FAILURE IS THE FIRST STEP TOWARD TRYING?

I've been talking to the kids a lot about being prepared.

Simply being prepared. Not just in the easy survivalist way of having blankets and knives and books and art supplies.

In the sense of being mentally prepared to handle stressful situations where you start to panic, and the importance of thinking ahead about how you can respond in as clear-headed a fashion as possible and make the best decision available in that circumstance.

As with many things parenting, there is a wide gap between telling your children how to do something well, and modeling that thing well.

I was at a recent event; an event which led me into the paths of various people. Many I did not know. Some I did know. There were others whose faces I recognized but couldn't bring up a name, and others whose names I had heard but couldn't place with a face.

And then there were the ones whose names and faces I knew, because I try hard to remember those things. But this certain category of person is in the category of People I Know Who Should Probably Know Who I Am, But Don't.

The reason I say this is because she was a former student at a school I had taught classes at for over six years. She had never been in my class, but I knew her name, and greeted her in the hallways, and so forth.

This was from several years ago, and I had seen her occasionally at some youth sports functions and greeted her and her infant child, then a second. My greetings were brushed off, which is mostly fine...

...although acknowledging the presence, and remembering and using the name of someone is a skill, a learnable skill that is always in vogue. If something is always in vogue, it means it's timeless, classic, and should be a founding principle of living life.

I typically remember people's names more than they remember mine. Not always. Sometimes I forget. But I'm able to remember what I do for one reason: because I try. 

Because I try.

Hint: everyone can practice doing so instead of repeatedly using ONE OF THE WORST ONGOING EXCUSES IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD. It is this:

Sorry, I'm SO BAD with names. 

There are two things wrong with that.

Number one, if you're bad at something, then you have a choice to either a) get worse or b) get better.

Because nothing stays the same. Everything, nature reminds us, eventually decays. Including skills and relationships. If you don't practice them or work on them, they decay.

They don't stay the same. They get worse. It's kind of like voting: choosing not to vote is still a choice that affects the outcome. Choosing to not stand up at a particular point in the face of injustice is still a choice. Inaction is a choice. If I sound worked up, I am. Doing nothing is a choice. And sometime's that choice is fine. Sometimes it's okay to let things happen around you. To be the chill, cool person who just rolls with whatever vibe. I do that sometimes.

That was a lengthy number one. Basic thing is: if you're bad at something, that means you have the opportunity to become better. And that is your choice. Not something sunk in stone for the rest of your life.

Number two, when most people say that phrase, they're saying it to make a social situation less awkward. But when you say sorry, are you doing it as a one-time or occasional memory lapse? Or are  you saying it preemptively to head off getting called out for not remembering someone in the future, because you have no intention of actually trying any harder in the future.

I don't like that. I still apologize for not remembering people's names. Plenty of times I don't. I apologize for needing to ask, because I would like to be able to a) use their name in whatever brief conversation they have, b) let them know I am trying, and c) get my brain some extra practice in filing and archiving important information. And people's names are important information.

Maybe not every single person you meet. But that's the point: that in refusing to make an ongoing choice to at least try and improve your memory recall with names, you are saying that information is not important. You are not that important.

My sister and I used to joke - in a non-humorous way - about this one guy who had met each of us multiple times, and yet could never remember not only our names, but seemed to have barely any recollection of who we were. This was someone who was in a professional post-grad program, had plenty of friends in the crowd he hung out with, and whose general intelligence and memory seemed to function fine in other ways. So it came down to him making no effort to remember people who didn't seem important to try remembering.

I try to make it easy on people a lot of the time and proactively introduce myself: Hey good to see you, Leonidas! Joseph Long here, been a while! And of course they nod and smile and say of course I remember you! And sometimes they're telling the truth. Point is, regardless of how judgmental I sound above, I cut people slack when they forget when they can at least bring some basic respect and friendliness to the table, give their attention for a short period of time, and be present in whatever short interaction they have. 

It feels good to have people use your name.

It feels good to be remembered.

My dad's always been good about using people's names in greeting and talking with them in both his personal and professional life. My mom too, but Mother's Day weekend is coming up so I'll probably say other good things about her soon and let the old man have some solo props.

My buddy Rachel worked in a library for over 15 years. I saw her over and over greeting patrons by name and the way their faces lit up when she'd make them feel wanted, special, and important by their very presence...and by the fact that she remembered and used their names.

My wife Becca is so good about giving her warm and sincere attention to those she meets, and to a couple groups in particular - children and the elderly. Two populations that frequently get treated, by adults, with condescension, patronization, and often minus the use of their names. It matters to remember. If nothing else to make the effort.

I've heard that Keanu Reeves is super cool to work with and makes sure and learns the names of a lot of the crew. Don't know if that's true or not, but I'd like to think it is. The guy is Neo, he rides motorcycles, he's got another killer trilogy (John Wick), and he's a kind soul who remembers people's names? Can't be true. Hope it is.

So this woman, early 20s, comes up to me with two young ones in tow and informs - or asks? - me:

Hey, aren't you one of the Long brothers?

Of course this is an identity I am proud of; to be identified in the community of any or all of my four brothers is an honorific I accept with pride and enthusiasm. Even when it's minus the dignity of a name...

...except, it bothered me a little more than usual, as I had memories over the last several years of occasionally running into her, going out of my way to be friendly, and always using her name.

Because I remembered.

Because it feels good when people remember your name.

It truly is one of the great steps toward success in any field I would encourage a person to take: practice learning and remembering people's names.

Anyway. I informed her that yes, I am; I am the one called Joseph. The attachment of a name to my identity seemed of less importance to her than the fact that I was a member of the Long Family. Okay.

After accurately informing her that I was, in fact yes, one of the Long brothers, followed by the revealing of my name, an irrelevant fact she quickly discarded, she dived into the follow-up question.

Was it so what's keeping you busy these days?

Was it do you miss teaching? 

Was it so how are your little ones doing?

No.

It was this : Are you on Facebook?

Uhh, 
I fumbled,
Yeah, sometimes I guess. 

So you're not on very much,
she decided quickly for me.
Okay, then I'll need to get your phone number.

My brain was still playing catchup, which is no excuse for how I handled the next thirty seconds.

All of the conversations and preparation and training I've done with our kids about thinking clearly under pressure and preserving your wits in stressful circumstances, et cetera et cetera...

...it all deserted me in that decisive moment of choice over whether to a) panic or b) not panic.

I went with Option A. Panicked. How so?

I gave her my phone number.

She thrust her phone into my hands, and I froze.

Why?

I do not know. I simply do not know. Could I have just asked why do you need my phone number?

Sure. Just like I could also have accurately said actually, we are already Facebook friends and I think that's a good place to keep our friendship for the time being. At the bare minimum until you can correctly recall my name. 

But no. I panicked. It may not have appeared so to anyone looking on. But I did. I take responsibility in this most ridiculous of circumstances for simply not thinking clearly and doing the opposite of what I meant to do. Which was : not hand over my phone number.

Is it a big deal that I did? No, not really. But it's the principle of it. I wasn't thinking, and I got inexplicably flustered and distracted, and did the opposite of what I preach and evangelize about, which is basically along the lines of don't get bullied, flustered, pushed, or pulled into doing something. When someone tries to do so, time is on your side. Simply say no, decline, or find a polite-ish way to not even respond on their timeline. Do it on yours. Not theirs. If they're pushing you for something, don't even respond on their timeline.

That's what telemarketers and aggressive salespeople and really good PTA presidents do: they hound you and hound you and get you flustered and try to convince you that you need to make a decision on whatever it is they want...and you need to make that decision NOW.

No. You don't. And I knew this. I threw it all away, sadly and inadvertently, when I gave up my digits.

Upon being gifted this information she had no right to have, she launched into an ensuing conversation about children, in which I learned that immediately after high school she began having unprotected sex, which was something she acknowledged she could have handled better, as it led to the birth of her first child.

And second child.

And third.

All of which was not received well by her family because of her ongoing health issues and so forth. *disclosure: I know exactly what those health issues are, as she conveyed to me what they are, but as a former CPR-trained medical professional, I am highly-attuned to HIPAA protocols and therefore will not be including any details concerning her sex life and contraception methods, both which I which I know a bit about now.

In the end, there's only one word to describe how I handled this interaction: panic and failure.

I thought I was prepared, but I wasn't.

That's it. I have decided to make this post an abrupt ending. I embedded heavy-handed advice and judgmental observations all throughout, so I'm just gonna quit now.

I panicked.

I did the opposite of what I teach to do.

That makes me a hypocrite.

I acknowledge it, and move forward.

As my brother James says frequently,

Trying is the first step toward failure. 

More failure, here I come. Bring it.

I may get old, I may rust and die someday...but I will not entropy myself into oblivion through non-action.

WOULD.

She would take him to walk the beach.

He would wear a long-sleeved striped shirt, and she would don a pink coat with hood; mom and boy a picture on the seashore.

Would she ever think about leaving him on the beach, alone, to fend for himself; a neo-Spartan infant fighting for survival against wolves and winter, but on Oregon beach and seagulls?

The waves would lap close to their ankles, and Jamey would squeal in terror, and were Mom to have run away, would he have perished in the slight water, alone? He would; he would; he would certainly have laid down and let the tide carry him, in a glorious Viking burial ceremony, at two years old, and still alive while the sea carried him to grave.

Would that have been a sad history; yes, were it to have happened, but it did not, because Mom knew what the world would miss, and it was him, it would have been him. I would have it not otherwise.

IT WAS A DREAM.

I had a dream
that I would do something amazing in life

I had a dream
that I would marry somebody amazing

I had a dream
that our children would be healthy and hilarious

I had a dream
that I could dunk again

I had a dream
that I performed an amazing feat
and my wife was watching

I had a dream
that I woke up and
the dishwasher was fixed and
new floors had been installed and
the storm door opened and
the faucets were dripless and
the toilets flushed properly and
we could do dishes and shower simultaneously and
a tractor with a box and bucket was gift wrapped in the driveway and
the mailbox stood straight

and there was a new baseball glove under my pillow,
but I actually like my 30-year old one from my dad pretty well,
so I'm good there.

I had a dream,
and I have them,
and some I hold, and some fly away,

and the best I keep with me and try
to remember to whisper thank you.

So thanks for the ones that happened.
The best ones.


___

ON FRIENDSHIP.

There’s a guy at work I’m kinda becoming friends with. I don’t remember his name. But he’s balding, has a ponytail, and has a bunch of music posters and Beatles stuff around his cubicle so I kind of want to be friends with him.

-a brother of mine

JON.

Eleven years ago, Jonathan Long (Jonny) and I invented a communication process known as the Sixty-Second Phone Call (footnote below on who he is). But this is not about Jonny. It is about Jonathan Ponder, also known as Jon.

The movie Chinatown is not a Christmas movie. It takes place in California. It is considered by some to be the finest screenplay ever written. I don’t agree, I met Jon there. Not in the town of Los Angeles, but in a city a short seventeen-hour drive away, in College Place, Washington, where he was attending college, as was I. We studied Odysseus, but not together, and then ran into each other randomly in a city adjacent to Los Angeles much later, so the college part above is largely irrelevant. Also, he played bass guitar.

He was friends with my sister and friends with friends (see: tagged people), but then I stole him so we could hang out without intermediaries.

Sometimes, good friends talk every day.
And sometimes, good friends talk every several months.

Along with Jeremy Long, whose relationship to me is difficult to simplify in a single post, although he also has played bass guitar and knew Lance (see footnote below), Jon has been the most fun Radiohead deconstructionizing conversationalist I have known in the past 26 years (I am older than 26). I have a vivid memory of riding in the passenger seat of a blue car (I think) with him driving (reasonably certain it was him) and discussing Amnesiac (possibly was Kid A). I can remember with great clarity the neighbourhood we were passing through; it was in California, or a neighboring state, and it was definitely a hot day.

He introduced me to a group of film and book geeks who met weekly to watch, break down, and discuss Westerns. I saw Once Upon a Time in the West for the first time there, which is my very favourite Western ever and will change the way you think of Henry Fonda, but Jon was not there. I don’t know where he was that week. I’ve always wondered. He he may have been writing poetry or playing guitar at Jazz ‘n Java. If the NSA ever releases all their surveillance and drone footage (of course it exists), I’ll check to find out.

When I moved to Montana for grad school, and me and Becca’s apartment had concrete floors, then Jon said: I’m coming too.

He did not say that. But he did come visit, and it snowed, we hiked, and he bought the Jesus and Mary Chain’s Munki on CD and then left it at our apartment, where I accidentally copied it before mailing to him. Birthday is still my fourth favourite song of theirs. I do not know what he would rate the album at this point, but it’s much better than the atrocious and disappointing one they released last year. But I don’t know, Jon might love it, we haven’t texted back and forth about it yet. We might never. He collects and invests in vinyl treasures and is focused on more roots music at this point, although we still have great texts about The New Pornographers and other shared poppy faves.

I got a package awhile back from him that contained books. He is one of the remaining friends I have who loves books more than myself, and possibly more, occasionally. They were some of his picks to share, that I will not divulge, except to say that Jonathan Franzen was in there twice and one of them is not the book you might think it was. I slowly savored and worked my way through them, and I especially loved How to be Alone.

He gave me a collection of LPs when he visited several months ago. He had been slowly assembling them, along with the coolest and greatest accompanying handwritten liner notes, and it is one of the most meaningful and awesomest presents I have received. A reason for every one.

Sometimes we exchange voicemails instead of actually talking, and I will say that we are both very, very good at leaving well-crafted voicemails that you would not ever want to delete. We do not talk every day, but I think I am going to call him next month, or in a month soon thereafter. And we will pick right up where we were last, which was something important to do with literature or music or philosophy, and someday he will have listened to Sharon Van Etten and I will have watched The Wire and we can compare notes.

Until then, I will look forward to ignoring his phone call and letting it go to voicemail so I can listen to it at my leisure, and prepare to call him back with a call he can ignore and let go to voicemail, and...

...that is a friend I am happy to have be a friend. A good friend for a long time in the past and far into the future.

Bye.
_____
FOOTNOTE:
The easiest way to frame who Jonathan Long is in relation to me is this: Jonny (his nickname) had a basketball coach in high school whose name was Lance. Lance has gone to see the Los Angeles Dodgers in L.A. (a.k.a. Los Angeles). They are a baseball team apparently. Jonny used to play baseball in a town I also grew up in - Tillamook, Oregon - which is north of Los Angeles. The California Los Angeles, not the other one. When Lance saw the Dodgers play in Los Angeles, he did not see Jonny, but before that, he had stayed with Jonny’s brother Jamey in Arizona, which is where certain baseball teams practice their spring training baseball practice to be ready for baseball. Jamey also played baseball, but not basketball for Lance’s basketball team in Portland, Oregon, which is north of Los Angeles, east of Portland, and west of Ann Arbor, Michigan. The first time I met Lance, I don’t remember, but the second I met him I do. He is a fine fellow, and I had known Jonny before that, and before he played baseball, as we had grown up in adjacent bedrooms in the same household, as we shared parents, although my room was on the bottom floor. So Lance is the connecting thread, aside from Jonny being my brother (and Jamey’s). I never played basketball for Lance, but I have known people who did, and some live in states east of the Mississippi now, which is east of Los Angeles and Portland. Jonny and Jon Ponder have met as well, though never played baseball together, to my knowledge.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

Twenty-five years ago today, a very special young man entered our family’s life, and he has been inimitable and unmistakeable ever since. Happy quarter century, Jeremy Long, may the road ahead be a mix of valleys and mountains, thunderstorms and rainbows, freeways and logging roads.

Photo: Lee Long

MINISTER OF SOMETHING.

This one time Jeremy and I went out to breakfast. We ran into some other people. You know, if Jeremy ran for President against Tom Hanks, I'd probably vote for Tom, but I would strongly be in favor of Jeremy being Secretary of State. Or Minister of War.

LET THERE BE BLOODS.

BLOODS.* double-helix sharing ferocities; sometimes fighting with, often fighting for, back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back through everything. by my side, in my heart, sevenstrong. Forever. ____ *a phrase borrowed from other beloved brother Bobby James; where he pillaged it from I do not know. But I love it. ____ #siblings #flyviewaerial #pnw #selfportrait

A post shared by Joseph Long (@josephivanlong) on Dec 31, 2016 at 4:34pm PST

BLOODS.*

double-helix sharing ferocities;
sometimes fighting with, often fighting for,
back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back through everything.
by my side,
in my heart,
sevenstrong.

Forever.

____

*a phrase borrowed from other beloved brother Bobby James; where he pillaged it from I do not know. But I love it.

THE WALKING ALIVE, AND A QUOTE FROM THE JAMES.

POLITICAL MUSING DU JOUR. 

"I can't wait until this election is over. I've really missed seeing what people are eating on Facebook."


- Jamey Long


Probably the main reason this day is memorable is because it is the one where our son confused Johnny Cash with Deafheaven, which is understandable, but still hilarious. But I'm sure if I thought deeply I could come up with some other things that were memorable too. ____ #columbiagorge #pnwonderland #oregonexplored #deafheaven #johnnycash

5 SONGS : WALK, RUN, SAIL, BE UNSTOPPABLE.

Unstoppable / Sia (2016)
Walk / Foo Fighters (2011)
Run / AWOLNATION (2015)
Pompeii / Bastille (2013)
Bubbles / Biffy Clyro (2010) + Sail / AWOLNATION (2011)
____

I have long been fascinated by the way in which music is different from all other art forms and aesthetic expressions. Of course it's an ongoing and always-unfinished conversation, but one of the most obvious is the way in which a good song can be absorbed into reality; the soundtrack or score to a sunny drive, a good kitchen mopping, a rainy evening with a paperback, a train ride with strangers...in contrast to other art forms, which more or less need some level of conscious, deliberate attention given to them to appreciate.

What inspires you to go out and push yourself?

Unstoppable / Sia (2016)
I played Sia's Unstoppable for one of my pals. I could feel my Rocky meter going from zero to eleven quickly as the shared energy of...

I'm so powerful
I don't need batteries to play
I'm so confident, yeah, I'm unstoppable today
Unstoppable today, unstoppable today

...set against Sia's familiar-yet-new massive, bouncy production kicked off adrenaline and made me believe: Wow. The world is ahead, every choice is available, and I can rock every one of them. Today is truly unstoppable.

Then I realized that of course the song is referring to me the person not being stoppable, not the day itself, because of course the day itself will inevitably roll forward without stopping, whereas me the person may or may not continue moving forward. There's also the question of whether I need to be stopped at whatever it I'm doing. What if my confidence is misplaced and it's actually old-fashioned hubris leading me to believe I'm unstoppable? What if it's better to just quit sometimes? Am I overthinking? 

No, of course not. I am confident that my analysis of this song is highly accurate and irrefutably spot-on.

Lucia Falls

One of the greatest compliments you can get with a recommendation is to know it was enthusiastically passed along to someone else. File this under that. Go be unstoppable. But remember to brake at intersections. 

Walk / Foo Fighters (2011)
I was asked awhile back by one of my favourite human-laureates of the universe, Admiral James - full disclosure: also my brother - to accompany him on a 34-hour trek beginning in the Portland, Oregon area and culminating in the Dallas/Ft. Worth region. The reasons were complex for this trip,* but my greatest concern for the road ahead was the fact that I had not correctly pre-soundtracked it, so I was running a little blind in terms of our sonic highway experience.. We embarked at nine o'clock in the evening, which I estimated gave us ten hours of playing Deafheaven's New Bermuda five-track EP on repeat, but he surprisingly did not respond to their beautiful My Bloody Valentine-tinged black metal with the fervor I had suspected he might,** so that plan was put on hold while I scrambled for other options.

Boise, Idaho, en route to Dallas

I had some emergency music in mind for the horrifying possibility that he would not fall in love with Deafheaven. This proved to be an incredibly astute piece of thinking ahead, as I was able to pull out a stop-gap playlist that included that Phil Collins' Tarzan song, Cher, and of course Foo Fighters' Walk. There are few songs that make me want to run as much as Walk. Truly, it is one of the best 'get up and go, you can do it' anthems of the decade. 

One truism I discovered about Texas is that there are rattlesnakes living in every public toilet. Of course I would never say something dramatic such as this in order to be sensationalistic; and the cold truth is that I never saw any, but the colder truth is that there are signs at every restroom warning of the presence of rattlesnakes, which is just as terrifying. I would not recommend reading a James Clavell novel on a public toilet in Texas. You'd be playing with fire. Or rather, rattlesnakes. 

*they were not. he got a job in Fort Worth.
**I really did not expect at all. I had just hoped.

Run / AWOLNATION (2015)
Once upon a time, there was a boy.
Maybe eight.

This boy had a knife. 

A knife he cherished.

This boy, although he worked hard and looked after his responsibilities conscientiously, was able to take a well-deserved trip to the public swimming pool one hot summer day.

He wore his jean shorts with the Buck knife safely held in the right front pocket. 

Lacking the funds to afford a locker that locked, he simply left his clothes inside an empty one. And clicked the door shut.

I am a human being capable of doing terrible things

[repeated over and over under a thudding Nine Inch Nails impressionistic bass growl] 

Fast forward.

Swimming over.

Back to locker room.

Clothes strewn.

Jean shorts there. Knife gone.

Tears, slow then flood. 

A girl his senior by two years,

maybe ten, comes up.

"What's the matter? Why are you crying?"

He told her.

She stood silently with him, leaning against the railing. Finally patted his arm. 

"I'm sorry,"

she says.

"It'll be okay."

"Thanks,"
he said, though he knew it wasn't true, and things would never be the same.

Guess what?

That boy was me. 

What is the evil that human beings are capable of?
Now you know.

I've wondered if it was actually that nice girl who took it.

human beings; likely plotting something of dubious nature

Pompeii / Bastille (2013)
One of my former students texted a while back.
Late night.

Sorry, I know it's late!
the message said.
But the most exciting thing just happened!

(this is paraphrasing)

What?!
I excitedly messaged back.

I've been hanging out with Bastille!
she wrote.
(only she used their actual first names)
And they are such great guys. You would really like them.

Awesome!
I said electronically.
How did this happen?

I was waiting outside by their bus after the show,
she explained.
until they came out. And then we just, like talked for a while. 

That is so great.
I said truthfully.
An old student of mine from Montana was at a My Chemical Romance show and the lead singer spit on him, and he tried to make me promise never to listen to them again.

So, if you're ever in a position where you need to decide whether to invite a band to dine with you, then probably go with Bastille over My Chemical Romance. I have it on good authority they are good fellas, and from another authority that MCR is not. And Bastille's irrepressible, '80s-channeling smash Pompeii will keep you humming every which way til Blue Monday.

Bubbles / Biffy Clyro + Sail / AWOLNATION

She asked me if I had heard AWOLNATION.

Yeah.
I told her.
I've heard them. Maybe only, like a billion times though.

(or something like that)

There are really only three radio stations I listen to, and two of them I don't remember what they're called. The first is NPR. I cannot envision a world without news and stories from public radio. The second and third are the local classical and jazz stations.

The other stations play mixes of top 40, "alternative," "indie," and various pop music designations, but essentially most of the stations I occasionally sample seem to be playing the same songs in some sort of consistent, frequent rotation. And I loathe that. I don't like the idea of having a good song rammed down ad nauseum until I'm sick of it. Also, why my streaming of choice is Spotify, not Pandora.

There is a joy in discovering something new, whether it's new to the rest of the world, or just new to you, and I don't like being robbed of that. I don't like growing weary of something because it's shoved at me relentlessly, and I'm irked that I got weary of AWOLNATION's Sail, because it really is a fine song, and has been used in a thousand sports montages, aerial videos, and slow-mo sequences because it's really...good. But good doesn't get better when you hear it over and and over and over. Good gets worse, and if good is really the enemy of great, then what would worse than good be? I don't know. The worser enemy of great? I don't know. I just know that I'm grateful for artists like Biffy Clyro, who can leap onto my radar from seemingly nowhere (Scotland?) with an infectious, big hook anthem like Bubbles, and somehow, miraculously, though it sounds like it should be blasting from a million outdoor shopping center speakers, I have somehow avoided ever hearing it outside the context of my own playlists. It's a fine song, as is Sail.  But one is still precious to me because I've listened to it of my volition, on my terms, and I still love it. The other is tired; I am tired and weary of hearing it and hope to someday learn to love it again.

Until that time, I've got Jeff Lynne back catalogs to work my way through...

Maybe you'd also like...
http://www.verylongchronicles.com/2016/03/5-songs-pretty-mess-by-this-one-band.html

I AM BOOK.

First off, thanks to Sharika for the Echo Donut Lounge recommendation! Been there twice now; love the space and the people
Second, my mom came up with the great idea, while we were coffee-ing and donut-ing, to each choose a book on the shelf that best described us. We approached this task with thoughtfulness and careful deliberation.

TWO LADS ON TOP OF WORLD.

FIVE MORNING THOUGHTS ON CHRISTMAS, MATT DAMON, AND THE FEDERAL RESERVE.

1. 
Following our daughter's loss of her first tooth last night, I informed her that the Tooth Fairy is dead and would not be stopping by, so not to expect any handouts overnight. She laughed, and I said just kidding, but seriously, his name is Phillip and he's on holiday, so expect nothing. Sorry. She laughed.

BTW, she looks adorable with wind whistling through the new doorway. 

And she just lifted her pillow and one of Phillip's underlings left a thousand dollars or so under there. I hate inflation. Where are you now, Alan Greenspan?

2. QUESTIONS FROM OUR SON LAST EVENING.
A. Daddy what does coffee do to your body?
B. Daddy, are people in France good or bad?
C. Daddy, is Darth Maul ever good like Darth Vader?
F. Daddy, is Jesus real?
E. Daddy, what does "danke schoen" mean?
D. Daddy, does Ben-Hur have a spear?
C. Daddy, can I have a candy cane?

I have elected to not include all my responses. 

3. 
I love Jewel's simple rendition of Blue Christmas. And Low's low-fi interpretation of Silent Night. And the children rum-rum-rumba-ing along with David Bowie & Bing Crosby's Little Drummer Boy.

And I really wish The Raveonettes would do a full Christmas album.

4. 
My daughter and I were looking at a photograph of me, Matt Damon, and George Clooney.

"Which one of us do you think is the most handsome?" I asked her. "I would say George Clooney."

She looked closely, and finally pointed at Mr. Damon. 

"Good call," I said.

His jaw is a little square for my liking. Although I might be saying that because I'm envious, I'm not sure. I should get psychoanalysed sometime just for fun. 

5. 
Anybody have Christmas film recommendations outside the canon? Under-the-radar little gems? Would love to hear. 

Have a fabulous day, world.

MAN EATING HOSPITAL FOOD.

BOY CLIMBING ON FURNITURE.

UNINJURED PEOPLE USING WHEELCHAIR WITHOUT PERMIT OR PERMISSION.

OVERBOARD THE COLUMBIA.

My son has kept running up to Becca this evening, clasping her tightly, and saying over and over,

"I love you Mommy, I love you so much. I love you Mama."

Over and over. I hope she's not getting annoyed.

GRAVITY II.

UNCLES GATHERING STICKS ON THE MUDDY BANKS OF THE COLUMBIA.

A VERY SHORT INTERVIEW WITH MY THREE-YEAR OLD SON ABOUT HAYLEY MILLS, ETC.

(We have started watching the 1965 classic That Darn Cat this week. The following is in reference to this film.)

1. What is this film about?
- "It's about kidnappers. And lots of people who are good."

2. What have you learned from watching it?
- "I learned that kidnappers are not actually good. They're actually bad."

3. What is a good name for a police officer or FBI agent?
- "Umm....Bob. Or President Lincoln."

4. What do you want to be when you grow up?
- "A monster. So I can scare people. ROARRR!"

5. What are your favourite films?
- "Shrek. And...Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and Karate Kid.* I like it when Shrek is fighting the kitty cat and he knocks the guns out of the soldiers' hands.

6. Do you like Hayley Mills?
- "Yep. And her sister. I like her lipstick and her sweater.

Right on. 
____
*the latter two mirrors his older sister's list, which she stated approximately six seconds before he did.

And I love Hayley Mills too. So adorable.

HOMAGE TO DEVOTCHKA AND DICK VAN DYKE.
I have started taking my children's keyboard with me everywhere, so we are always prepared to make music. It is perfect while waiting in line, and I think people will really grow to appreciate it. I wish the built-in speakers were louder. See you on the street; we're the Music People.

The Seven

The Seven / March 17, 2013 in Oregon City

Thank You for Not Respecting My Wishes

Yesterday was Jamey's birthday. My little brother, nine years younger, born into the shoes of P.T. Barnum wearing big boy Corey Haim attitude. With plenty of Will Rogers goodwill and Simón Bolívar wit. I like you, brother.

Snippet from his eighth birthday party. July 6, 1993.

Me and Leanna at the end.

Uno, Dos, Tres

I will defeat you,
I guaranteed,

glaring at Jonny and Jamey, and
at my bride and daughter.

The match began. Coalitions formed and dissolved.
Cheaters (me) tried and failed.
Bluster, banter, gutsy maneuvers and strategic shenanigans.

In the end, gleeful high-fives from a
fast-dealing cherubim.
Red-Six faceup card.

Adults zero, Daughter one.

Whatta Month

Wodensday 22.
3.18 am.

Lykke Li on headphones, just moved Little Man to Mum's bosom.


Fantastic day. Johanni latched onto my hip, glug-drooling and clutching at anything in reach, including hair; Magdelana co-directing our pumpkin pie baking production and explaining important trivia to captive audience:

"Jo-Jo, do you know what this music is? It is M.I.A. 

Can you spell it? M - I - A. And this is Arcade...do you know the rest? 

Arcade...Fire. Arcade Fire. And the best singer is Kimya Dawson. 

Hey, can we listen to Kimya Dawson now?

Had a dizzyingly exciting game of hide-and-seek this evening. There was a total of one hiding spot, underneath a massive pile of unfolded (clean?) laundry. Becca and I took turns hiding with her while the other searched...

Also, did some sewing this morning. Mags wants to make bags for several people, including her friend Dylan, whom she sees infrequently. 

What would he put in the bag? I asked.

Umm, probably sports stuff.

Tuesday 21.
almost midnight.


At Urban Outfitters today, Magdelana discovered a colourful paper-collaged mirror and admired it...

Hey Dodes, that's a really cool mirror. We should try making it when we get home.

Oh how I love that girl.

She also shot almost 300 pictures in Portland on my camera, from the drive-by safety of Johanni's stroller.



Montag 20.
11.33 pm.


Magdelana has not been an easy child in the sense of being a girl who eagerly hugs new aquaintances and smiles at strangers. She is not someone who will perform on demand.


She is stubborn and loyal and has the willpower of an ostrich.


I would change it for nothing. Nothing.


I cannot imagine a daughter more fun and entertaining and engaging to converse with.


She prayed for her imaginary food today.

Dear God,

Thank you for how Johannes gets more beautiful every day, and more kind every day, and thank you for all the smiles he gives me every day.

Amen.

Sunday 19.
9 pm-ish.


Our favourite Christmas tree winks across the room, dead branches sprouting from log-trunk like Tim Burton elfin arms.


We found it. Invented it. Made it.


Johannes is snoggled up with his Mum, wrapped in favourite fuzzy pink blanket. He is in love with her, madly.


Ferocious and sweet Magdelana finally nodded off.


What a wonderful sister she is to best friend Jo-Jo. Big into:


wrestling,
purple & pink,
books,
Sesame Street,
drawing,
chasing,
baking,
and talking about her sister Tully and friend Dylan. 


The former is imaginary and the latter someone she rarely sees, but who has achieved near-mythical status.


Joshua and Sasha birthed their child Stella on Friday. Jamey and I drove over to see her yesterday. She is adorable. Nine pounds of chubby squawking macaw.

We have been listening to a great deal of hip hop lately.


Jamey and Chief helped put in a new front door this afternoon. What studs, though we did not have to replace any. 

Jamey is such a positive person. A terrific example to me. Even when life is low, he laughs. 


Depressed about Jeremy not being here next year. We are encouraging him to do his Bachelors and Masters at Clark Community. He and Lanessa are so much fun.


Also, Becca has been leaving snippets of inspirational advice on his Facebook wall. Generally it is drawn from hip hop classics, the most recent being Saul Williams' Act III scene 2 (Shakespeare), one of the most chilling, goosebump raising anthems you will ever hear. Play it very loud. And then go change the world.

‎"...I tried to hold my tongue, son, I tried to bite it, not trying to start a riot or incite it /
Cause Brutus is an honorable man..."

Go play like Nero. 

Leanna and Jonny return from Hawaii tonight. Leanna successfully completed her 26-mile competive jog. Jonny took gorgeous pictures. Go look at them.




Becca and I are Eminem fans.


I just have such a soft spot for him, she says, as we watch him and Lil Wayne blast through a scintillating duet on Saturday Night Live. Which we are not watching live, nor is it Saturday night. It is becoming an enjoyable program again. Fred Armison is a comedic chameleon. Tina Fey reigns supreme though.


In end-of-year legislation: Don't Ask Don't Tell was repealed. About time.


The DREAM Act fell five votes short. It would have given certain deportable students who had entered illegally as minors the chance to earn permanent residency - provided they met certain criteria, such as two years of military service or two years at a four-year college...


2012 will be an interesting election. May karma rise in full force.