FILMS : RUDY AND A PROPOSAL IN FAVOR OF INTENTIONAL ATTENTION.

A few years ago, we watched The Karate Kid with the kids.

Last year, we watched Hoosiers. 

And this weekend, we watched Rudy. 

( image: https://www.collectors.com/autograph/rudy-ruettiger-signed-notre-dame-rudy-movie-poster-8x10-pho/4889367550548704066 )

1984, 1986, 1993. Some good years.

These three films have something in common. Something besides being sports stories or movies about underdogs.

All three are ones I loved as a kid, and was a little afraid to watch later with our children, for fear that I had mis-remembered, and the magic would be gone. Just a good childhood memory from my past that the kids won't understand and that I'll watch with my adult eyes and be unimpressed; tarnishing the beloved recollections of the past.

That's happened. But not with these three. The above three films are ones that I loved when I was younger, and loved possibly even more after seeing them with my own children. 

Beautiful.

Rudy is the 1993 true story retelling of an undersized, underachieving kid who refused to let anyone stomp on his dream of playing football for Notre Dame.

How does everything end up? Watch the movie. Three things though that stand out. I made up an acronym:

ATTENTION

I don't wish to go through life grumbling about "...how good things used to be." What a waste of time. At the same time, it's valuable to look to history and to the past if we really care about learning and growing - learning from what worked, what didn't, and figuring out what we can do better.

Camille Paglia, in her aptly-titled collection of essays Provocations writes about the "...preoccupation with our own modern period." Did she envision or intend for an essay on her problems with modern university campuses and free speech be used as a defense for the beauty of a tiny little sports film? Maybe not. But I couldn't help but note the relationship between a particular character trait of Rudy's and the way in which that particular trait seems more and more archaic. Without wishing for all to return to how it was, I was reminded of some of the ways in which as a society at large, we did...better. Specifically with attention.

As a culture and country, we used to give better attention. Educators and parents and many people love to bemoan the decreasing attention spans of youth today, and they frequently bemoan these things without offering the best thing they can offer:

themselves as model for what it means to be present and to give your attention, your focus to what's happening in the moment and to what is important to you in the future, and to hone in on that with intensity and drive and purpose and stay after it. 

We've been reading and studying Shakespeare this year with the kids. Not his original words, not yet. That'll come. The wonderful Charles & Mary Lamb adaptations early in the 19th century. Written for children.

Written for children. Designed to "...make the stories of Shakespeare's plays familiar to the young." A focus on plot and character, with simple forays into theme and language was a way to introduce young readers to the beauty of the Bard...and ideally provide a gateway to exploring his work in all its complexity and richness.

Here's the thing: they were written for children at the time. Early 1800s. But now you crack open the first pages and compare them to the majority of children's lit written today, and your first impulse is to say...huh? This isn't for children! It's over their heads! The language is weird and those words are too big for them to understand and they won't be able to follow what's happening and...

Here's the thing though. It's not.

It's not.

Our expectations have changed, and our ability to give attention, to model attention, and to teach attention has changed. In perhaps a not-so-positive-way. The net affect the attention dilution has had is in lowering expectations.

When you lower expectations, you lower people's ability to rise and become their best. Children are still capable of understanding, comprehending, and enjoying Shakespeare - including the Lamb siblings' adaptations - but we need to reframe our expectations of what they're capable of and help show them the importance of sticking with something; of giving attention to something because we know they can. And we know that it will bring them joy, satisfaction, and a sense of competence and confidence once they achieve that threshold. 

That's what Rudy did. He set his sights on something difficult, if not impossible, and went after it. And kept his attention on it.

There's a point where some teammates become irate at him for making him look bad in practice because he's going too hard. He's pushing them too hard. Just chill, man. Slow down. Take it easy. it's just practice.

What does he do?

He stands his ground. He does not back down. No. I will not give less than what I'm capable of. If I don't give you everything I have, then I won't be helping you be as prepared as you can be when it's game time. 

He stands his ground and he demands that his teammates give everything. Starting with their attention and focus in every moment they are preparing.

He's not a great student, but it's imperative that he figure out how to get better grades because if he doesn't, his dream will fail and he'll never play football for Notre Dame.

So he gives his attention, his focus, his everything to whatever will help him achieve that dream. He doesn't do one thing one day, and something else the next, and get distracted by this or that.

He gives his attention. And here's one of the things I love about this movie: he doesn't just give his attention in a big sense to pursuing the dream. He gives his attention in all his interactions with others. Parents, professors, priest, coaches, groundskeeper, friends, teammates. He gives his attention in the moment.

And that is a reminder that is timeless.

SINCERITY

I love Rudy's sincerity; his transparency about his dream. He owns it. He doesn't pretend like it's something that he'd like to happen, but if it doesn't, well...no big deal. No. He lets people know it's everything. He cannot understand why anyone would not give everything they had to be part of something important.

He fights hard and he isn't afraid to let people know when something's gotten to him. When he's betrayed in a big way by people close to him, he doesn't hide or try to disguise how it affects him. It hits him hard and he acknowledges it.

Even as he's made fun of, over and over and over by those close to him, he still keeps his relationships with them, even while they're hurting him. He lets them know in spite of their cynicism, their belief in his inevitable failure, he still keeps coming back to let them know: this is still important to me and I'm still going after it.

He doesn't take the sneering, slouching, post-modern tack of "..whatever."

No. He is not a "whatever" guy. He is a "whatever I need to do" fellow.

SUPPORT

“My whole life, people have been telling me what I could do and couldn’t do. I’ve always listed to ’em, believed in what they said. I don’t wanna do that anymore.”

Who's in his corner? Who's fighting for him? Who's saying you can do it!

Uh, it's a small list. Mostly himself and his indomitable, inextinguishable dream.

I asked the kids, as his family mocked him repeatedly, "...is that the kind of support you'd like to be for your family's dreams?"

He pursued his dream mostly alone. He made some friends and built up respect with his teammates and those around him, but he fought alone. And that is so...

...sad.

We all feel alone at some point. Pretty sure of that.

I feel like the biggest hypocrite in the world when I feel like that - and I do sometimes - because if there is someone who can never use the excuse that "I've done it alone," it's me.

(the face of an active dreamer who has been busy dreaming while working)

I've had incredible support my whole life, beginning with my parents, siblings, family. Unlike Rudy.

He went it alone, and eventually...well, watch the movie.

But how sad is that, to have to pursue your dream alone?

I want to be a dream-enabler.

I want to help be a support system for other people and help provide both emotional and tactical support for their focused dreams.

I don't know if I'll ever be on a stage accepting an Academy Award.

But maybe I'll someday be watching and have somebody say:

"...and thank you to Joseph Long, who listened to me, who supported me, and who believed in my dream. Thank you."

That would mean something to me too.

That's something important to me. To provide dream support with everything I've got to those important to me.

FIVE THINGS : INFLUENCERS, LORETTA & LISZT, BUSAN.

I.

I like to think there are few people in the world who are capable of effortlessly switching back and forth from listening to Loretta Lynn to Franz Liszt and then back again, and I am one of those people.

#celebrity

II.

I think one of the most embarrassing spectacles of this point in history, outside the realm of obvious political stinker at the highest level, is the notion of influencers. The idea that some people, on the basis of having carefully-staged hyper-saturated pictures of themselves against colorful walls or "snapshots" of holding a half-warm latte they post to a social network that has gained them billions of followers for some inexplicable reason - and likely a bit of algorithmic luck - that this somehow qualifies them as...tastemakers, trendsetters, and somehow on a higher level of recommending products and services of some company paying them to promote? I mean, good on them for making a livelihood out of it. But let's not mistake 99% of these for being visionary, innovative, or creating something that will last. I get the immediate gratification and adrenaline that comes from immediate feedback from the masses. But it will not last. Because these are not built on content that means anything significant (most of the time).

The best thing that can be said about the accounts of many of these 'influencers' is that someday many will recycle - or try to recycle - what they're doing now into a "can you guys believe I used to do that?' narrative as they're trying desperately to grab hold of their old glory. And grab attention again from their once devoted 'followers.'

I loathe these phrases we've come to use. Followers and influencers. The 18th through 20th centuries had beautiful sounding social stratifications you could write poetry or epic novels about. Bourgeoisie. Proletariat. They were loaded phrases, but they meant something. Influencers? Followers? Huh? 

I resolved long ago to try and not dismiss the new and different merely because it's new and different and I don't get it. But let's not mistake innovation for something just plain ridiculous, homogenized, and derivative. 

Wanna be an influencer? Here's two ideas:

First, make good content. And create it without the express purpose of making it simply to post onto a network and immediately get visceral satisfaction that you've somehow made something worthy. No. You probably haven't. Make something that is quality, that is unique, and that you are making or capturing because you want to and are making it first for an audience of one. Yourself and the high standards you should set for yourself.

Second, be a good person in real life and give your attention to the present. Don't turn everything and every moment into a shareable one. The most generous and wonderful way you can be an authentic influencer is first by being present and giving your attention to those you're with. 

There.

Here's an influencer. From 2014 and still influencing. That is an influencer. The kind I want to be around.

III.

Why did I teach our children how to pick locks?

The bathroom used to be a temporary refuge, a place where I might be able to absorb ten pages of the lovely A Gentleman in Moscow*, or some such treasure, for a few uninterrupted minutes. 

Used to be.

*thank you for introducing me to this delightful read, my dear sister Meilani - and letting me borrow your copy for a great length of time. 

IV. 

The 2017 Korean zombie film Train to Busan isn't genre-busting or outright incredible. But the first half, or maybe two-thirds, is really great. Cramped, claustrophobic undead on a train trying to throat-rip the life out of every living being, while a small cadre of friends and enemies across social strata try to make their way, car by car, to safety. A little humor, a little social commentary, some great action pieces and suspense setups, and a slightly different take on zombie kinetic movements and reactions (spoiler: they're functionless in the dark). Enjoyed.

V. 

If I could choose for our children to be sick, or not sick, then I would prefer for them to not be sick.

And if they were sick, and I could choose for them to have lovely temperaments while sick, or not lovely temperaments while sick, then I would likely choose for them to have lovely temperaments.

Of course this is all theoretical. 

VI.

I will carry around the image of our eight-year old curled up on our purple couch, thumbing through a hardcover of The Iliad with a hint of self-conscious smile and barely hidden delight and wonderment.

My heart. 

FIVE THINGS | DAVE BRUBECK, DIVERGENT QUESTIONING, TWO YEAR OLDS, COUNTESS BECCA, MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.

I can enjoy conversations with a wide variety of people, but one thing I don't ever see happening is me getting along with somebody who has anything - and I mean anything - negative to say about Dave Brubeck's 1959 masterpiece Blue Rondo à la Turk. Oftentimes great songs, and especially great jazz, can take repeated listenings to really get into. Not Blue Rondo. Consider rotating into your Sunday morning listening schedule for the rest of your life. You're welcome.

___

I have been processing and cross-pollinating the synthesis of two ideas the last couple weeks. Number one, the idea of framing. The way we choose to frame our approach to a particular situation, decision, or problem. And number two, the idea of divergent questioning; the antithesis of convergent questioning, in which questions are asked that have closed and absolute answers. Divergent questions might be described more simply as open-ended; questions that invite ideas and excitement; that generate possibilities and enthusiasm and snowball into more questions. Divergent questioning also involves giving up a certain amount of ego or expertise and acknowledging that in tackling a particular situation or problem, often the best thing you can do first off is to ask the best question possible...which brings us back to the importance of framing. 

So how do we frame our approach to anything, family or social or work or creative or logistical or whatever, in a way that prioritizes divergent questions and invites ways to solve or approach it that get us excited about tackling it?

Anyway. 

___

Our two-year old. Technically, 27-month old, or 2.25 year old, or 2 1/4, etc. but counting in months starts to get ridiculous after...two. In the last two weeks, it is astounding the leaps he has made. Probably a greater two-week evolution than any period that comes to mind in his lifetime thus far. He is drawing frenetically, frantically, and frequently, and they have started to become recognizably representational; generally as family members or Sesame Street characters. 

And humor, oh thank you, thank you thank you God and universe for helping him to not have a dreadful sense of humor, or to simply lack one period. It appears that he has one that is functioning, as evidenced by his pleasure in adding "poop" to the end (or beginnings) of words and deliberately referring to uncles as "aunties;" something which sends him into hysterical gigglings. 

Sadly, he consistently skips over six and seven when he's counting to ten. Child specialist visits, here we come.*

___

Oh, we're 20 weeks into the new little one coming along. This is what functions as an announcement; buried on this little blog on this little post halfway through. 

I approach big information a little like super rich people approach cell phones: the wealthier you are these days, the more you seem to divorce yourself of functional "necessities" like mobile phones. The more important the information and news we have to share, the less inclined we are to share it to the world en masse. Sometimes scarcity is what makes something special; sometimes that's the very definition.

Silly us. 

___

Becca has been attending a dental convention the past two days. The children and I have embarked on transit adventures throughout Portland during a large chunk of this time, but that is for another time and for when I have the energy to properly highlight and embellish those tales. 

Regarding Becca: I am so proud of the way she approaches these classes. Continuing Education (CE) is required for her field. At some point during the year she needs to get a certain number of credits to keep an active license. Back to that whole idea of framing: there are plenty of people who grumble and groan about having to go through the process every year of attending CE courses.

Not Becca. She is a learner. An educator at heart; someone who actively seeks improved ways of doing her job and broadening the parameters of what it means to serve others in a professional capacity. She has approached her career with both confidence and humility as long as I've known her - which is her entire career. :) Every year it is more amazing to me how she performs work that is physically exhausting and often emotionally draining, yet she consistently frames her experiences with patients in the most positive ways and constantly looks for the good in the people she interacts with. 

She frames her CE required courses as opportunities; as a chance to improve. Instead of coasting, of gliding through and doing the minimum possible, of finding the fastest, easiest classes; of joining the inevitable choruses in any field of grumbling...she has chosen to quietly, confidently, humbly get everything possible out of these courses. Not just attend. Not just listen and take a few notes. Not just sign in to get it over with. 

She goes to these and she comes back with ideas and excitement and is full of enthusiasm about new and fresh ways to be a better hygienist. 

What a wonderful example. She is a living example to me of one of my fave quotes:

“If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as a Michaelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, 'Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.”

I love that.

I love her.

I love how she illuminates the world around and constantly seeks, quietly and humbly, to improve. 

Thank you. 

*kidding

THE WEEK BEHIND : Duplass, Sedaris, Norsemen.

Things that are uncountable:
The number of times a week Donald J. Trump lies, throws somebody under the bus, empty-brags, or embarasses the office of the Presidency.

The number of times a week our youngest son commits an act with great forethought and deliberation while simultaneously announcing what he's doing with a repeated series of "Uh-oh. Uh-oh. Uh-oh..."

Accidents happen.

Speaking of accidents: serendipity was a spelling word on our daughter's test today. So it seemed like we should watch the trailer for the 2001 Kate Beckinsale / John Cusack rom-com. So we did.

Cocaine green.
What does your child salivate over for a snack? Let me tell you about our two boys: separated by six and a half years, united in their hilarious addiction to frozen peas for a snack. Yeah. Frozen peas. The green crack snack.

Halloween happened.
A cowgirl. A teenager trying to act all cool. A panda. Or a cow. Hard to tell.

They made a sugar fortune and have enjoyed little of the bounty; fortunately we do not have a security system effective enough to keep me out of their hard-worked for treasures.

Ejvindr has spent the last two days organizing his candy into various buckets, backpacks, and bags. Over. And over and over and over. It has not been communicated to him that there's candy inside these brightly wrapped little objects. Also, learning what candy is has not been part of his education yet, so he is playing with something and has no idea what's actually inside. If he only knew. I have forbade the children, under penalty of throwing away all candy and frozen peas, that he is not to learn the identity of his toys (i.e. candy). Yet. Not yet. The floodgates will open someday. But not yet.

Also, my little sister the older made some pretty nifty costumes for her fam. Straight from How to Train Your Dragon. Pretty cool, pretty crafty.

Standard time.
The clock changes this weekend. Standard time, I think. Fall back?

Phone numbers have seven digits because - at least in the days when people needed to remember phone numbers - seven is the number of digits that most people can carry in their short- to mid-term memory. That's doable. Know what's hard?

Remembering one thing when there's a total of two options. Like : just take a left at the stop sign.

You start second-guessing yourself. I don't take a left, right? Right is right. Not left, right. 

All of a sudden a simple thing becomes extraordinarily complicated. Such is my life. Complicating simple tasks and simplifying complex ideas.

My mom, two books
Several months ago, my mom gave me two books within a couple weeks of each other.

One is called Like Brothers. It's by the Duplass brothers, who really are brothers and filmmakers. It is inspiring and wonderful and these brothers love each other so much, like I love mine.

The other is called Calypso. It's by David Sedaris, one of my favorite writers, and it is dark and hilarious and he writes about his husband and family and all the love and frustration he has in his interactions with them. Also, he talks about American phrases he loathes, such as : it is what it is.

She gave them to me because she thought I'd like them. She has a knack for that. Giving books that somehow are there when I need them. I needed these ones.

Things I hate
Walking across a kitchen floor in my bare feet and stepping in breakfast cereal that some idiot has spilled.

Things I hate more than that
Walking across a kitchen floor in my socks and stepping in sticky rice that some idiot has spilled.

Things that weren't horrible
A) I didn't tip my riding mower over when I made a poor decision to take it diagonally across a hill.

B) A cloud of particular interest flew by around 11am.

C) My dad called last night and said this:

Joey, find the show Norsemen on Netflix. Just watch fifteen minutes. I think you'll be glad. 

I did so, because he's my dad. And I could tell it would make him happy to know that I'd checked it out. So I did. I watched it, as did Becca, until she fell asleep.

I laughed so good. One of the funniest first-episodes of a show I'd seen. He was so right. I can't wait to watch it with him.

The phrase "Python-esque humor" in television is a little like saying "Beatle-esque sounding" in music. It's so diluted it means little anymore. The reality is, we should agree that pretty much all good pop music and rock and roll owes a debt to the Beatles, in the same manner that pretty much all droll and properly-offending television programmes owe a debt to Terry Gilliam, John Cleese, and the crew.

Norsemen, after one half hour episode, has the Python spirit. Its own tone, its own thing for sure, but a proper entrant in the well-done, played-straight classic telly shows.

D) Becca made a really savory, chunky, spicy soup for Friday supper.
E. Magdelana has been baking up a storm. Pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins, all sorts of delicacies.

Things I got worked up about this week and might have given long monologues on as a result

1. The Renaissance. Yeah, the one that started in northern Europe in the 1400s and was a big factor in the ensuing Age of Exploration, for better or worse. Probably worse for the 80-90% of indigenous populations that were wiped out as a result. 
2. How much more I like Hungarian composer Franz Liszt than Hungarian composer Bela Bartok.
3. Prime factorization. I got into a bit of a competition with Magdelana as I got engrossed in one of her lessons. Addicting. Quick: prime factorization of 27. A: 3x3x3 Ready for the next one? Try 428. 
4. Primogeniture. The concept of wealth and land being passed to the oldest son and its impact on Spain and other European countries as they ran out of land and needed to find more somewhere...hello, Americas! 
5. There's other stuff. I get worked up a lot these days. For example, I got worked up during the last two innings of one of the World Series games. That was the only baseball I watched all year, but true to form, Johannes, that precious angelic long-haired lad, wanted to know why I was so obsessed with baseball and why it was more important than tucking him in. 

"I guess you'd rather watch your baseball than lay by me,"

he said as he trudged off to bed.

What a masterful guilt trip. I typically loathe them, but you gotta give props where they're due.

Again: two innings of the World Series. I think the Sox beat the Dodgers. 

I worked this week, on my work days - and nights - in the dungeon.
Because that's where I work. It gets cold, and I saw a lot of rain through my dirty cracked window at the top of our mountain.

Listened to a bunch of Chvrches and a lot of Liszt this week.

We are alive, and there is love. We have love, we have loud music, and we have a lot of art supplies. And each other. So another week in the life ledger.

My little sister, the littlest.
She sent me a text this week in response to something I wrote, and her response included these two lines:

"...reading what you write feels like another way to breathe."

and

"I love how sparingly you use commas."

I love, I love it, I love her and I love that she observes and articulates what she observes. It matters.

It means so much to have someone acknowledge and respond to what you do when you do something that you care about.

PEDESTALS ARE DANGEROUS.

I rarely rewatch things.* Especially television. But I finished rewatching Big Little Lies a few nights ago. This time with Becca. And it held up a second time. HBO's masterful seven-episode series about a murder in an upscale coastal California town touches on so many themes and dynamics that are most notably centered around a group of moms and their relationships with their children and husbands.

Hilarious, disturbing, spellbinding, suspenseful, and killer dialogue. Revolving around women, it also features a supporting cast of men who shine some uncomfortable light on character traits and attitudes indigenous to my gender. Uncomfortable, but also enlightening and entertaining.

The one big suspension of belief that must be taken...I think: parents, talk to and with your children. 

There's an idea running throughout of parents simply accepting that their six-year old children won't tell them something (a key plot point). It's a recurring idea; and unfortunately mirrors a lot of real life these days. The idea that we should be - or it's normal to be - scared of our children; that it's somehow our job to entertain them at all points and to help gain and preserve social status with their peers and that to respect them means that they get to do (almost) whatever they want...an idea that they get from...where?

Yes. Us.

source: www.vanityfair.com

I'm not scared of children. I'm not scared of saying No to children. I respect and dialog with children from the time they're born. I don't and won't talk down to them.

But I will not be cowed or scared of them.

That is the sad reality displayed frequently on BLL. A reality that kids are often running the show and it's our job to be at beck and call, to wait on hand and foot, to quickly forgive their lapses of conscience, character, behavior, and point the finger elsewhere; to put them on a pedestal.

Toys don't belong in glass cases.

And children don't belong on pedestals. 

They're human beings. Human beings with agency. Which means they make mistakes and we help them learn from them and move on. With kindness, with love, with respect.

And human beings, period, don't belong on pedestals.

Becca and I tell our kids, over and over:

You don't need to be perfect. 
Forget perfection. 
We expect two things from you when you're learning or doing something new and challenging:

1. We expect that you will bring your best
2. We expect you to improve in a linear fashion. Steady improvement. 

We help them in encouraging and positive ways...and also constructive and challenging ways. And we give them the gift of knowing that while they're children, we are running the show. We will listen, will answer any and every question the best we can, given that they are asked in respectful and relevant ways, and we will love them with all of our being. All.

So when something comes along that might affect our young child's safety, we do not accept the answer:

"I can't talk about it. I can't tell you. I promised I wouldn't tell."

Nope.

We talk. We hold conversation. We dialogue. Every day. About little, little things, over and over, so when the occasional big and tough conversations come along, we have a pattern and foundation for how to talk.

Endless conversation, endless questions from us to them and them to us and Becca to me and me to her and all of us to each other. We have set a roadmap of neo-Socratic discourse that is our course, for better or for worse.

As they get older, there will be a time for secrets; that is part of breaking away and creating a separate identity.

But ideally, no place for lies. Big or little.

In the meantime, we talk. With each other.

We do the best we can, parents across the world, to keep our children safe. To give them a life that is first of all, has safety and love, and second of all, is filled with curiosity, joy, and a core understanding that they don't exist to be served. Part of their existence is to fill their part of the world with goodness, with love, and with their special skills and talents and interests.

To recognize there is a bigger world out there than their little group of friends and acquaintances and that they have a mandate, as a human being, to help look out for each other.

That should be our aim.

___







*the are approximately two exceptions:
1) the long list of films we have been rewatching over time with our children, as certain ones become age-appropriate and relevant (i.e. no Pulp Fiction...yet),

and

2) rewatching for educational value when I'm working on curriculum and pulling examples from cinema or art for students to learn from,

and

3) rewatching for bonding, for example, a viewing of MacGruber with my brothers,

or

4) certain films just because they're super good for rewatching, such as Hugo.

IN THE COLD DESERT WHILE THEY NAPPED.

Jesus never loved me 

No one ever carried my load.

I was around eight; we lived in a small Oregon coastal town.
Two younger siblings. How young?
Young enough that they were forced to take daily naps.
We lived on a hill.

It was an afternoon, a summer.
Nap for them.
I stepped outside.
Heat heat hot.

I looked around.
No breeze.
Sun slamming down.
A few houses down the road, trees, distant noise from the town's pumping downtown.

But quiet up here.
Just sun. And me.
At forty-one, I have carried that feeling around with me since;
that feeling of solitude and loneliness, popping up intermittently but with regularity.

No one hurt me.
Nothing bad happened
I wondered around, looked around, listened,
desolate, and the sun kept coming.

The world felt still, and quiet, and far away.
I grew up in a world of books, forests, oceans,
and more than that, family and love.
And yet I felt so alone in those moments.

A house away, my siblings slept.
Hot dirty road, flowers drooping,
I gazed around three hundred sixty degrees.
The ocean a short distance away, but not visible. Thanks, development.

Autumn
Winter
Spring
Summer.

I love them all,
but summer is the outlier for me,
which is similar to me,
because I have always felt like an outlier in most communities.

Summer, a season I love,
but grow weary of, and grow lonely with sometimes.
In certain situations.
It's not the heat, or the bright, or any other number of variables.

It's a specific combination of them.
Sun. Flat topography. Dry. Stillness. Quiet.
That feeling brought on by age seven, walking around.
It all comes up.

How can you be lonely when you're lucky enough to have
family,
friends,
community?

How can you feel desolate when you live in the lush and verdant Pacific Northwest,
trees,
rain,
green?

How can you feel alone
when people are close by; physically, emotionally?
There are a lot of answers to that question,
and I don't have good ones, not really.

I know that is a feeling I can conjure up easily,
and I understand how people can feel lonely,
and alone,
when it feels silly that they would or could feel that way.

It's why I ask
"are you okay?"
Instead of waiting for them to tell me
if they're not.

Because it seems ridiculous, petty, arrogant to feel certain emotions;
how can you complain about being hungry when kids are starving across the world and you've got a full fridge?
How can you feel alone when you've got a warm, caring, affectionate, supportive
family, friends, community?

But I get it.
I do.
The feeling of being crushed and trying to take another step,
of feeling you're doing it alone.

You know it's not true.
It's not true.
It's ridiculous.
But it feels that way sometimes.

The aloneness of being surrounded by people.
The loneliness of being engulfed with community.
The desolation of a dusty street on a hot quiet afternoon.
The weariness of dragging your feet forward and wanting to sprint but being too tired anymore.

Kings of Leon, a decade ago,
wrote Cold Desert. Some of it goes:

Jesus never loved me / 

No one ever carried my load.

The Followill brothers, from what I understand, grew up Pentecostal.
That's Christian, I think.
Their religious background comes through in much of their music.
Biblical references, allusions to faith and the contradictory confusing nature of their lives and beliefs.

But to say: Jesus never loved me
Followed by no one ever carried my load...
those are explosive lines for someone whose identity was wrapped up
in God and family.

What does it mean?
I don't know.
I think he may have been super drunk
when he drawled them out.

But I hear them as a question,
a mournful, bottom-of-the-barrel cry
that is pitiful, sad, desperate, lonely, and...
ridiculous?

Does he mean these?
Does he make these statements with lucid sincerity?
Or are they the words of someone whose success is directly influenced by the two things he denies here;
his God's love and his family's support; the systems that propelled he and his two brothers who comprise the Kings to a huge level of success?

I don't know.
I was working until after midnight in my dungeon office, as I frequently do,
and I had Kings of Leon going, with no particular attention paid to this song, until finally it grabbed me,
and then I ran it ten times in a row.

It is so sad.
So mournful.
So full of loneliness.

Yet it also feels cathartic;
like the saving stroke of someone ripping away sadness and draining it for you.
A burden lifted.
Listening over and over, and over, and then again, and once more,
I found a contentment and peace as he mourned in his elegiac howl again and again...

...singing words that he may not have believed,
and may not be true,
but in that moment,
in that time,
in that desert,
they were.

In the hot desert,
the hot, flat, sun soaked, lonely, cold desert.
I feel that feeling and sometimes I wish it would never come back,
but then I wonder,

if I feel it,
if I still feel it sometimes,
can I take that feeling and make something beautiful
and maybe help drain the sadness from someone else?

That is music, the beautiful collision
that strikes us down and lifts us up.
To make something brutal and lovely,
something sad that leaves us better.

That lets us own up to pain, sadness,
depression, loneliness,
however fleeting,
and help release from their spell;

the martyr act of taking upon the sadness of the world in a song
of crying out what is felt, not what is necessarily true,
and finding comfort in a shared solemnity.
Hope in the cold desert,

or as I prefer,

cold mountains.




___





Kings of Leon
Cold Desert
Only By the Night
2008

HOMO SUM, HUMANI NIHIL A ME ALIENUM PUTO.

Mudbound. It has been a long while since I have experienced a film of this power. Still trembling with rage at the vileness humanity is capable of. And at the supportive and enabling role the country I love has played in some of the most inexcusable and bleakest vileness.

Racism. Class. PTSD. Loveless marriage. A quadrilogy of undercurrents sliding Mudbound’s narratives along, with one standing above the others.

I think of the hypocrisies we have committed so many times in sending those of a class, those of a race off to war, to make us proud and lift the shining light of freedom up high…and upon return...yank a shroud, a social Faraday cage, a muzzle over them. Disposable heroes. The convenience of benefiting from heroism minus the inconvenience of having to acknowledge it.

Mudbound covers much ground in multiple voices as it slogs us through the farm of a post-WWII Mississippi farmstead and the two families who may live on the same land, but who live vastly different lives. Tragedy all around, with little moments of connection and tiny flickers of hope.
This is what I do not understand: I am a thinking person. And I am a feeling person. Maybe more so than some and less so than others. But a combination of those two things is what makes most of us human.

To see this film and the roots of human vileness and to realize A) this is fictional, but it is - and I concede no ground on this point - the attitudes and the actions taken are true to what have been documented as horrific reality. Reality. Again and again and again.

And the racism shown in this is brutal, bleak, and out in the open. But when I look at the roots of what drives that hatred, that ability to look at another person based on their skin color and see them not as a child of God - and therefore a brother or sister to yourself - then I have to think this. And then say it aloud:

Could this happen again?
Is this happening again?
What are the thoughts that lead to the attitudes that lead to the words that lead to the actions that lead us down this road the wrong way?

Again?

I want to be kind. And loving. And accepting.

I want to dialogue. I hold my right and privilege to converse with anyone, without agenda, as sacred.

When I look at the roads that lead us to some of those darkest places in our past, then I have to look at the mirror, gather those I care about close and am privileged to help raise and learn from,
and say to those in power, or those seeking power:

I will fight to keep those who wax nostalgic for those ‘simpler times,’
those who use euphemisms to minimize and shrug off the hard parts of the past,
those who who do not condemn others who are blatant and unapologetic in their racism,
those who gleefully, wink-wink and backslap their way around the language and nuances of the behaviors that LED to the roots of lynchings, Jim Crow, and a fascist and false Christianity…
to those fitting the above who are IN POWER OR SEEKING POWER, I oppose you. I have a tiny voice, but it can be shrill and occasionally harmonize with a choir. A choir without white robes or bedsheets on heads.

And if it’s within my power, I will do whatever small part I can to get you OUT of power, or prevent you from GAINING power.

I am speaking to those seeking power and control. I also believe in the capacity to change. I believe in redemption and trying to show a better way. And that is done, most frequently and most successfully, through relationships and dialogue, not guilt-mongering, public shaming, and feel-good callout memes. For ordinary people with no thirst for power or control, that is what I can give. Conversation, an ear, a good discussion and ideally open hearts.

But for those in power - and look. Look! There’s no need to name names to identify who they are. Look at their words and actions. Look at those who separate everything into completely binary worlds: Us versus Them. Evil versus Good. The idea that if you speak out against your leaders, you’re speaking out against your country, your armed forces, your allegiance as a citizen.

False. As a joyful citizen of this wonderful country in so many ways, I want it to be a world that is joyful for all. That is respectful to and for all. A world that is not slowly slipping down a muddy path where men with stained white sheets on their ridiculous fucking heads yank a black man out of bed in the dark of night and torture him brutally for looking at a white woman wrong.

Those ACTS don’t happen overnight. The roots to those acts are born in the hearts and minds of every person. And we either move forward and away from that. Or we go back. There is no standing still.

It’s a cliche, but let’s just ask this anyway. Not rhetorically. WWJD? What WOULD Jesus do?

Talk tax cuts and upping military spending with men in suits?
Or walk across a muddy field to share a meal with a farm family?

I don’t know. I can’t speak for him. Just like nobody else can. But what is consistent with what we know about him? How does the picture we are painted of Jesus match up with many of those in power?

Watch Mudbound. Netflix streaming. Maybe not with your young children yet. Not yet. Or do. The violent and false words of those in power are more disturbing to me for our children to hear than the the violent and true records of atrocities that have actually been committed. And are in danger of being committed with ever increasing frequency.

And remember. There is a time to be kind. And there is a time to stand up and fight. They are both powerful tools - not weapons, tools - to use. So good luck on using them. See y’all around.

IS IT POSSIBLE?

Is it possible to listen to too much Leonard Cohen? Is it possible to have too many photo editing apps on your phone? Is it possible to have too many friends?

I don’t have answers. I suspect there is a limit to the former, as I have pushed the edges of what’s possible over the last month and forged through 1967’s sweetly bitter Songs of Leonard Cohen all the way through 2016’s magnificent bittersweet You Want It Darker. I took no stops in between for live albums or collections, and found myself straying back to New Skin for the Old Ceremony more than a few times. Okay...I strayed back to every album more than a few times, and have managed for the most part to hold back tears knowing I will go to my grave never having experienced him or Johnny Cash or Freddy Mercury perform live alive. So I don’t know. Have I listened to too much Leonard Cohen this fall? Possibly.

I have tried countless times, without ever resorting to Google, to imagine Leonard holding a phone in his hand, laboring over just the right filter to use on a selfie. Or in his case, a self-portrait. I imagine him only doing self-portraits, as opposed to selfies. Would he carefully straighten the horizon line in Snapseed? Would he punch up the blacks in ProShot? Would he gently drop the highlights a smidge in Litely? Or would he lovingly pay ninety-nine cents for the perfect flash on Hipstamatic? Would he be bogged down by endless options? Yes, we would be, yes, we are, yes, there does exist the reality of too much being too much.

Can you have too many friends? I would guess that if you won a big lottery, the answer might be yes, which is why I have chosen to not win one. I have been better at investing in people than stocks, and my social security statement will likely back me up, although I am advised that it is a good document to not go throwing around in public.

A short time ago from now, I was alerted to the arrival of an old classmate; a fellow who once had long hair, and with whom I exchanged pleasantries with five to thirteen times in college. His arrival to the surrounding terrain was not a solo one; he was accompanied by a beautiful and personable wife and a gaggle of somewhere between two and four adventurous boys. Our paths crossed.

And they have continued to cross in the past months, and they have recrossed and crisscrossed and involved pancakes and coffee and rope swings and chainsaws and Everestian height-scaling* and donuts and tram rides and conversation and...

...a shared love of the outdoors, of coffee, and of raising children. No particular order. I do not know their feelings on Leonard Cohen, but I would like to remain friends with them long enough to someday find out, and should they not find him agreeable, then...*deep breath* I will hope the level of our friendship can carry us through it. You may be wondering why we are holding mugs. That is my wife (on the right). We are holding mugs that were given to us by our friends. Our friends that we like, even though we do not yet know their position on Leonard Cohen. Inside the mugs - both mugs - are 9.5 ounces each of StumpTown coffee. I will not tell you which one. That is a secret. But it is a good blend. And they are friends that we are happy to know and be able to start sharing some holiday memories with this season.

Thanks Chad and Ronda Jean Mundy, for being you. For being fun, adventurous, kind, generous, and for passing along those traits to your three awesome boys. Cheers, friends. And thank you, many friends of theirs, for sharing them.

And remember, people, when in doubt, ask yourself this: what photo editing app would Leonard Cohen use?

____

*Beacon Rock

MOVIES: COLONIA.

If you feel like watching a mesmerizing thriller that will double your heart rate and increase your fury at the ways in which collusions of bastardized religion colliding with political power can be used to abuse, manipulate and control...

...watch Colonia. Inspired by true events*; set in early 1970s Chile against the rise of the brutal Pinochet regime, it tracks a young woman’s foray into a cult to rescue her boyfriend.

After viewing, run to the internets for missing pieces. Chilling, horrific, mesmerizing. And relevant. Perhaps not the exact same scenario repeating, but the interplay between political and religious power and the pathology of following a charismatic tyrant is not exactly stuck in old history books.

Or, there’s always Beauty and the Beast. Emma Watson’s in that one too. Slightly different theme.

*I know, I know

SPARKS, OMD, MEN AT WORK, BOY AT PLAY.

I discovered Sparks last year, the two brother duo who has been crafting their unique brand of (mostly) electropop for 40+ years. All over the place. Still have no idea how they escaped my radar throughout the last couple decades. As a huge fan of Men Without Hats, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, and plenty of other '80s synth outfits, it seems inexplicable that I wouldn't have stumbled across them. Their collaboration with Franz Ferdinand (concretely acronymed FFS) was a pleasant and odd little surprise that highlighted both bands' strengths magnificently. Listen: Popular, Pulling Rabbits..., Johnny Delusional, Police Encounters Anyway. Our home will be filled with as much love and as many books, art supplies, and musical instruments as we can cram in and that will get used. Never too young to start making noise. That's where melodies are born. We gotta get him a Moog or 808 next... ____ #44music #sparks #ffs #evel0 #44artinprocess #musicproducer

A post shared by Joseph Long (@josephivanlong) on Jul 29, 2017 at 10:55pm PDT

COMPANIES I LIKE : NORTH FACE

In a world with so much falling apart, my recent experience with The North Face customer service has been a tiny boost of positivity - and lifelong brand loyalty. I mean never say never, but to those companies that try and do right by their customers and employees, I say, let's give em our business and let them know those things still matter.

Thanks NF, for being a star. Now, onto other things. You are signing onto Michael Bloomberg's pitch to the UN in light of unfortunate Parisian-related developments, right?...

___

#northface

A SWEET LITTLE LAD PLAYING MUSIC.

https://www.facebook.com/jmlongmusic

___

For all those who have complained about too much politics on Facebook, then shame on you* if you don't go listen to this today, because guess what? THIS has nothing to do with politics, so you're welcome, and go support it. It's a sweet little strange lad playing some melodies and beats in the wintertime, and he is not a Senator.
____

*I have never used this term before, but have been waiting my whole life for the right moment, and the moment is now.

____

Don't worry, more politics coming up in February, and I just might surprise you.

https://www.facebook.com/jmlongmusic

IN WHICH WE MAKE A CHRISTMAS MOVIE WATCHING LIST THAT IS UNATTAINABLE.

In which I load up our queue with Christmas films; knowing in my head we will watch only a fraction but heart convinced there's the tiniest of possibilities that every day in December will expand to allow 27 hours of holiday binge watching, which, of course includes Die Hards 1 and 2 twice each. We watched the remake of Miracle on 34th Street (one of late great John Hughes' later and lesser films, but still moderately enjoyable for us (adults) and massively for others (the elves); I was reminded again that Mara Wilson is unquestionably and undoubtedly one of the all-time most marvelous child actors. (Also, she has a wonderful blog and philosophies on life now, should you decide to Googleize her) Might have to make a case for including the exquisite Matilda (1996 Danny Devito classic Roald Dahl adaptation) on the holiday queue... ____ #longx4 #christmas #marawilson #miracleon34thstreet #pnwchristmas 12-01

A post shared by Joseph Long (@josephivanlong) on Dec 1, 2016 at 8:23pm PST

VACCINATIONS.

I've listened to some good tunes today. Started with Tchaikovsky, then Charlie Parker, The Strokes in the afternoon, Vaccines driving - LOVE not only their most recent LP, but the rest of their back catalog as well. But when I was outside earlier tonight, sprawled on ground, watching the muscular moon bully its way through clouds, I had to close the day out with Colin Stetson's To See More Light. The incredible saxophonist's 15-minute opus is just stunning in its ferocity and beauty. My favourite memory of listening to it is still a December evening a while back, with @jem_long from a high-up hotel, watching the outside unfold from within. But this was a good moment too. @wandervogelsoul you must hear on proper listening device. You will love it. Or you will not. No in between. Happy weekend, all :) ____ #44artinprocess #colinstetson

A photo posted by Joseph Long (@josephivanlong) on May 21, 2016 at 12:19am PDT

HONEST COMPLIMENT OF THE MORNING.

Hey!
he exclaimed incredulously.
I didn't know you started growing white hairs in your beard!!

Yep.
I said smugly.
Takes a long time to learn how to grow them.

A KID / KID A(T) SKATE PARK MINUS THOM YORKE.

It has taken me fifteen years, but I am starting to like Radiohead's Kid A. I knew I would at some point. I loved The Bends, OK Computer, Hail to the Thief, and most everything else, including Jonny Greenwood's cinema scores and Thom's solo surprises, but #KidA has been a very, very slow-grow on me. But after a long journey, I am finally getting there. Hail to the chief. Queue National Anthem. Now go listen to their new track. It's good the first time around. ____ #Radiohead #2016music #longviewwa #skateparks

A photo posted by Joseph Long (@josephivanlong) on May 3, 2016 at 6:57pm PDT

Longview Skate Park

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