One of the things I miss most about working in downtown St. Paul is the variety of places one can go for lunch. Fast food, ethnic food, fried food, health food- all a mere walking distance away in the wonderful skyway system. Sure my current workplace is within driving distance of a good choice of fine restaurants in downtown Stillwater, but who wants to take the time to warm one's car, and slip down those slippery slopes into town just to drop down a day's pay for some good grub?
Nope, more often I choose either to bring my own lunch from home (a cup of Ramen noodles and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich) or take my chances with the cafeteria food within the Government Center. And taking a chance is a proper sentiment, for this food isn't always the most delectable choice to be found, being the prison food that it is (quite literally- it is the same stuff they feed to the inmates). It is however the more convenient choice for one who rarely takes much of a lunch break.
Thus being a participant in the first of Cheapo's monthly anniversary lunches was a real treat. Last Tuesday Mary, Al (the Kanji master), Cliff and I dined at the impressive D'Amico and Sons restaurant in the poorly plowed Uptown area. It was a fine lunch full of good company, conversation and food. I had a tasty chicken feta salad which was chock full of pasta, chicken and little zesty things that I first thought were grapes, then thought might be olives, but never really discovered what they really were.
Anniversaries are reason to celebrate in these days when commitment and longevity, admirable traits, are becoming more and more difficult to find. I enjoyed the chance to talk to Mary and Al, two people I don't get a chance to see very often, and Cliff who was the only person in this company who was working in the stores when I started all those years ago. Anniversaries are also a time for reflection, something anyone who knows me well will tell you is dangerous to me; after all I have spent years of my life in reflection, looking within, into mirrors and reflecting pools diving and divulging into the inner sanctums of introspection and self indulgence.
I must say that at age 32, I don't have many complaints or the usual anxiety and angst over the current state of my life. Things are okay and you learn as you go on to accept and not feel so deeply those things that used to cause some sleepless nights. I guess there is one lingering regret, one element of life that gnaws in my craw and there are two current motion pictures out to remind me of that missing piece of life. Woody Allen's Everyone Says I Love You, and Madonna's Evita are attempts to revive the movie musical. I applaud the attempt, and can't wait to see both movies. Gosh darn I wish life was the same. I wish that at appropriate moments people would just break out into song and we would all get together and feel the freedom to perform a musical number together. People are just too damn afraid to go out on a shimmering limb and make a fool out of themselves (something I've never had too much trouble at doing). Think of the charm and fun of breaking into a number during those dull moments during the day, or dancing up a storm with a swelling orchestra backing whenever a stressful moment appears.
It isn't only the movies that are missing those glory days of the MGM musicals. Our society is becoming more and more harsh and unforgiving. As music continues to become more of a business than an art form, it would be nice to see somebody during the events of every day life just break into a song because the mood fits and inspiration calls for it. Maybe it's not appropriate and they would cart you away, but I remember a moment in junior high on a wistful spring day, when a young boy's heart turns to thoughts of... and it was pouring out as I went to catch my bus and I passed my heart's inspirational source and I began to sing and splash dance, quite spontaneously, Singin in the Rain and she laughed but didn't go so far as to join in.
Such moments in life are too rare. I guess the best we can do is sing spirituals as we shovel through the downfall from our winter's malcontent. Life ain't a musical. But still that can't prevent you from enjoying a chicken feta salad now and then.
Monday, January 13, 1997
Monday, January 6, 1997
1996 Woman of the Year
Previous Newsletter Women of the Year-
1992: H. Ross Perot
1993: St. Francis of Assisi
1994: Newt Gingrich
1995: Cal Ripken Jr.
Those who know note that my brother and I have vastly different personalities. This difference played itself out various ways early in our lives. When we were growing up there was a competitive nature to both of us, but that competitiveness manifested itself in different ways. I learned early on that whenever we played a game, it was better to lose than have to put up with an angry brother for the next three hours. There was no joy in beating him simply because he got so pissed.
Perhaps that is why to this day I have a weakness for always rooting for the underdog. If I turn on a sporting event, I will almost always root for the team that is not supposed to win. Therefore I end up backing the loser nine times out of ten. Doesn't matter though because there is something so appealing to watching somebody overcome long odds to fight their way toward triumph. Who cares if this doesn't happen often and more often the loser gets the stuffing snuffed out of them?
All this comes to mind as we perform a newsletter tradition. That clamoring you hear knocking on your door ain't the masses looking to buy the newest Susanna Hoffs' CD nor the latest stock of Tickle Me Elmo dolls. Rather it is the throng of people just dyin to hear who the 1996 Newsletter Woman of the Year will be.
The committee met briefly at the Lumberbarn in Stillwater this year. There really was no debate over the eventual winner. Sure, Paul McCartney was knighted by the British Empire and that merited consideration. Sure, Madonna's Evita is the greatest spectacle since Max got into the bedsprings. But hands down our chosen recipient represented all that the award has come to stand for over the years; namely the most influential, inspirational, influenza like element of this past calendar year.
First, a history lesson. On August 26, 1920 the 19th Amendment to the Constitution was signed into law, granting women the right to vote. This still is the only article or amendment that specifically gives women a right. That it took over forty two years from the time the amendment was first introduced by Susan B. Anthony until it became the law of the land is just part of a long history to the Women Suffrage Movement.
This past year marked a time when we heard plenty about the widening gap between rich and poor; black and white. What we didn't hear as much about was another always widening gap, the difference between genders. That this gap today stands wider than the Grand Canyon doesn't seem to surprise many people. But last November the difference quite literally elected a President.
If the year was 1919, Bob Dole would now stand as our President-elect. More men voted for him than Bill Clinton. That the election wasn't even close is a testament to how far women voters have come over the years and how much political clout they now wield.
Bob Dole ran what was a campaign that was historical in its ineptitude. From day one the campaign was full of blunders and bad decisions. Whenever given an opportunity or a chance to prove he was the person we should elect, he inevitably would fall (one time quite literally) on his face. While it is true that Mr. Dole distinguished himself with years of service in the Senate, candidate Dole was a bumbling, incompetent man who seemed to feel he earned the nomination simply through his life's work rather than giving any compelling reason why he should be the next President. Still we men, chose him. If further proof is needed as to why our country desperately needs a female President to start making the right decisions, the choices men continue to make, like our choice for THE 1996 Newsletter Woman of the Year- the Dole Campaign, should be used as exhibit A. Give us a loser and we will throw our full support behind him.
1992: H. Ross Perot
1993: St. Francis of Assisi
1994: Newt Gingrich
1995: Cal Ripken Jr.
Those who know note that my brother and I have vastly different personalities. This difference played itself out various ways early in our lives. When we were growing up there was a competitive nature to both of us, but that competitiveness manifested itself in different ways. I learned early on that whenever we played a game, it was better to lose than have to put up with an angry brother for the next three hours. There was no joy in beating him simply because he got so pissed.
Perhaps that is why to this day I have a weakness for always rooting for the underdog. If I turn on a sporting event, I will almost always root for the team that is not supposed to win. Therefore I end up backing the loser nine times out of ten. Doesn't matter though because there is something so appealing to watching somebody overcome long odds to fight their way toward triumph. Who cares if this doesn't happen often and more often the loser gets the stuffing snuffed out of them?
All this comes to mind as we perform a newsletter tradition. That clamoring you hear knocking on your door ain't the masses looking to buy the newest Susanna Hoffs' CD nor the latest stock of Tickle Me Elmo dolls. Rather it is the throng of people just dyin to hear who the 1996 Newsletter Woman of the Year will be.
The committee met briefly at the Lumberbarn in Stillwater this year. There really was no debate over the eventual winner. Sure, Paul McCartney was knighted by the British Empire and that merited consideration. Sure, Madonna's Evita is the greatest spectacle since Max got into the bedsprings. But hands down our chosen recipient represented all that the award has come to stand for over the years; namely the most influential, inspirational, influenza like element of this past calendar year.
First, a history lesson. On August 26, 1920 the 19th Amendment to the Constitution was signed into law, granting women the right to vote. This still is the only article or amendment that specifically gives women a right. That it took over forty two years from the time the amendment was first introduced by Susan B. Anthony until it became the law of the land is just part of a long history to the Women Suffrage Movement.
This past year marked a time when we heard plenty about the widening gap between rich and poor; black and white. What we didn't hear as much about was another always widening gap, the difference between genders. That this gap today stands wider than the Grand Canyon doesn't seem to surprise many people. But last November the difference quite literally elected a President.
If the year was 1919, Bob Dole would now stand as our President-elect. More men voted for him than Bill Clinton. That the election wasn't even close is a testament to how far women voters have come over the years and how much political clout they now wield.
Bob Dole ran what was a campaign that was historical in its ineptitude. From day one the campaign was full of blunders and bad decisions. Whenever given an opportunity or a chance to prove he was the person we should elect, he inevitably would fall (one time quite literally) on his face. While it is true that Mr. Dole distinguished himself with years of service in the Senate, candidate Dole was a bumbling, incompetent man who seemed to feel he earned the nomination simply through his life's work rather than giving any compelling reason why he should be the next President. Still we men, chose him. If further proof is needed as to why our country desperately needs a female President to start making the right decisions, the choices men continue to make, like our choice for THE 1996 Newsletter Woman of the Year- the Dole Campaign, should be used as exhibit A. Give us a loser and we will throw our full support behind him.
Monday, December 30, 1996
1996 Top Ten
10. Lyle Lovett's Road to Ensenada: Wit humor and charm can go a long way- even get Julia Roberts to fall in and out of love with you. Four great songs, That's Right You're Not from Texas, Long Tall Texan, I Can't Love You Anymore, and my personal theme song, Don't Touch My Hat. "If it's her you want, I don't care about that. You can have my girl but don't touch my hat."
9. Joan Jett's Love Is All Around: Mary comes to the big town, all on her own now. She conquers that town with her pluck and charm ("Kid you have spunk... I hate SPUNK.") The energy in Jett's performance of Mary's theme makes this the song of the year. A cry of defiance, of independence and of self reliance all from a 1970's TV theme song.
8. Bob Dylan and Patti Smith Dark Eyes: An exquisite duet from December 15, 1995 in Philadelphia from two of music's most intriguing artists. Their voices intertwine and dance around the enigmatic words, "...oh time is short and the days are sweet, and passion rules the arrow that flies. A million faces at my feet and all I see are dark eyes..." Not exactly a polished performance but anyone wanting polish from either of these two is missing the point.
7. Mike, Kim and Alex: Our favorite family and they're merely a cartoon. Mike Doonesbury, whose wife recently left him to pursue her career in performance art, starts dating a young coworker. The person in control of it all however is his young daughter Alex. The best Doonesbury bit in years.
6. Frances McDormand in Fargo: A lot of people I talked to didn't like this movie. They didn't see the point and certainly we in Minnesota aren't the rubes portrayed. Well there have been many times over the years during the coldest moments of the winter, slip sliding around and having to deal with terminal cheerfulness and its sometimes cousin, ignorance, where I just wanna scream, seriously questioning my own sanity for living in this state. Frances McDormand was absolutely hilarious as the sheriff. Beneath the "you betchas" and "oh shures" was a patient, competent if not brilliant Minnesota public servant. Good enough for me.
5. Murder One: The end last year was a disappointment as a bit player was found to be the guilty party. Then they really sold out by firing the show's soul, Daniel Benzali, and revamping it not to be just about one case but three or four. Still the show has its wonderful pacing, writing and a good new lead in Anthony Lapaglia. Sometimes it is so good it makes you realize how bad most of the rest of network television is.
4. Barry Manilow's Live By Request: Looking back to my so called life back in junior high everything seems like a big blur. And the blurriest moment of all was during gym class and the swimming unit. To pass we were required to swim nine laps. Not exactly being the buoyant type I absolutely dreaded the thought of jumping into a pool of freezing water, not being able to see two feet in front of my face and trying to get from one end of the pool to the other nine freaking times. The only stroke I had any confidence in was the backstroke so it took me all period to finish my laps as the others darted around me as if I was swimming in jello. The only comfort through this nightmare? In the background Barry Manilow belted out Can't Smile Without You. Now I know it ain't exactly cool to be a Barry Manilow fan, but somehow that song saved me from drowning in more ways than one. Barry had a recent A & E special where callers could phone in requests and he would play them. It was like being in a bar with a he's so bad he's good performer. The caller would request a song and Barry would say to each and every one, "That one's so special to me... it's one of my favorites..." I can't think of a better job than being a lounge piano player and playing Barry Manilow songs all night. Another career change?
3. Kirby Puckett's retirement press conference: I got home after a stressful drive, turned on the TV, saw Kirby sitting behind a table with a bunch of microphones and an eye patch. It was classic Kirby and it made me cry. "I don't want all you kids who prayed for me to think that this means God doesn't answer prayers..." A bitter sweet good-bye, a big loss of cheerful exuberance for baseball.
2. Paul Westerberg's Eventually: They say this guy used to be in a band that was pretty good. Well I don't know about that, but this CD showed the guy has a career in front of him. Love Untold is a classic. "Does anyone recall the saddest love of all, is one that lets you fall... nothing to hold." Can someone please tell me if his old band created music this good?
1. Suzanne Vega's Nine Objects of Desire: I never used to like Vega's music, too studied, sounding more like an English major than a song writer. Her last CD (1992's 99.9F) changed all that however. As strong a song cycle as there is, that CD still gets plenty of time in my music rotation. Nine Objects of Desire isn't quite as consistent but it shows a pleasant continuing growth of an artist who has much to say in such a different way. It's one of the few concept CD's that works completely, examining the many different sides of love. The second song kicks in with the great opening line, "The sign said head shots..." and goes on to create a mood and atmosphere seldom strived for in popular music. "It's strange how a shadow can fall across the wall, and make the difference in what you see."
9. Joan Jett's Love Is All Around: Mary comes to the big town, all on her own now. She conquers that town with her pluck and charm ("Kid you have spunk... I hate SPUNK.") The energy in Jett's performance of Mary's theme makes this the song of the year. A cry of defiance, of independence and of self reliance all from a 1970's TV theme song.
8. Bob Dylan and Patti Smith Dark Eyes: An exquisite duet from December 15, 1995 in Philadelphia from two of music's most intriguing artists. Their voices intertwine and dance around the enigmatic words, "...oh time is short and the days are sweet, and passion rules the arrow that flies. A million faces at my feet and all I see are dark eyes..." Not exactly a polished performance but anyone wanting polish from either of these two is missing the point.
7. Mike, Kim and Alex: Our favorite family and they're merely a cartoon. Mike Doonesbury, whose wife recently left him to pursue her career in performance art, starts dating a young coworker. The person in control of it all however is his young daughter Alex. The best Doonesbury bit in years.
6. Frances McDormand in Fargo: A lot of people I talked to didn't like this movie. They didn't see the point and certainly we in Minnesota aren't the rubes portrayed. Well there have been many times over the years during the coldest moments of the winter, slip sliding around and having to deal with terminal cheerfulness and its sometimes cousin, ignorance, where I just wanna scream, seriously questioning my own sanity for living in this state. Frances McDormand was absolutely hilarious as the sheriff. Beneath the "you betchas" and "oh shures" was a patient, competent if not brilliant Minnesota public servant. Good enough for me.
5. Murder One: The end last year was a disappointment as a bit player was found to be the guilty party. Then they really sold out by firing the show's soul, Daniel Benzali, and revamping it not to be just about one case but three or four. Still the show has its wonderful pacing, writing and a good new lead in Anthony Lapaglia. Sometimes it is so good it makes you realize how bad most of the rest of network television is.
4. Barry Manilow's Live By Request: Looking back to my so called life back in junior high everything seems like a big blur. And the blurriest moment of all was during gym class and the swimming unit. To pass we were required to swim nine laps. Not exactly being the buoyant type I absolutely dreaded the thought of jumping into a pool of freezing water, not being able to see two feet in front of my face and trying to get from one end of the pool to the other nine freaking times. The only stroke I had any confidence in was the backstroke so it took me all period to finish my laps as the others darted around me as if I was swimming in jello. The only comfort through this nightmare? In the background Barry Manilow belted out Can't Smile Without You. Now I know it ain't exactly cool to be a Barry Manilow fan, but somehow that song saved me from drowning in more ways than one. Barry had a recent A & E special where callers could phone in requests and he would play them. It was like being in a bar with a he's so bad he's good performer. The caller would request a song and Barry would say to each and every one, "That one's so special to me... it's one of my favorites..." I can't think of a better job than being a lounge piano player and playing Barry Manilow songs all night. Another career change?
3. Kirby Puckett's retirement press conference: I got home after a stressful drive, turned on the TV, saw Kirby sitting behind a table with a bunch of microphones and an eye patch. It was classic Kirby and it made me cry. "I don't want all you kids who prayed for me to think that this means God doesn't answer prayers..." A bitter sweet good-bye, a big loss of cheerful exuberance for baseball.
2. Paul Westerberg's Eventually: They say this guy used to be in a band that was pretty good. Well I don't know about that, but this CD showed the guy has a career in front of him. Love Untold is a classic. "Does anyone recall the saddest love of all, is one that lets you fall... nothing to hold." Can someone please tell me if his old band created music this good?
1. Suzanne Vega's Nine Objects of Desire: I never used to like Vega's music, too studied, sounding more like an English major than a song writer. Her last CD (1992's 99.9F) changed all that however. As strong a song cycle as there is, that CD still gets plenty of time in my music rotation. Nine Objects of Desire isn't quite as consistent but it shows a pleasant continuing growth of an artist who has much to say in such a different way. It's one of the few concept CD's that works completely, examining the many different sides of love. The second song kicks in with the great opening line, "The sign said head shots..." and goes on to create a mood and atmosphere seldom strived for in popular music. "It's strange how a shadow can fall across the wall, and make the difference in what you see."
Monday, December 23, 1996
Newspaper of the Twin Cities
If there is something that we must be in the business (and when I say the business I mean the industry), it is consistent and reliable. Each and every one of our customers comes into our stores with some type of expectation. If we don't meet those expectations, and in some cases exceed those expectations, that particular customer may go to another store to buy their music.
Sometimes those expectations are unrealistic. Other times the expectations are what we should automatically provide: good selection, good layout of product, excellent service, competitive prices and a clean friendly atmosphere. That's not to say providing those things is a take for granted, easy task. It is to say that if we fail to provide those things we won't be very successful. The same holds true with all kinds of businesses. When we are dealing with somebody for the first time we do have some sort of preconceived basic expectations. When we are dealing with the same person or company for a second or third time, those expectations begin to rise.
I have a bet with my sister that by the year 2000, newspapers as we know them will no longer exist. With rising paper and production costs and declining readership, I am predicting by the turn of the century to get a newspaper you will have to go on-line or get your news through some other form of technology. At the last apartment complex I lived in there were twelve apartments and only three of us got one of the two daily newspapers. My apartment complex prior to that consisted of about thirty different units and there were five or six of us who got newspapers.
Coming from a journalism background and having read a newspaper for just about as long as I can remember, my prediction sort of saddens me. I enjoy waking up early to get my two newspapers, pour myself a cup of coffee and catch up with the prior day's events. When I visit another city one of the first things I check out is their newspaper to see how it compares with others I have read.
We are blessed to live in an area that does have two major metropolitan dailies. While the quality of each has slipped a bit over the past couple of years (too much USA Today television style summary reporting with more flash then substance), there still is no better way to get your daily news then to pick up either the Pioneer Press or the Star Tribune (although Channel 2's NewsNight is fast catching up).
These days I have less time to read both newspapers before I leave for work. I usually page through the Trib and then just glance through the Pioneer Press for anything that looks interesting. I've thought about stopping service on one of the two but herein lies the dilemma. At this point I think because of its resources, the Star Tribune puts out a superior product. They obviously have a bigger staff and it seems often that the Pioneer Press is just a training base for the Knight-Ridder empire, sending its quality writers to other newspapers in the chain when they complete their apprenticeship in St. Paul. However, the delivery service I get from both newspapers is like night and day.
My St. Paul paper is always there for me when I awake at 6:00 a.m. It is put in the cylinder next to my door so I never have to search for it. My Minneapolis paper is almost never delivered on time. Over the summer I almost developed a safari like approach to trying to find where my carrier delivered the paper that day. Because it is important to me to read my newspaper before I leave for work, when I cancel one of the two papers it will probably have to be the Tribune despite their superior product. It ain't any good to me if it ain't there to read.
Now I 'm just guessing at how they came up with the word "news" but it probably was back in the days when word of an event would spread from town to town. Since these events were relatively recent, perhaps it was then they were dubbed news. Therefore once I hear about some event, and read or get into some discussion or other form of analysis on that event, it is no longer news, it's olds. I may get angry at something I read in the newspapers (i.e. the Pioneer Press' lame endorsement reasoning of supporting Rudy Boschwitz in the senate race) but being angry enough to think about something is better than being angry because the material isn't even there to read in the first place. People are always saying if we privatize more of our governmental services those services will automatically improve. Well, getting a good newspaper delivery person proves otherwise. My mail arrives on time. It gets delivered to my mailbox where I expect it. Is it expecting too much of the same for me to demand the same from my news carrier?
Sometimes those expectations are unrealistic. Other times the expectations are what we should automatically provide: good selection, good layout of product, excellent service, competitive prices and a clean friendly atmosphere. That's not to say providing those things is a take for granted, easy task. It is to say that if we fail to provide those things we won't be very successful. The same holds true with all kinds of businesses. When we are dealing with somebody for the first time we do have some sort of preconceived basic expectations. When we are dealing with the same person or company for a second or third time, those expectations begin to rise.
I have a bet with my sister that by the year 2000, newspapers as we know them will no longer exist. With rising paper and production costs and declining readership, I am predicting by the turn of the century to get a newspaper you will have to go on-line or get your news through some other form of technology. At the last apartment complex I lived in there were twelve apartments and only three of us got one of the two daily newspapers. My apartment complex prior to that consisted of about thirty different units and there were five or six of us who got newspapers.
Coming from a journalism background and having read a newspaper for just about as long as I can remember, my prediction sort of saddens me. I enjoy waking up early to get my two newspapers, pour myself a cup of coffee and catch up with the prior day's events. When I visit another city one of the first things I check out is their newspaper to see how it compares with others I have read.
We are blessed to live in an area that does have two major metropolitan dailies. While the quality of each has slipped a bit over the past couple of years (too much USA Today television style summary reporting with more flash then substance), there still is no better way to get your daily news then to pick up either the Pioneer Press or the Star Tribune (although Channel 2's NewsNight is fast catching up).
These days I have less time to read both newspapers before I leave for work. I usually page through the Trib and then just glance through the Pioneer Press for anything that looks interesting. I've thought about stopping service on one of the two but herein lies the dilemma. At this point I think because of its resources, the Star Tribune puts out a superior product. They obviously have a bigger staff and it seems often that the Pioneer Press is just a training base for the Knight-Ridder empire, sending its quality writers to other newspapers in the chain when they complete their apprenticeship in St. Paul. However, the delivery service I get from both newspapers is like night and day.
My St. Paul paper is always there for me when I awake at 6:00 a.m. It is put in the cylinder next to my door so I never have to search for it. My Minneapolis paper is almost never delivered on time. Over the summer I almost developed a safari like approach to trying to find where my carrier delivered the paper that day. Because it is important to me to read my newspaper before I leave for work, when I cancel one of the two papers it will probably have to be the Tribune despite their superior product. It ain't any good to me if it ain't there to read.
Now I 'm just guessing at how they came up with the word "news" but it probably was back in the days when word of an event would spread from town to town. Since these events were relatively recent, perhaps it was then they were dubbed news. Therefore once I hear about some event, and read or get into some discussion or other form of analysis on that event, it is no longer news, it's olds. I may get angry at something I read in the newspapers (i.e. the Pioneer Press' lame endorsement reasoning of supporting Rudy Boschwitz in the senate race) but being angry enough to think about something is better than being angry because the material isn't even there to read in the first place. People are always saying if we privatize more of our governmental services those services will automatically improve. Well, getting a good newspaper delivery person proves otherwise. My mail arrives on time. It gets delivered to my mailbox where I expect it. Is it expecting too much of the same for me to demand the same from my news carrier?
Monday, December 16, 1996
Shelter from the Storm
Cameron Crowe's Jerry Maguire is a movie that is sort of an anti-Seinfeld. Instead of being about nothing, it is sort of about everything. What starts off as a movie about a slick sports agent who suddenly develops a moral conscience, turns into a love story and covers a half dozen other topics along the way. In other words, it is the perfect movie for viewing on a cold gray Saturday afternoon on only your second trip to the Mega Mall with a friend who has just broken up with her longtime boyfriend.
The movie stars Tom Cruise, and it really could star no other actor. The part seems written with Cruise in mind, sort of an update from the character he played in his '80's defining role in Risky Business. Maguire may not be the quickest at catching on to what is going on around him and more importantly inside of him, but eventually the depth within overwhelms the shallowness that his exterior portrays.
The movie also has strong performances from Cuba Gooding Jr., as Cruise's only client, Rene Zellweger as Cruise's business partner and wife, and also Bonnie Hunt as Zellweger's "disapproving" sister. It is in these performances that the strength of the movie's writing really comes through. It is apparent that each of the three has their own "sad stories" as the Zellweger character describes it, but each has come to a self defined realization of who they want to be and who they currently are. Their relationships with Cruise allow us to follow the path that takes Maguire from a selfish and greedy yuppie, to a lost and searching still sometimes manipulator, who ends up discovering and reflecting upon his own weakness until he is complete.
The movie begins with him staying up one night after a confrontation with the son of one of his clients, and writing a new mission statement for his firm that calls for them going less for the money and more for what they all apparently got into sports to begin with, namely fun and love of the game. He is of course fired for his radical idea and new morals, and the only ones to stick by him are Zellweger and Gooding (who is constantly entertaining as the pampered star wide receiver).
In Risky Business Cruise played a high school student who learned the pitfalls of pursuing the Capitalism trap of making money without the corresponding reward that comes with a honest work ethic. In Jerry Maguire he learns much the same lesson only he is able to show others around him the need to put as much passion into their work as they do their own private lives. In return he learns the polar opposite, the reward that comes from developing intimacy with others, to get beyond the glossy lifestyle that comes with major league sports.
At times it feels as if the movie is trying to say too much; cover too much ground without getting beyond the surface. But as Cruise assails the cynicism of the world around him he gets engaged in a simpler world, through his relationship with Gooding, Zellweger, and Zellweger's young son (played by Jonathan Lipnicki). The movie unfolds like one of those white paper snowflakes we all made as children, where you cut out little patterns but it is not until you open it that you actually can see what you have created.
If Risky Business defined the '80's as an age of greed with the make money by any means mentality, Jerry Maguire paints a more optimistic portrait of the 1990's. This decade isn't so much about 12 step support groups that allow everyone to claim themselves as victims, it's more about taking responsibility for personally fixing what is wrong in one's life. There is a balance to be struck between the personal and professional. The message is about striving less for winning at all costs and more for finding that something or someone which will make you complete.
The movie stars Tom Cruise, and it really could star no other actor. The part seems written with Cruise in mind, sort of an update from the character he played in his '80's defining role in Risky Business. Maguire may not be the quickest at catching on to what is going on around him and more importantly inside of him, but eventually the depth within overwhelms the shallowness that his exterior portrays.
The movie also has strong performances from Cuba Gooding Jr., as Cruise's only client, Rene Zellweger as Cruise's business partner and wife, and also Bonnie Hunt as Zellweger's "disapproving" sister. It is in these performances that the strength of the movie's writing really comes through. It is apparent that each of the three has their own "sad stories" as the Zellweger character describes it, but each has come to a self defined realization of who they want to be and who they currently are. Their relationships with Cruise allow us to follow the path that takes Maguire from a selfish and greedy yuppie, to a lost and searching still sometimes manipulator, who ends up discovering and reflecting upon his own weakness until he is complete.
The movie begins with him staying up one night after a confrontation with the son of one of his clients, and writing a new mission statement for his firm that calls for them going less for the money and more for what they all apparently got into sports to begin with, namely fun and love of the game. He is of course fired for his radical idea and new morals, and the only ones to stick by him are Zellweger and Gooding (who is constantly entertaining as the pampered star wide receiver).
In Risky Business Cruise played a high school student who learned the pitfalls of pursuing the Capitalism trap of making money without the corresponding reward that comes with a honest work ethic. In Jerry Maguire he learns much the same lesson only he is able to show others around him the need to put as much passion into their work as they do their own private lives. In return he learns the polar opposite, the reward that comes from developing intimacy with others, to get beyond the glossy lifestyle that comes with major league sports.
At times it feels as if the movie is trying to say too much; cover too much ground without getting beyond the surface. But as Cruise assails the cynicism of the world around him he gets engaged in a simpler world, through his relationship with Gooding, Zellweger, and Zellweger's young son (played by Jonathan Lipnicki). The movie unfolds like one of those white paper snowflakes we all made as children, where you cut out little patterns but it is not until you open it that you actually can see what you have created.
If Risky Business defined the '80's as an age of greed with the make money by any means mentality, Jerry Maguire paints a more optimistic portrait of the 1990's. This decade isn't so much about 12 step support groups that allow everyone to claim themselves as victims, it's more about taking responsibility for personally fixing what is wrong in one's life. There is a balance to be struck between the personal and professional. The message is about striving less for winning at all costs and more for finding that something or someone which will make you complete.
Monday, December 9, 1996
Dear Friend
Dear Friend, what's the time? Is this really the borderline? Does it really mean so much to you? Are you afraid, or is it true?
During those stressful moments during the day when chaos is buzzing all around, I'll often take a quiet moment to look at a picture that my friend gave to me that she took during her family's visit down to the Florida Keys a few years back. The photograph is of a magnificent sunset over the ocean, a perfect picture from a perfect eye.
It always comforts me to look at the picture because it calms me as I can almost hear the ocean waves, and it reminds me of far away places and all that is out there away from cubicles, beeping phones, pagers, computers and staff meetings. It also calms me because I am seeing things through my friend's eyes, the way she sees, her unique way of looking at things, and like she often does when I am around her or talking to her, it reminds me of what our relationship is about, a shared sense of what is truly important.
That the picture means so much to me is rather ironic. I'm not exactly what you would call a picture type guy (or picturesque type guy for that matter). I won't get into my theory here about photographs creating false memories for people. Whenever I hear that a picture is worth a hundred words, I always say I'll take the words. A couple weeks back the Stillwater Gazette ran an article I wrote about the election. Along side my article they ran a photo of me. Mixed emotions? My backwards journey into the world of journalism juxtaposed with the memory of having spent the past few years plotting on how I could destroy all photographic evidence of my existence so all that remained behind were the words...
Still it wasn't too surprising to me that the people who read my article commented more on the picture than the story. Others talked about how my experiences either did or did not match their own and wondered why I didn't mention them personally in the article.. People only can read things or understand things on their own terms. In many ways that is the most difficult thing about writing; the process requires solitude and it is a task to get the words to express or convey something inside that you're not even clear what it is. Good writing straddles the line between thought and emotion. Fall on one side and you get into sentimentality. Fall on the other and you get sterile analysis. If you are a good enough writer the reader will look past your ignorance and your insecurities and appreciate your insight or the images and emotions the words convey. To share that with another means to hope they understand on some level what you have written and often being disappointed because they may have had the same experience but never the same emotion.
Tell someone else your troubles or triumphs and they will inevitably tell you of an experience that is supposed to be similar or in relationship to whatever it is you have told them. A good writer is like a good friend. Good writing requires good listening- listening not only to how people talk, but to what they share with you. None of us individually have experienced what collectively we all have experienced. But it is not an equal tradeoff. To write is to write about what you know. When you write you have to filter it through your own experiences and knowledge. In return you know that most people probably won't respond to the ideas or emotions but you only can hope you can get through to someone out there even if that someone is thousands of miles away.
You learn to get around this by understanding that getting the writing out is often more important than the piece itself. My writing does not define me, it defines a part of me. Thus whenever someone asks me if it is hard to share my writing with others I try to explain that no, because what I write isn't me it is something separate from me and letting others see it is often times the very point.
I've seen people cry because of my writing and I've seen people chuckle at something I wrote. I've written myself into trouble and written myself out of trouble. When I read some of the stuff I've written for this publication, the pieces I like are not the ones that are necessarily well written or even informative; rather it's the few that convey honestly somehow something that was there when I wrote it. That's always a difficult accomplishment. It is frustrating to be unable to express something you want or need to express. Words can fail you at the worst moments. So this week even if the words aren't there, our thoughts truly are with a friend who is facing a difficult time. A good heart survives.
Dear Friend, throw the wine. I'm in love with a friend of mine. Really truly, young and newly wed. Are you a fool, or is it true?
During those stressful moments during the day when chaos is buzzing all around, I'll often take a quiet moment to look at a picture that my friend gave to me that she took during her family's visit down to the Florida Keys a few years back. The photograph is of a magnificent sunset over the ocean, a perfect picture from a perfect eye.
It always comforts me to look at the picture because it calms me as I can almost hear the ocean waves, and it reminds me of far away places and all that is out there away from cubicles, beeping phones, pagers, computers and staff meetings. It also calms me because I am seeing things through my friend's eyes, the way she sees, her unique way of looking at things, and like she often does when I am around her or talking to her, it reminds me of what our relationship is about, a shared sense of what is truly important.
That the picture means so much to me is rather ironic. I'm not exactly what you would call a picture type guy (or picturesque type guy for that matter). I won't get into my theory here about photographs creating false memories for people. Whenever I hear that a picture is worth a hundred words, I always say I'll take the words. A couple weeks back the Stillwater Gazette ran an article I wrote about the election. Along side my article they ran a photo of me. Mixed emotions? My backwards journey into the world of journalism juxtaposed with the memory of having spent the past few years plotting on how I could destroy all photographic evidence of my existence so all that remained behind were the words...
Still it wasn't too surprising to me that the people who read my article commented more on the picture than the story. Others talked about how my experiences either did or did not match their own and wondered why I didn't mention them personally in the article.. People only can read things or understand things on their own terms. In many ways that is the most difficult thing about writing; the process requires solitude and it is a task to get the words to express or convey something inside that you're not even clear what it is. Good writing straddles the line between thought and emotion. Fall on one side and you get into sentimentality. Fall on the other and you get sterile analysis. If you are a good enough writer the reader will look past your ignorance and your insecurities and appreciate your insight or the images and emotions the words convey. To share that with another means to hope they understand on some level what you have written and often being disappointed because they may have had the same experience but never the same emotion.
Tell someone else your troubles or triumphs and they will inevitably tell you of an experience that is supposed to be similar or in relationship to whatever it is you have told them. A good writer is like a good friend. Good writing requires good listening- listening not only to how people talk, but to what they share with you. None of us individually have experienced what collectively we all have experienced. But it is not an equal tradeoff. To write is to write about what you know. When you write you have to filter it through your own experiences and knowledge. In return you know that most people probably won't respond to the ideas or emotions but you only can hope you can get through to someone out there even if that someone is thousands of miles away.
You learn to get around this by understanding that getting the writing out is often more important than the piece itself. My writing does not define me, it defines a part of me. Thus whenever someone asks me if it is hard to share my writing with others I try to explain that no, because what I write isn't me it is something separate from me and letting others see it is often times the very point.
I've seen people cry because of my writing and I've seen people chuckle at something I wrote. I've written myself into trouble and written myself out of trouble. When I read some of the stuff I've written for this publication, the pieces I like are not the ones that are necessarily well written or even informative; rather it's the few that convey honestly somehow something that was there when I wrote it. That's always a difficult accomplishment. It is frustrating to be unable to express something you want or need to express. Words can fail you at the worst moments. So this week even if the words aren't there, our thoughts truly are with a friend who is facing a difficult time. A good heart survives.
Dear Friend, throw the wine. I'm in love with a friend of mine. Really truly, young and newly wed. Are you a fool, or is it true?
Monday, December 2, 1996
What the World Would be Like With No Raisins
Buckle down the hatches brother, winter is here. Though the sun will still rise once a day and set once a night, it's the dawn before the early mourning, the dusk signals a nightly wail.
Back where I came from Thanksgiving was the HOLIDAY of the year. Oh you could have your Labor Days, and you could have your Arbor Days, but we would go all out on Thanksgiving and PARTAY! Oh, the fun we would have as Ma, Pa, and all my brothers and sisters would gather in the warm glow of the oven's light and wait until the Great Turkey would pay us our annual visit. The importance of this holiday was that it was one of the few days of the year where the whining stopped, and people actually took the time not to look at all that's wrong in this world but instead be thankful for all that is right. It is after all, as the cliché goes, easier to tear something down than build something up.
Yes if you sit down and think about it, each and every one of us truly does have much to be thankful for, and taking a few minutes before we stuff our faces full of food isn't that much to ask. Me personally am thankful for the foundation that was present before this year came to be and all that has gone by in the past 365 days that has brought so much more. Traveling all the way from the girl whose mother used to send her albino white raisins, to the girl who feeds her goldfish, Murray and Dionne, with a straw. Here's a partial list: I'm thankful for two jobs that provide challenges, growth and opportunities. I'm thankful for a family that has seen me through some tough times and have shared in many memorable moments. I'm thankful for a kitty who sometimes urps up his dinner but never hides his delight in another meal and even looks at me sometimes as something other than the warmest pillow in the house. I'm thankful for my friends who tolerate my eccentricities and flakiness and take my good moods with my bad. I'm thankful for the next cup of coffee in the morning.
So now we turn the corner towards the BIG holidays, the ones that have become days of commercialism mixed with melancholy and wistful once a year good cheer. Turbo Man? Christmastime and New Years tend to bring me down a bit. Is it the stressful hustle and bustle of trying to find gifts and all that comes with the celebration of the season or is it the constant reminder of the passing of time of the time when Christmas Day was the most exciting day of the year and New Years meant something other than reflecting on another year that has somehow escaped our grasp? To think of where we are now as compared to just a short time ago and to think that we are so different than then and that a few years from now we will be even more different than now... makes you want to go out and mash a few potatoes.
When I was in school, my mother would gently wake my brother and I, and push us into getting ready for another school day. She would get our breakfasts together as we got ready for the day ahead. Breakfasts consisted of a glass of orange juice, a glass of milk, and either Pop Tarts, cinnamon toast, or raisin toast. These days as my alarm clock buzzes and I drag myself from underneath the covers, into the cold house with Max snuggled besides me irritated that I'm interrupting his sleep, and as I hear the coffee brewing and as I put the toast into the toaster and bring in the morning papers and try to wake myself, and the last thing I want to do is go out there again and face it all, I remind myself of the potential of the new day, and well, you never know. It takes time to cultivate a raisin. Turn around and you might just find yourself in the right spot at the right time. Who can say what tomorrow will bring? Last November who would have thought I would have renewed diplomatic relations with a woman with a new name? Or spend a memorable evening driving south with a star and running into the only other person we knew at the Hardees in St. Peter? When you've been there before, often times you will get there again if you give yourself the chance. If you are outside the W.C. you are an American, if you are inside, European. Jingle all the way.
Hey cadre of padres, it's no time to spend shadow boxing during a solar eclipse when a picture becomes more like a memory than a memento. Even olives have their pimentos. And thank the good Lord that we do have raisins.
Back where I came from Thanksgiving was the HOLIDAY of the year. Oh you could have your Labor Days, and you could have your Arbor Days, but we would go all out on Thanksgiving and PARTAY! Oh, the fun we would have as Ma, Pa, and all my brothers and sisters would gather in the warm glow of the oven's light and wait until the Great Turkey would pay us our annual visit. The importance of this holiday was that it was one of the few days of the year where the whining stopped, and people actually took the time not to look at all that's wrong in this world but instead be thankful for all that is right. It is after all, as the cliché goes, easier to tear something down than build something up.
Yes if you sit down and think about it, each and every one of us truly does have much to be thankful for, and taking a few minutes before we stuff our faces full of food isn't that much to ask. Me personally am thankful for the foundation that was present before this year came to be and all that has gone by in the past 365 days that has brought so much more. Traveling all the way from the girl whose mother used to send her albino white raisins, to the girl who feeds her goldfish, Murray and Dionne, with a straw. Here's a partial list: I'm thankful for two jobs that provide challenges, growth and opportunities. I'm thankful for a family that has seen me through some tough times and have shared in many memorable moments. I'm thankful for a kitty who sometimes urps up his dinner but never hides his delight in another meal and even looks at me sometimes as something other than the warmest pillow in the house. I'm thankful for my friends who tolerate my eccentricities and flakiness and take my good moods with my bad. I'm thankful for the next cup of coffee in the morning.
So now we turn the corner towards the BIG holidays, the ones that have become days of commercialism mixed with melancholy and wistful once a year good cheer. Turbo Man? Christmastime and New Years tend to bring me down a bit. Is it the stressful hustle and bustle of trying to find gifts and all that comes with the celebration of the season or is it the constant reminder of the passing of time of the time when Christmas Day was the most exciting day of the year and New Years meant something other than reflecting on another year that has somehow escaped our grasp? To think of where we are now as compared to just a short time ago and to think that we are so different than then and that a few years from now we will be even more different than now... makes you want to go out and mash a few potatoes.
When I was in school, my mother would gently wake my brother and I, and push us into getting ready for another school day. She would get our breakfasts together as we got ready for the day ahead. Breakfasts consisted of a glass of orange juice, a glass of milk, and either Pop Tarts, cinnamon toast, or raisin toast. These days as my alarm clock buzzes and I drag myself from underneath the covers, into the cold house with Max snuggled besides me irritated that I'm interrupting his sleep, and as I hear the coffee brewing and as I put the toast into the toaster and bring in the morning papers and try to wake myself, and the last thing I want to do is go out there again and face it all, I remind myself of the potential of the new day, and well, you never know. It takes time to cultivate a raisin. Turn around and you might just find yourself in the right spot at the right time. Who can say what tomorrow will bring? Last November who would have thought I would have renewed diplomatic relations with a woman with a new name? Or spend a memorable evening driving south with a star and running into the only other person we knew at the Hardees in St. Peter? When you've been there before, often times you will get there again if you give yourself the chance. If you are outside the W.C. you are an American, if you are inside, European. Jingle all the way.
Hey cadre of padres, it's no time to spend shadow boxing during a solar eclipse when a picture becomes more like a memory than a memento. Even olives have their pimentos. And thank the good Lord that we do have raisins.
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