The Music of My Danse Macabre

Soon enough, we'll be hearing bright and cheery airs as we stroll gaily toward "the most wonderful time of the year." Yeah, whatever, I ain't in the mood right now. So, that being said, I've got a few more days to satisfy my jones for all things death, all things haunted, all things...macabre. And, if I were going to celebrate the great Danse Macabre, I'd want a soundtrack, dammit! And so, here's the must have collection of albums with which to dance with the damned; to celebrate the dark beauty of a black-eyed, raven-haired vixen; to scream terror-laced rants at Mephistopheles as we drink to our blood-lust for all...things...wicked. Peace:

1. Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge by My Chemical Romance.
2. Hellbilly Deluxe by Rob Zombie.
3. Back in Black by AC/DC.
4. City of Evil by Avenged Sevenfold.
5. Fallen by Evanescence.
6. Appetite for Destruction by Guns N' Roses.
7. Highway to Hell by AC/DC.
8. Sing the Sorrow by AFI.
9. Lead Sails and a Paper Balloon by Atreyu.
10. Scream Aim Fire by Bullet for My Valentine.
11. Ten Thousands Fists by Disturbed.
12. Sinner by Drowning Pool.
13. Faceless by Godsmack.
14 Smells Like Children by Marilyn Manson.
15. In Love and Death by The Used.

Boo!

Relentless

I've had Jason Aldean's Relentless album for a few months now, and I really do enjoy it. I hadn't paid a lot of attention to the title track, though, until recently for some reason. Let me just say one thing. If you don't know what love like the love described in the song is all about, I feel for you. I'm thankful that I found it. (Thanks AJ.). Some people go their entire lives looking for what I've got. That fact doesn't pass me unnoticed any day that I live. It's a constant. It never subsides. Love that's real. Love that's certain. Love that's, relentless...

Check out the lyrics here.

Watch the video here.

Steven Curtis Chapman on Larry King Live

Wow. I'll let the program speak for itself, and not comment too much about the details, but I do want to make a quick mention of how much of an impact the interview of Steven Curtis Chapman (with friends, we affectionately refer to him as SCC, said "S C squared") and his family by Larry King made on me. My first, and foundational, thought is that the Chapman's illustrated for anyone who cares to know what a true Christian family is like. That's just my opinion, and I know there will be dissent with that appraisal, but nonetheless, I believe they are genuine, and "have it right". SCC's music has been a wellspring of inspiration for me for a number of years, and I owe to him and his songwriting a great deal of gratitude for spiritual guidance, affirmation and blessing. You owe it to yourself to watch the show, and to share in the grief of a family over a lost child, and the grace of God that is bigger even than that. In parting, I'm leaving a list of my fav 5 SCC songs:


5. Dive
4. Lord of the Dance
3. For the Sake of the Call
2. Live Out Loud
1. See the Glory

As of right now, you can watch a part of the interview here. I'm sure in the coming days (or perhaps even now somewhere), you can watch it in it's entirety.

Some Recent Summertime Musings

It's been an enjoyable summer so far. Of course, I am made for this time of the year, so that I'm living so happily at the present time is really no surprise, but I needed an opening statement, so now that that's out of the way, I'll proceed to my musings, in no certain order, of course (you're welcome JA).
First of all, I should mention my fire-pit. A few weeks ago I decided it was time to build one of my own. I've always thought a nice fire-pit looked like the perfect place to listen to some good music, drink a good beer or so, and chat up whatever friends I could persuade to stop by. I did a lot of research (i.e., googled fire-pits) and decided to construct one that was both practical and aesthetically pleasing to me. It seems there's a lot more debate about what's practical and attractive, hence the seemingly unnecessary "to me" at the end of the previous sentence. "I" decided to create a fire-pit that is about a foot and a half deep (with a brick size additional six inch rectangle cut in the bottom middle of the area for proper drainage), three feet in diameter, walled up to ground level with bricks and topped with good ol' rough Indiana limestone (which I took from a rock cut by the highway). I broke up into many small pieces some of the stone and used it, along with some sand, to fill the circle and voila', I was finished. Now that it took me 10 hours one Saturday to do this seems absurd, but there really was a lot of hard work involved. Which, might I interject, is a wonderful respite for my keystroking, screen-watching, flourescent light bathing on a regular basis self! I had hired a great guy (seriously, call me if you need this) to cut down a couple of very tall trees in my yard that I was afraid could topple on my house at any time, and once all the cuttin' was done I kept for myself 6 large pieces of the trees for seats around me as then unbuilt fire-pit, and they are serving their purpose perfectly. The whole outfit is a rugged-looking, but (to me, at least) awe-inspiring piece of art. It is a reflection of my naturalist side, and nestled between my garage (plenty far enough away, don't worry) and the woods behind my house, it provides me with an escape from the mostly friendly, but restrictive nonetheless confines of house and office. Perhaps I should post a picture, maybe I will, but for now I'll just say it has already provided me with a set of unforgettable adventures. My boys love it, my friends seem to enjoy it, and I am thrilled to have it fifty feet from my home office. Most recently my bestest of buds, Jabel, and his splendid wife and darling daughter joined myself, aj and our four yahoo's for a foray around the fire enjoying the perfect weather and refreshments. Life is good.
Other things have crossed my mind recently as well, though, and although not as word worthy (for now) as my fire-pit, I'll sprinkle a few of them down so all can know what's been happening in my little world. A couple of weekends ago aj and I went to see Rascal Flatt's in concert at Verizon in Indy. It was a great time, and she's gracious enough not to point it out, I should've taken a blanket. She suggested, I protested, we went blanketless, and the ground was a spot moist. But, I'll not complain, for along with the RF boys we saw Taylor Swift (don't laugh, it wasn't all that bad!), and Soggy Bottoms. Not the band, just the butts. AJ's in particular.
I came across a phrase today I'd not heard before, "global village". I'm not sure what to do with it right now, but it has a neat feel. Perhaps if we all felt as if we were village-mates, we wouldn't be hatin' so much. Damn the world needs Bob Marley back...
I also read a couple of interesting things about Casanova today. The man, not the movie. The latter was interesting, and Heath Ledger (God rest his soul) pulled himself up marvelously from his strange, er, encounters on Brokeback Mountain to make it so, but it's the former that I looked in on today. On the web's greatest site, Arts & Letters Daily, I came across an interesting review of a book about the loverman himself, and found he was quite as experienced as I've heard. Check it out here.
Last weekend I went with my boys and aj and her youngins to see Wall-E. Cute, cute, cute.
Earlier this week I watched a few minutes of the VH1 documentary on "The History of Rock and Roll". Buy it for me here. Just kidding. Unless, of course, you're gonna do it. It was fascinating, to say the least.
Baseball season for my boys is coming to a close. Boston's Boys Club team, the Mariners, unexpectedly went "from worst to first" in their tournament last weekend, and it was a dynamic event. They won only two games during the regular season, but come tourney time they rose to the occasion and won it all. He has been playing catcher a lot this year, and I well up with so much pride watching him back there working as hard as an 11-year old boy can. Britain finished up his Lawrence County tourney after getting ousted in the first round. No worries, he'll be back. As a matter of fact, though only 9 Brit stepped up a league to play on Bos's Lawrence County 11-12 year old team, the Cubs, and has wound up pitching in several of the games. I'm quite proud of his undaunted courage playing against boys that are much larger than he is. He's a trooper. And, it's a lotta fun for me as a dad watching one son pitch while the other one catches. It's like the toss they've been playing out on the lawn since they could barely walk, except in a bigger yard. In a related note, I picked up Steven Curtis Chapman's latest album recently, on which is a brilliant song called "Proud". Wow, it's amazing, check it out.
Well, that's about it. Your assignment for the week is to check out album by Vampire Weekend by the same name, especially the track "Oxford Comma". Peace...

The World's Luckiest Obsessor

I'm not sure which of God's angels are responsible for passing out obsessions when us mortals enter this world, but I frequently thank the stars for the one I've been given. Honestly, could I have been given a better target for my most intense fascination? Well, to be true, I reckon everyone feels thus about their object of desire, their finest flower, their one and only unreachable attraction, so I'll not dis the fellers hooked on John Deere or the gals jived up on Prada handbags. But thanks again and again Higher Power for my obsessing over Christina Aguilera.

It's been almost a year since aj took me to see my Muse in person, and as I recall the event it's with loads of pleasant memories that I reflect on the singing, the choreography and awe-inspiring performance of the HWOTP. (Of course, I must add right here smack dab in the middle of my laudatory remarks on X-tina that the concert was only eclipsed by the brilliant times spent with aj on our wild and wacky road trip surrounding the show!).

A couple months ago, for V-Day in fact, aj bought me the DVD box-set of the Back To Basics tour, and we've watched the production with bated breath and miles of smiles. I sit spellbound and entranced through each step and across every note. I highly recommend you watch and enter the ethereal realm of what being high is all about.

So, since it's been a minute since I've posted a pic or word about my favorite artist, I thought I'd jot down a snippet about what's at the core of my obsession.

She's blonde. She's beautiful. She's brilliant.

In her glory I bask.

I am blessed.

Unabashedly A Backstreet Fan

I guess this post will propel my lack of homophobia to the forefront with a lotta peeps, but I couldn't care less;) I have become a big-time Backstreet Boys fan. I just picked up their latest album Unbreakable (pictured), and am quite enamored of the project.

Every artist and album has a unique feel to it, and I'd have to say Backstreet music is BIG. It seems to fill the room, or the car, or wherever, and shoots wave after wave of fun and power song after song.

Their previous release, Never Gone, was the one that hooked me. The records and Poster Girl and Weird World from that one are my fav's, but there are some more recognizable tunes on it as well.

Perhaps their truest title to date, though, is on this latest offering. The song Love Will Keep You Up All Night...wow, will it ever?!?!

System Of A Down & Michael Pollan

Very few would be as odd as I and enjoy this tandem. But this is what my day has consisted of. It's been a day for reconnecting, and these, two of my companions in days past, have resurfaced with a vengeance.
It's been a while since I spun some SOAD, so I decided today-on a whim-that I'd give 'em a whirl from their oldest album up through their latest. Yeah, I'm strange like that. But as the sonic hatefulness, sarcasm and stupidity echoed in my brain I found myself visiting another old friend because I discovered he's written a new book.
Michael Pollan recently dropped a follow-up to his smashing success The Omnivore's Dilemma, which I read last year with much enthusiasm. This new title, In Defense of Food, reportedly"takes up where the previous work left off." His mantra in Dilemma was a carry-over he's proclaimed for some time concerning dietary advice. "Eat Food. Not Too Much. Mostly Plants." Perhaps it's fate, but for the record SOAD's Soil is playing in the background as I type this post.
Anyway, seeing I can't get to the bookstore or library today, I've resorted to resuming my path through Pollan's articles on his website. I didn't get too far on my quest last year, but perhaps I'll stick with it this time. I'm reading A Gardener's Guide to Sex, Politics and Class. It's a rip-roaring garden-esque, green-thumb read, but I enjoy it although I've never nursed a single plant to long life. Well, in my mind I have, for there I have planted a garden of flowers and trees and shrubs and plants interspersed with statues, fountains and benches. Oh, and a hammock. It's a quiet place, and the perfect space for me to read the latest Grisham novel.
So, with this fascination and planning for old age garden days, I reverently tread through the vegetative focus of the brilliant Pollan. And, for the record, my plants will listen to rock-and-roll, no doubt plenty of which will be SOAD. Audio A told me they could, and wouldn't go to hell.

Proposing An E-Food Pyramid In The Fight Against Cultural Obesity

Perhaps it's just that I was ripe to be taken with an article such as this, seeing I'd just spent half an hour trying to find justification for an opinion I've been carrying around. No, that's not a long time, but in the time frame of electronic information it's a veritable eternity! Furthermore, it's not that I didn't find my opinion justified, it's just that the opposing viewpoints themselves were so carefully calculated, and well-written, that I almost thought about giving up. Actually, I did. And at the end of these eons of e-time I've wound up right back where I started: uncertain whether or not I should keep my opinion.

Now, I've kept the subject of my perplexity secret for a reason, namely that it's immaterial. Tomorrow will bring another dilemma, and I'll be careening across the web searching for information on some other, completely unrelated, topic. But I digress. The point of it all is this. In searching for answers, it's nigh unto impossible to sift through the information available and come to any degree of satisfaction or conclusion on just about anything these days. I mean, seriously, with millions of opinions at my fingertips, all with slight variations that may or may not be comparable to my situation, how am I to choose? At random, as in select only 10 articles and go with the majority? Perhaps I can consult only the trusted advisers, but then I limit myself and wonder if Mr. Unheard Of over in Topeka might just have a nice little say on the matter that would make matters perfectly clear for me. Who's to say.

This all came about with a quick scan of one of my favorite places on the Internet, Arts & Letters Daily. It's never let down, but, once again, has caused my mind to whirl at a breakneck speed, ready to explode at any moment. The article I read was a book review about cultural obesity. Check it out, and leave me a comment if you want. If no comment seems appropriate, I understand. But, you owe it to yourself to at least let the matter be presented to you. Cheers...

Yellowcard: Paper Walls

This is strictly an album plug, without much in addition. I usually find bands going down-hill after a stellar first album or two, but in the case of Yellowcard, they've trampled that view with this their latest album, Paper Walls. Wow!

The first five songs are absolutely remarkable, in my opinion, with the remaining songs only slightly below that level. The album opens with The Takedown, and the opening line of the chorus is haunting:

"Don't turn your back on me now, you can't do this..."

The second track is Fighting, and since the first or second spin my youngest son, Britain, has frequently been found around the house singing it unashamedly:

"What am I fighting for? There must be something more..."

I could go on and on...what a great production.

Brad Paisley: Letter To Me

Brad Paisley writes and records a number of outstanding songs, and it seems like the well of inspiration and creativity is bottomless since he is so consistent with releasing not just music, but life-changing, powerful and highly entertaining music. His latest song, Letter To Me, has been making a profound impact on me of late, and I wanna share it with you. Click here for the lyrics, and here to watch the video.

There are a number of things about this song that have been hittin' at me pretty hard over the last few weeks, and in fact just this morning I woke up with a line of the chorus rolling over and over in my mind. You know, sometimes that's just annoying, but other times it seems to be refreshing, motivating and uplifting. Today it was the latter. I'll not cover it all, but below is a list detailing a few of the lines in the song that either bring back memories or cause me to appreciate both my life and the life of my boys playing out in front of me. Let me know what you think about the song and if it does for you what it does for me...

"If I could write a letter to me,
and send it back in time to myself at seventeen,
first I'd prove it's me by sayin', look under your bed,
there's a Skoal can and a Playboy, no one else would know you hid"

Well, by seventeen chew and porn was out of my system, but I remember the feelings associated with each and just laugh about it today. I had a tree house in the back yard where I kept my Skoal, and chewed it even though I thought it was gross and made me sick because I thought it would make me cool with the neighborhood boys. I was pretty good at hidin' the porn, too, and only got caught with it "under my bed" once. I was humiliated. But, again, although the sight of a naked woman is quite naturally impressive to young manhood, I'd say my biggest reason for looking was like the Skoal, to "be cool". One porn story that still cracks me up, though, is the video one of my gal-pals from Messina found in her parents room and brought to school. No, it wasn't homemade, but it was old as all get out and quite hilarious. We got a lot of giggles out of that one...

"and then I'd say I know it's tough
when you break up after 7 months
and yeah I know you really liked her and it just doesn't seem fair
but all I can say is pain like that is fast and it's rare"

How crazy is it to be a teenager navigating the dark and mysterious waters of dating life. Most of the girls I went with were quite superficial, and our times together were more hangin' out than anything deep and meaningful. I only had a couple of "serious" relationships to speak of, but mostly I was overcome with the nervousness and shyness typical to those of us who weren't a.) The Quarterback, b.) The Hunk, or c.) Mr. Personality. As a matter of fact, I didn't even come close to any of those (well, I did play QB in practice a few times in Junior High, but soon got relegated to fullback because I wasn't as good throwing the ball on the field as I was in my head!), so I missed a lot, I think. But I do remember how it felt going to school dances, going to the movies, going to parties, all full of leaving the house with big plans, and coming home with bigger regrets.

"And oh, you got so much goin' for you, goin' right
but I know, at 17, it's hard to see past Friday night..."

This is what I woke up with this morning, and have been thinkin' most about recently. I think this one mostly hits me concerning my boys. Yeah, I'd like to let myself know back then as a teenager that even when things seemed to be difficult, there was a foundation being laid for my life and the person I am today is built upon not just the successes but also the failures of that time. My boys are 11 & 9, and as I watch them mature and enter into the next stage in their development I just want to speak encouragement and enthusiasm into their lives. My oldest will be in middle school next year, and oh how I remember things changing in 6th, 7th and 8th grade for me. Middle school is like the blast at the start of a roller coaster; one minute your sitting still in elementary school, playing GI Joe's and watching Inspector Gadget, the next moment you're hurled from 0 to 60 in a flash and you hit high school with all of its' loop-de-loops and barrel-rolls and corkscrews and end up an adult with wild hair, teary eyes and a "what the hell just happened" expression on your face. The only difference is you can't go back and do it all again. But one thing you, and I, can do is to be there for the next group about to ride. I'll tell my boys to buckle up, it's gonna be bumpy; keep your eyes open 'cause you won't wanna miss the views; scream without inhibition because you're allowed and it's a high different than any you'll ever experience (not necessarily better, just different); and don't be timid, just stay safe.

"each and every time you have a fight
just assume you're wrong and daddy's right"

For me it was mom, but that's not important just now. What is important is the fact that her reasoning was based on a parent's love, and not with malicious intent. As much as I thought otherwise, her disagreements with me weren't out of ill-will, but rather out of an "I've been there before, I just wanna help you avoid my mistakes" attitude. In a lot of ways, I wish I'd known then what I know now. The best way for me to describe it is like this: if you've ever done something for your kids that they had no idea you'd done, and then stand back and watch them enjoy this seemingly gratuitous blessing with no thanks whatsoever, and it doesn't bother you, then you know what a parent's love is all about. It could be something simple like putting a cookie by the X-Box 360, or risking life and limb to climb down the steep hill behind the house to retrieve a basketball while they're gone, just because in a few hours they'll be there and wish they could find it. That's what it's all about, and I've come to realize that as many times as I've done things like this for my boys, 1000 more have been done for me by my mom. I'll just insert a line to mom here: Mom, I didn't see 'em then, but I do now. Thanks for everything you gave and did that I didn't even know came from you. That's love.

"And you should really thank Miss Brinkman
she spent so much extra time
It's like she sees the diamond underneath
and she's polishin' you till you shine"

I can't help but imagine a gangly, teenage Brad Paisley struggling with a song in choir, or a guitar lesson, frustrated as all get-out, and just a few feet away is a dedicated teacher knowing that beyond the missed notes and off-key vocals is a star. I know not every kid is destined to be a music, sports or Hollywood star, but I wonder how many would achieve greatness if someone helped them hone their skills and talents to a high-degree. I wonder how many falter beneath the load they carry alone, with no one shouting encouragement to them through the pain. This is such a meaningful part of the song, and one I wanna be sure to catch.

"You got so much up ahead, you'll make new friends,
you should see your kids and wife
and I'll end by sayin' have no fear, these are nowhere near
the best years of your life"

Wow. So many songs have painted an attitude of looking back with regret and missin' our younger years. I honestly say that for me the view in this song is closer to the truth. My life is at an all-time high right now, and though I'd love to go back and relive a few things , I wouldn't wanna go back for good. I forged a lot of friendships in those years, most of which are gone, but the ones that remain are priceless. Jeremy Abel is one of the best mates a guy could ask for, but his kind is rare. I've made a lot of new friends to go along with Jabel, and most of the ones I had back then have gone on in other directions, probably to never be close to again. Oh, and as much as I enjoyed a few of my baseball seasons, I wouldn't give up one of my sons games just to be able to go back and relive my own. I have an unbelievable amount of more fun at their games than I ever had in mine, but if you'd have told me that when I was 15 I'd have said you were crazy. But I would've been wrong, for sure. My guys make bein' 32 the best year of my life, and it just gets better as we go along.

"p.s. go hug aunt Rita every chance you get..."

This one brought tears to my eyes as I remembered my papaw Phillips. The death of a close loved one seems to happen so quickly, and for me there was no amount of preparation I could've made to handle losing Papaw. By far the strongest male influence of my life, I still feel lost to this day at times without him. But I soon regain my composure as I realize he wouldn't want it that way. He'd want me to suck it up and be a man, and handle my problems the way he handled his, with grit, determination, tenacity and a will to live. Thanks, Papaw, I just wish I'd have hugged you a few more times before I had to say goodbye...

Maybe someday I'll take Brad Paisley's advice and write a letter to myself. I'm sure it'd be therapeutic in a lot of ways, and I'd probably have to white out a few lines for fear of it falling into the wrong hands. But one things for certain: it sure is a good feeling being alive, and I don't want to let one moment pass without being thankful that I've been given this privilege. To all my friends and family, I'll say I love you here, and thanks for being such a blessing to me. All of you. Now let's go live the rest of our lives!

Right-Handed Post (Shhh, Don't Tell My Left Hand)

(For you who watch Family Guy, the following is best read in a voice imitating Tricia Takanawa.) In an effort to select a verse from the Holy Scriptures to follow to the letter, I am typing this post with only my right hand. According to the NASB, in Matthew 6:33 we read "...do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing." I know it seems like a simple command, but it's actually one of the more difficult ones in the entire Word of God! The whole time I've been striking the keys, my left hand has attempted to escape from my pants pocket where I've coaxed it to find my car keys. In fact, and here's the ruse, I secretly reached into that pocket with my right hand while my left was scratching my ear earlier today, and removed the keys to a distant location. But now, the left hand seems to be catching onto the trickery, and I'm having a difficult time keeping him in there. With that being said, I'll hurry and finish this little experiment, but before I do, allow me to link you to my inspiration for following the Bible to the letter, out of context, in a completely self-serving, seemingly pious way. Let me know what you think, and what other verses come to mind as doable in this vein. Click here to be inspired...

Kings Of Leon

Although I'd heard of them several months ago, I'd never taken the effort to review the band Kings of Leon until a recent trip to the library changed all that. I stopped by the ol' BPL a few Fridays ago looking for some new Christmas music to inspire me and to listen to on my long commutes, and while there I glanced quickly at the pop and rock sections to see if anything new had crept in. I saw this album, Because of the Times, and decided on a whim to pick it up and give it a whirl. Interestingly enough, I also picked up Bruce Springsteen's Devils And Dust album along with several others, and since they weren't holiday tunes I tucked them in my closet for later review. One Saturday (after renewing my library loan!), I decided to throw a few on the changer while I was cleaning my house (yes, I'm a bachelor, so I have to do it myself until I can afford one of them French Maids...), just to see how everything sounded. Anyway, this is all relevant because of what happened next. As the changer moved through some of the more familiar artists, such as Rihanna, Jimmy Eat World, and others, this album came on while I was in the shower. Literally, while I was in the shower. Here's where it gets crazy. I t-totally thought it was Springsteen. I thought to myself, "Damn, self, The Boss is back with a vengeance! This ain't your father's Bruce Springsteen!" I proceeded to tell a few friends how cool the Devils and Dust album was, and that I was quite impressed with Brucie's reemergence to popularity, and wondered how I'd missed such a terrific collection of music. This went on for days, until I opened the cover looking for this shag-nasty Charmer song, only to find it wasn't there. (Digression: I DID find an old-man fellatio song, though...um, weird. Really weird.) Anyway, once I realized my error I went to my changer, popped out the cd's and looked just to make sure. Sure 'nuf, 'twas KOL instead of BS. Talk about a bunch BS! I've been retracing my steps and tellin' my buds that I erred, and that although Boss man is still cool, these Kings of Leon dudes are DY-no-MITE! Their music and sound is fresh and familiar at the same time, sorta like the southern rock of yore with a modern, current vibe. Also of interest to me is the background of the band. According to this article the boys that make up 3/4 of the band were the sons of a traveling Pentecostal preacher, and incorporated into their music is a bit of the effect church services have had on them. This seems to be especially the case on Charmer.

Hiatus

The whole world of blogging is still relatively fresh on our plates, and we've yet to fully recognize the benefits and liabilities inherent in this method of communication. I've suffered an interruption in the continuity of my work, otherwise known as being on hiatus, for a couple of months. If you're reading this, the world has not ended. Why mention these two things back to back? Because I've had an epiphany, of sorts. I've always felt as though I should apologize for or explain my occasional wide gaps between posts, but today, I see things differently. My blog is a place for me to paste on your computer (or smartphone!) screen some of the goings on of my life, and if you get kicked with an urge to do so, you can surf on over and take a peek. But it's not your food, drink or air, so I don't feel bad if it's weeks or months between posts for me. Besides, if you REALLY wanna know anything about me, I'm accessible most of the time, so in the spirit of Kim Possible:

Call me
Beep me
If ya wanna reach me
When ya wanna page me it’s OK
Whenever you need me baby
Call me
Beep me
If ya wanna reach me

Other than that, I think I'm back for a while. Sorry...It's just that I was busy, and I...

Psychological Neoteny

A few months ago I posted an excerpt from Michael Crichton's book Next. I'd forgotten about it until an anonymous commenter dropped me a link to point out that Crichton didn't create the story about psychological neoteny, a theory positing that "...many older people simply never achieve mental adulthood". In fact, Bruce Charlton is a real person and really has created the theory Crichton borrowed for Next. The Discovery Channel article is much more detailed than the portion quoted in Crichton's novel, and is quite interesting. Do you seem to exhibit some of these characteristics? Do you feel as if you're immature? Hmmm...

My Inner European

Your Inner European is Dutch!

Open minded and tolerant. You're up for just about anything.

Who's Your Inner European?

Saw this over at phantasmagorical, loved his sexy boots, and thought I'd post mine here. I have Pennsylvania Dutch family. Ironic? You decide...

I Bear In My Body The Marks...

...of Aesop Rock. My first tattoo was inked this past weekend, under my left wrist. The totally dope P-Nut at Little Blue's Tattoo's in Bloomington did the honors for me, and he came highly recommended by friends and acquaintances. You'll have to ch-check him out should you need some marks for yo'self.

Now, as for the inspiration for the art, just peruse a minute on the lyrics to Aesop's song Labor. Near the end of the record you get these lines: "I am a star really!....And I work till this here little flat line closes the curtains." You can read about the artist here. It's all about hard work and responsibility, without which I don't expect to reach my goals. Peace!

Hmmm...Wishful Hoping?

I read today of an interesting quote by Lewis Smedes in his book Keeping Hope Alive. It speaks of his suggestion that hope "is a combination of wishing, imagining, and believing for things in an unknown future. Hope is the spiritual power for living successfully as creatures endowed with godlike ability to imagine the future but stuck with humanlike inability to control it." A little later he's paraphrased like this: "...our spirits were made to hope, just as our hearts were made to love, our brains were made to think, and our hands were made to create things."

Now, this is personally interesting because it suggests to me that I can have hope in Christ without being certain of even His existence. I can wish the Bible accounts of redemption and such are true, I can imagine that Heaven is a real place prepared for us by a loving Father, and then I can believe that a personal relationship with Christ is possible, all without having any certain proof that any of it is "real".

Furthermore, I'm beginning to think that my personal experience has been that of owning a lemon. If religion is merely the vehicle of spirituality, in which one expresses his/her faith, then the religion I was a part of for a chunk of my life was the problem, and not the spirituality I found there. I've maintained an inward distinction between the form of religious activities I was a part of and the belief I held while participating in them. This has allowed me to believe that what I've experienced is "real", while the bitter feelings I've harbored have been the result of a major engine failure in my spiritual vehicle. Hmmm, the jury, as it were, is still out, but I think I may be on to something for myself here.

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford

I watched The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford last night. My earlier reflections on 3:10 To Yuma revealed a fascination with western-style films, and now I can add another one to my favorites of the genre. Although lacking in action, the dialog and imagery were fantastic. Even the sometimes cheesy, sometimes tinny soundtrack was exceptional, fitting in with the scenes seamlessly, like the comfortable, though silent, accompaniment of a dog on a walk. The most phenomenal part of the movie for me, though, was the character and acting of Casey Affleck. Wow, what a performance! That he was playing a difficult role is an understatement, and though he was asked to nail it in the shadow of one of Hollywood's biggest names, Brad Pitt, he pulled it off swimmingly. The lingering effect of the story and the remembrance of scene after stellar scene fresh in my mind has created a melancholy pleasantness for me today. The weather today perfectly fits the mood; overcast, chilly, breezy, glum. But alas, I must not overlook the quality of the lead character's portrayal of a neurotic, confused, slightly stupid Jesse James. Brad Pitt played his part without a hitch. I suppose the only reason I'm gushing over Affleck is that it came as a surprise to me. But Brad Pitt, who I expected to do well, sold me once again on his ability. I don't know that it's his best, but I think I can safely say this is my favorite role for him. Bouncing back to Affleck for a second, the one disturbing (if that's not overstated) factor is that I can't imagine him ever being in a movie again. It's as if when the movie ended his acting, and his character, faded to black. I don't mean this in a negative sense, just that he carried it out with such perfection the two, the historical figure and the modern-day reteller, became one. Casey Affleck will certainly emerge on the big screen again, but I'll forever see him in a slightly tattered derby.

Thomas More: Utopia

Just now I've finished the middle section of the 36th volume of the Harvard Classics, Thomas More's Utopia. Having only a minimal recognition of the work prior to delving into it, I was completely unaware of what to expect. The First Book was difficult, but necessary to understand the groundwork of the fantasy island and the role of Raphael Hythloday, the fictional world-traveler who described Utopia. The Second Book, though, was phenomenal. Originally published in 1516, I was surprised to see a variety of striking similarities to modern day issues, such as euthanasia, religious tolerance, seeing a prospective spouse naked prior to marriage (I'm not kidding), etc. I'm going to complete this post with some quotes without comment, but I'll offer a quick plug here: if you are interested in economics, religion, countries at war, politics, ethics or a study in the quality of life issue, among other things, this is a must read at some point in your life. The quotes:

For they marvel that any men be so foolish, as to have delight and pleasure in the glistering of a little trifling stone, which may behold any of the stars, or else the sun itself. Or that any man is so mad, as to count himself the nobler for the smaller or finer thread of wool, which selfsame wool (be it now in never so fine a spun thread) did once a sheep wear: and yet was she all that time no other thing than a sheep. They marvel also that gold, which of the own nature is a thing so unprofitable, is now among all people in so high estimation, that man himself, by whom, yea and for the use of whom it is so much set by, is in much less estimation than the gold itself. Insomuch that a lumpish blockheaded churl, and which hath no more wit than an ass, yea and as full of worthlessness and foolishness, shall have nevertheless many wise and good men in subjection and bondage, only for this, because he hath a great heap of gold. Which if it should be taken from him by any fortune, or by some subtle wile of the law (which no less than fortune doth raise up the low and pluck down the high), and be given to the most vile slave and abject drudge of all his household, then shortly after he shall go into the service of his servant, as an augmentation or an overplus beside his money. But they much more marvel at and detest the madness of them which to those rich men, in whose debt and danger they be not, do give almost divine honours, for none other consideration, but because they be rich: and yet knowing them to be such niggardly penny-fathers, that they be sure as long as they live, not the worth of one farthing of that heap of gold shall come to them.

They reason of virtue and pleasure. But the chief and principal question is in what thing, be it one or more, the felicity of man consisteth. But in this point they seem almost too much given and inclined to the opinion of them which defend pleasure, wherein they determine either all or the chiefest part of man’s felicity to rest....Then if it be a point of humanity for man to bring health and comfort to man, and specially (which is a virtue most peculiarly belonging to man) to mitigate and assuage the grief of others, and by taking from them the sorrow and heaviness of life, to restore them to joy, that is to say, to pleasure: why may it not then be said, that nature doth provoke every man to do the same to himself? For a joyful life, that is to say, a pleasant life, is either evil, and if it be so, then thou shouldest not only help no man thereto, but rather, as much as in thee lieth, help all men from it, as noisome and hurtful, or else if thou not only mayst, but also of duty art bound to procure it to others, why not chiefly to thyself, to whom thou art bound to show as much favour as to other? For when nature biddeth thee to be good and gentle to other she commandeth thee not to be cruel and ungentle to thyself. Therefore even very nature (say they) prescribeth to us a joyful life, that is to say, pleasure as the end of all our operations....But to go about to let another man of his pleasure, whilst thou procurest thine own, that is open wrong. Contrariwise to withdraw something from thyself to give to other, that is a point of humanity and gentleness; which never taketh away so much commodity, as it bringeth again. For it is recompensed with the return of benefits; and the conscience of the good deed, with the remembrance of the thankful love and benevolence of them to whom thou hast done it, doth bring more pleasure to thy mind, than that which thou hast withholden from thyself could have brought to thy body.

Or what delight can there be, and not rather displeasure in hearing the barking and howling of dogs? Or what greater pleasure is there to be felt when a dog followeth an hare, than when a dog followeth a dog? for one thing is done in both, that is to say, running, if thou hast pleasure therein. But if the hope of slaughter and the expectation of tearing in pieces the beast doth please thee: thou shouldest rather be moved with pity to see a silly innocent hare murdered of a dog, the weak of the stronger, the fearful of the fierce, the innocent of the cruel and unmerciful. Therefore all this exercise of hunting, as a thing unworthy to be used of free men, the Utopians have rejected....

Furthermore in choosing wives and husbands they observe earnestly and straitly a custom, which seemed to us very fond and foolish. For a sad and an honest matron showeth the woman, be she maid or widow, naked to the wooer. And likewise a sage and discreet man exhibiteth the wooer naked to the woman. At this custom we laughed and disallowed it as foolish. But they on the other part do greatly wonder at the folly of all other nations, which in buying a colt, whereas a little money is in hazard, be so chary and circumspect, that though he be almost all bare, yet they will not buy him, unless the saddle and all the harness be taken off, lest under those coverings be hid some gall or sore. And yet in choosing a wife, which shall be either pleasure, or displeasure to them all their life after, they be so reckless, that all the residue of the woman’s body being covered with clothes, they esteem her scarcely by one hand-breadth (for they can see no more but her face), and so do join her to them not without great jeopardy of evil agreeing together, if anything in her body afterward do offend and mislike them.

Falling Hot Dog Spills The Beans

This is Patrick. A dachshund. He is owned by a friend of mine, Bill, and was thus named because he was born on St. Patrick's Day. I have another friend born on a holiday, St. Valentine's Day, in fact, but we don't have any pet names for him. That would be weird. Anyway, the other night I watched as Patrick jumped up on a day-bed in Bill's entertainment room, presumably to take a nap. Dogs do that a lot. Patrick does it almost non-stop. He gets up, I'm convinced, for one of only three reasons. Eat. Poop. Go outside to bark at people jogging down the road. That's it, really. But I digress. Back to the day-bed. Patrick had commenced his napping, which of course always begins with some strange ritualistic throwing of blanket up in the air over and over again while simultaneously jumping up and down, and somehow ending up wrapped up like a baby in swaddling clothes. I'm not saying he's god-like, just strange. And talented. On this particular day Patrick awakened after a short time, but was apparently disoriented. He started to back up off the other side of the day-bed, the side with Bill's strange apparatus that is part cabinet, part catch-all, part holder of white beans. This last thing is true, though odd. Indeed there are drawers with see-through glass fronts. The glass is easily unsettled if you're not careful. Inside each of these drawers is a large amount of white beans. Don't ask, I don't know why. Patrick slid off the back side of the day-bed, the wrong side I might add, hit one of the doors with his flailing body, unsettled the glass and when he landed, wedged between the bed and cabinet, a steady stream of white beans began pouring out, ever so evenly, on his head. The dog couldn't move, so I rescued him. But before I did I laughed out loud at the look of utter-bewilderment on his face...and conceived of this strangely-titled, more oddly written, more puzzlingly still published, post. The falling hot dog spilled the beans.