Winter is coming and I hate winter. But I am coming around a little more to the idea of liking fall. For most of my life, I’ve been staunchly against fall, citing the fact that it is a sad harbinger of winter, and the end of summer, and the season where everything dies. But the past few years I’ve started to feel I’ve just been repeating what I’ve always said, instead of being honest about my changing views. Fall is kind of nice. I like wearing longer pants and hoodies. I like crunchy yellow leaves. So yeah, another example of allowing myself to evolve here. Granted not on any sort of major topic, but I wanted to make it public: sure, I like fall.
2.
Work is going terrific!!! I am back to working in Harrisburg and no longer doing my crazy commute. I work (approximately) 8am-4pm Monday-Friday. I’m having a blast! I’ll have a more detailed password-protected blog about it within the next week, but I wanted to give that quick update.
3.
My favorite painting of all time is John Sloan’s “Sixth Avenue and Thirtieth Street”. The reasons are many. First, Sloan is my favorite painter overall: his pioneering “ashcan” style–which denotes his muted color pallet, a brush technique that was representational but bordered on abstract, and choice of subject matter–speaks to me and to my view of the world. This painting in particular (which I’ve included below) hits me on a gut level. The titular streets are in the “tenderloin” district of New York City, which is another way of saying the poor or “slum” area. In this work, Sloan chooses to show us this area in broad daylight at a busy intersection. We are looking at a corner business that is perhaps of some disrepute–a brothel or perhaps a burlesque theater? There are some finely dressed folks around, but they are not the same kind you’d find down by Central Park. The focus of the scene is on a woman in distress; she is in nightclothes and carries a pail, is obviously upset. Most scholars of this painting suggest this woman is drunk and is emotional. The passersby–especially the two finely-clad young women nearby who could not be more different than the drunk woman–look on with judgement and perhaps even amusement, but no one in the scene seems to have empathy or concern for this woman.
There is a lot more that could be discussed about the painting. Sloan did not waste a centimeter of the canvas (a quick for instance–Sloan’s decision to place the drunk woman at the bottom of the canvas, rather than center her, leaving him space to paint lots of sky, whereas he could have provided more surrounding context of the city instead; an interesting topic of discussion, that one).
4.
I have made some mention on Facebook that I have begun running, and even signed up for my first 5k (this coming Saturday)! I’m super excited but also currently undergoing a substantial amount of worry as, just 3 days ago I did my longest outdoor run yet and have had some very minor signs of some stress fractures in my shins the past few nights. Now, these symptoms are very minor and it is 100% possible I am inventing them. Any way you slice it, I am running the 5K this Saturday and will keep training this week on elliptical machines to avoid high impact work, and should probably know after the 5k (because my body will tell me) if I have to take a break from running and maybe evaluate my running style, etc, moving forward. But I want to be a runner super bad so even if I have to take a significant break and make some adjustments, I’m on it. On a side note, the running has really been a key factor in helping me get close to my goal weight: before the weekend I was 144 (goal is 140)…the weekend saw a lot of eating so I’ll know where I’m at when the dust clears on Tuesday :)
5.
Police kill innocent black people with an alarming frequency. You don’t have to eat animals or their secretions in this day and age. America should be a country that welcomes immigrants. Respect women’s reproductive rights and the rights of their bodies. Resist any and all attempts to make our culture white, male-oriented–including the language you use. Climate change is real. There is no need to wear wool or leather in this day and age. Do whatever you want when The Star-Spangled Banner is playing, including eating food, walking to the bathroom, keeping your hat on (I mean really) or sitting or kneeling. Fund art programs, NPR, Meals on Wheels, and Planned Parenthood. Oh, and in Major League Baseball, the designated hitter rule continues to be an absolute scourge.
Famous people I know I would be good friends with if we ever got to know each other:
–Werner Herzog
–Kiefer Sutherland
–Anderson Cooper
–Emily Wells
–Dave Eggers
–Joaquin Phoenix
–Rachel Maddow
–Adam Savage
Oh hey, Karla and I were in line at a store last week. We were next to be rung out. We were standing kind of arm-in-arm. We looked at each other and gave each other two or three quick, successive peck kisses. The man behind the register threw his arms up in the air and bellowed, “FOLKS! There’s other people here,” at which point he motioned to the other people in line behind us. Then he said something along the lines of “Stop that” although I can’t remember his exact wording there. We were flabbergasted!! We hadn’t even been close to making out or kissing in any excessive way–whatever that would be! It’s fair to say my anger was intense. Karla pointedly asked the man behind us, “Were you offended?” and he said “I’m too tired to be offended.” We were silent while he rang up our items. As we walked out I said a very mean thing to him, which I do not feel bad about.
Oh hey, watch this video of Kay Ryan reading her poem “The Turtle”. I mean wow. “Her only levity is patience,/ the sport of truly chastened things.”
It’s not something you really wanna think about very much, but what songs would you want played at your funeral? I actually used to think about this a lot, back when I was much more sad all the time, but even now the topic will cross my mind every few months. Naturally my selections have varied wildly as time goes on and my tastes changed. For many years I held tightly onto “Light Years” by Pearl Jam being one of the songs played, but that finally slid off the list a few years ago. And thank goodness–in retrospect I can see that would have been gratuitously sad. Just way TOO SAD. Currently I am going with “A Three-Legged Workhorse” by This Will Destroy You, “I’ve Been Asleep For a Long, Long Time” by Hey Rosetta!, and “Brian and Robert” by Phish. I recommend trying this exercise yourself. I think you’ll find it is quite revealing, not just about your musical tastes, but about the entirety of your life.
Here is a (partial) list of things I would try to get good at if I had unlimited time on this Earth:
–playing the guitar
–hiking/camping/climbing
–painting
–the yo yo
–acting
–ice skating
Oh hey, I’m reading a book about the earliest art to depict the polar regions after human exploration had begun there. It’s a truly intriguing topic and some of this art is just spectacular. Somewhat realistic based off the descriptions of the men who’d been there but also rather exaggerated and mystical as the place was still one of imagination and perceived danger and death. Check out “Sea of Ice” by Caspar David Friedrich:
I really want to write one of those entries I write about just 4 or 5 random things that are on my mind. I’ve wanted to write an entry like that all day and yet, as I finally get the chance, I have sat down in front of the keyboard and have blanked on all the things I wanted to write about. I figured if I just started, stuff would start coming to me. Oh hey–it looks like Ed Kowalczyk is back as the lead singer of LIVE–that’s pretty extraordinary. I mean this was a band that was SERIOUSLY BROKEN UP. Like, much, much animosity. I would have ranked them very near the bottom on lists of bands that might get back together. But it’s excellent news. Whether you are into their music or not, if you see them live in concert it’s challenging not to admit they are one of the most electrifying acts out there. I never saw LIVE with Ed’s replacement–I bet he’s great, but like so many bands that replace the lead singer, it’s simply not the same band. I can’t wait to hear more about what’s going on in the LIVE camp.
Speaking of camp–have you ever gone camping? Karla, the boy, and I camped out in my dad’s back yard last summer, but aside from that, I’ve never really been camping, like in the woods. We were close to almost “getting into” camping last year, and then somehow it just faded from our view.
I need here to give a shout-out to Harrisburg’s gem of a book store, the Midtown Scholar. Although it is far from a secret, it also rarely gets the credit it deserves; this is a truly GREAT book store–as its name implies, it specializes in more academic or artistic fare, but it does have contemporary fiction, etc. The store is truly enormous; the basement just goes on and on. There is a quite good coffee shop, lots of places to sit, an outdoor balcony overlooking midtown Harrisburg, a huge collection of film, music and poetry books, tons of art monographs, and even a rare book room with books from as far back as the 17th century and a keen collection of art prints. I could literally spend days–and thousands of dollars–there. What perplexes me greatly is that somehow, I had never been there (and barely heard of it) before moving to Harrisburg; this despite the fact that it is about two blocks from the indie movie theater I used to frequent constantly when I lived in Carlisle. All I can say is, I’m tremendously happy to have found it now, and I cannot recommend it highly enough to anyone from the area who hasn’t been there.
Speaking of art–I was in the Scholar for Small Business Saturday and found my first ever art book focusing on the Ashcan School of artists; over the past year it has become clear to me that this entire group of artists is really my true passion when it comes to painting (although I still have other loves, ie Rousseau, Vermeer, Eakins, etc). But the Ashcans and their use of color, broad brush strokes that approached but stopped short of impressionism, and their tendency to focus on urban scenes as a means to reveal human nature–really speak to my core. If you’ve never heard of them and have an interest in art, I can not recommend highly enough Googling the works of John Sloan, Robert Henri, William Glackens, George Luks, Everett Schinn, and George Bellows. I love Maurice Prendergast but it is often debated whether he qualifies as “Ashcan”.
Back in the old days of the Notes, I used to write a lot more about music, movies, and books, and I would every so often post updated lists of my absolute favorites of things. Not due to any pressing interest from the public, of course–mostly just because it’s fun for me, and also because having such a blog post can be quite handy during discussions online; I can just link someone to the entry to aid in a discussion of favorites.
Of course this is not to be confused with my annual “Favorite Music” list, where I detail my favorite music released in the previous calendar year; these lists detail my current all-time favorites, which are (like yours, of course) constantly changing.
Looking back at my entries, it appears as though I haven’t done a big posting of lists since 2012, so I’ll make this one fairly comprehensive. All of these lists have changed since 2012–some very little, some quite dramatically:
My top ten favorite poets
10. Jane Kenyon
9. Robert Creeley
8. William Carlos Williams
7. Sylvia Plath
6. Billy Collins
5. Denise Levertov
4. E.E. Cummings
3. Philip Levine
2. John Updike
1. Philip Larkin
My top 10 favorite film directors
10. Federico Fellini
9. Sidney Lumet
8. Alejandro Inarritu
7. Christopher Nolan
6. Paul Thomas Anderson
5. Alfonso Cuaron
4. Stanley Kubrick
3. Werner Herzog
2. Alfred Hitchcock
1. Terrence Malick
My top ten bands
10. This Will Destroy You
9. My Morning Jacket
8. Godspeed You! Black Emperor
7. Radiohead
6. Seven Mary Three
5. Hey Rosetta!
4. The National
3. Band of Horses
2. Modest Mouse
1. Arcade Fire
My top ten music solo artists
10. Tracy Chapman
9. Ray LaMontagne
8. Father John Misty
7. Leonard Cohen
6. Jim James
5. Nina Simone
4. Willis Earl Beal
3. Emily Wells
2. Paul Simon
1. Neil Young
My top ten favorite (non-documentary) movies
10. Citizen Kane
9. Night of the Hunter
8. Fitzcarraldo
7. Magnolia
6. The Trouble with Harry
5. Children of Men
4. Where the Wild Things Are
3. The Thin Red Line
2. I’m Still Here
1. The Tree of Life
My ten favorite novelists
10. Malcolm Lowry
9. John Steinbeck
8. Isaac Asimov
7. Ernest Hemingway
6. Oscar Wilde
5. Kurt Vonnegut
4. Mark Twain
3. David Mitchell
2. Don DeLillo
1. Dave Eggers
My top twenty favorite books (any genre, fiction or nonfiction)
20. “A Confederacy of Dunces” by John Kennedy Toole
19. “Slade House” by David Mitchell
18. “The Terror” by Dan Simmons
17. “You Shall Know Our Velocity” by Dave Eggers
16. “Point Omega” by Don DeLillo
15. “Cloud Atlas” by David Mitchell
14. “Fallen Founder” by Nancy Isenberg
13. “The Picture of Dorian Gray” by Oscar Wilde
12. “Lord of the Flies” by William Golding
11. “Under the Volcano” by Malcolm Lowry
10. “A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius” by Dave Eggers
9. “The Sun Also Rises” by Ernest Hemingway
8. “Cat’s Cradle” by Kurt Vonnegut
7. “Dubliners” by James Joyce
6. “Letters From the Earth” by Mark Twain
5. “White Noise” by Don DeLillo
4. “Endurance” by Alfred Lansing
3. “Your Fathers, Where Are They? And the Prophets, Do They Live Forever?” by Dave Eggers
2. “Into the Wild” by John Krakauer
1. “The Grapes of Wrath” by John Steinbeck
My top twenty favorite albums
20. “Funeral” by Arcade Fire
19. “Nobody Knows” by Willis Earl Beal
18. “High Violet” by The National
17. “The Battle of Los Angeles” by Rage Against the Machine
16. “Swamp Ophelia” by Indigo Girls
15. “Mirrorball” by Neil Young
14. “Dis/Location” by Seven Mary Three
13. “Abbey Road” by The Beatles
12. “Graceland” by Paul Simon
11. “Bitches Brew” by Miles Davis
10. “‘Allelujah! Don’t Bend! Ascend!” by Godspeed You! Black Emperor
9. “Kid A” by Radiohead
8. “Strangers to Ourselves” by Modest Mouse
7. “This Will Destroy You” by This Will Destroy You
6. “Time Out” by the Dave Brubeck Quartet
5. “Secret Samadhi” by LIVE
4. “Infinite Arms” by Band of Horses
3. “The Suburbs” by Arcade Fire
2. “RockCrown” by Seven Mary Three
1. “Into Your Lungs (and Around in Your Heart and On Through Your Blood)” by Hey Rosetta!
My top five composers
5. Philip Glass
4. Cliff Martinez
3. Hans Zimmer
2. Felix Mendelssohn
1. Carl Nielsen
My top ten painters
10. Edgar Degas
9. George Bellows
8. Mark Rothko
7. Johannes Vermeer
6. Mary Cassatt
5. Maurice Prendergast
4. Thomas Eakins
3. Henri Rousseau
2. Andrew Wyeth
1. John Sloan
It is lately the generally accepted wisdom of the masses that one should not covet material items too much and you should spend your excess money on having experiences. At least, this seems to be the generally accepted wisdom of my Facebook feed. And I think I do fairly well with that; while there are certainly items I not only want but crave, I also spend a lot of my life having pretty great experiences.
All that being said, there remain some persistent bigger-ticket items that just call my name like a siren at sea, and I won’t deny it! Perhaps it is an illness of our consumerist society, but dammit, there’s some stuff I want! I thought it might be fun to put them here in a blog. Please note this is just a fun exercise for me and not a veiled Christmas list. As an adult I have never taken any joy in making out a list of things for people to buy me. Some of these things have been bouncing around in my head as items I want for YEARS; I thought it might be therapeutic to get them out in the open.
In no particular order:
–OK, maybe in a SLIGHT order, just because this is definitely number one: Neil Young’s Mirrorball on vinyl. It’s not my favorite album but it contains my favorite song. Used would be fine but what I salivate over is the idea of a new, factory-sealed copy. New copies on eBay generally go for about $100.
–I’m dying for a high-quality Philadelphia Flyers zip hoodie that goes light on the orange (but still has orange) and is heavy enough to wear for all but the coldest winter months. Turns out all those criterion result in an expensive item. Basically, I’m talking about this. This would give me hoodies for all four Philly sports teams, but I don’t want to rush it and get a cheap version. Hence, I’ve been sitting on this desire for almost two years. I mean, who has $70 bucks for a hoodie?
–OK, I admit I have some fairly expensive interests. I’ve been dying to get my hands on some first printings of collections of Philip Larkin poetry. Now, this is a pretty specific area to deal in. I am in no way talking about books actually called Collected Poems. I am talking about the individual collections of poems AS THEY WERE PUBLISHED. I would only be interested in them if they were FIRST PRINTINGS, which would mean they are hardcovers, usually being shipped from the UK somewhere, published in the 50s, 60s, and 70s. These titles would be: The Less Deceived (1955, generally sell on eBay for $60-$150), The Whitsun Weddings (1964, goes for about $150), High Windows (1974, $90-$180. This is the most desirable one). There are some lesser collections: The North Ship being the most notable. I do have a second printing copy of The North Ship, for which I paid $55 in a moment of weakness some years ago.
–I really want a pair of high quality Bose earbuds. Please note earbuds, not headphones. I like the crazy colors, too. Specifically these. I will never have the cojones to shell out the money for these.
–You might not guess it to look at me, but I love shoes. It’s just that the shoes I love, which are very specific stylistically, can usually be bought very cheaply at many local retailers. But it turns out, there are expensive versions of the shoes I like (apparently they are Chukkas), and I will never, ever be paying for them. But look at them. Look how pretty they are.
–I don’t often feel a need to add many DVDs to my collection nowadays, although I will still add one here and there as I see more movies I fall in love with or as classics become available. However, there is only one movie that I feel is causing a gap in my collection by its absence. That movie is They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? and it has been out of print on DVD for so long that new copies are very scarce. Here look at this: a new copy of the DVD (not Blu Ray) on Amazon costs $100. You can see at that same Amazon page that used copies start at $20, but those are listed in acceptable condition. I certainly do not mind used copies of DVDs but I balk at acceptable. Some second-party sellers are offering New copies for $50. Worth it but of course I can’t spend that on a single-disc, non-special edition DVD, no matter how badly I might want it.
–I love using the Roku to stream entertainment to my television. In fact, we already own two of them. However, in our new home, our wifi is terrible and it is a problem we don’t seem able to solve (we have been relegated to streaming Netflix via our Blu-Ray player, which is Ethernet cabled). The thing is, I love Rokus, and the ROKU 3 has an Ethernet port. Would this be an item of great excess? Yes. But I neeeeeeeeed it.
–My art book collection would basically be complete (for now) with the addition of a HIGH QUALITY, comprehensive, hardback book on Henri Rousseau. I’m having trouble finding one to link to online, but the kind I’m thinking of is generally not cheaper than $60. Failing that, I would settle for a framed print of The Dream (no smaller than 32×24) or The Snake Charmer(preferably 40×30).
See, I don’t ask for much! I also like experiences!
My love and I just took quick day trip to Washington, D.C. to visit the National Museum of American history. She, like me, is interested in most anything, although I must admit I funneled our decision toward that particular museum because I find our nation’s history particularly interesting.
There were people everywhere. In this day and age of technology and immediacy, I must say I was surprised by the size of the crowd; and they were people who did seem to genuinely want to be there and were quite interested in the whole affair.
We started out on the third floor in the exhibit highlighting our nation’s many and varied armed conflicts. We were tickled by some of the astonishing items on display from the Revolution and Civil Wars (Washington’s uniform! The furniture from the surrender at Appomatox! Lots and lots of rifles!). We took our time perusing the extensive collection. There were even plenty of items from such footnotes as the War of 1812, the French and Indian War, and our conflict with Mexico (including Teddy Roosevelt’s San Juan Hill uniform). Then a World War I display–tanks, bombs, more guns, and more of the same in World War II, including some amazing photographs of “nukes”. By the time we got to the Chinook helicopter that flew missions in Vietnam, we looked at each other, seemingly reading the other’s thoughts. “Do you want to move on?” I asked. She replied, “I’m just tired of war.”
It’s an interesting time in our country, for sure. Things seem to be getting a lot more “liberal”, which is good. I recently told a friend I could sum up my political and social philosophy just by saying “I want to make sure everyone is alright”; apparently, this is a liberal ideology, and so be it. I’m not afraid to put a label on it. It is what it is. Whatever that is.
At times when our nation goes through divisive growing pains like this, there is always a very vocal group that just wants everyone to get along. “Why can’t we all just believe what we want and leave each other be???” they bemoan. And it’s a lovely notion, even though it’s complete horseshit. I don’t want anyone thrown in jail for thinking gays can’t get married or for pushing for the continuance of institutional racism, but I don’t want to just let them be. What kind of complacent, docile, horrific world do these people want? They’d rather the boat didn’t rock than actually stand for something. Rock the fucking boat, you motherfuckers, rock the fucking boat. I’d rather live in filth than in a land of complacent hatred.
And why is it that the people who most frequently tell you to read your history books are the ones who clearly have never read anything at all? Doo-Doo, Dee-Dee.
We live next door to an artist. She doesn’t know we know she’s an artist, but we know. A little sleuthing and a little circumstance led us to the knowledge. She has a garage full of huge canvasses that look surprisingly like Mark Rothkos (I thought they were Rothko paintings at first). Immense color fields, oranges, deep blues, with smaller squares of blacks and browns in the middles. And a large, unfinished sculpture in wrought iron of what looks like a male ballerina, mid-adage. I want to talk to her about it. I want to name-drop Mark Rothko. I want to tell her I love John Sloan and Auguste Rodin. But I’m not going to. But maybe she’ll catch me wearing my Rousseau hat.
You try so hard at things in life that mostly will never matter. Will anyone care, after I am gone, how close I got to my ideal weight? How close of a shave I managed to get, how many points I racked up on my grocery store loyalty card, whether I had all the Arcade Fire albums on vinyl? (I do). Holy moly. It seems so cliché and trite but I just try to be better everyday than I was the previous day. Nicer and more caring and less selfish. And it is so hard and it never gets easier.
But still. I don’t want to gain my weight back, and I do LOVE my Arcade Fire vinyls. Life, it sure is complicated.
I sure do like blue skies, clear wide-open blue skies and the wind on my face. Getting tan. Getting tan is like taking the outside world into yourself and then shooting it back out. And all those vitamins and good vibes. Also I like movies. I like watching movies in air conditioned rooms while sweat dries on my skin. I like rice with salt on it, and dogs who smile.
I’ve been watching a lot of cable news lately, but I don’t necessarily think it’s good for me. I’ve just become addicted to it, as I’ve been known to become addicted to just about anything from time to time. I suppose it must just be cable news’ turn. I mean, there is plenty that I like about it. It really does inform you, and depending on what you’re watching, you usually learn about stuff you might not otherwise be following, like that shit in Iraq. CNN is the way to go. Typically they’re gonna tell you about the stuff that’s important, not just the tabloid stuff. But regardless, most of it is rot. You’re better off reading newspapers. Please read newspapers. They need you, and it’s still the best thing going.
I’ve recently come across two different poems about turtles that really floored me. It makes sense that turtles would make such rich poetic subjects: ugly, slow, and capable of withdrawing entirely into themselves. They’re just begging for the poetic treatment. The first is “Turtle” by Kay Ryan. Watch her read it here, and the text of the poem is here. The other is “To a Box Turtle” by John Updike. Watch me read it to you! Right here:
To a Box Turtle
by John Updike
Size of a small skull, and like a skull segmented,
of pentagons healed and varnished to form a dome,
you almost went unnoticed in the meadow,
among its tall grasses and serrated strawberry leaves
your mottle of amber and umber effective camouflage.
You were making your way through grave distances,
your forefeet just barely extended and as dainty as dried
coelacanth fins, as miniature sea-fans, your black nails
decadent like a Chinese empress’s, and your head
a triangular snake-head, eyes ringed with dull gold.
I pick you up. Your imperious head withdraws.
Your bottom plate, hinged once, presents a No
with its courteous waxed surface, a marquetry
of inlaid squares, fine-grained and tinted
tobacco-brown and the yellow of a pipe smoker’s teeth.
What are you thinking, thus sealed inside yourself?
My hand must have a Smell, a killer’s warmth.
It holds you upside down, aloft, undignified,
your leathery person amazed in the floating dark.
How much pure fear can your wrinkled brain contain?
I put you down. Your tentative, stalk-bending walk
resumes. The manifold jewel of you melts into grass.
Power mowers have been cruel to your race, and creatures
less ornate and unlikely have long gone extinct;
but nature’s tumults pool to form a giant peace.
You may have noticed, on various and sundry platforms of social media, that I am losing weight (again!). There will, of course, be a larger blog entry devoted to the subject once I hit a certain milestone, but I wanted to stop officially ignoring it on the blog. So yes, I am once again losing weight. If you’re a long-time reader, you may recall we’ve been down this road once before. I’ll stop short of saying I’m a chronic “weight bouncer”—I’ve only done the up and down once, now going on twice—and I do think I’m going to be able to maintain it this time, seeing as how I actually do enjoy the “lifestyle” one must switch to in order to stop gaining the weight back. I don’t want to go into too much detail, as the first of the “milestone” blogs on the topic should be coming soon. But if you’ve noticed that I’m a little more energetic, happy as an idiot, and generally manic lately—this is the main cause.
I don’t like, any more than you do, the way that things in our culture seem to have gotten so divisive. Everything appears to be very “black and white” or “us vs. them”…either you agree with me, or I hate you. All issues divided into two sides—usually liberal and conservative—so that most critical thought is now not required; you just have to know what team you’re on. I don’t like it any more than you do.
But there seems to be, to most people, a thought that this is a terrible deviation from some Golden Era of American discourse. That, not long ago now, everyone just kind of got along and accepted divergent opinions and engaged in a spirited and lively debate of the issues, before saying, ah, forget it! and heading out back for a barbeque. This fever dream is made possible by the fact that nobody actually knows anything about our own history, and is cursed with the widely-held human belief that all things have just recently been much better than they are now.
Things have, of course, never been like that. We’ve always been a country at one-another’s throats. That’s because the issues that we disagree about are pretty fucking important and are not trifles. If the biggest debate in America was chocolate vs. vanilla, I’d say some of us might be overreacting, but we debate about matters of deepest morality, life and death, and core philosophy. If you’re not passionate about these things, get out of the ring.
The division seems more pronounced now that we’re on the internet all the time. The biggest factor that plays into that is that we routinely interact with many people who we would previously not have been interacting with. Before the internet, we just naturally and gradually gravitated to people of like-mind. Now, we, in small ways, interact with dozens of people “on the other side” daily, which can cause little internet skirmishes which then, in turn, feel larger and more intense than real-world interactions, because we can’t gauge how the other is talking, as well as these skirmishes taking place in front of our 300 or so “friends” and remaining to view long after the words have been said.
The ease with which these divisive interactions can occur has given rise to something even worse than the “cultural division” itself: the everything is hunky-dorey crowd. This “crowd” includes just about everybody. We’re all so tired of having these online skirmishes with people with opposing views, almost nobody engages the argument anymore. Nobody wants to appear “divisive”. Everyone wants to make sure they are “accepting of other people’s views”.
The bottom line I’m trying to get to is this: I keep an open mind about things like calamari, the official naming of snow storms, and the future of the designated hitter in professional baseball. But I’m an adult now, and I’ve thought a lot about my core beliefs, and I don’t have an open mind about abortion, gay rights, gun control, or even—yes, even the existence of a higher power. I know what I think about these things. Not only that, but having an open mind about these things would make me a man of feeble constitution.
If you know me (and I think you do) you know that, obviously, I am a man with a ton of opinions. Well, one of those opinions is that these things that pop up on social media as “photo challenges” are some of the stupidest things I’ve ever seen. If you’re not familiar with them: they propose to be “30 day photo challenges” that list a thing you’re supposed to take a picture of once a day for thirty days. First off, if you need a “challenge” to take interesting pictures of the world around you, you’re not interesting. Period. Secondly, the items in these challenges are never even remotely challenging or creative. It’s like, “Day 1: Selfie. Day 2: Food. Day 3: Car”. Really? You spent time creating this, anonymous internet user? How dreadful.
So, I thought I’d make an interesting one! Some things here are interpretable, whch, again, makes it interesting. For instance, “Birth” wouldn’t necessarily be looking for a picture of something being born. You decide what it means. If anyone actually wants to give this a spin, let me know, I’ll put it into a dedicated blog entry so it’s easier to reference.
Actually Interesting Photo Challenge
Day 1: An animal that you want to take home
Day 2: Gum
Day 3: Something Upside-Down
Day 4: Paint
Day 5: How you’d like to be perceived
Day 6: How you feel inside
Day 7: Something you hate
Day 8: Birth
Day 9: A chair
Day 10: The passage of time
Day 11: Something you love but can’t have
Day 12: Space, area, void
Day 13: Underneath
Day 14: Scar
Day 15: Home
Day 16: Your bathtub.
Day 17: Work
Day 18: The ground
Day 19: The sky
Day 20: Between the ground and the sky
Day 21: What you believe
Day 22: Utensils
Day 23: Lights
Day 24: Transportation
Day 25: Idealized
Day 26: Action!
Day 27: Water
Day 28: Unattainable
Day 29: Before you were born
Day 30: Celebrate
Life, and all that stuff, is sometimes too interesting to bear. What I mean is, it can be very cyclical, or circular, or appear to be laden with damned meaning. See, I’m a man who doesn’t believe in much. I mean, I believe in science, and form and order amidst the chaos, but not in any Fate or creator or grand design. Just rules and laws that govern the movements and the heat of things, basically. So when life seems to have plans, folks like me sit up and take notice. Not because it’s changing the way I think—I have thrown away my open mind—but because coincidence or happenstance on any large sort of scale is just so unlikely.
Take, for instance, a story from my life. When I first got sober, I was 25 years old. This was a little over eleven years ago. I went to live with my mother and her husband in a small town in New Jersey. This was the first time I’d lived anywhere outside of Central Pennsylvania. This small town in New Jersey was relatively close to Philadelphia…maybe an hour, I think? At any rate, it was certainly the closest I’d ever lived to a big city.
Eleven years may not seem like that long ago, but I was inhabiting a very different world back then, and I was also a very different version of me. I drove a 1983 Ford Escort, named Earl Grey. This car was a bona fide piece of shit, and it broke down with an alarming regularity (chronic fuel pump issues). I had no cell phone. No GPS. When I wanted to go somewhere I’d never been, I printed out MapQuest directions and read them as I drove. If I needed to call someone, I found a payphone and retrieved my list of phone numbers, hand-written on a sheet of paper inside my wallet. It was interesting. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. I drank a lot of Red Bull and wrote poetry almost every waking moment and listened to Pearl Jam like it was my job.
I had a very close friend who I’d been through the addiction wringer with. She had a similar problem as I did, and we’d gone to the same rehab, and really just been to Hell and back together. She had landed in a Recovery House in Harrisburg, PA. After the tumult of the end of our addictions, we now felt very far apart. Recovery Houses don’t allow you much leeway with visitors and phone calls. Remember, this is also before everyone was texting and Facebooking (it’s even before MySpace). I missed her very much.
She did manage to e-mail on occasion, and, ill-advisedly, we planned for her to sneak out one night. We would meet in Philadelphia. We were going to walk South Street.
I drove old rickety Earl Grey the hour to South Street, paging through my MapQuest directions. I drove right past South Street at one point and just decided to park as soon as I could. I found a spot and hopped out of my car. As I walked away, I realized I might later have no idea where I had parked. I got back into the car and grabbed my journal, the sacred notebook where I wrote all my poetry. I looked around for a landmark and wrote it down, and put the journal in my backpack.
I met up with her and it was glorious. I treasured being in her company, if only for a night. I don’t remember what we did on South Street. I don’t remember what we did at all. But it stands as one of the more significant nights of my life, on my long road to becoming the current version of me.
A week or so ago, I decided to go back through some of my old journals and see if I had missed anything of value, any pieces of writing I could turn into something good. I never did get around to it, but I threw the two oldest ones into my backpack, planning to look at them the next time I came to rest in some park. I promptly forgot about it.
This evening, I was riding my bike through what is now one of my favorite sections of Old City (technically, the neighborhood known as Society Hill). I love this section for it’s old houses, churches with expansive, historic graveyards, and shade-dappled side alleys. I came to one of the more significant landmarks to me, the house that Thaddeus Kosciuszko lived in when he lived in Philadelphia. Kosciuszko is my favorite revolutionary. I feel deeply connected to him across the vast gulf of time. The version of me from eleven years ago wasn’t yet even interested in history. He would have had zero interest in this Polish freedom fighter’s house. But I certainly do now.
I recalled, tonight, how the last time I was in the house, the park ranger had told me the woman who owned it and rented it to Kosciuszko was buried in the cemetery across the street. I have spent some time in that cemetery before (American painter Charles Wilson Peale is buried there, and so is George Dallas, who was Vice President under James K. Polk), but I thought I’d wander through again and look for her grave.
It didn’t take me long in there before I had to face the fact that I couldn’t remember her name, and my iPhone’s power was getting too low to make Googling a wise choice, so I decided to leave and ride my bike elsewhere. But as I stepped onto the sidewalk, the shade of sense memory hit me. I’d been here many times these past six months, but perhaps never at this time of evening, in this kind of mid-summer air. Suddenly I wondered it I’d been here before, long before.
I sat my backpack on the ground an hurriedly opened it, finding the oldest journal. I looked at many pages before I found it, scrawled in my own unmistakable hand:
4th St., across from St. Peters Church
I craned my neck at the cemetery gate above me, and sure enough: St. Peters.
Sure, maybe no big deal. So what, this is where I parked that night? If I moved to the city, it stands to reason I would pass by the place I parked that night, eleven years ago.
But the way that it came to me out of the blue, the way I had that journal on me, which was extraordinarily unlikely, the way I’d never noticed before that this was the place. It has been long ago enough now that it’s starting to feel like deep past; I felt my younger self there. I felt her younger self there. I saw me getting out of my Escort, completely oblivious to Thad Kosciuszko’s house a half block away, not caring, not caring, not caring. And life is crammed full of these bizarre cycles, these glances-back, these cosmic happenstances. Like combination locks clicking into place. But then the lock, it just keeps on spinning.
I sure do like blue skies, clear wide-open blue skies and the wind on my face. Getting tan. Getting tan is like taking the outside world into yourself and then shooting it back out. And all those vitamins and good vibes. Also I like movies. I like watching movies in air conditioned rooms while sweat dries on my skin. I like rice with salt on it, and dogs who smile.
Where did you go, the you that was there before? The you that I tried so hard to be like? You’ve settled in now, haven’t you? Settled in for weekdays, Pampers, “the grind”. You’ve all-but disappeared into it. And that’s fine. So have I, in my own way. I look at the cubicle-dwellers, the 9-to-5ers, the mortgagers with judgment. I judge them for a life spent in the cattle chute, but I’m the same, in my own way. I wake up to an alarm five days a week, dash my utility bills off monthly in tidy little envelopes, take extra long showers and even bubble baths to de-stress from the rigors of a world I can’t even begin to understand. I’m in the grind, too, in my own version of a cattle chute. You were beautiful once, even more than you are now, supple like sand underfoot right after the wave withdraws, and I’ve never been a model but I had that nice little six-pack of abs and that 90s-era skater hair. Who could forget the smell of your own hair in my face, your feet akimbo in the air. We must have been dank and gorgeous like John Sloan’s Wet Night on the Bowery, everything akimbo in the air and musty and frivolous. But who could look back and want that time again? There was so much pain and we didn’t know a damn thing. Who wants to not know a damn thing? But then we wake up in this world, in this present-tense, and wonder where our beauty escaped to. How did it siphon off? We’re always so safe here, so comfortable. When was the last time you felt real danger? It is important to feel real danger. What proof have you that you are alive? What new horizon can you actually imagine, aside from the top of your stairs, or the local pizza parlor? Dammit we were gorgeous but now it’s just about not forgetting umbrellas and digging out of debt. Who ever heard of digging out of debt? Does the field mouse understand what an interest rate is? How about the barn owl, how much does it know about 401(k)’s? What in the world is going on here? What does any of this have to do with living? Remember once, you and I were racing each other back and forth through my parents’ front yard–I guess it would have been my front yard, then, too. And it kept bothering me when you would beat me because I was young and an idiot and full of the uncertainty of a scared animal. I hated that you beat me again and again but I tried not to show it. Then we laid in the grass and kissed deeply and for a long time, everything about our bodies sweet like warm milk just out of a cow’s insides. Then we laid there and looked into the blazing-bright sky and, as young people are known to do, talked about the clouds, and what they looked like, and what held them there. And then I asked you, Am I the funniest person you know? I needed you to say yes to that, without any pause, but you didn’t say yes, you were honest, and it killed me inside. Oh to be that young when such a small thing mattered so much. Who wouldn’t love to hear, nowadays, near the midpoint of things, that you were the third funniest person you had ever met. What a compliment that seems now! These bits of personal fire are rare now, rare like two sweet bodies laying in the country grass, rare like paid-off debt. Down the chute, down the chute, we all just keep going down the chute. And what can we do? Try and hop off? What are the options? Become a vagabond, wander the cities and towns, begging for whatever work there is and move on, like Richard Kimble searching for that one-armed man? Or move to some commune–assuming they still exist–and paint or grow potatoes but also share your washcloth and help raise other peoples’ bratty kids? No thanks. The cattle chute’s the only way to go and still have your own place to poop every day, and there are so few comforts in this animal life as it is, you’ve got to keep the ones you’re able to find. So slide, slide, slide we will. But damn if one doesn’t miss the days before you knew you were on the cattle chute, the days with your hair in my face, where did you go, where have you been?
I sure am happy right now. I’m going through an extended period of inner peace, tranquility, and contentment. It rules! I’m not trying to get all new-agey, or brag about my emotional state. The fact is, I’m often pretty content, at least moreso than most people (with, as I have noted at length on my blog, a steady undercurrent of fear of death and general despair that has been with me always and always shall remain…but it’s usually a little out of sight…my main operating mode is usually “happy”). I just note this extended happy period here because it seems so very unusual for most of humanity. This is only based on my very unscientific casual observations. But even folks who most would describe as happy are, frankly, pretty unhappy. Or at least uncomfortable, or full of worry or self-doubt or fear. Isn’t it strange how difficult it can be for us to be happy? Oy vey. I got tempted to go super-deep on the subject there, but I’ll resist it. I think it is impossible to go deep on this subject without sounding like a douchebag. I just want to note that I’m super happy. Tranquil is an even better word. I’m under no impression that my life is always going to be easy or that things will stay like they are now, but I’m tranquil with that notion.
That being said, this winter sure does suck. I know I know, someone wants to tell me It’s winter, what do you expect??? Well you see, here’s the thing: winter is uncomfortable. Physically. I do not like the sensation it creates upon my general physical being. So yes, although I am certainly aware that winter is coming, and I know what it is going to be like, that foreknowledge does not lessen it’s wretched impact upon me. I mean seriously, why does it keep snowing??? What kind of winter thinks it needs to snow this much?? Or be this consistently cold? It’s all pretty lame. Oh hey, also, look at this painting, “Chilly Observation”, by Charles Sidney Raleigh:
Another note on my happiness (and again, I’m not trying to get all zen on you here, I’m just thinking out loud. Except not literally out loud. I guess I’m thinking publicly), I’ve noticed lately I’m getting much less satisfaction from the acquisition of material goods. Despite all my cultural philosophizing, I don’t think I’ve ever denied that I derive a lot of pleasure from buying or acquiring things. Not big-ticket items, usually. Most of my life I’ve just loved getting more and more books and music and movies and things like that. And just random consumer goods. Hats. Backscratchers. Wall art. Random shit like that. Well anyway, lately, I’m getting less and less pleasure from acquisition. I suspect part of this is because of my natural tranquility right now, so I don’t have to supplement my happiness with the artificial high of stuff. but I also think that I might just kind of have enough stuff, finally. For one man, I have ALOT of books, records, DVDs, and the massive amount of random crapola that life in America will allow you to encircle yourself with. I have so much stuff (note that I am passionate about most of it and find it delightful; I’m not knocking my actual stuff) that I can’t begin to properly enjoy most of it. So I might need to chill on acquisition for a bit and start really paying attention to what I already have.
(although take note, I still really need some books by Neil DeGrasse Tyson, a vinyl copy of Neil Young’s “Mirrorball”, one of these, a really nice digital camera, the complete series of “Fraggle Rock” on DVD [I aint joking about that, and it’s getting pretty affordable], Alfred Hitchcock’s “Rope” on Blu-Ray, that really nice hardbound version of the collected “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” books that Barnes and Noble sells, an Ilya Bryzgalov Philadelphia Flyers jersey [even though he doesn’t play for the team anymore…oh and size Large], early editions of the individual collections of Philip Larkin’s poetry [specifically, I’m thinking about “The Whitsun Weddings” and “The North Ship”…first editions only, really, anything else is useless], a year-long membership to the Barnes Gallery…oh I guess there is still some stuff I need…)
Notice they only played six songs. Well, that took three hours. I thought they were going to play all night!
Here is the video of their set-closing, bone-crushing barnburner, “Behemoth”, from the show I was at Wednesday night. Even if this kind of music isn’t your thing, I implore you to just watch a minute or two to get an idea of just what in the world this band is all about:
It occurs to me with no lack of regularity that, because of my persistent status as single and childless, that I have significantly fewer opportunities to receive presents as the rest of you romantic and procreating beasts. And hey, listen, I’m gonna admit something most people avoid saying out loud: I would like more presents!
So recently, I was thinking, maybe it’s not just the lack of Valentines, Father’s Day, and anniversary (as well as the extra gifts one gets at Christmas and birthdays etc, from your significant other and children) that are preventing me from getting a significant amount of free goods. Perhaps part of the problem is, when gifting times roll around, many of you potential gifters think my interests are limited to just a few things, like pompous music, post-1930s American and British poetry, and the films of Alfred Hitchcock, and you just don’t know how to buy presents for a guy like that! And, while it is true that I really love those things, the fact of the matter is, I have literally hundreds of interests, and with the advent of the internet, there is nearly no shortage of ways you can spend money on me! And the internet also means it is very easy for me to re-sell something you may accidentally get me that I already have!
So, in case you have just been hankering to buy a gift for a guy but don’t know who the hell Philip Larkin is, I will here lay out for you a massive list of interests I rarely talk about, but I assure you I am just crazy for!
20. Any DVD that says it is part of the “Criterion Collection”…you can buy me that.
21. I am a big fan of motorized inclined planes, or “funiculars“.
22. I love backscratchers. It is not possible for me to own too many of them.
23. Books or materials about early American filmmaking are always great (post 1910 and D.W. Griffiths only, I have no interest in Edison’s important but dreadfully boring experiments).
24. Dr. Strange is my favorite comic book character. I have plenty of stuff but feel free to take a leap of faith, there’s a lot out there. Statues, figures, and busts are especially desired.
25. The easiest thing on the list: I love all Philadelphia sports teams.
26. I have an interest in Quantum Physics. There are tons of books and DVDs on the subject. I will read and watch them all.
27. John Sloan, the painter. That man painted my soul.
29. Post-Revolution, my favorite historical figure is Aaron Burr.
30. I could always use a new (good) digital camera.
31. I have an interest in but have not read much about behavioral psychologist BF Skinner.
32. I am a major evangelist for Dr. Pepper, and even more specifically Diet Dr. Pepper, and I will, without irony, wear, brandish, or otherwise use merchandise imprinted with this soda’s logo.
33. I have always been smitten with now-deceased scientist Carl Sagan, and any of his books are welcome. Likewise, his television series, “Cosmos”, and any materials related to it, are high on my love list.
39. I have an odd interest in the history of the Mormon religion, specifically the handcart disaster, the Mountain Meadows massacre, and the early life and “visions” of founder Joseph Smith.
42. If I hit the lottery tomorrow, two of the first purchases I’d make would be the complete series of “The Fraggles” and “24” on DVD. Don’t judge me.
43. My favorite living poet is Billy Collins. I have all his books. See what else you can do.
44. I love riding my bike. But I’m not a serious biker, like, wearing spandex, etc. I do it just to cruise around. But I could use a new lock, gel seat cover, or other biking stuff you might think of. I could also use a new bike, but if you want to go that far, we should probably collaborate on that.
45. Anything relating to the old TV shows “Northern Exposure“, “Twin Peaks“, or “Picket Fences“. I own the entire series of “Northern Exposure”, but other than that, it’s open season.
46. I find the Donner party very interesting. I have read this book on it, but nothing else.
47. I like to use caramel coffee syrup in my coffee and oatmeal. I can never have too much of it.
48. I love newspapers, but it’s not easy to find merchandise regarding them, such as hats, shirts, etc. My favorite newspapers are The New York Times, The Philadelphia Inquirer, and USA Today.
49. Museum memberships. Any kind of museum. Art, history, whatever. I can’t imagine a gift I would love much more than a membership to just about any museum. Currently, I am a member of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, but no other museums.
50. Old coinage, pre-1900, from early America or other countries. Confederate money would be very cool.
A few months ago, my friend Duane and I decided we wanted to collaborate on some kind of video/ music/ words project. We started exchanging various files via Skype and bouncing ideas off of each other.
A few months before that, we had discovered we shared a fascination with the planet Jupiter (and FYI, in case you don’t know, when you want to say something has the qualities of Jupiter, the word to use is Jovian). I think it would be fair to say Duane and I have slightly different feelings about Jupiter. Correct me if I’m wrong here Duane, but I’d say, in a word, Jupiter fills you with awe, whereas it mainly fills me with dread.
When we began exchanging files, the first thing I gravitated toward was a short piece of music Duane had made called “Jovian Space”. I put it on my mp3 player and decided to go out into the world with it on repeat and film things while listening to it.
I Skyped a bunch of footage to Duane and we decided it might also be interesting if I wrote a poem about Jupiter and read it over the footage and the music. Writing a poem about Jupiter turned out to be easier than I had anticipated; I just wrote about how it made me feel, how it made me feel sorrow, and lonleliness, and scared.
Duane put it all together in fine fiddle. The end result looks like one long take of video but it actually one short take and one long take that Duane seamlessly edited together.
This is not the sort of thing that is “for everybody”; it is, undoubtedly, arty. But it is the sort of thing I really, really dig. I could watch stuff like this all day.
Life chugs along here in Philly/ South Jersey. There are quite literally more things to do than I have time for! The list of ways I want to spend my time keeps growing and growing and I rarely fully check something off of it. In addition to tourist areas/ landmarks (which my mother and I tick off a list at the rate of about one a week), there are larger projects I can’t seem to get my feet under me for: familiarize myself with the local rock music scene, find when and where nationally-renowned poets are reading in the area, figure out the local New Jersey history, take pictures of as many Philadelphia historical markers as I can, become familiar with Philly record stores…and on and on. Luckily, I like doing things.
There was a hurricane yesterday. Despite all signs pointing to the fact that we should have been, like, directly in the worst part of the hurricane, close to nothing happened here. Just a whole lot of rain, and a little bit of wind. For a moment it looked like there might be a flood danger. Watch this video I took, once an hour from between 1pm and 5pm:
A few nights ago I went and saw the band El Ten Eleven at Philly’s North Star Bar. It was interesting to finally see a show at this venue, as about two years ago, when I was living in Erie, I had planned to see the band Hey Rosetta! at this location when I was home on a vacation, but those plans got changed, however, I had stayed on their mailing list and have recieved monthly e-mails from them for two years, detailing the bands playing there. While there are dozens and dozens of venues in Philly, it just so happened that the North Star Bar would end up being the first place I actually saw a band in Philly after moving here. It was, essentially, a dump. But I loved it.
This concert was somewhat unique for me because I attended it WITH SOMEBODY. I went with my friend Bill Hanna, who doesn’t have a Facebook, so it’s almost like he doesn’t exist. But he does have a Twitter account, and I’m sure he’ll hate the fact that I just linked to it.
El Ten Eleven is post-rock, which I reference all the time but you still don’t know what it is. Damn lazy readers. Anyway, it’s really serious music for really pretentious bastards like me. But seeing post-rock live is pretty much the most intense experience I ever go through. It is life-affirming, gut-wrenching, and sorrowful. And seeing it live with a friend is even more intense. Kudos to Bill Hanna for making the trip, as I think he still has just one foot into the genre, not yet sure if he likes the temperature, although he is a certified fan of this post-rock band.
Anyway, the day of the show, I spent wandering around Philly before meeting up with Bill and going to the show. I made this video of footage from that day, set to El Ten Eleven’s “Lorge”, followed by footage I shot of them opening their show that night with the same song:
Other intense things lately: my mom and I saw a show of some of Winslow Homer’s paintings, including this hum-dinger:
Went to the intriguing Franklin Science Center with the sis, nephews, and mom:
I’ve visited the building Thomas Jefferson was staying in when he wrote the Declaration of Independence, the house where Walt Whitman died, four Phillies games, toured a battelship, taken a million (really good) pictures, eaten way too many cheesesteaks, allowed my mother to teach me that, yes, plants are actually badass, recieved multiple cool owl things from my sister, played a seriously challenging game of hide-and-seek with my nephew Ethan, bought a really sweet new record player, went to the damned zoo, attended a meeting of our development’s Homeowner’s Association with my mom and Brian (formerly known as Pumpkin Latte on this blog, but that would be too weird considering my recent career change, so to my blog readers: Brian is my sister’s husband and also a registered Shaman in Alaska), went to dinner at a fancy schmancy joint with a visiting Michael, became obsessed with the works of this poet and even found a book of his in, yes, an actual bookstore, visited Newville and had my dad take me on a tour of his childhood, oh and this and also this, and really almost too much stuff to name.
I took a break from the blog for awhile, just basically finding where it fit into my new life, but things have settled into a nice rhythm now, so expect it to come roaring back, with a vengeance. Also, vote for Obama, you bastards.
I guess it’s been awhile since I updated everyone on the status of my diet. And I’m sure you are all just dying to know how it’s going.
When last I left you, I had just made it to 150 pounds—ten pounds shy of my goal of 140. And, interestingly, that is exactly where I still am.
Now, I suppose in some undeniable ways, this is a setback. But I quite honestly don’t feel like it is. Out of the gates, I just went at an unbelievable pace. It required a level of obsession and single-mindedness that even I could not sustain. The diet was too extreme and the exercise regimen too punishing. I’m glad I did it like that, so that I could get to this more comfortable point and then settle in here, but there’s just no way I could keep that up.
Please don’t misunderstand me: I am still, like, all about fitness. I still go to the gym five times a week, sometimes more, depending on if I get out on my bike much, which I often count as a workout if I go hard enough on the bike. I’m still eating about a thousand times more healthy than I did from 2003-2011. But I do allow myself a reasonable caloric intake now, and have had a couple stretches of all-out “off the wagon” eating (not binges, just ending up at the wrong restaurants two days in a row) which I quickly correct; my experience with substance addiction recovery comes in handy when I fall off the wagon—I’m already very familiar with my psyche’s tendency to reason with itself thusly: well, you’ve already fucked up, you might as well just keep going. Just like I eventually found out that this thinking with alcohol or cigarettes would end up taking me down the black hole, I know this thinking with food will make me fat again. And while I may have this belly for a long time, to varying degrees, I swear, I am never going to be that fat again. I’m not trying to get married, be in magazines, or pick up one-night stands, but I prefer to be able to tie my shoes without falling over and being out of breath. Also, almost more than anything (perhaps unreasonably) I really hate the double chin. So, any of you who might see me in the immediate future, you will not be seeing “skinny” Seth, but you will definitely not be seeing “fat” Seth.
In addition, another of the major reasons I’m not shedding the pounds as quickly is I have really thrown myself full-on into weight training. Like, the kind of lifting designed to gain mass. Stretching back to my teen years, this has always been the kind of “working out” I most enjoy. I like how it makes me feel physically, I like how it makes me feel psychologically. I like seeing the results, and I like planning out the strategy of the whole thing (which day you’ll do which muscle groups, how long to wait until you go back to a muscle group, what to eat after a workout, etc). So, while the belly is still hanging around, if I were to take my shirt off and suck my belly in, you’d be all like, Dang, Seth, if you had any formal training or even the most remote inclination toward physical violence, you’d totally Steven Segal my ass right now, wouldn’t you? Because above the belly, I am fucking stacked.
2. Questions
Do you own stuff or does stuff own you? Why are we afraid to ask for help? What have you left behind? How important is it that you are liked? Are you openly admitting your addictions? Is there a cause you would actually die for? How much of our lives do we imagine? How do you find calm in a hectic world? What is beautiful about life? Are you thanking the right people? When was the last time you did something for the first time? Who is the most loyal person you know? What was the last thing fear stopped you from doing? What are you a product of? What makes you relevant?
3. Oil Creek State Park
4. Speak For Yourself
There’s a common punchline on Facebook, or on other platforms where people might be referring to Facebook and our generally lived-online lives: folks claiming everybody is living much more boring lives than they pretend to live online. There is always some meme floating around or someone cracking wise about “yeah, like their lives are as interesting as they say they are!” Well speak for yourself, Buttafuoco. The ones throwing that unoriginal nugget around are probably the bored ones, waiting to see their favorite television commercial. Believe it or not—and you probably won’t—but (to my standards, at least) I actually live a more interesting life than I present online. I worry about clogging people’s newsfeeds, I struggle with the idea that what I find interesting others might find boring, and most ironically, I think if I documented every thing I actually do, folks would probably start to suspect I’m lying about it. (you may claim I have more fun because I’ve moved somewhere that I feel like a tourist, but I’m confident if you went back to old Facebook posts of mine in Carlisle, you’d find the same guy).
But I don’t bring this up just to point out that I personally am really enjoying life (well, maybe that is why I brought it up; our own motives are sometimes hidden from us) but rather, to highlight the uncontrolled cynicism that online life breeds. Granted, I’ve been known to throw around my own share of cynicism, but I try to reserve it for artists or cultural movements I deem unworthy of praise (a cultural guardianship that some of us actually take seriously, despite how it makes us look like pompous jackasses. We’re taking one for the team). The wide sweeping cynicism that life in general sucks and is boring and wherever you happen to live, well, there’s just nothing to do there, so hopefully everyone else is just as damned bored as I am…well, I just kinda hate that kind of cynicism. There’s nothing I can do about it. I just wanted to point out that it sucks. (is it ironic to say cynicism sucks?)
5. wtf
Sports history seems to have largely forgotten Mike Schmidt. Wtf?
7. Sometimes When We Touch, the Honesty’s Too Much
You may have noticed, for good or ill, a slightly more…honest…tone to my blog lately (and you will notice even more of it in The Rub and Tug Capital of the World, a little booky-wook you are about to get in the mail from me, if you haven’t got it yet). I do apologize if this more straightforward approach has stepped on anyone’s toes or generally made me seem like an asshole. Apart from the fact that I actually am an asshole, I also had gotten bored and a little frustrated trying to censor everything I wanted to say by first thinking of everyone who might be reading it and trying to figure out if they might think I am talking about them or calling their lifestyle or hobbies or commercial-watching into question. It is way too hard to think about all of those things and still write anything interesting. And I humbly think I have some unique and important things to say, most of which I always feel compelled to not say. Well, I’m just gonna start saying it. Allow me to take this little moment to say, I don’t ever write about people I know in veiled references. If I’m bitching about “people”, well, that’s really what I’m talking about: people in general. If there’s something you do that I just can’t stand, you either already know I can’t stand it, or it’s something I can’t stand about hundreds of people, so I am most assuredly not writing about you. OK. Disclaimer over.
I am currently in the midst of a months-long creative and intellectual mania. I often say I don’t have enough time in a day, but it has certainly never been more true than it is now.
I attribute this primarily to getting healthy and exercising; it definitely kickstarted an increase in energy, and a change in mood to the extreme end of “good”, and energy plus super good mood=extreme mania, and it’s lasting a long time. Which is good—damn good—but my lack of ability to do every single thing I want to is getting a little annoying. Let me describe a little better what the mania entails:
First and foremost, I want to do stuff constantly. Like, outside of the house stuff. It being winter, there are a limited amount of things to do, but I have lists of things I want to do when I have time, like “take pictures on Raspberry Street” or “tour the Watson-Curtze Mansion“, etc etc. When I do have time for activities such as this, it’s damn difficult deciding what to do.
Secondly, I have an enormous list of creative and artistic projects that I want to start, work on, or complete, and the list of projects itself has become a project. When I’m at work or out and about, I find myself typing ideas into my cell phone’s “notepad” for me to add to the project list when I get home. Hell, my list of potential blog entries alone is staggering. This aspect of the mania is the most frustrating, as I am getting more and more interesting and ambitious ideas and I simply don’t even have the time to start on most of them.
The mania is also driving up my appetite for media/ information consumption, even as the mania means I have less time to partake of that particular fountain. For many years now, most of you know, rather than watch much television, I’ve (through Netflix) watched, on average, one new movie a day. Even as my appetite for film continues to grow, my attention to other projects and interests is decreasing my time for them. And the mania has only increased my desire to read; I currently could probably read all day for four straight days and not get sick of it. Information, information, information, my mind screams at me. I currently have very little desire to read fiction (although, Mom, I really DO want to read that Stephen King book you sent me, and probably will start it in about 2 weeks). I read the Erie newspaper every day, and often stop somewhere for a USA Today, New York Times, or Wall Street Journal, depending on what’s happening in the world or if I heard about an article or feature in one of them from one of the websites I simply can’t stop reading thoroughly every day (Slate. Huffington Post. Oh, and Hacking Netflix and Deadline). And my magazine consumption, which I had finally whittled down in recent years, has skyrocketed during the mania. I can’t seem to read enough science writing. I currently read all of the “big three” science mags (Popular Science, Discover, and Scientific American; I’ve been a big Discover supporter for years but right now it’s just not enough), and it seems my hankering for history now bleeds over into magazines. America’s Civil War has been a mainstay on my bedside table recently, as have some oddballs such as Archaeology and The Saturday Evening Post. And these are all in addition to the standard entertainment, arts, news, and cultural magazines you’d expect me to be reading. Oh, and yes, I read books, too!
I have also taken quite a shine lately to just listening to music. I have found that, in most of my adult life, I have rarely simply sat down, doing nothing else, and listened to music intently. And now I have started doing it and it is changing my life. But where is the time???
Oh, and I have REALLY started to enjoy just puttering around my apartment, re-arranging things, finding new homes for this or that, hanging the artwork in new arrays, paging through my old books, putting old photos in little frames, etc etc.
In short, I literally do not have enough time in a day right now. I already start out with a deficit, working 50-60 hours a week. Then, remember, I’m spending between 8 and 12 hours a week in the gym, so there is potentially almost 80 hours unavailable a week. And then there’s sleep, at some point, and getting on the internet. I have essentially zero downtime. Please do not misunderstand me: I am loving this. I am in a constant good mood, and never even remotely close to being bored or sad. But damn. Who knew there could be so much to do (without, really, doing anything)? Also, this is a way of explaining to some of you how and why I might occasionally sound out of my mind, especially after a day that may have been devoted to intense, marathon bouts of reading, followed by writing or otherwise creating something incredibly personal and emotive, followed by going to a hockey game or something, and then back home to shower in the dark while The National plays on my stereo. It’s a whole lot of fun, but sometimes can make me a little crazy.
I anticipate things leveling off as my body continues to adjust to being some degree of healthy. But I just had to put it out there how wild and fun and jam-packed my life is at this point, even if it might not sound particularly fun to a lot of you, it is for me. And almost everything I’m doing or want to do is free or relatively cheap (not to mention my food budget being more than halved in recent months) so I’m actually saving a lot of money recently (concert-going has all but stopped, and there’s much less time to go to the movies now). How one starts saving money by doing more stuff is some sort of mystery!
Summer has finally, at long, long last come to Erie, and a happier man, I could not be. As everyone knows, heat is my wheelhouse. I feel alive, caffeinated, abuzz with ideas, inspiration, energy and hormones. The world is absolutely mine.
Summer has always been my most creative season. I realize I’m not an “artist” of any stripe, per se. An amateur creative writer would best describe me, I suppose, although I like to think I simply live a creative life, from doodling while I watch TV to giving people nicknames. I’ve come to a point in my life where I’m perfectly content with the fact that I will never be famous for any of the creative arts (I’m simply not good enough at anything), but I like to keep doing things anyway, because a body’s got to do something with all this time, no?
For just about as long as I can remember, I have taken great joy in the act of creation, from words to drawings (bad as they may be) to short films and photography. I remember in my teens, I spent almost a whole year simply putting words together by twos, on reams and reams of white lined notebook paper (for instance, copper elephant, democratic pants, shoeshine sunrise, garden car, and on and on, thousands of them). I did this for no other reason than it brought me joy. I have dozens of other examples like this from my life.
Which brings me to my point. Despite numerous attempts to deny it to myself, Notes From the Fire is not only no longer bringing me joy, but I believe it to be sapping my creative energies. I no longer write anything for fun and excitement, but instead to get “views” on my blog. I no longer write what I most intensely want to write about, but what is “safe” enough for the blog, but “personal” enough to maintain it’s tone. I also have made myself feel compelled to post with a certain frequency, thereby often resulting in diminished quality and repititious horseshit. I know that all these problems are simply results of my own mindset regarding The Notes, but I have tried repeatedly to change this mindset, to no avail. In short, the blog rules me mentally and is crushing me creatively.
I need some time to once again find what it’s like to write for oneself, or for a future audience—and not for immediate consumption. In addition, I’m feeling my creative juices pulling me in interesting ways, away from simply the written word and into visual arts. Right now, I really feel like taking some pictures with actual film, having them developed, and collaging them…some sort of themed collage, perhaps. That sounds fun. Maybe I’ll do it in my attic and even throw paint at it or something. But I’m going to do it for myself and nobody’s going to see it, at least not for awhile (and it will probably be no good anyway, but I’ll have a ton of fun doing it).
Don’t worry, I’m not taking The Notes down. This website will always be here. Feel free to peruse old entries; I’ll still reply to comments you make on them. Also, you can always check out my Netflix queue on here. :)
Something tells me I’ll be back sooner than I imagine, but on a different site and perhaps in a different format. Or the break will do me wonders and I’ll be back at The Notes sometime. Who knows? There are no rules, and now that it’s summer, I’m going to be proving that as much as possible. For instance, right now it’s 4am, I haven’t slept yet, and as soon as the sun comes up, I’m going to ride my bike all over this town and take lovely pictures all damn day, because I can.
However, you won’t see them on Notes From the Fire.
Don’t worry though, they’ll still be on Facebook. I haven’t lost my mind!
Thanks to all of you for reading and making Notes From the Fire a lovely, rewarding experience for me!
I dropped by the ol’ Erie Art museum today. It’s the first time I’ve been there since they did a major re-model (you may remember I went there last summer; see and read about it here!) I could not have been more impressed with the new museum! It felt totally modern (in a good way), and there were signs everywhere explaining how “green” the building was, and that was all very interesting and impressive. And there was art everywhere. I mean, there are pieces in the bathrooms! As museums go, this one truly makes great use of it’s space. In addition, the range of artists represented was considerable, both in regards to medium (from pencil drawing to conceptual installations) and success (from artists I had actually heard of before to local “amateurs”). Consider me fully impressed! Here are some pictures I took of some of my favorites, but there were a lot, lot more of great pieces in there!
A truly kickass installation piece that has to be seen in three dimensions to be appreciated. "When All the Cliches Add Up, Fleeing By Motor Home is Not an Option" by Ron Bayuzick
"Untitled" by Paul Giovanopolous. I kept coming back to this one, entranced. Shouldn't be hard to figure out how a person could relate to this piece.
"San Grey de Charlotte Blues" by George D. Green. Very impressive in person; it's massive.
It was tough to choose which of Joseph Plvcan's works to show here. The museum had about ten of them and I loved them all, but I thought this one--"Maple Tree" was the best example of his hyper-real lines and vibrant, dream-world colors.
By far my favorite painting in the museum. I practically gasped. If it didn't sound so pretentious (even for me) I'd say it "moved " me. "Shoal of Mermaids" by Colleen Browning
"What a Shame" by Robert Patierno
And here is a video I took of a particularly brain-busting piece. “H2O Vortex” by Ray Howlett.
On my way out, I snapped this pic of downtown Erie just for kicks. For some reason, I ended up really liking it:
Now I am on my way to the Erie Seawolves home opener! (holy shit. I am a real baseball fan now. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.)
So. That was a pretty insane trip home (and lots of other places). I’m not even sure where to begin. This may end up being a ridiculously long and disjointed blog entry. I apologize in advance. If it ends up not being extremely long and disjointed, I will come back and delete this intro, and you will never read it.
First, I should like to thank my family (Dad, Mom, Sister) for their various forms of hospitality and much-needed displays of unconditional love. Yay human spirit and the familial bond! I feel pretty damn good about my family. You guys rule! And thank you to all my friends who made me feel as if I never moved away. I am blessed beyond belief with deep, intense, loyal friendships! In addition, a big frowny face to those who I had to miss on this trip (most notably, loyal blog reader and renowned Muse, Cory. Little does she know, my next trip home is going to be so all about her, she will have to call the cops on me. And the truly lovely Mercedes, whom I am unabashedly smitten with. Also, on-again-off-again blog reader Tiff, who I had *promised* a certain something to…well, next time, ok???). I was stretched a little thin to do and see everything and everyone I wanted, but it was fairly satisfying nonetheless.
My Zany Itinerary
Let me just show you the zaniness of where I’ve been the last week and a half. I am going to include tomorrow, as I go to Pittsburgh tomorrow for a work seminar. Here’s where I was, for the most part, the last ten days:
3/25: Erie, PA/ Carlisle, PA
3/26: Carlisle, PA/ Asbury Pary, NJ
3/27: Mantua, NJ
3/28: Brooklyn, NY/ Newark, NJ
3/29: Manhattan, NY/ Mantua, NJ
3/30: Mantua, NJ/ Carlisle, PA
3/31: Carlisle, PA
4/1: Carlisle, PA
4/2: Carlisle, PA/ Erie, PA
4/3: Erie, PA
4/4: Pittsburgh, PA
4/5: Pittsburgh, PA/ Erie, PA
And I aint even tired yet. Bring. It. On.
My Newville Tour
Early on in my trip, I had a little extra time to kill early in the morning, and I drove into Newville (the small town I grew up in) and walked around the town for the first time in many years (I have been there plenty as of late, but not actually walked around). I took some pictures of major landmarks in my life, also making sure to get a few pictures of some of the places that have played large parts in some of my blog entries. Here is a bit of a pictorial tour of Newville:
My first house, 66 Big Spring Avenue. My bedroom was the top two windows on the right of the picture.
I have been trying to upload the famous picture of my mother and I admiring my grandmother’s garden, but I am having some trouble, so here is a link to that picture on Facebook. And here is a picture of that back yard area today:
One of my most popular blog entries ever was “The Fruit that Ate Itself“, about me being bullied in a local church yard. I snapped some pics of that area in current day:
The church yard itself.
The line of trees is where the dreaded swingset and slide had been.
The Senior Center where the "fight" ended. Those are the bushes I flew through in the climactic moment.
If you’ve read my blog entry “Down the Rabbit Hole“, you may be interested to see this cellar door on one of my childhood neighbor’s homes:
OK, so just a few more pics here, but not related to any previous blog, just some Seth-historic stuff:
The very spot where I got on a school bus for the very first time.
This was my corner when I was a crossign guard.
Friendies
I had almost too much fun with friendies to try to sum things up here. I’ll hit some highlights:
I surprised Kate with my presence not once but twice, and she lost. her. shit. each time. First, Michael and I surprised her at her house:
It was also on this visit that this picture of Michael happened:
A few days later, I was strolling through Carlisle wasting a few minutes before picking up another friend, when I came across Kate and her family at the local eatery The Green Room. As I was leaving them I took this pic of Kate, her husband Matt, and their son Dylan:
Let me just take this moment to say, as I was strolling around Carlisle that night, I was struck by just how freaking cool of a town it is. Those of you who still live there, please do not take it for granted. First, it is totally adorable. And such a great pedestrian town! And for a relatively small town in central Pennsylvania, it is arts-friendly. Open mic nights, free music, poetry readings, public displays of photography, and on and on, are quite common. The area known as the square and the surrounding blocks are humming with a vibrant intellectual life (not to mention some fantastic cuisine). Please partake of what the gem of a town has to offer!
My brief time with Burke was spent in some fairly intense conversation that may, in fact, make me think about my life differently. Oh, and Johnny Depp is a fucking sellout.
I spent some truly hilarious time with Jenny. Jenny is quickly becoming a Major Friend. (if her name is unfamiliar to you, this was the last woman to be an “official girlfriend”…and if my hunch is true– that I am a lifetime bachelor– she may go down in the history books as the last woman to be an official Seth girlfriend…what a distinction!). Anyway, I sure do love this woman. She has the special ability to make me laugh until I am worried about my health…without saying anything. She has a non-verbal humor akin to Kramer. She can just look at me and I lose my shit. Here we are, loving life:
Of course, you know I saw Michael, and it resulted in a moment of hilarity that I am pretty sure you “had to be there” for, but we decided that Merle Haggard had at one point recorded the “classic” song “You’re Gonna Make Daddy Fart (and Momma Aint Gonna Be Happy)”. I still laugh when I type that.
Mary and I had one helluva time trying to find parking in downtown Harrisburg—notable because it’s usually not THAT hard. Sure, those few blocks in the very center of town are tough, but we were unable to find ANY spots on the street ANYWHERE. When we finally did park (in a garage) we ended up just hanging around Strawberry Square , when in fact we had intended to go to the Susquehanna Art Museum. I’m still not sure in the least how this distraction occurred, but we had a blast. But the major news from this venture is that Mary has OK’d some photographs of herself! You may or may not know that pictures of Mary are quite rare. She just hates pictures of herself, and of course I love taking pictures of people, so this is a friction. Plus, she really is one of the most exquisite women in existence, so I always feel as though the world in general is being deprived of some joy by the absence of Mary pictures. When I take a Mary picture, I have to show her, wheneupon she then either insists on immediate deletion, OKs the picture for my own personal collection but not anyone else’s eyes, or (the most rare) OKs a picture for online distribution. So here, lucky world, are 4 new Mary pictures:
That's the back of Mary's head in the lower right.
Staying at Dad’s
It is with much chagrin that I realize I did not take a single picture of my papa and me on this trip. *sad face* Nonetheless, I must say, spending time with my dad just gets more and more pleasant as the two of us age. It never stops surprising me how we continue to grow into friends (while he retains his essential papa-ness). He is one cool dude and we somehow never run out of things to talk about.
This also marked the first time in recent memory that I have stayed at Dad’s for multiple days without my sister also being there. In this sense it was entirely unique. The last time I stayed at my dad’s by myself for more than one night was way back when I was still drinking and on-again, off-again living there. So this was new, and really, really great. In a lot of ways, it felt like a true homecoming, learning how that house and I interact when I’m a grown-up, and sober, and left all alone with it. Turns out we get along just fine. And I sleep magnificently in my old bedroom. But it’s tough getting used to that shower again.
Hey Rosetta!
I’m gonna really have to shrink down the Hey Rosetta! story, or I’ll be here all day. So, in summary:
Here are pictures from Paul and I’s show in Asbury Park, NJ. It was a fantastic time, both Paul-wise (Paul, thanks for helping me see that not all my close friends have to be women!) and band-wise. Really, one of the more satisfying concert-going experiences I’ve had.
Then, I made an audible call and went to see them by myself twice more over the next three days, in New York City (more on NYC later). Long story short, I ended up basically knowing the band. But they started talking to me. I suppose when you are a band that is really famous and successful in Canada, and then you come to the states and are playing bars where most of the people are ignoring you, and there is a short fat guy with gray hair jumping around and screaming your lyrics, when he shows up to your NEXT show in a different state, it is worth taking note. So as I was taking this picture of the chalk board advertising their show in Brooklyn, a few of the band members were walking out of the bar and saw me and introduced themselves.
Because shows like this entail a lot of waiting around (if you insist, like I do, on front row) in small bars with no “backstage” area for bands, as well as lots of changing-out of gear between bands (not to mention trips to very small bathrooms), the two shows in New York would prove extremely fertile ground for me talking to the band. This went way beyond my previous “thank you, your music has meant so much to me” that I’ve been able to give other bands. This was basically a getting-to-know-you situation. Specifically cellist Romesh Thavanathan, lead guitarist Adam Hogan, and violinist Kinley Dowling spoke quite a bit to me and I was definitely on a first-name basis with them by the end of my second New York show, and I’d had a chance to speak to every member of this six-piece band. Certainly, this was fairly incredible, but also….in some ways, not as great as you’d think. Parts of this experience were awkward. I may blog more about this at some point, just because it was pretty intriguing (ever have your favorite band watch you as they are playing?) But don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. It was an amazing experience. Here is a video I took of “Red Song” at Union Hall in Park Slope, Brooklyn, followed by a few select pictures of the New York shows:
I also managed to snag handwritten setlists off the stage two of the three nights. Here are scans of the setlists:
So now, for the benefit of probably just myself and maybe Paul, here is some Hey Rosetta! setlist discussion: on the first setlist shown, Bandages was skipped. On the second shown (from my thrid concert, Manhattan) ‘Bandages’ and ‘Red Heart’ were swapped in position (as were the two songs where a swap is indicated, ‘Yer Spring’ and ‘Welcome’…and talk about a way to open a show! “Lions For Scottie” into “Welcome”!) Here are all three setlists for shows I went to this tour:
Asbury Park, NJ
1. New Goodbye
2. Yer Spring
3. New Glass
4. Bricks
5. Another Pilot
6. There’s an Arc
7. Seeds
8. Red Heart
1. New Goodbye
2. Yer Spring
3. New Glass
4. Bricks
5. Another Pilot
6. There’s an Arc
7. Welcome
8. Red Song
9. We Made a Pact
10. Seeds
11. Red Heart
12. A Thousand Suns*
*’Bandages’ is on the setlist in the 12 spot, but ‘A Thousand Suns’ was played.
Manhattan, NY
1. Lions For Scottie
2. Welcome
3. Yer Spring
4. New Glass
5. Yer Fall
6. There’s an Arc
7. I’ve Been Asleep For a Long, Long Time
8. Holy Shit
9. New Sum
10. Seeds
11. New Goodbye
Encore:
1. Bandages
2. Red Heart
And now, for the record, the sum total of Hey Rosetta! songs I’ve seen, including the two acoustic shows I saw last year:
1. Red Heart–5 times
2. Bricks–4 times
3. I’ve Been Asleep For a Long, Long Time–3 times
4. Lions for Scottie–3 times
5. Bandages–3 times
6. New Goodbye–3 times
7. Yer Spring–3 times
8. New Glass–3 times
9. There’s an Arc–3 times
10. Seeds–3 times
11. Seventeen–2 times
12. Red Song–2 times
13. We Made a Pact–2 times
14. Another Pilot–2 times
15. Welcome–2 times
16. A Thousand Suns–1 time
17. Yer Fall–1 time
18. Holy Shit–1 time
19. New Sum–1 time
Mom’s/ Sisters
So my mom now lives with my sister, which makes visiting everybody much easier! It was quite nice to see everybody all at once! In the same breath, however, I must admit it made me feel as though I did a poor job of paying ample attention to everyone. When you are seeing a gaggle of loved ones all at once for the first time in a long time, it can be a strain to give equal time. I think specifically of the nephews, who I love uncontrollably but whom I was not able to give the sort of attention they are accustomed to receiving from me. When it came down to it, my mom and my sister were the center of my focus (not to mention the antics of Pumpkin Latte). Don’t get me wrong, I had a lovely time! I guess I’m just feeling some guilt, cause those boys worked up a good amount of anticipation for my arrival and I almost certainly dissapointed. That being said, the time with Momma and Sis was marvelous. LOTS of laughs, and a new momma/ son tradition: I claim her and I are going to do the Jumble together, and then I end up freaking out over how amazing she is at it, while I add absolutely nothing to the process (she really is amazing at the Jumble). Also, I “T”d my sister, which always rules. A brief but incredibly heartwarming time. Some select pics:
Sister and Pumpkin Latte, as she was taking their picture
Sis, Me, Mom
New York
The New York trip is another thing I shall have to gloss over, or I’ll be writing this blog entry until next week. I did what I typically do: I drive right into the city, pay a thousand dollars to park, and just walk around. I usually have very little plan other than one or two fairly simple goals. This trip’s goals: see sunrise from inside Central Park, and buy a New York Times from a newsstand and read the whole thing from inside a midtown Manhattan Starbucks during the morning commute hours. I’m not sure why I wanted to do these things, but once the goals were in my mind, I could not seem to let them go. I accomplished both, and although being in Central Park during sunrise was magical, it was not easy to get any great pictures of the event, due to the vast amount of:
a) Tall trees, and
b) skyscrapers
These things blocked the view of the actual sunrise rather effectively, but feeling the world come alive from within the park was quite joyous. Here is the best picture I got of the sunrise:
I spent almost two hours in the Starbucks, enjoying my latte and an incredible issue of the NYT. I suppose for a moment I felt as hip as I’ve always suspected I am. It was a quality time.
I spent the rest of the day wandering around, taking pictures, eating, even napping briefly in the tranquil section of Central Park known as the Woodlands. I also visited, for the first time, the Central Park Zoo, which was a lovely treat. Here is some video I took of the Sea Lions being fed (and putting on a little show) followed by some pictures:
Sunset, Brooklyn
Me in Central Park
Some Things I Learned
1. 8 months is not long enough to forget how to get around (but it IS long enough to cause some occasional navigation confusion)
2. When you are a single man in your 30s who moves away from everyone he knows and doesn’t visit home for 8 months, a surprising amount of people from all demographics will just straight-up ask you about your sex life. This is fodder for an entire blog entry at some point that will be in the form of a “rant”. FYI, nobody need worry about my sex life, mkay?
3. You may think where you live is boring, but leave it for a little while and then come back; you may just find it’s really cool.
4. There are really hot ladies everywhere.
5. Don’t tell people you got fat. You may think it will make your fatness less awkward, but it makes it moreso.
6. Things change. Buildings get knocked down, businesses change their name, streets get re-directed. Accept these things as a natural course of existence. (reminds me of a Hey Rosetta! song: “The schools that we went to have all been closed./ And all of my teachers are dead, I suppose.”)
7. You can walk further than you think you can.
8. If you move and your sports allegiances change a little bit, you can just kinda keep that to yourself on your first few visits home.
9. As you leave places you have stayed for just a day or two, remember to gather all your various “chargers”. We have a lot of chargers in this day and age.
10. Family and friends really are the best things in the world, even if saying so sounds cheesy and cliche. Fuck it, it’s true!
I Almost Forgot…
Today is my 8 year sobriety anniversary! The original purpose of this vacation was for me to have off and see my loved ones leading up to the big day. (I just have to complete my anniversary tradition of watching “Dark Days” on the anniversary itself) So…yay me! But also…yay you! Thanks everybody for putting up with my horribleness when I was horrible, and then helping me live such a satisfying and fantastic life in my sobriety! What a treat, to be able to celebrate the week leading up to it in the way I did. And how neat is it that I almost forgot today was the day??? That must mean life is pretty good. I love you, everybody!
In keeping with my tradition of getting a completely different “kind” of art with each new piece I get from TurningArt, I have just recieved “The Blythmoor” by Steve Lush. Oddly, this may be my favorite one yet! I am quite smitten with the style and subject, as well as the rest of Mr. Lush’s work (I implore you to check out his website here. ) If I had just a little bit more disposable income, I’d buy one of his pieces (probably “The Dog Watch“). Below, see a picture of “The Blythmoor”, as well as pics of it in my apartment. I’ve stopped keeping the picture at the top of my stairs and moved it beside my computer, to allow me more time to really dig into these works of art.
Due to the severe limitations of “top ten lists”, as well as the sheer amount of crap I love each year, I’ve decided to institute this general list of 50 things I plain-old loved in 2010. Most will be things that did not appear on my music or movies list, as well as things created, released, or performed in 2010, but I’m not going to limit myself with actual ground rules. Here are, quite simply, in no particular order, 50 things I loved in 2010:
50. The New York Times
Hear hear for a newspaper that still dares to have sections devoted to important things like science, business, and art. I’ve found it difficult to spend less than two hours on a copy—even on a day like Tuesday.
49. Red Bull Cola
It will probably be a short-lived experiment, but the delicious and almost-natural cola from Red Bull was a tasty shot of adrenaline (even if it was overpriced).
48. Dwayne Johnson and Samuel L. Jackson in “The Other Guys”.
The movie itself may have been lacking, but these two good sports’ 5 minutes of screen time made the enterprise worth the price of admission.
47. “Dancing with the Stars”
For awhile, I hated myself for this guilty pleasure, until I realized it was actually genuinely compelling television. Cynical hipster naysayers need to actually watch a season (I should know–I am a cynical hipster naysayer)
46. The segment on NPR’s “Whad’Ya Know? with Michael Feldman” where they listed fake WikiLeaks
Far and away the most I’ve ever laughed at the radio.
45. The new Ansel Adams photographs
Whether or not they are actually Ansel Adams’ is still in dispute—but they’re terrific photographs anyway
The documentary that reveals (gasp!) how Prop 8 was engineered by the institution of the Mormon church. Enraging, and engaging.
42. VEVO on YouTube
Sure, this music channel on YouTube is 100% a corporate whore, but my year has been exponentially enhanced by concert footage of my favorite bands not shot by a drunk frat boy with a first generation iPhone.
41. James Franco’s “Palo Alto”
Franco’s collection of short stories is good—real good.
40. James Franco on “General Hospital”
Yeah, it’s on before I leave for work, so sue me if I watch it every now and then! Franco’s performance as–ahem–Franco was an over-the-top piece of performance art so nuanced (with nods to the real-world oddity of James Franco being on a soap opera) that I often found myself stunned something so lovely and sophisticated was happening on American daytime television.
39. James Franco in “127 Hours”
Portraying a not-so-likeable man within a bare-bones script who also has to cut off his own arm, Franco manages to make us like him, and makes us want to be better people, too.
38. James Franco’s art opening in New York
James Franco opened a gallery exhibit of his art in New York this year, and although not all of it is great, some of it is incredible, and it’s all very valid. To imagine a Hollywood star opening an art show he says–out loud–is about the “sexual confusion of adolescence” makes me think we may be living in a culture with, well…culture. See some of the art here.
37. James Franco in “Howl”
So, the movie kinda stinks, but Franco hits an underappreciated home run as the poet Allen Ginsburg, an unlikeable, grizzly gay man with so many conflicting character traits, it’s an amazing juggling act Franco had to do–and a bona fide joy to see. Also, John Hamm is in the movie, too!
36. Salvation Army Stores
Thanks to this discovery, the visual palette that is me (it seems absurd to call what I have a “fashion sense”) is evolving for the first time in a decade. (read: more sweaters)
35. Joel Stein’s column in TIME magazine
The most self-absorbed man in the newsmagazine business continues to get funnier, even as his subjects get more serious. Every week, I’m sure he’ll be arrested.
34. The Mac Wrap at McDonalds
I seem to be the only human alive not disgusted by this, either literally, morally, or some other, more etheral way. But I’m not disgusted. I’m delighted.
33. “Gimme Shelter” performed at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony by U2, Mick Jagger, and Fergie.
Rock and roll heaven. An absolute orgasm. And I don’t even like U2!
32. The repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell
Because even republicans want to get into Heaven.
31. Jonathan Franzen’s “Freedom”
Franzen is this generation’s Hemingway. And “Freedom” is his “A Farewell to Arms”. Read it. Just do it.
30. The March to Restore Sanity
I wasn’t there, and I didn’t see a lot of it, but I love it anyway.
29. The “LOST” finale
It’s much debated, but I was never an “I need answers to X, Y, and Z, and I need them freaking spelled out for me” kinda guy. I didn’t have LOST theories. I work more by “feel”. And the finale certainly felt right. I still cry, every time.
28. The “twist” ending of “Remember Me”
Everybody hates it. I love it. What’s new?
27. The Chilean miners
Seriously? This story was too good to be true. If they made this movie and it was fictional, you’d be all like “No way this would happen like this.” Just an unbelievable story. The rare event of real news being real entertaining–and then uplifting.
26. John Updike’s “Endpoint”
Sadly, this posthumous collection is the last poetry that will ever be released by Mr. Updike. Luckily, it’s amazing (but, also, terribly terribly sad.)
25. “The Good Wife” on CBS
I’ve just discovered it, so I have to get caught up, but it is tickling me.
24. Seeing Art Speigelman give a talk at Dickinson University
Seeing the legendary literary graphic novelist give a highly entertaining and informative talk was one of the live event highlights of my year, and nobody had a guitar.
23. My super-secret crush, The View‘s Sherri Shepard.
I will do unspeakble things to this woman. In the good way.
22. Mila Kunis and–yes–James Franco in “Date Night”
See #48 and substitute these actor’s names.
21. The comeback of The Atlantic
One of the oldest and most respected magazines in the world revamps itself and somehow does not end up sucking. In fact, it’s now better than ever, and just announced a profit for the first time in a decade. And thankfully, it is somehow still completely pompous.
20. Michael Vick
I sure know when to get back into Philadelphia sports, don’t I??? I simply love this real-life tale of redemption; if I didn’t believe in second chances, my own life would probably look a little bit different.
The Netflix-like service provides you with rotating art prints (and a neato frame). Sure, they don’t do much but hang there, but it’s a great way to explore what you like and don’t like about art. It’s interesting to find how your relationship with a piece of art changes as it hangs in your home; much different than seeing it for 5 minutes in a gallery.
17. Dogs
Still the best thing going.
16. “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon”
Fallon has really hit a stride that is pure magic. Sure, he’s not breaking new ground like his competition Craig Ferguson (who’s got a bit of briliiance working, as well), but Fallon’s show works miracles within a formula. Delicious.
15. The Fusco Brothers
The smartest, funniest comic strip in (or probably NOT in) your local newspaper just keeps getting funnier. And smarter. And harder to find.
14. BuyBack$
A store that is just cheap, used DVDs, CDs, and Blu-Rays? Yeah. I’m kinda all over that.
13. The re-release of new-age symhony In C.
Composer Terry Riley’s experimental, semi-electronic classical piece In C was re-released on CD this year, and it is just as addictive as when I first owned it back in high school. Shades of just about all my current favorite artists can be heard in this breakthrough work.
12. Cherry Crush
Because it’s fucking delicious.
11. “What Up With That?” sketches on Saturday Night Live
This is by far the most enjoyable recurring sketch on SNL I’ve seen in years. It has a concrete element of the absurd, and a perfect setting for uproarious celebrity cameos. And Keenan Thompson is a genius, I don’t care what you say! Click here for a selection of this year’s What Up With That’s on Hulu.
10. Roles For Women
There’s still not nearly enough meaty roles for women in movies—Hollywood, indie, or otherwise—but this year saw a few choicer roles than before, thanks to dandy’s like “The Kids Are All Right”, “Please Give”, and “Secretariat”.
9. Dan Simmons’ “The Terror”
One of the most interesting, and also more difficult, novels I’ve ever read. Simmons’ explorers-trapped-in-icelocked-ships-being-terrorized-by-unseen-monsters-yet-also-slightly-based-on-historical-fact-of-Franklin’s-lost-expedition has got to be the world’s first historical fiction gothic horror novel. And it scared the shit out of me.
8. Cleveland
It really does rock.
7. slate.com
The one-time almost-sad story of an great website gone bad is now a must-read internet newsmagazine. I have it set as my homepage.
6. Blu-Ray discs in Reboxes
Hey thanks.
5. The first fight scene in “The Book of Eli”, where Denzel cuts that dude’s hand off.
OK, so the rest of the movie is kinda hum-drum, but that knife scene by the underpass with above-mentioned amputation is pure badass movie magic.
4. Free concerts in the square in downtown Buffalo
I got a free front-row Ed Kowalczyk show, courtesy of the city of Buffalo, in a very attractive, quaint little square with a big statue of some dude (Mr. Buffalo?) in the center. Can’t wait to see next year’s schedule!
3. Katie Couric doing CBS’s Evening News
I just plain trust her. A throwback to old-school news.
2. The poster for The National’s album “High Violet”.
Good art and good music, all affordable? Sign me up. Check out the poster here.
1. “The Expendables”
The movie was pretty bad, but I’d watch these guys pop popcorn.
Yes, I’m going to post a blog every time I get a new print from TurningArt. Just get over it.
So, I just got a new print from TurningArt. (not sure what I’m talking about or want to see the previous prints? Click here.) After getting two very similar prints by the same artist, I thought I’d go as close to polar opposite as possible, so I went with “VHS 008” by Hollis Brown Thornton. Thornton is a very interesting artist who uses all kinds of mediums, but is probably most famous for is pencil and marker drawings of “dead media” such as VHS, Atari cartridges, and 8-track tapes. Check out his personal website here. Here is the piece currently on the wall at the top of my stairs:
And here’s how it looks in my stairwell (I keep them in my stairwell, rather than in one of my actual rooms with my other artwork, because I make a point of stopping to look at them intently as I come and go):
I’ve finally got my second print from TurningArt! It’s exciting, I really really like it! I decided on another print by Peter Roux (the same guy who did the first print I got, A Testament of Complicated Mourning) because I just dig his stuff so much. The new one is called Large Island Field and this is it:
Also, just as this print was getting shipped to me, TurningArt introduced an unlimited print plan, so now it really does work just like Netflix, so I expect to go through prints a little faster from here on out. It really is a great company, I highly recommend it for anyone who can find room in their budget. Here’s how Large Island Field looks hanging on my landing:
Notes From the Fire 
