autumn music

A few years ago, my friend Tony - www.fastnbulbous.com - wrote an essay about autumn music that was quite inspired. There are only two times of the year when the season has a tangible musical connection for me: fall and Christmas. And even though it would be easy to list any band or record that has a melancholy air as autumnal, there are only two, maybe three records that truly evoke the season for me.

The first is REM's Fables of the Reconstruction. Tony introduced me to the album our junior or senior year of high school. I didn't think too much of it at first, but the more I listened to it, the more it grew on me. And looking back on it now, the record has a vibe, a mood - whatever you want to call it - that runs through all the songs and draws them together. The whole is greater the sum of its parts. It sounds simultaneously old and new, which is another way to say timeless. Michael Stipe has never sounded so surreal, or wistful. "It’s a Man Ray kind of sky / Let me show you what I can do with it."

Side note: Fables also reminds me of one night back in high school when I met a woman at a party that I fell head over heels for. I can't remember her name, only that she was from out of town (Cedar Rapids or Davenport, I believe - might as well have been Siberia since I had no car). And I never saw her again. I had never dated anyone before that night, but talking and flirting with her at the party - we were completely oblivious to everyone around us - gave me a tantalizing glimpse into what might be (and wasn't). After I came home late that evening, I went into my bedroom and immediately started playing "Life and How to Live It" from Fables. I don't know why (I still don't), but every time I hear that song, it reminds me of her.

The second record is U2's The Unforgettable Fire. Recorded before the band became bona-fide rock stars with The Joshua Tree, this record also has a vibe which I credit, in part, to producer Brian Eno - the modern father of mood music (aka "ambient" - Eno is same man who made a record called "Music for Films" in 1978). And again, like Fables, the tone of the Unforgettable Fire is nostalgic and plaintive. Bono's lyrics have never been so impressionistic, so evocative. I love the first stanza of "A Sort of Homecoming":

And you know it's time to go
Through the sleet and driving snow
Across the fields of mourning
Light in the distance

And in the second stanza, a fantastic simile:

The city walls are all pulled down
The dust, a smoke screen all around
See faces ploughed like fields that once
Gave no resistance

There are many other records that could just as easily qualify as autumnal - Bob Dylan's Time Out of Mind, New Order's Movement, The Cowboy Junkies' The Trinity Session, Portishead's Dummy...the list goes on. But these two crystallize the season, for me at least.

Tim O'Brien banned in Solon

The Des Moines Register reported today that the Solon (Iowa) school board has decided to remove one of my favorite books from the curriculum of their eighth grade students - Tim O'Brien's The Things They Carried. According to the article, the administrators felt that the material - short stories about the US occupation of Vietnam - wasn't appropriate for the students. It's a shame, because it's an incredible book that piqued my curiosity about a war - and an era - that I was never remotely curious about before. And I'm wracking my brain trying to think of what would be so objectionable about the book's content that any average eighth grade student hasn't seen in any typical Hollywood blockbuster. Oh, on second thought, I think I know: beauty and truth. Of course!

Perhaps this is what un-nerved the school board in Solon:

"A true war story is never moral. It does not instruct, nor encourage virtue, nor suggest models of proper human behavior, nor restrain men from doing the things men have always done. If a story seems moral, do not believe it. If at the end of a war story you feel uplifted, or if you feel that some small bit of rectitude has been salvaged from the larger waste, then you have been made the victim of a very old and terrible lie. There is no rectitude whatsoever. There is no virtue. As a a first rule of thumb, therefore, you can tell a true war story by its absolute and uncompromising allegiance to oscenity and evil." (from "How To Tell A True War Story")

O'Brien was a soldier in Vietnam during 1969 and 1970, so he knows whereof he writes. But it's not simple reporting; O'Brien is a master storyteller. His stories, written in the first-person, blend truth and fiction, biography and fantasy, in a way not unlike Milan Kundera. Sometimes the story-truth, O'Brien writes, is more real than the happening-truth. You want to believe that everything he's written is true, but like a magician, he never reveals his hand.

The Things They Carried is a testament to what art can attain: transcendence. "But this too is true: stories can save us," O'Brien writes in "The Lives of the Dead." And when I finished that story, I believed. That is the highest compliment I can pay this, or any, writer. What a shame that the eighth grade students at Solon won't discover that as well.

don't piss off the giant squid in the corner...

You may have heard recently in the news that some Japanese scientists have finally photographed the mysterious giant squid -- "in it's natural habitat!" The photograph I've seen posted on the New York Times is lousy... it looks like something an eight year old with dubious Photoshop skills could come up with.


But at least one good thing has come of this...a hilarious article by Grady Hendrix which warns of the dangers of pissing giant squid off. Don't say you weren't warned!

you're a beautiful genius

One of the very few websites that I subscribe to is Rob Brezsny's Free Will Astrology. Not because I put a lot of stock in astrology - not the predictive kind, anyway. But Rob's spin is not like anything you've likely read before. His philosophy:

"Evil is boring. Cynicism is idiotic. Fear is a bad habit. Despair is lazy. Joy is fascinating. Love is an act of heroic genius. Pleasure is our birthright."

Here's a segment from an interview with Rob by Glen Starkey of the San Luis Obispo New Times (excerpted from Rob Brezsny's weekly newsletter):

GLEN STARKEY: As I read it, your book is about training oneself to see the world through optimistic eyes, to not dwell on the occasional bad thing that happens and instead focus on all the things that go right, every day, all the time. What led you to this idea?

ROB BREZSNY: Let me comment on the first statement. It's true that I urge people not to dwell on the occasional bad thing that happens. However, it's important to note that pronoia doesn't ask you to ignore or suppress your problems. On the contrary, just as pronoiacs retrain themselves to notice and feel gratitude for all the beauty and largesse in the world, they also retrain themselves to see every problem as a gift that is designed to make them smarter, kinder, and more fully alive.

As for what led me to these ideas: I'm a natural-born rebel; I enjoy identifying the conventional wisdom in every situation, and turning it on its head. Today the conventional wisdom is that everything is falling apart, that the world is a terrible place to live, that bad things predominate. The most taboo possibility of all is the idea that the world is full of beauty and that life is on our side. I gravitate toward that perspective because everything in my life has confirmed it and because my job is to do everything I can to overthrow the status quo.

Some may find his ideas naive or flaky. I find them brave and challenging - perhaps because I struggle to see the good in the world, but want to believe in the best. You can make up your mind for yourself by visiting his website here.

fuel to the fire

Slate submits another perspective on the Catholic Church - gay priests story: http://www.slate.com/id/2127026/nav/tap2/

three songs

I find myself without anything remotely interesting to say tonight. In lieu of that, I present you, dear readers, with a list of three songs that turned my world upside down when I was a wee lad:

1. Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds (The Beatles). Given the Beatles' stature in the canon of popular music, it's hard to imagine just how revolutionary they sounded to my ears the first time I heard one of their songs. It was 1978, I believe. I was in fourth grade. Growing up in Freeport, Illinois in the late seventies, the Beatles were utterly absent from my radar. My world, musically speaking, consisted of Captain and Tennille (the first album my parents bought me!), The Doobie Brothers, Kiss (my first record was the dubiously titled "Love Gun" whose sexual overtones were utterly lost on me), Stevie Wonder, and Peaches and Herb. I had never even HEARD of the Beatles until I heard "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" for the first time, so I brought no baggage, no preconceptions to the music. And I was hypnotised by what, in retrospect, you could call the psychedelic elements of the song (although at the time all I could tell you was that it was unlike anything else I had ever heard, and yet strangely familiar). I first heard it at a friend's house (the same friend who also gave me a copy of The Little Prince for my birthday). And even though I was dumbfounded by the song, I did not become an instant Beatles fan or even seek out more music of theirs. I was too deep into Kiss at the time, and I moved to a new town later that year, effectively severing myself from my Beatles source! But this does not diminish the seismic impact that the song made on my consciousness when I first heard it.

2. My Sharona (The Knack). I couldn't tell you when I first heard My Sharona, but I can tell you that the song was like crack -- I couldn't get enough! The rhythm section - that unforgettable "boom boom boom BOOM boom BOOM" - burned itself into my brain. I was all of 10 years old at the time. I didn't know the title or even the band's name when I described the song to my cousin Ann, who is several years older than myself and who, at the time, was the touchstone of all that was hip. To my amazement, not only did she know the song, but she owned a copy of it! Desperately, I asked her to play it for me. As I recall, she only played it once which was clearly not nearly enough. I imagine I must've appeared more than a little Gollum-like in my obsession with the song - "Please play my precious one more time!" To be honest, Ann might have played it a few times, but it just FELT like once, I was so desperate! No matter - regardless of the count, I cherished and gloried in every second. No other song got under my skin quite so quickly, or deeply, as that one.

3. Ball of Confusion (Love and Rockets). I first heard Love and Rockets' remake of Ball of Confusion on MTV during 1986-87, when I was 17, and I was instantly mesmerized. I think it was the first time that I heard distortion used in an aesthetic way, rather than a signifier of anger and rebellion, and this was nothing short of a revelation. It was a thing of utter beauty to me, opening up a whole new musical vocabulary - a little like discovering that the alphabet contains another 24 letters! But of course a distorted guitar in and of itself is no great thing. I was also enchanted by the funky, loopy bass, and deadpan vocals which contrasted in a marvelous way with the guitars. What a combination! I was hooked, and once I obtained a copy of the song, I listened to it over and over again, never growing weary of the sound.

Don Adams

Yesterday Don Adams, star of the sixties television comedy Get Smart, died. Growing up, Get Smart was my favorite comedy - a screwball and goodnatured spoof of the 007 franchise. Don Adams was perfect in the role of Maxwell Smart, a bumbling secret agent. He had the perfect combination of swaggering braggadocio and cluelessness. Don Adams, rest in peace.

poetic justice

I had it coming. After venting about Kodak last week, I finally found someone who still uses the little order forms for reprinting negatives - our local HyVee (that's the Microsoft of Iowa grocery stores, for those of you scratching your heads!). I was thrilled. Everything was falling into place! Or so I thought...

I picked up the prints tonight, and about thirty seconds after paying for them I sat down and eagerly opened up the envelopes like it was Christmas morning. Lo and behold, I quickly discovered not one, not two, but THREE printing errors. There was a blue line running through one print, another I didn't ask for, and then they failed to reprint one negative I *did* ask for! They corrected their mistakes, of course, but then the cashier couldn't figure out how much to charge me for the prints. I tell you, it makes me long for a professional camera store. What's shocking is they are quickly becoming extinct. If you live in a city less than 100,000 people, you're very lucky indeed if you can find one listing in your Yellow Pages - that is, a listing for a store that specializes in camera gear and printing. I seems as if the Best Buys and other electronic behemoths have swallowed these chaps up whole.

On a more positive note, LeAnn came up from Cedar Rapids yesterday. We had a Guinness at the Busted Lift, and ended up having a lengthy conversation with one of the bartenders who also happens to be in a band. The topic of conversation was "the most distrubing movies ever made." In general, I'm not a fan of the John Waters, shock-for-shock's-sake genre. Most of the movies that LeAnn and the bartender mentioned I had not, in fact, seen - among them, Gummo, The Doom Generation, and anything by John Waters. It occurs to me now that I forgot to mention a recent favorite - Gus Van Sant's Elephant, which is inspired by the Columbine tragedy. What I appreciated about the movie, however, was its steadfast refusal to make sense of the event. There are no heroes, no dramatic arc, no resolution. I want to say that the film is more akin to a poem, riddle, or koan than story. You can keep your incestuous, cross-dressing necrophiliac murderers. The senselessness and brutality of life is far more disturbing in my book.

After finishing our beer, we had dinner at Los Aztecas - my favorite Mexican restaurant in Dubuque (try the enchiladas verdes). And we capped the night off with a little Mario Kart 64 and the Hugh Grant movie About a Boy. It's one of my favorites - the film hits the Hollywood trifecta - entertaining, thoughtful *and* funny! In a nutshell, it's a meditation on bachelorhood and independence. Hugh Grant plays a 38 year old bachelor who "discovers" single mothers as a goldmine of guilt-free, no-strings-attached relationships. Shortly after the movie started, it dawned on me that this may be sending the wrong message to LeAnn! (a single mom herself). I've said it before and I'll say it again: no matter how old you are, going on a date with someone is always rich in opportunities for faux pas, gaffes, and miscommunication. I suppose that's what makes it so much fun! *laugh*

Continuing the movie vein, tonight I watched Crash, which I really enjoyed. It reminded me of Traffic and Magnolia, in the sense that the movie wove several stories together with an A-list cast that played relatively small roles. The thematic thread weaving the stories togeter is prejudice, but the movie is not, in my opinion, pedantic. I would definitely watch it again, and I'm thinking about lobbying for the movie club at school to bring it to campus. It would be a step up from the Amityville Horror, which is what we screened Friday night!

other people's vacation pictures

I'm babysitting Samantha, my Mom's miniature poodle, this weekend while she's in the Cities. And it cracks me up how, when you take a dog on a walk, they will wait until you're at the absolute busiest intersection before they decide to take a dump. I think dogs do it to get back at their owners. "Keep me locked up all day, huh?"

Kodak is now selling websites for people who want a virtual home of their own to post their pictures. For example, $25 buys you www.kodakpictures.com/mikewillis, or www.kodakpictures.com/kingkong, or what-have-you. I've been mulling this over, since I would like to create a site to post my photos, but don't necessarily want to hassle with creating one from scratch. To get a better idea of what I could expect, this evening I started checking out other people's sites. All you do is enter www.kodakpictures.com, and then add a name of your choosing at the end (the more common the name, the better). And lo and behold, suddenly you're looking at some stranger's vacation photos, out in the world for all to see! It's kinda strange, rooting through someone's memories. Like this chap Stuart. I hate to admit it, but I'm just a little jealous of this rich bastard who's jetting off to Germany, or Australia, or Tokyo at a moment's notice!

And while I'm in such a positive frame of mind, I also have to admit I'm saddened and dismayed by this New York Times article about the Catholic Church's proposal to bar gay men from the priesthood. I know this is an incredibly devisive issue, and part of your position will depend on whether you think that homosexuality is genetic or a lifestyle choice. Personally, I believe that anyone who knows a gay man or woman knows that very few would choose a lifestyle that would make them objects of ridicule, discrimination, misunderstanding and even hatred. I would argue that in this day and age, it's still acceptable to be prejudiced against gay people and overweight people - especially overweight women. Both of those groups grow up learning to hate themselves. Thank you, Holy Roman Church, for bolstering this prejudice against the men who have grown up in your house, devoted their lives to you, and ask for love and acceptance in return.

Yes, the stories about abusive priests are troubling, and yes, they should be held accountable for their actions. But is the answer to ban all gay men? Of course not. These are disturbed individuals who do not represent the whole. Perhaps if the church didn't teach that homosexuality was a sin, then these individuals wouldn't be in such dire conflict with themselves and feel compelled to seek out gratification or release in such inappropriate ways. If what you learn tells you that you should hate yourself for what you are, then of course there are going to be dire consequences.

Why do I care about this? Not because I'm gay (not that there's anything wrong with that! *smile*). It's because I abhor prejudice, plain and simple. I fully recognize that I entertain my own prejudices (especially against Wal-Mart!), so I am not perfect - far from it. But I frankly get angry when people I love are wracked with self-doubt and even hatred because their identity - who they ARE - is considered abhorrent. We all have enough trouble accepting ourselves without one of the largest religious institutions of the world drawing a line around one group and calling them unclean and unworthy. News flash: we ALL are. Get over it and starting practicing what you preach.

recurring dreams

7:30 am...

I had a dream last night I had to write down before forgot...it's one I've had before.

I was driving around an upper-middle class suburban neighborhood when I heard my father call out. I doubled back, and found him sitting in a lawn chair in the driveway of a small condo. I knew somehow that he was single, divorced from my Mom, and this was his place. It was odd, since it wasn't the kind of neighborhood he would ever settle in. He looked out of place. He also looked different. I think he had a short beard or goatee. I stopped and we talked. I don't remember what we talked about, but I got the sense that he seemed very lonely. And then we were in church, which also was odd, because I can't remember my father ever going to church. It was a contemporary worship service. And then the dream ended. But what struck me most immediately about the dream was the fact that my father was single, and alone. As I said, I've had variations on this dream before, and I'm not sure why. I hope he isn't lonely now.

9:30 pm...

I just spoke with LeAnn about the dream, and had an insight as I described it to her. The fact that my father is always separated or divorced from my Mom in my dreams doesn't make a lot of sense, since they were always together. However, this divorce conceit could be my subconscious mind's way of interpreting of the gulf that now separates me, mom, and Joanna from my father - the gulf between the living and the dead. Separation/divorce = divested from life.

More importantly, I wonder if the lonliness that I sense in my father in my dreams is a projection of my own feelings. I will admit that I don't think about Dad every day, and I did not shed a lot of tears when he died - a part of me was relieved that he no longer had to deal with the pain and suffering of his many ailments. But I also suppose it's entirely possible that there are feelings that are lurking in my subconscious that only bubble up while I'm asleep. If I keep dreaming about him, then something is clearly going on.

rock on, Steve Jobs

Today my friend Rachel sent me a copy of the commencement address that Steve Jobs gave at Stanford University this past June. It's fantastic. I'll admit - I'm a sucker for these things. Done right, they're an intriguing blend of advice column and personal memoir. Done wrong, they're advice and memoir, minus the intrigue. So if you have any inclination whatsoever, you should definitely check his out. You can find it on Stanford's web site, here:

http://news-service.stanford.edu/news/2005/june15/jobs-061505.html

Kodak woes

Time to vent!

A few nights ago I went to Target to have some reprints made of some pictures my Mom took at Glacier National Park earlier this summer. I had the negatives, and had written down the ID numbers I wanted reprinted. Normally I would saunter up to the self-service photo kiosk and fill out a small envelope (just slightly larger than a strip of negatives) that has a graph on one side to indicate the number of the negative, the size of the reprint, and the quantity. But for some reason, these helpful little envelopes were missing. Nary a one in sight. I asked someone at the counter if they could help, and they told me to come back later when people who actually knew what they were doing would be available. Yes, that was their actual answer! (Note to clerk: not the best reply).

I had a bad feeling about that response, so tonight, rather than return to Target, I decided to go to Walgreen's instead (this coming from a die-hard Target fan!). And when I told the helpful lady at the photo counter what I wanted to do, she whipped out a blank sheet of paper and stood at the ready, pen poised mid-air, as if to transcribe my last will. "What about the envelopes for reprinting negatives?" I asked. Was I going crazy? Was this nothing more than a figment of my imagination? No! The helpful lady at the counter informed me that Kodak has stopped shipping the reprint envelopes to Walgreens. Why, I asked? She didn't know, but speculated it was to save money (and despite my frustration, I could've hugged her for confirming that I was not going crazy!)

Now, it's probably premature to jump to conclusions, but it does seem a bit ODD that neither Target nor Walgreens have these helpful little envelopes this week. And while this is not, in the grand scheme of things, a BIG DEAL, it definitely is inconvenient if you want to make reprints! Let's just assume the worst for a moment and assume that Kodak HAS decided to stop making these. Why in the world would Kodak want to make it difficult for customers to buy and print MORE pictures? Are they really losing that much money that they need to make it difficult for your customers to order more?

It's possible! As this article in Slate makes clear, not only is Kodak not doing so well, they've demonstrated some pretty poor decision-making skills lately. This is due, in part, to the fact that Kodak was so slow to recognize and embrace the digital photography phenomenon. And this is ironic, because now they are apparently making it more difficult to get reprints from film!

http://slate.msn.com/id/2093512/

Now you may think that this is not a big deal - just write down the numbers already on a sheet of paper and get on with it. But I have a problem with this, because suddenly there's no common understanding that what *I* write down will be what the person at the lab will understand. How do I make it clear that I want two reprints of negative number 6 at 5x7, when I have a second roll of film with negatives sharing the same number? How do I know what my reprint size options are? Do all the negatives get dumped into one envelope, or do I need to fill out one per negative? You get the idea. It can be done, but it will be messy, and I'm not at all confident that I will get what I'm asking for.

Contrary to what I've just written, I have no strong feelings about Kodak. I use their online photo gallery all the time to share my digital pics with friends and family, and for the most part the site works well. But if this is NOT a coincidence, and they really have decided to do away with film negative reprint envelopes at Target, Walgreens, and every other brick-and-mortar store, then someone needs to tell them that making life inconvient for customers is NOT a smart business strategy.

the twilight years of tennis

There's a fantastic article in Slate that tries to explain why tennis and golf - those two traditionally upper-crust, country club pasttimes, have diverged in popularity. The writer, Field Maloney, argues that tennis, while trying to broaden and democratize it's appeal, is steadily losing viewers and players, while golf, which has made no such attempt, is more popular than ever. Sad and ironic, isn't it? You can read the article here:

http://slate.msn.com/id/2126314/?nav=mpp

paying attention

Anne Lamott kicks ass. And I say that in the spirit of her book "Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life," which you should go out, right now, and pick up a copy. Yeah, there's a lot of advice for writers in it, but there's also a lot of good advice for anyone who couldn't give a rip about stringing three sentences together. To wit - check out her angle on the subject of paying attention:

"I honestly think in order to be a writer, you have to learn to be reverent. If not, why are you writing? Why are you here? Let's think of reverence as awe, as presence in and openness to the world. The alternative is that we stultify, we shut down...I think this is how we are supposed to be in the world -- present and in awe."

Amen! But it gets better...

"There is ecstasy in paying attention. You can get into a kind of Wordsworthian openness to the world, where you see in everything the essence of holiness, a sign that God is implicit in all of creation... Anyone who wants to can be surprised by the beauty or pain of the natural world, of the human mind and heart... When what we see catches us off guard, and when we write it as realistically and openly as possible, it offers hope."

Awesome. And the climax:

"To be engrossed by something outside ourselves is a powerful antidote for the rational mind, the mind that so frequently has its head up its own ass -- seeing things in such a narrow and darkly narcissistic way that it presents a colo-rectal theology, offering hope to no one."

I nearly bust a gut when I read the last line. "Colo-rectal theology" - brilliance itself! This is, perhaps, the most compelling explanation I've ever read for being an artist - writer, painter, photographer, musician - it doesn't matter. And it also summarizes what I find so compelling about some of my favorite artists and writers. Not all, mind you. Not by a long shot. Not a lot of hope in Cormac McCarthy's existential Western dramas. But there is reverence - a deep reverence for the universe, if not our place in it. Same for Edward Hopper. Again, not a lot of hope in those lonely souls he painted. But there is definitely beauty. That was Hopper's brilliance - to find beauty where others would only see despair.

On another note, I'm currently listening to Spoon. The band, not the eating utensil. Their music is difficult for me to describe or pigeonhole, but utterly compelling regardless. You gotta love a band that writes a line like, "every morning I pull on them pants/but I don't get out so much since I acquired St. Vitus dance." (That's from The Two Sides of Monsieur Valenti - my favorite song at the moment). I wish I could explain what it is that I love so much about this CD (Gimme Fiction), but I got nothing. Which, come to think of it, is often true when I talk about music. I'm much more at ease writing about books or art. I think I lack a vocabulary to describe and evoke what I love in songs, and bands, and so forth.

Which reminds me...whatever happened to the band Bauhaus? If I recall correctly, I think they wrote a song called St. Vitus Dance. With all of this eighties revival hoopla, I woulda thought that SOMEONE would be taking up the cause of this neglected band. Seems like they were ahead of the curve with the whole Goth phenomenon. But that's what you get for naming yourself after an obscure German architectural style! Strangely enough, there are some fine examples of Bauhaus (or is it International Style?) domestic architecture in Dubuque, nestled away amid the more celebrated Victorian houses. You'd miss them if you blinked - I had to rub my eyes the first time I saw one. They look like little brick ice cubes. Stop by sometime and I'll show you!

Sunrise

I've been waking up one hour earlier this week to videotape student ambassador training at school - this is the program that students go through to become tour guides. Can't say that I'm crazy about the alarm going off at 6 am, but it has its perks - specifically, the stunning sunrises. This picture was taken at 6:30 this morning outside my kitchen window, looking east (duh!) over downtown Dubuque. It bothers me a little that the clock tower (that's City Hall) is not perfectly aligned to the vertical...but I can't Photoshop the image from home so it'll have to do.

Finally...photos!

I'm such a bonehead...I finally figured out how to include pictures on my blog! Here are a few from my recent trip to Toronto for Gary and Dawna's wedding.

The first is from a street vendor Nicky and I walked by in Chinatown...


The second is some graffiti I saw at a bus stop...


And finally, a feeble attempt to capture the beautiful light as the sun set in Indiana on the drive home:


There are a LOT more where this came from. I'm in the process of setting up a website which will allow me to post my favorite pictures for all my friends and family to see. In the meantime, if you'd like to see more, let me know and I'll send you a link to my photo albums at Kodak's website.

can men and women just be friends?

"When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known."

First Epistle of Paul to the Corinthians
1 Corinthians 13, verse 11

Those of you who know me well may be surprised to find a quote from the Bible in my blog. I have always found this passage especially moving and resonant, however. I first heard it, in all places, in The Crying Game (a movie I still love, even though most people simply remember it for its twist halfway through the film). I don't pretend to have any contextual knowledge or appreciation for the statement as it pertains to the Bible, and I am usually the first to roll my eyes at people - especially art teachers - whose appreciation for a painting or other work of art extends no further than the thing itself (more on that later). Perhaps someone with a greater understanding of the Bible can elaborate on the context in which this verse appears - I have many friends who are more than able!

But on a fundamental level, I love the verse for how it appears to me - a statement both poetic and contradictory. On one hand, Paul appears to say that he's matured in ways that have deepened his wisdom and outlook on life. But just when you think old Paul has everything figured out, he turns around and blows that theory apart. "...now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known." Which, essentially, renders us children once again.

The concept of putting away childish things is powerful and more than a little melancholy. I translate that statement into the following equation: wisdom/experience/knowledge = sadness. Remember George Orwell's famous aphorism in 1984? "Ignorance is bliss." Who would deny it? And yet, who would willfully remain ignorant to preserve one's peace of mind or even happiness? I suppose it could be argued that each of us *do* choose to remain ignorant of something we're not comfortable with. We do this in the way we choose to occupy ourselves and focus our energy. But some of us certainly choose to remain more ignorant than others. And I have little patience with those who prefer to dodge aspects of life that make them uncomfortable or threaten to expand their world.

This came up in a conversation I had with Nicky this evening as we discussed the pros and cons of having a friend of the opposite gender. Can men and women be friends? I think they can, although not without difficulty. For Nicky, our friendship challenges her goal to remain pure of mind and spirit until she meets the man God intends for her to marry. Some of her friends have questioned the prudence of our friendship. And I know that I have caused her considerable consternation and trouble. But the fact remains that we both respect each other enough to be honest about our feelings and emotions. And more than that, we challenge each other to consider different points of view and appreciate new things. We have both grown considerably as a direct result of our friendship, and I believe that we only grow as we challenge ourselves and broaden our boundaries. To a certain degree, I also believe that the way you view the world will create the world you experience. If you believe that befriending someone of the opposite sex will ruin your innocence, then in a sense it's already happened. You've become so jaded that you've missed the possibility that someone, somewhere, will add to your life, not subtract from it.

I realize that men and women have different perspectives on this issue. Most women of a certain age - say, in their twenties - believe that men are interested in just one thing. And by and large, this is true. So women, in particular, may be a little more cautious when it comes to the idea of being friends with a man. And I believe this is fully justified behavior. But when someone automatically rules out the possibility without even trying...well, that strikes me as sad and profoundly lacking in faith. If you believe that men just want one thing from you, you lack the faith to believe that NOT all men want the same thing (i.e., you - how egotistical!). And on the other side of the coin, if you're so fragile that you cloister yourself from that which you consider tempting, you lack a profound faith in your own strength.

I've dated many women and have my share of regrets. Lord knows that I caused plenty of pain and had my heart broken in return. This isn't something that I'm especially proud of, but neither am I ashamed. It's simply a part of who I am - the sum of my choices and experiences. My larger point is that through it all, a handful of friendships have persevered. Somehow, some way, I remain friends with a few women who I broke up with, or who unceremoniously dumped me! (hard to believe that can happen, isn't it? *smile*) Granted, this is the exception to the rule. But there are a few who remain because we share a strong bond that transcends sex. All of them are blessings in my life.

This leads me to my second, and last, quote of the evening. Leo Tolstoy once said that "Everyone wants to change the world, but no one wants to change himself." Like the verse from Corinthians above, the first time I read this it struck a deep chord within me for reasons I didn't entirely understand. In the context of this blog, however, what I appreciate is Tolstoy's suggestion that changing yourself CAN change the world, albeit in a completely different way. And that, my friends, is a very powerful and optimistic message.

acquired tastes (roast beef and mixed metaphors)

I was in St. Paul over Labor Day weekend, visiting Joanna and Michael. It was a very enjoyable break after the first week of classes. On Saturday night Michael and Joanna grilled steaks. Matt and Mark joined us, along with their girlfriends and Fitz. Dinner conversation was so entertaining - it's such a constant revelation to meet others who are also interested in the geeky, esoteric books, movies, and music that I love. We debated the merits of the Da Vinci Code and Jim Jarsmusch movies. Adrian, Mark's girlfriend, shocked everyone by telling a hilarious joke about Michael Jackson and caviar. I thought Fitz was going to choke on the t-bone he was gnawing on!

Over breakfast this morning, the conversation turned to acquired tastes with regards to food. I could think of two things that at one time repulsed me and now I actually enjoy: tomatoes and jam. But tonight, as I was putting together a pre-bedtime meal, a third came to mind: roast beef. You have to understand: growing up, I thought beef WAS the five food groups! It's safe to say my father loved beef in all its myriad forms, and brown was the predominant dinner palette. I, on the other hand, didn't see what all the fuss was about. Steak, especially. Burgers were delicious, but the rest of it - pot roasts and steak and the like - was dull and uninspiring. The gastronomic equivalent of a high school history textbook, if you will.

About a year ago, I noticed this floating island in the middle of the grocery store. It's oval, porcelain, inhabiited by one or two friendly people, and surrounded on all sides by fresh mozzerella and hummus and beef sticks, like a delicious moat! As strange as it sounds, I never really paid much attention to the deli counter before. It always escaped my grocery radar. But at some point recently, something changed, and I started to pay attention to the various ham, turkey, and beef behind the glass. And I gravitated to the ham, probably because pulled pork sandwiches with Georgia Mustard BBQ sauce are on my short list of what's served in heaven. But eventually I began to tire of the ham variations, and two weeks ago extended an olive branch to beef, my old dinnertime companion. I brought home half a pound of sliced roast beef, and my God, what a revelation. This was nothing like the steaks, pot roasts, and other brown meats I grew up with. I'm hard-pressed to explain exactly what the difference IS, but my tastebuds are once again in love with beef.

What is it that causes our taste to change? Time, of course, but that does not explain why certain things remain unchanged in our hearts, while others sway from side to side. Food is one example, but I'm even more interested in music, and why certain songs or musicians rise from indifference to fascination in my ever-changing musical tastes. To take but one example, many years ago I bought a copy of After the Gold Rush by Neil Young and was promptly unimpressed. It lay in the dustbin of my collection for many years until one day I pulled it out again, and out of mere curiosity or boredom, I gave it another spin. My reaction was visceral - a genuine Bill and Ted "whoa"! It was as if I heard it for the first time. For reasons I can't adequately explain, suddenly the record revealed a spartan grace and beauty that I didn't hear the first time. Clearly, the music didn't change, so what was it that altered in me to realign my perspective? And why doesn't this happen with other music? I'm convinced, for example, that I will never appreciate The Grateful Dead or 99% of folk music. Perhaps this is just my prejudice, but I have sat down with an open heart and really not liked people like David Wilcox, truly and without any malice. I suppose it's all a part of the mystery of life, and what keeps things interesting.

My theory: seems like there's, oh, 25% of us that never changes from the moment we're conceived to the day we die. Let's call that our soul. And then there's the other 75% which is open to influence from everything around us - our friends, the radio, what-have-you. I call that the soul-frosting. The frosting is open to influence, but the cake (i.e., the soul) never changes. Ok, so it's not a perfect metaphor. But you get the idea. David Hume, stick that in your pipe and smoke it!