MUSIC : Five thoughts on Sepultura, U2, James, Kings of Leon, Avett Brothers.

1. 1974

I firmly believe that the very best music, like a lot of great art, often takes time to absorb and appreciate. It may not immediately impress itself upon you. Many of my favourite artists have a mix of accessible and challenging compositions that have sometimes taken years for me to fall head over heels for. Radiohead. Grandaddy. Charlie Parker.

Regarding Van Morrison : the Irish Van Morrison that consistently lands a handful of albums on critics' 'all-time best albums' lists:

I don't get. I want to like him. I want to love him.

But I don't. If I want mournful, stripped down melody, I'll go with quiet Neil Young, or Sea of Bees, or Joni Mitchell, or...any number of others. I'll take Van Morrison over James Taylor. But not by much.

I'm trying to get through Veedon Fleece again while I'm working. It's not that I hate it. It's that it's so...blasé.

I'm not giving up on him. But close.

1986

2. 1993

I am very picky about the metal I listen to. I much prefer Brazilian Max Cavalera's later bands, Soulfly and Killer Be Killed, to the 90s outfit that made him a legend: Sepultura. But I still enjoy pulling them out occasionally, and The Hunt, from 1993's Chaos A.D. is a worthy chug-chug with his inimitable growly growl. And if you want a bit of that tribal rhythm he loves playing around with, give the title track, Chaos A.D., a spin.

feb 2003

3.  2014

U2's Songs of Innocence has left me unimpressed. Haven't listened for a few years. Love them, although they're not up there with the majestic sometimes-similar sounding James. Speaking of whom: I absolutely love love love track seven off 2016's The Girl at the End of the World. The song is Surfer's Song and I watched the stars sparkling recently while listening to it on repeat and it is magical. Vintage James: soaring vocals, heartfelt lyrics, insistent rhythm section to keep you tapping, intimate verses with big choruses...tres magnifique. 

Know that your love's right

Whatever your incline

Be the bright light

In these dark times

Clearing the high bar

Hearing the crowd roar

Here comes, here comes, here comes

aug 1990 / shingletown, california

The swell, swell, swell

june 2018 / cape kiwanda, pacific city, oregon

Cascading over me

Their gorgeous La Petite Mort from 2014 is still a very special album to me, and possibly - possibly - my favourite. I can play Walk Like You, Frozen Britain, All I'm Saying, and Moving On over and over and over...

4. 2016

Over. Track 5 off Kings of Leon's WALLS. Rugged, modern mashup of rootsy Americana and designer jean rock n' roll.

Current Top 5 KoL tracks:
A. Sex on Fire (2008)
B. Over (2016)
C. True Love Way (2007)
D. Eyes On You (2016)
E. Tonight (2013)

I read an article about them a decade ago and the only thing I remember is one of their girlfriends talking about how they all wore jeans that were so skinny and tight they had to shimmy into them in contortions that even she couldn't manage. No idea why that stuck with me. Totally irrelevant. Except there's a strange humor in realizing some great arena-ready rock and roll country is being made by guys who need help squeezing into their pants. Maybe not that unusual now that I think about it. It's hard to imagine Willie Nelson doing that though.

One of my faves, Rachel, was telling me about how much she's been enjoying Avett Brothers, which is what made me dig up my old Kings and Avett albums. I'm hoping to have the same slow re-discovery experience with Avett that I did with Leon: slow burn fall in love. She says Emotionalism is awesome. She may be right, she often is. She is my only friend I know who actively loves James so much, as much as I do, and I love that.

My friend Jon is my only friend I know who actively read and loved The Great Brain book series as a kid. I love that too. Totally different.

photo of me by jon / june 2016

Those bonds you build over shared literary and music affections can be so beautiful and important. 

5. 2007

Circles. You give help, you get help. You give advice, you accept advice. You make recommendations, you listen to others' recommendations. 

Relationships are about circles. Closing circles, or trying to create some sort of closure with Cubist oval-shaped connecting lines that entangle and cross over and around each other and eventually meet up and close the gap.

spoiler:

these ones have 

permanent residencies (see: below) 

I love music, and have loved learning about and absorbing music since I was around 12 years old (Ghostbusters II and Batman soundtracks on cassette, thank you). I've listened and thought about a lot of music, and I've given a lot of recommendations about what I like. When I give one, I try to think about the specific person and how they might appreciate it. Sometimes I try and keep my mouth shut. Still haven't found any of my friends or family who dig Deafheaven like I do.

But give and take. I know the joy that can come from introducing someone to something they fall in love with, and it's best when it's a two-headed arrow. If I'm asking you to take a listen to something, it's fair that I take a listen to something important to you. 

Which is also why I don't go just making recommendations to anybody. I'm not interested in making time to listen to some people's junky taste in music. Yes, I just said that. But just like I can't be friends with everyone, I can't listen to the music everyone around me likes. I have a small and expanding group of people I trust to recommend well. 

And sometimes I listen to a recommendation to give a second chance to something I passed on once. The Avett Brothers. I listened to them a while back and liked their idea more than their songs. Fun and folksy instrumentation, but nothing struck me as super special. But recently, someone said: 

I am loving the Avett Brothers. 

And that's all I needed. Because I trust her. We are not in total sync; she gave Deafheaven one sad listen on the way to snowboard at Mt. Hood (poor timing on my part). She dig Phish and the Grateful Dead and I'm still waiting for her to provide reasons why I should like either band. Or at least some opening tracks to make the introduction to their bottomless catalogs less daunting. 

But I know she has reasons for loving what she loves, and even if we disagree, there will be potential for good banter, argument, and discussion. And I love it when people are excited about something. She's excited about the A. Bros. So I gave - am giving - them a second chance. 

She said their 2007 album Emotionalism is great. I happen to have it, and I happen to have listened to it two times a decade ago and made up my mind. So I took a re-listen with fresh ears. 

There are three songs touching my heart quickly on this third go-round. 

1. Shame

2. I Would Be Sad

3. Will You Return?

The little flourishes I'm picking up on, especially when the piano bubbles in. And some of the couplets feel handpicked from my brain. 

I wish you'd see yourself as beautiful as I see you

Why can't you see yourself as beautiful as I see you?

How do you ever know what others think of you, or how they see you? 

You don't. 

And that's okay. I don't care what most people think of me. I am me. The bulk of me tries to be kind, respectful, and interesting to everyone I interact with. And the bulk of me is ambivalent about whether most people think of me, my style, my work, my thoughts and philosophies and preferences. They can like who I am and all the traits and preferences and eccentricities and foibles I bring. Or not...

1998

...but there is a core part, a small and integral part, that cares very much what some people, what certain and select ones, think of me. It's a deeply vulnerable thing to admit that you care what someone thinks. I think in this respect, I may possibly be normal-ish, aside from the fact that I acknowledge and own it, though I have no plans to provide a full list. :) 

I want the people closest to me to know what I think of them. I have no plans to die today, or tomorrow, or next week. I hope I don't. 

But I don't know. I simply have no idea how many days I have on this earth. 

And the people I love...why not effing say it? 

Say: 

"I care what you think."

Say: 

"Your opinion matters a lot to me."

Say: 

"You're beautiful. Try seeing yourself as I see you."

Such a beautiful line to build an entire cornerstone of a life philosophy around. I choose to do so. 

Avett Brothers nailed it. 

Here's to third chances. Thanks, Rach. And maybe don't give up on Deafheaven.





___






Deafheaven / Luna off New Bermuda (2015)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifyQfFNgO3E

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.

STILL FROM A LIFE AQUATIC, ON LAND.

In answer to your question, the answer is Yes. Yes, this is a still from Wes Anderson's next film. Happyish Easter. ____ #wesanderson #easter #jxil06 #grandparents

A post shared by Joseph Long (@josephivanlong) on Apr 15, 2017 at 11:41pm PDT

TILLAMOOK / OCEANSIDE.

Hometown (Tillamook). In which my dad drives us to get coffee and frolic at the seashore. He is awesome. Happy birthday, Dad. Also, thank you to my friend @phosphorescentmusic , whose lo-fi electro-psychedelia is quietly magnificent and celestial, and whom I have not met, but feel certain I might strike up a fine conversation with on an Oregon Coast beach walk someday. And probably shoot a video for one of his 2005 Aw Come Aw Wry tracks. Let's do it. #pnw #oregoncoast #phosphorescent #beach

A video posted by Joseph Long (@josephivanlong) on May 15, 2016 at 11:49pm PDT

IN WHICH WE VISIT A BAKERY WITH MY M.I.L.

RISE.

No.
I said to our eight-year old daughter.
For the 47th time, we are not taking you to see Deadpool for Easter.

But why?
she asked.

Because.
I said.
Because.

Bake Sale / Case Study Coffee.

I quite enjoyed my drip from CSC. 

FIVE THINGS THAT MAKE MY HEART ALIVE TODAY.

© joseph ivan long 2015

1. Discovering that longtime fave British art-punk band Clinic somehow had a great little 2010 album, Bubblegum, that slipped past my radar.

2. Seeing our daughter's joy at getting a package in the mail today from a summer friend, and hoping that perhaps these friendships will help keep the U.S. Postal Service alive so that my children and children's children won't have to go to a museum to find out what a postage stamp is.

3. Watching children play with marbles.

4a.
The Decemberists' Wrong Year,
Colin Stetson's The Sun Roars Into View,
Sleater-Kinney's Hey Darling

4b. Janelle Monáe.

5a, I. My parents. Who have been married a hundred years as of today. The exact number of years escape me. If you were to round to the nearest hundred, it would technically be zero, but since that doesn't work we'll stick with a century. Today, specifically, I am appreciative for two things they have passed along:

5a, II. a willingness to laugh at themselves and not spend lives consumed with what others might think of them.

5b. an ability to give attention. Attention that is focused and veers between quiet and loud; the kind that makes you feel special. And always loved.

5d. a love that is sincere, vibrant, positive, often hilarious, and built around not perfection, but constant improvement. A model well worth observing and learning from.

Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad.

PRINT IS NOT DEAD (OR, SOMETIMES A PICTURE IS WORTH AT LEAST TWENTY WORDS).

I had a great conversation today with a wonderful group of humans approximately half my age.
Technically, less than half my age.
Around 15, 16, 17.

I think I'm 38,
but I need to check with my wife for verification.

Anyway.
I joined a little discussion about Art and the subtleties between judgment and criticism. The good kind of criticism.

Some very articulate, heartfelt, vibrant, passionate, and enlightening discourse surrounding this topic. One of my favourite topics.

I believe I got to sneak in anecdotes about Andy Warhol, Jackson Pollock, and Marcel Duchamp. Which also made me happy.

And we talked about ENABLERS.
And I said something like: one of the saddest things is when someone really loves doing something, like painting, and
someone else comes along and does something, or says something, that makes that person STOP what they love.

That is sad.

(BTW: go rent Whiplash. Thought-provoking in the extreme)

I said: one of the great achievements we can all work on is to be Enablers (in the best interpretation). To learn what it means to provide criticism of the constructive variety that inspires, supports, and evolves that person into improving, while keeping their love and enthusiasm for that interest intact.

The following is relevant in a tiny way:
when I was a teenager, I wanted stripes in my hair.
Because it was a cool thing, I think.
I think?
To have stripes, or numbers, or some kind of design shaved into your head.
I thought it might make me a more effective athlete.

I told my dad of my desire.
And he suggested that it was not something that he was willing to do to his own hairs.
That he was happy with them the way they were.
But that if I wanted to save myself a trip to the local (mostly functionally-inebriated) barber, then he would do the clipping duties on me.

If you think the idea of shaving stripes into your head sounds dumb,
then you probably have a strong picture of what it looked like, because
it (unsurprising in retrospect) did actually look a bit...dumb.

I regret it not a bit.

I might even have played the Beastie Boys while he was cutting.
I don't know.
But maybe.

And I know, beyond a doubt's shadow,
that he was not trying to be cool.
He knew it was important to me.
And he didn't get it in the way, because it was not a
moral,
or a doctrinal,
or a big issue in any way,
whatsoever.

And he enabled it to happen,
and actually did a fairly good job,
if it's possible to describe having stripes shaved into your head as
"a good job."

Now he is a grandfather.
And I think this look encapsulates a lot of wonderful things about what it means to be a
grandparent,
a parent,
and the type of person who supports others in their enthusiasms.

I think he's retired from hairstyling now though.

NEPHEW.

Jonny Long? ©2015

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.

CHORES AND THIRD TIME'S A CHARM.

I don't really feel like doing chores. 
he said.
Can I lay down on the couch...just for a little bit?

Okay.
I said.
Just for a little bit. The chores are waiting.
____

RITUAL, OR, LOU GEHRIG (ICE, ICE, BUDDY).
Buddy,
I said.
In response to your question: no. We are not doing the ice bucket challenge right before bed.

Okay Daddy,
he said.
Can I please have a cup of water?

Sure.
I said, not connecting the dots.
And brought him his cup.
With water.

I waited, absentmindedly, for him to drink it, and realised nanoseconds too late that his intent was never to drink it. With a deft turn of the wrist and sharp intake of breath, he turned the cup upside down and immolated himself. With water. Sans ice.

Yes, pre-emptive ha-ha. He now has a waterbed.

Incidentally, it appears that my turn may be coming - does anyone, perchance, have a horse and chariot I could borrow for a short video tomorrow evening? Preferably, a stallion that's very wild and untamed, but that's okay with pulling a chariot and doing whatever I ask him to?*

Thanks. It will be for a good cause. Sleep dry tonight, all.

*within reason**
**what a normal person*** might consider "reasonable"
***me

LIFEGUARDING 101.

LEE LONG PICASSO.

"Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up."

- the famous observation by Mr. P. Picasso

Which is why it's important that children are surrounded by adults who have not forgotten the essence of childhood. (once-a-year mixed sports metaphor coming up): There's a time to be a fan, a time to be a cheerleader, a time to be a referee, and equally importantly, a time to be a player. Get in the ring and play hard. Show the little twerps how it's done. 

The Lifeguards (you'll be in good hands).

HOW I ENDED FATHER'S DAY WITH EACH CHILD.

The Boy.

- Daddy?

he asked, laying in bed.

- Do you want to play Twenty Questions?

- No.

I said.

- Absolutely not. It's bedtime.

He accepted this without complaint, because that's what really good dads do: they raise children to not complain.

- Okay,

he said.

- I got it. You can guess now.

Instinctively, I went with my gut.

- Is it a giraffe?

I asked.

- No.

he said.

It's a graham cracker.

- Wait a second,

I said.

- That was a good one. Now it's my turn. It's an animal but not a mammal.

____

The Girl.

- It's bedtime.

I said. 

- Lights out!

- Daddy?

she asked, in root beer-ish tone.

- Would you like to come read with me in my bunk bed? You can bring your own book, and I'll read mine.

- That's actually kind of a good idea.

I said, 

and climbed up with Allegiant. Remembered twenty minutes later that it was bedtime, so no no nope, not gonna pull over anything on me. 

- Lights out!

I growled.

When I say bedtime, it means NOW.

Almost got me.

Word.

TODAY IN A SENTENCE, pt. 1.

Well, I can see from a quick perusal of Facebook that I'm definitely not the best dad ever, as that spot seems to be occupied by a thousand people, but my family seemed to think I do a passable enough job to sing Happy Birthday* and bring me breakfast in bed and a Divergent book to enjoy peacefully, which I did so for thirty seconds until some of them joined me with their own food; meaning we will be sleeping in hash browns for the next week, which also reminds me that I am married to the coolest dame in the world: a label I have not seen thrown around this morning, and which basically means that it's wonderful to be with someone who cares more about great experiences than, oh, food getting smashed into our hundred-count Chinese sheets. Mazel tov, dudes, you've made it fun, and now Mates of State is cranked doing their best Tom Waits and we're gonna play a round of Charley Harper memory game, where I will annihilate the competition, or at least try not to end up in what has become my customary last place finish.
____

SEE BELOW. ...in honor of my dad, whose bravery and courage is so mighty that there is no technology, fashion trend, or generational meme he is afraid to tackle head on. Loudly in coffee shop to his grand kids: "Come here so I can take a selfie with you." Run at life without glancing to worry about what the person next to you is wearing, thinking, or doing. Just do it, be yourself, laugh really loud, and make sure the world doesn't mistake you for being anyone else but you. This is my dad. He is rather legend. Also, the gentleman in the corner getting a kick out of us is Jim. He is a pleasant fellow and is a fan of James Patterson and Clive Cussler. He is going to see Monument Men tonight with his wife, who is knitting next to him and also reads a lot.

YES, WE CAN VISIT YOU, BUT WE'LL ONLY BE ABLE TO STAY FOR A MONTH OR TWO.

Spent a delightful evening with friends. Our son had a long list of questions and observations. Ultra-condensed summary:

(begin quote-unquote):
Do they have a bathroom? I thought they didn't but they do. I didn't know they had toilet paper too! Hey, they have a door like us, did they take ours? Can we stay overnight? Can they share their toothbrushes with us? Can I have juice? Can I have an apple slice? Hey, I found money on the counter...can I keep it? Why do they have toys? Why do they have a bathtub? Hey, a LEGO boat, we don't have one of those! Are we going to watch a lot of movies here? 

____

If they were doing headstands,
the frowns would be epic.
Also, I would like to get my dad
a pair of matching overalls.
Because he would wear them.

MEILANI #24

Steve, Colette, Meilani, Jonny / photo: joseph ivan long ©2013

I remember the first time I met her. At an ice skating rink. She was about fifteen.

Nine years later, and I am so glad she is my vivacious, mischievous, one-of-a-kind sister-in-law. What a great addition to the family.

Happy b-day, Meilani.

RETURNING FROM BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION (SEE ABOVE) TWO HOURS AFTER BEDTIME. WITH SCIMITAR AND GRANDFATHER.

SANTA IN ELEVATOR IN WHEELCHAIR.

NEWSPRINT REFLEKTOR.

I bought Arcade Fire's new album almost two weeks ago and have yet to hear it. Not until I can properly listen with focus and attention. So, might be another month.

This is self-control. "Delayed gratification," my dad called it.

It better be good.

NEWS JUNKIES.

A voracious appetite for staying up to date with current events.

Also, there is a picture of a samurai inside.

MOTHER'S DAY.

MOTHER'S DAY, pt. 1For a special beginning to Mother's Day, I let Becca get up really early and play cards with our daughter. I just let them have some time to themselves, and stayed out of the way, in bed. They'll always have that memory.

You're welcome, Dear. More to come.


MOTHER'S DAY, pt. 2How cool is your Mother-in-Law?

Well, did she go see Tarantino's Kill Bill with you opening weekend?

Yep. Beat that.


MOTHER'S DAY, pt. 3
For a special treat today, I am playing some Christmas music for my wife.

Frosty the Snowman is such an underrated Mother's Day song.


MOTHER'S DAY, pt. 4I do not remember my birth very well. Apparently my mom was there.

She was not on Facebook, so I guess she must have been busy. Thanks Mama. I would be a very different person if you had never existed. I am glad you exist.


MOTHER'S DAY, pt. 5One of Becca's greatest inventions as a mom has been "Magga Coffee."

It is made like this:

1. Warm up a mug of almond* milk.
2. Stir in a teaspoon of molasses.
3. Name it after one of your children.
4. Voila. Now your kids can drink "coffee" with you.

Brilliant. One of many brilliant moments. You are a brilliant eccentric, Countess Becca.

MOTHER'S DAY, pt. 6Once, when my little brother* was a kid, he woke up during the night and had to go to the bathroom. Somehow in his groggy slumber, he peed in the hamper.

What did my mom do in the morning?

She laughed, and said thank goodness it's just pee.

Probably some sort of moral lesson in there. I have no idea what.

*me


MOTHER'S DAY, pt. 7I remember watching a woman scream and berate her child publicly in the parking lot, and now I want so much to find her on Facebook and say:

"I'm glad you're not my mom."

I might have a license plate number jotted down somewhere. But my mom raised me to not be mean, so I will stop looking for her.

Thanks for not being mean, Mom.


MOTHER'S DAY, pt. 8One of the most concrete bits of relationship advice I have is this: find someone with a Mother-in-Law who finds Walter the Farting Dog books funny, and who is not afraid to laugh out loud, very loud.

That's what I did, and trust me, your life will be good if you follow this one piece of advice. If your prospective M-i-L doesn't like the Walter series, or finds it beneath her, that is cause for suspicion, and possibly a dealbreaker.


MOTHER'S DAY, pt. 9A decade or so ago, we went on our first official date: a 36-hour Greyhound bus trip. The trip got better and better, and she kissed me, and I knew I would marry her.

And I knew she would keep getting better and better, and we would have Littles, and we did and she has and she is more delicious and fun than ever, and I fully expect the trend to continue.

Thanks, Dear. You are rad, and I like listening to loud music with you. And the children that are ours; their names escape me at the moment.


MOTHER'S DAY, pt. 10One time, my Mom watched G.I. Joe with me. The old television program. It is a memory. Also, it is the only time I ever watched G.I. Joe. So I always associate my Mom with G.I. Joe. I imagine it might be a little like watching a Michael Bay movie with Martin Scorcese sitting next to you: it would be hard to fully enjoy it. So I guess if my mom had not taken those 23 minutes to sit down with me and watch G.I. Joe, I would have watched it by myself, and completely fallen in love with the program if I hadn't had the dampening proximity of my Mom's "we love people, we don't shoot them" message next to me. If I had continued to watch G.I. Joe, I most certainly would have been influenced by the show to go into a Special Forces unit, and there is almost undoubtedly the high possibility that I would currently be embedded in a Black Ops unit deep inside Eastern Europe.

And instead of a family, I would have an AR-15 and a bunch of face paint.

So thanks Mom, for watching G.I. Joe with me. Those little things matter. I guess the moral is, parents: watch television with your children.


MOTHER'S DAY, pt. 11 (last one)Stevie Wonder's "I Believe (When I Fall in Love It Will Be Forever)" is from his 1972 album Talking Book, but surprisingly I didn't hear it until 2001, when Becca, in between card games, told me that I HAD to see this one film:

High Fidelity.

About an existentialist music geek and his narcissistic relationship woes. We watched it, and I fell in love with it too even though it dissed on Belle & Sebastian, and she got me the soundtrack, and every single song was exceptional.

Including Stevie's "I Believe." One of the great love songs.

I am so glad to be with someone who gets excited about new experiences, who delights in people, who has dragged the best characteristics of me into the sunlight, and who creates beautiful, spirited children who will always be a step behind their Mom in the mischief department.

Thank you for being you, and for liking me to be me, Countess. Happy Mum's Day. We should go to the Walla Walla Balloon Stampede next year. Also, we have never seen Stevie Wonder in concert. Maybe he will do a tour with Glen Hansard. Shall we watch Grimm now? Or Downton Abbey? Or, we could make some chocolate caramel truffles now. We have never done that, but I hope we do before forever ends. I am hungry.

Stevie Wonder

I Believe (When I Fall in Love It Will Be Forever)

Talking Book

1972

DO YOU REALISE MY GRANDMA NEVER EVEN MET MANUTE BOL??

I was a kid. Looking to play basketball with someone. Anyone. No one around. Then I spotted someone.

"Bring it, Grandma!" I ordered her. "Bring it!"

- "I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied disingenuously.

"Play me! One-on-one. Basketball. Right now."

(EXPOSITION: the most physical exertion I had seen her ever display up to that point was stretching dough out for apple pie with her rolling pin, or perhaps picking up her lawnchair and moving it two feet further away from the lake.)

"I don't know how to play,"

she lied. And then she said (and I am making this part up) - she said: Look! There's a wart hog behind you!

I looked behind me, and there was no wart hog, and in that split moment of misdirection, she snatched the ball, turned to the hoop, and with horrible form, launched it into the air, where it bravely, stupidly, sadly decided to drop through.

"That's not fair," I said.

She cackled. "I think I just beat you."

"Play me again," I ordered her.

She kept chuckling. "No, I'm done. I beat you."

"But Grandma, you cheated."

She smiled wisely, and looked very self-prideful, which is illegal in the Bible I think, and I vowed that someday I would defeat her.

I learned a lesson from her that day. A lesson about the importance of trickery, and using subterfuge and misdirection. Life lessons. Thanks Grandma Copperfield.

Every once in a while you match up your mood with the perfect accompanying score. In one sense, an album filled with stories about robots and valiant little fighting heroines have little to do with my Grandma, and are about as closely related as Gob Bluth and Manute Bol. In another sense, the Flaming Lips masterful concept album "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots" has everything to do with my Grandma now, and is perfect. The wham-bam double existential punch of It's Summertime and Do You Realize?? is just what I need on this rainy day that ends a week filled with tears and reflection. And memories of the future, in which I plan to school her on the court. Also, I hope to have some good robot friends who will teach me ninja skills.

Sometime, I'll tell you about the time we played football.

On the Nose (Tribute to Gene Kelly & Debbie Reynolds)


The Flaming Lips
It's Summertime / Do You Realize??
Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots
2002

Blue (Ode to My Grandpa, or, I Hear Life Goes Fast)

Metamorphosis Two

My Grandpa is almost 90.

He is tired, in every possible way.

His memory went to bed a few years ago, 

and his body is following suit.

February 2011

Mad Rush

I played blackjack at a casino, in college.

Unfortunately,  I walked out up eighty bucks

which gave me confidence & hubris to play again.

Next time, I lost thirty-five and 

felt like I'd taken a cigarette lighter to my cash.

And soul.

The numbers were up, numbers were down. 

Played the odds, got lucky, but The House always wins,

I hear.

Wichita Vortex Sutra

Feel sometimes I am on a precipice,

surrounded by a Massive Dynamic network of family I adore,

and the odds are slowly, inevitably beginning to tilt the other way: the wrong way.

I have never been hit - truly hit - at a gut wrenchingly personal, intimate level, by the

very worst life has to offer:

divorce.

betrayal.

estrangement.

suicide.

death in general.

I have experienced those things happening to people I care about

greatly, but not personally, at the level of a brother,

sister, parent, child, or

grandparent.

November 2004

There is not a Vegas oddsman who would stick

even money on my Grandpa making it out of 

2012 on his feet.

Bob Becraft.

He is my grandfather;  also, he is my

mom's dad.

Once Upon a Time in the West

What is it like to see a parent go?

And go slow?

He has returned to a state of infancy; a

state where he now relies on his own

offspring to care for him in the way a 

parent would care for a newborn child.

November 2010

I wonder what he thinks, behind tired, so tired eyes

that seem to process nothing,

save erratic flickers of cognition

memory synapses rising their drowning heads

above surface for quick gasps,

then losing, diving underneath to gray void.

July 2011

Mystery of Love

His companion, wife of 65+ years, clutching his

hand, whispering, lifelong worrywart, now with 

something truly monumental to worry about.

Her mind, outpacing his by a mere quarter lap, and

their race is a marathon.

November 2007

Big My Secret

I wish I knew more about him.

I wish he would have talked more,

when he could talk.

I wish my Mom could have a memory

of him telling her how beautiful

she is.

August 1973

She is.

I wonder if he is ever sad, inside, at

not.

Strange, talking about someone in the past tense

while they're still alive.

He was:

kind

stubborn

loyal

loving

Concerning the UFO Sighting...

I have a friend who lost his dad in a 

car crash.

Almost crying thinking about it.

I cannot,

CANNOT

imagine.

I really suck at dealing with death.

Selfish. I don't want to see

people die; I want to go first so

I don't have to deal with it;

the grief.

But I know no one's ever ready; no one

wants to, or is prepared to deal.

They just do. They learn to. I just feel my

life has been so sheltered, so blessed, so

immune to the horrors striking others, that

it's going to hit me so effing hard when

it's my turn.

Selfish, so selfish.

Metamorphosis Four

What is left of someone when they're gone?

Some words, some pictures.

A storage shed with a million cardboard boxes.

1944

Everybody lives life differently. I wish my Grandpa

could talk about his regrets,

his failures,

his successes,

mostly,

his feelings in general.

My children will have a small collection of photographs

and video clips of them with their great-grandparents.

December 2010

Someday, they will treasure them; a lifeline to their lineage and history, interactions they will see

physical evidence of, but likely have no actual

memory of…

My heart is filled with love for my Grandpa,

and also frustration,

for the conversations we never had

Vivere

His quiet manner is venerated by some,

stuck on a pedestal,

but I wonder how much of his

"quiet dignity" was by choice,

June 2006

and how frustrated he was with himself

over his extreme…quietness.

He had a sense of humor, and sometimes

someone like my dad, pushing his buttons,

could bring that out. The grin, the chuckling,

the classic practical joke.

(think: Oreo filling replaced with toothpaste)

Suite 3 in D

I wonder what he could change, if he could.

What was he afraid of?

Tomorrow, I will be a day closer to death, as we

all will be.

What will I fill my day with. What sort

days will my life be filled with?

I just want my days to be filled with love,

and joy, and Adventure,

creating an Identity where I can be myself and

help others to do the same,

drink coffee (which Grandpa would never do),

find ways to creatively express the love I have

for my family, for God, for existence, for the world,

through Art, and Film, and Words,

and Actions.

My Grandpa sleeps, and sleeps, and sleeps, day and night;

right now, it is fair to assume he is nestled in bed,

spooning with my Grandma,

and maybe dreaming of a brighter world.

November 2010

Gates of the Garden

How do you gauge someone's life a success or a failure?

Some people change the world firsthand; others are

the parents of those people.

August 2007

My Grandpa did a lot of good things in his life,

I think,

but mostly, I know that

he is half responsible for my Mom's existence,

and that alone makes his life an

extraordinary one.

We'll talk again, Grandpa.

****

PLAYLIST:

Metamorphosis Two / Philip Glass

Mad Rush / Philip Glass

Wichita Vortex Sutra / Philip Glass

Once Upon a Time in the West / Ennio Morricone

Mystery of Love / Angelo Badalementi

Big My Secret / Michael Nyman

Concerning the UFO Sighting... / Sufjan Stevens

Metamorphosis Four / Philip Glass

Vivere / Andrea Bocelli

Suite 3 in D / Johann Sebastian Bach, performed by Yo-Yo Ma

Gates of the Garden / Nick Cave