasn't good enough for official release. Songs like Trouble In Mind (one of the most effective songs from his Born Again phase), and Hero Blues, are vital pieces to the Dylan catalog.
A second set of alternative and unreleased songs was "unofficially" released a couple years back and now a third set, The Genuine Bootleg Series Vol. 3 has found its way onto the market. Again, the quality of songs included is quite impressive, none more so than an alternative take of TV Talkin' Song a song that was originally included on 1990'sunderrated and under appreciated CD, Under the Red Sky (I know one person who believes every line on the CD has a direct Biblical reference- to which I point: Wiggle wiggle wiggle like a bowl of soup...).
"TV judges and TV clerks, TV repairman to fix it so it works. TV daddies and TV moms, and on the TV cities under bombs."
TV Talkin' Song is a rant against the pervasive influence television has on our society. The officially released take of the song doesn't make a dent as far as the impact compared to other Dylan sermons. But this glorious and previously unheard take is among Dylan's spookiest efforts. The song uses a skillful pullback narration technique where in the end the point of view spans out, and the events the narrator is so vividly describing turns out to be happening on TV.
TV Talkin Song is a song that Don Was, the producer of the sessions, has been quoted as saying was lost somewhere in the attempts to rewrite and rerecord it. Initially the most striking difference between the released take and the unreleased version is the quality of Dylan's vocals. In the Under the Red Sky version, Dylan's voice is raspy and hoarse and adds little to the performance. In the Genuine Bootleg version, Dylan sings the song in his lowest register, and the growl of his voice delivers the lyrics in a haunting and frightening way. The other notable difference is Randy Jackson's rambling bass which is insignificant in the official take and invaluable in the unreleased version. The melodic bassline counters Dylan's rumble through an angry tirade against how TV robs people's desire to think and feel.
"The news of the day is on all the time, All the latest gossip, all the latest rhyme, Puts your brain inside your eye and penetrates your skull, lays an egg inside your head and makes you dull."
The structure of the song is such that we don't know if the narrator is a believer in the sermon he is hearing. We do know however, mostly from the conviction of the vocals, how the songwriter feels about the issue. Unlike other high haunt Dylan songs like Ballad of Hollis Brown (political poverty), or Man in the Long Black Coat (personal poverty), TV Talkin Song is the type of doomsday rap that makes you question whether or not the writer has gone off the deep end. But just as you are about to make that judgment, events like from the past few weeks happen and you realize the paranoia of the song might be more grounded in reality than you originally thought. How far is it from the preacher in Hyde Park's sermon to the news of Jerry Falwell outing one of the Teletubbies? Maybe all those dollars spent in therapy talking about bunnies does have something to do with the many hours of Captain Kangaroo my mom let me watch as a child.
One wonders if Dylan truly believes the message of the song, why he rerecorded a version of Chimes of Freedom (with Joan Osborne) for the awful four hour NBC TV movie, The 60's, that recently aired. Having endured the entire dreadful scrubbed up summary of a decade just to hear the new version of a wonderful song, I must admit it was almost worth it to be able to hear the by-play between a voice joyfully singing a song he rarely sings anymore, and the familiar swirling organ sound from Al Kooper. In the end I figure the egg laid was more on the screen than in my mind.
In 1990, Columbia opened up its vaults and released 58 previously unreleased or alternate takes of Bob Dylan songs. Because Dylan is the most widely bootlegged artist in history the set was appropriately named The Bootleg Series. What was stunning about the set was that if these 58 songs were the only Dylan songs ever heard, an argument could still be made that he would deserve our respect as one of the finest songwriters and performers ever. Songs like Blind Willie McTell, Mama You've Been on My Mind, Foot of Pride, and Series of Dreams, are among Dylan's greatest songs, and thus some of rock's all time greats.
For Dylan collectors the boxset was appreciated but there was also a sense of disappointment knowing all that wasn't included. Soon after, some entrepreneurial fans compiled an entirely different collection of songs and called it The Genuine Bootleg Series. Again, what's startling is the quality of material Dylan has determined wasn't good enough for official release. Songs like Trouble In Mind (one of the most effective songs from his Born Again phase), and Hero Blues, are vital pieces to the Dylan catalog.
A second set of alternative and unreleased songs was "unofficially" released a couple years back and now a third set, The Genuine Bootleg Series Vol. 3 has found its way onto the market. Again, the quality of songs included is quite impressive, none more so than an alternative take of TV Talkin' Song a song that was originally included on 1990'sunderrated and under appreciated CD, Under the Red Sky (I know one person who believes every line on the CD has a direct Biblical reference- to which I point: Wiggle wiggle wiggle like a bowl of soup...).
"TV judges and TV clerks, TV repairman to fix it so it works. TV daddies and TV moms, and on the TV cities under bombs."
TV Talkin' Song is a rant against the pervasive influence television has on our society. The officially released take of the song doesn't make a dent as far as the impact compared to other Dylan sermons. But this glorious and previously unheard take is among Dylan's spookiest efforts. The song uses a skillful pullback narration technique where in the end the point of view spans out, and the events the narrator is so vividly describing turns out to be happening on TV.
TV Talkin Song is a song that Don Was, the producer of the sessions, has been quoted as saying was lost somewhere in the attempts to rewrite and rerecord it. Initially the most striking difference between the released take and the unreleased version is the quality of Dylan's vocals. In the Under the Red Sky version, Dylan's voice is raspy and hoarse and adds little to the performance. In the Genuine Bootleg version, Dylan sings the song in his lowest register, and the growl of his voice delivers the lyrics in a haunting and frightening way. The other notable difference is Randy Jackson's rambling bass which is insignificant in the official take and invaluable in the unreleased version. The melodic bassline counters Dylan's rumble through an angry tirade against how TV robs people's desire to think and feel.
"The news of the day is on all the time, All the latest gossip, all the latest rhyme, Puts your brain inside your eye and penetrates your skull, lays an egg inside your head and makes you dull."
The structure of the song is such that we don't know if the narrator is a believer in the sermon he is hearing. We do know however, mostly from the conviction of the vocals, how the songwriter feels about the issue. Unlike other high haunt Dylan songs like Ballad of Hollis Brown (political poverty), or Man in the Long Black Coat (personal poverty), TV Talkin Song is the type of doomsday rap that makes you question whether or not the writer has gone off the deep end. But just as you are about to make that judgment, events like from the past few weeks happen and you realize the paranoia of the song might be more grounded in reality than you originally thought. How far is it from the preacher in Hyde Park's sermon to the news of Jerry Falwell outing one of the Teletubbies? Maybe all those dollars spent in therapy talking about bunnies does have something to do with the many hours of Captain Kangaroo my mom let me watch as a child.
One wonders if Dylan truly believes the message of the song, why he rerecorded a version of Chimes of Freedom (with Joan Osborne) for the awful four hour NBC TV movie, The 60's, that recently aired. Having endured the entire dreadful scrubbed up summary of a decade just to hear the new version of a wonderful song, I must admit it was almost worth it to be able to hear the by-play between a voice joyfully singing a song he rarely sings anymore, and the familiar swirling organ sound from Al Kooper. In the end I figure the egg laid was more on the screen than in my mind.
Monday, February 8, 1999
Smegheads
It's cold outside, there's no kind of atmosphere, I'm all alone, more or less. Let me fly, far away from here, fun, fun, fun, in the sun, sun, sun... I want to lie shipwrecked and comatose, drinking fresh mango juice. Goldfish shoals, nibbling at my toes, fun, fun, fun, in the sun, sun, sun...
OK I'll admit my recent schedule has meant I have neglected my TV viewing obligations. I feel bad about not having the time to do my cultural duties but I figure my four to five hours of sleep a night can't be sacrificed. The two shows I will not miss under any circumstance these days are Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Red Dwarf (Channel 2 Sundays 10:30 - 11:30 p.m.)
I think most of you know about Buffy but for those of you unfamiliar with Red Dwarf, let me advise you to check it out. No bigger an expert on TV than our very own Al Brown, got me hooked on the show. Al, of course, is the finest connoisseur of British comedies I've ever come across. Perhaps the thing I miss most about working in the stores is having the chance to have Al point out another British show I should check out. I'll be forever in his debt for my many hours of being entertained by such fare as The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin, The Black Adder, Allo Allo!, and Yes, Prime Minister.
Red Dwarf is the story of a northern English working class man, Dave Lister, who was caught for three million years in suspended animation on a giant space ship, the Red Dwarf. The human race no longer exists and this spaceage version of "Everyman" is joined on the ship by an doting android, Kryton; an intelligent but vain and shallow descendent of the cats that remained on the Red Dwarf after the human crew died; a hologram of a dead crew member, the prudish officer wannabe, Rimmer; and a less than intelligent computer, Holly.
What makes the show special is that it isn't so much a parody of the genre as it is a true science fiction show. The show's creators, Rob Grant and Doug Naylor, obviously have a fondness for sci fi. There also is a certain poignancy in the characters plight. They are forever stuck on this giant spaceship annoyed with each other's company at the same time as needing one and other to endure the doldrums of every day existence. Isn't it the universal truth that the ones we often have to spend the most time with are the ones that annoy us most? Lister is the perpetual underachieving slob; Rimmer the insipid egoist; Cat the self absorbed superficialist; Kryton the robotic dichotomy- forever just wanting to be what he knows is the inferior being.
Red Dwarf is one of those rare situation comedies that the more you watch the more you really come to appreciate the writing and the unusually well developed characters. You come to like the characters not despite of their shortcomings and faults, but because of them. Because they are so well developed, you just know how each character will react to the situation the plot puts them in, and while you appreciate that consistency, you also are moved as each grows just a little bit in each episode.
Last Sunday I saw my all time favorite episode (so far). In Back to Reality, the crew (or so it thinks) finds out that all that has come before is some elaborate hologram game in which they were merely playing the roles of the characters we have gotten to know so well. In reality (or so we think) they are the opposite of what they have thought they were. Lister is a rich businessman; Rimmer is a down and out bum; Kryton is an unsuccessful detective; and Cat is a dorky, uncool, unfashionable geek (with obscenely large buck teeth). As each tries to deal with this reality, there is a certain sadness in seeing that what they thought they were, and thought they wanted to be, is far different than what they have to be and are trying to escape.
Not to suggest that the show is too esoteric to enjoy (beware after viewing it you may never be able to go back to other science fiction shows). Nope the opposite is true. It is fun and funny and so well done that you find a thing or two in each episode to relate to despite the usual limitations of the medium. It can be as sophomoric as it is clever, relying less on slapstick than it does on the comical nature of human behavior when put in unique situations. In other words it has all the elements of the finest British comedies.
OK I'll admit my recent schedule has meant I have neglected my TV viewing obligations. I feel bad about not having the time to do my cultural duties but I figure my four to five hours of sleep a night can't be sacrificed. The two shows I will not miss under any circumstance these days are Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Red Dwarf (Channel 2 Sundays 10:30 - 11:30 p.m.)
I think most of you know about Buffy but for those of you unfamiliar with Red Dwarf, let me advise you to check it out. No bigger an expert on TV than our very own Al Brown, got me hooked on the show. Al, of course, is the finest connoisseur of British comedies I've ever come across. Perhaps the thing I miss most about working in the stores is having the chance to have Al point out another British show I should check out. I'll be forever in his debt for my many hours of being entertained by such fare as The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin, The Black Adder, Allo Allo!, and Yes, Prime Minister.
Red Dwarf is the story of a northern English working class man, Dave Lister, who was caught for three million years in suspended animation on a giant space ship, the Red Dwarf. The human race no longer exists and this spaceage version of "Everyman" is joined on the ship by an doting android, Kryton; an intelligent but vain and shallow descendent of the cats that remained on the Red Dwarf after the human crew died; a hologram of a dead crew member, the prudish officer wannabe, Rimmer; and a less than intelligent computer, Holly.
What makes the show special is that it isn't so much a parody of the genre as it is a true science fiction show. The show's creators, Rob Grant and Doug Naylor, obviously have a fondness for sci fi. There also is a certain poignancy in the characters plight. They are forever stuck on this giant spaceship annoyed with each other's company at the same time as needing one and other to endure the doldrums of every day existence. Isn't it the universal truth that the ones we often have to spend the most time with are the ones that annoy us most? Lister is the perpetual underachieving slob; Rimmer the insipid egoist; Cat the self absorbed superficialist; Kryton the robotic dichotomy- forever just wanting to be what he knows is the inferior being.
Red Dwarf is one of those rare situation comedies that the more you watch the more you really come to appreciate the writing and the unusually well developed characters. You come to like the characters not despite of their shortcomings and faults, but because of them. Because they are so well developed, you just know how each character will react to the situation the plot puts them in, and while you appreciate that consistency, you also are moved as each grows just a little bit in each episode.
Last Sunday I saw my all time favorite episode (so far). In Back to Reality, the crew (or so it thinks) finds out that all that has come before is some elaborate hologram game in which they were merely playing the roles of the characters we have gotten to know so well. In reality (or so we think) they are the opposite of what they have thought they were. Lister is a rich businessman; Rimmer is a down and out bum; Kryton is an unsuccessful detective; and Cat is a dorky, uncool, unfashionable geek (with obscenely large buck teeth). As each tries to deal with this reality, there is a certain sadness in seeing that what they thought they were, and thought they wanted to be, is far different than what they have to be and are trying to escape.
Not to suggest that the show is too esoteric to enjoy (beware after viewing it you may never be able to go back to other science fiction shows). Nope the opposite is true. It is fun and funny and so well done that you find a thing or two in each episode to relate to despite the usual limitations of the medium. It can be as sophomoric as it is clever, relying less on slapstick than it does on the comical nature of human behavior when put in unique situations. In other words it has all the elements of the finest British comedies.
Monday, February 1, 1999
Picture This
My mother once told me that she always knew I'd go into journalism because it was in my blood. Her brothers were in the newspaper business. For me the lure was in the writing. I began keeping a journal when I was in third grade. I fell in love putting into words what was going on inside. To use and play with words, to write something another connects with, to get a smile or a tear from somebody just by something jotted on a piece of paper, that is a drug I've been addicted to ever since.
The big step came when I began writing for my junior high school's newspaper. To see my words printed out and distributed to so many- to see my classmates reading something I wrote- made me realize this was something I not only wanted to do- I needed to do it. It indeed was in my blood.
Not that sharing yourself is ever easy in any manner. I used to get queasy the days I knew the newspaper was going to come out. What if they didn't like what I wrote? Worse, what if no one read what I wrote? Over the years, on my high school's newspaper, on my college's newspaper, on the local newspapers I interned with, and now with the newsletter and another job where my writing actually goes worldwide on the Internet, that anxious feeling still remains. It may not be as intense but it still hits me with every issue of this publication and every article that I write.
A few years back I reached a dark and desolate place where even the words disappeared. It was then, more than ever, that I knew to get my balance back I needed to write. And it was then, I learned that my writing as important as it was to me, couldn't mean as much to others. That was a heartbreaking realization, yet at the same time it was a liberating one. I always wanted to write something that would change the world- just like a J.D. Salinger or F. Scott Fitzgerald short story, or Bob Dylan song did for my world. To accept that writing was an important part of me- to be able at times to write something where I had no idea where it came from- to at times accurately capture something inside- that in itself was world changing.
My mom has saved just about every article I've ever had published. So although at times it has felt like such a solitary endeavor, I know there are a few out there I've reached a time or two. It always feels good when someone tells me they liked something I wrote. It's great when that person is a complete stranger- it's heartwarming when it comes from the voice of a proud parent.
A few weeks back my mom pulled out the family pictures so that each of us kids could go through and take with us our favorite photographs. There was a period of my life when I began a project to prevent any further photographs of myself. I'm now glad I didn't succeed with that project. The premise was that the only evidence I wanted to leave behind were my words not images from a camera. I figured my words could leave an accurate picture of what was inside where photographs merely captured an outside shell which could be all too inaccurate of what was really going on at the time. But the problem with relying on the pictures inside your head is that they can became fuzzy real quick. The heart tends to influence their color. So the objectivity of the camera lens has its benefits.
It was fun going through the pictures of my family. It was fascinating sorting through the many images of myself- some which I remember being taken, some I stare at and wonder what became of the kid pictured. At the same time I was able for the first time to look through my parent's wedding album and pictures of them growing up. The youthful enthusiasm, the look of dreams in their eyes, was quite touching. It is hard to imagine that your parents were at one time your age, and were once facing some of the same things you now are trying to deal with. Being a self inflicted history major, I must admit sometimes I even can convince myself to believe I somehow managed to stumble across my destiny in college.
To sort through the years worth of black and white photos was to remember how it once felt to feel so secure; to feel that all of life held so much promise and the mere impatience of wanting to get to where you thought you were destined to go. There are pictures of me standing out in my parents' front yard. The trees which now tower over everything are just beginning to grow. The landscape looks entirely different than it does now- both inside and out. It is staggering to think of the many memories of days long gone, days never to return, and yet which forever remain a part of the person I now am. My mom and I over the last few weeks have been remembering little moments from the past- like in kindergarten how I had to decide what I wanted to be called, David or Dave- and how that was the first major decision I had to make. That my Mom asked me to make the choice says plenty about how I was raised. I'm never sure when I set pen to paper if I'll get it right. But sometimes it's more important just to get it out. The old adage is that a picture is worth a thousand words. Sometimes your heart needs both.
The big step came when I began writing for my junior high school's newspaper. To see my words printed out and distributed to so many- to see my classmates reading something I wrote- made me realize this was something I not only wanted to do- I needed to do it. It indeed was in my blood.
Not that sharing yourself is ever easy in any manner. I used to get queasy the days I knew the newspaper was going to come out. What if they didn't like what I wrote? Worse, what if no one read what I wrote? Over the years, on my high school's newspaper, on my college's newspaper, on the local newspapers I interned with, and now with the newsletter and another job where my writing actually goes worldwide on the Internet, that anxious feeling still remains. It may not be as intense but it still hits me with every issue of this publication and every article that I write.
A few years back I reached a dark and desolate place where even the words disappeared. It was then, more than ever, that I knew to get my balance back I needed to write. And it was then, I learned that my writing as important as it was to me, couldn't mean as much to others. That was a heartbreaking realization, yet at the same time it was a liberating one. I always wanted to write something that would change the world- just like a J.D. Salinger or F. Scott Fitzgerald short story, or Bob Dylan song did for my world. To accept that writing was an important part of me- to be able at times to write something where I had no idea where it came from- to at times accurately capture something inside- that in itself was world changing.
My mom has saved just about every article I've ever had published. So although at times it has felt like such a solitary endeavor, I know there are a few out there I've reached a time or two. It always feels good when someone tells me they liked something I wrote. It's great when that person is a complete stranger- it's heartwarming when it comes from the voice of a proud parent.
A few weeks back my mom pulled out the family pictures so that each of us kids could go through and take with us our favorite photographs. There was a period of my life when I began a project to prevent any further photographs of myself. I'm now glad I didn't succeed with that project. The premise was that the only evidence I wanted to leave behind were my words not images from a camera. I figured my words could leave an accurate picture of what was inside where photographs merely captured an outside shell which could be all too inaccurate of what was really going on at the time. But the problem with relying on the pictures inside your head is that they can became fuzzy real quick. The heart tends to influence their color. So the objectivity of the camera lens has its benefits.
It was fun going through the pictures of my family. It was fascinating sorting through the many images of myself- some which I remember being taken, some I stare at and wonder what became of the kid pictured. At the same time I was able for the first time to look through my parent's wedding album and pictures of them growing up. The youthful enthusiasm, the look of dreams in their eyes, was quite touching. It is hard to imagine that your parents were at one time your age, and were once facing some of the same things you now are trying to deal with. Being a self inflicted history major, I must admit sometimes I even can convince myself to believe I somehow managed to stumble across my destiny in college.
To sort through the years worth of black and white photos was to remember how it once felt to feel so secure; to feel that all of life held so much promise and the mere impatience of wanting to get to where you thought you were destined to go. There are pictures of me standing out in my parents' front yard. The trees which now tower over everything are just beginning to grow. The landscape looks entirely different than it does now- both inside and out. It is staggering to think of the many memories of days long gone, days never to return, and yet which forever remain a part of the person I now am. My mom and I over the last few weeks have been remembering little moments from the past- like in kindergarten how I had to decide what I wanted to be called, David or Dave- and how that was the first major decision I had to make. That my Mom asked me to make the choice says plenty about how I was raised. I'm never sure when I set pen to paper if I'll get it right. But sometimes it's more important just to get it out. The old adage is that a picture is worth a thousand words. Sometimes your heart needs both.
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