So this is Christmas

Two nights ago my wife and I set up and decorated our Christmas tree. It's skinny and sparse artificial number my wife got for $12 at a post-holiday sale at Target. After we were done stringing the lights and hanging the ornaments, I put on the soundtrack to Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown and sat on the couch with my wife and our dog and stared at the tree. This is a favorite past time of mine. For as long as I can remember I have spent many an evening during the holidays sitting or laying on a couch and gazing intently at the Christmas tree. More often than not my mom and hot chocolate would be involved, but there was always something about it that was more than just a familial appreciation of the holiday. I could really lose myself in in the deep green and radial halos of pink and orange and blue and yellow. Staring at the lights even brought a tinge of pain, like looking directly at a flashlight, but not so immediate and not so bright. Just a tiny, far off reminder that this is not something one should do for very long; but I honestly think I would have done it forever if I could have. At that moment, nothing was more important or more desired.
The nutcracker, hung in the same place every year from its thin thread of gold, spun a quarter turn toward the wall, stolid and smiling, floats frozen near the end of its branch. Motionless, but seemingly alive in the pink-red glow reflecting off of the ornament's waxy sheen, it hangs before the yawning cavern of dark and green, alone in the space between the branches.
The times in front of the tree I remember most are from my years in high school and when coming back from college. Those were times in which my identity was slipping and my future was nothing if not unclear. The tree was home and innocence and knowing, or, at least, not needing to know anything else. Those are the nights I felt like I could never move. If the outside world had stopped moving and needing, I would be happy to stay in the warm glow of the lights and the branches. I would live with the nutcracker and the macaroni angel just above, bathed in sharp spokes of softly burning orange.
So then, to the present, with me and my wife and our dog in front of our beloved anemic artificial tree. I stare at the lights, all white this time, and watch the halos rest on holiday baubles, some nostalgic, some just pretty. The music add another level of memories, but, as always, it is the tree that holds my attention. I find myself thinking, what is it about this tree that makes me feel this way? By and large, Christmas trees are probably a waste of electricity and, to be honest, trees, why should I be so moved? The answer, of course, is the memory. The tree represents the holidays and it represents family. And it is this answer that leads me to what I've been thinking about today. Christmas.
I'm at work this Christmas, my wife is at a friend's house enjoying their family's celebration and the members of my extended family are all in other states. The person I'm working with today is of Jewish heritage so today doesn't mean much...other than it is a day in which he must deal with most around him talking about Christmas, for him and many others this is a Friday. And to be matter of fact, it is a Friday. Neither I nor my wife are Christian so our celebration of Christmas is mostly the recreation of the holiday traditions of our childhood. And even for those who are Christian, Christmas is what it is because of tradition. No one really knows when Jesus was born. So, what makes Dec. 25th Christmas? Well, like I said before, tradition. This is the first year since moving to California that my wife and I are not celebrating with our families and I realized that, when it is just my wife and I, we alone are responsible for our Christmas. This might sound obvious, but it comes as a bit of a shock. If we had not chosen to set up a tree and give gifts, I would not have seen a Christmas tree this year. Walking to work this morning I thought about the many thousands of people who have never celebrated Christmas...they wouldn't feel anything special about this day anymore than someone born in March would feel special on my birthday. Easter, Valentine's Day, these days mean little to nothing to me as an adult. These too are days arbitrarily regarded as special because of long-standing tradition. So why do I feel like I should feel differently about Christmas? It's about family, and eating, and gathering people together in one place and enjoying the fact that we've all lived our lives for one more year and are here again to remember all the other years we've done this. It's about remembering that you have a family and that, even if its something some feel they are supposed to do, many people, all at once, feel that being friendly and giving to others is something worth doing.
Writing from work it is always easy to slip in to the more depressed and introspective as I am left to wonder why on earth I am here on this or any day, but cynicism and confusion can't stop the fact that I love hearing John Denver sing with the Muppets because that's what my family and I always did and I wish to whatever it is that has say in these things that I could do that today.

John Lennon once wrote "So, this is Christmas, and what have you done?" I would like to alter this quote to "It's Christmas, what are you doing?" The answer may be nothing or eating or watching two dogs meet a new one. It doesn't matter what day it is, just do what makes you feel right and what you think is right. I feel very grateful that I can spend the holidays with my wife and our dog and hope that everyone has someone with which to spend a special day, whenever that day may be.

Merry Christmas and all the best in the new year.

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"Alfie the Christmas Tree" from John Denver and the Muppets: A Christmas Together. I've never been entirely convinced that he short "Alfie" monologue delivered by Denver makes complete sense. It's either a pantheistic plea for the recognition of brotherhood amongst all people and nature or a tree worried that non-Christians don't know about love...I'm pretty sure it's the first one, but it's worded in a fairly confusing manner to keep its poetic flow...but the monologue is not the part that I care about, it's the song tacked on to the end. As far as I can tell it's titled "It's in Every One of Us". I haven't been able to find definitively who wrote or sang this song first, but I've heard it in various places. The first though, was on the Muppets record. It was and is my family's favorite holiday album. I grew up singing along with this song and it still means a great deal to me. My mom used to say how much she loved it nearly every time I sang it. This year, while I was washing the dishes on Christmas Eve and listening to A Christmas Together, this song came on and I cried.


(sorry for the kind of creepy close up video of John Denver...I couldn't find an audio only version...just close your eyes)

the stuff I write IV

So here's another one of those rap-like things I've been writing lately...this one seems a bit bleak at first, but there's a message in there somewhere...

VICARIOUS

There's a certain something
Something in your soul.
sole and lonely element that keeps you in control.
Controlling your reaction
acting as a brake in tension
tensing when your brain relaxes
and relaxing when the pressure comes.
Compressing, burning in a vise
The certain thing advises and
the turning slows the crank-to fit
the flow the banks are shored up
to protect against the same old story.
Next time when it starts, the stress
the stress starts to affect you less
the less you feel effects of stress
the more the stress will matter less
Unless the pressure's new and
Newly molded in the present
Tenses rise again and gaining
Weighting, straining, cranking tighter.
Tight as may be maybe might a
mitre box be building higher
high and deep it blocks the sun
And sunny days are gone for longer
Long enough to make you wonder
Where's the saw and who's the cutter
But your previous experience
Imperative the consequences
quench the desperation
ration depression to manageable.
Managed by that certain thing
The sting is smaller than imagined
Images are merely mental and
Your pain remains a rental.

(beat) I wish I could say that was me
I can see it in your eyes as we pass on the street
From beneath my cloud I can tell that you figured it out
How to keep yourself from my particular type of hell.
And I know you can see into me as well
And that you say your thanks and think of the time you almost fell.
I'll continue on walking and wishing
that you know what you have and you keep on living.

And then some days it's more like...

There's a woman that I've seen for three years.
Every single day she's there surrounded by tiers
of broken down boxes. Cardboard coveting a cart of
cans and clamshells crusted with last night's chicken marsala.
She sleeps stuffed in a greasy parka packed smack against
the side of the men's suit emporium bored with sideways imploring
glances. Can't she come up with some more appropriate life?
Like they know, but can't help and I can't help either. I see her
Daily and don't stop but know she'll be there, for three years
I've wondered what one wandering conversation might bring her.
Maybe nothing...probably. Probably tension or resentment when
the talking ends, the walking begins again and distance saunters in.
I can spare the change, but I don't have any on me and my quarters can't
conjure the change that she needs. I can smell her, me alone again
Approaching towards my home again where I can choose to sit and wonder
what I'd like to eat and then I might decide to sit or maybe watch
or maybe write and maybe read a bit before I cuddle up and flip the light
and watch my wife beside me knowing that I'll see her there tomorrow.
And I'll see her too and keep on walking wondering what sorrow will befall
or has befallen and I look at the creases of her eyes and he puddle that
trickled to the street and I fully know that I'm lucky to be me.

Days come and days go
whether or not we know
what they're moving toward
they will not slow
Days come and days go
whether or not we know
what they're moving toward
they will not slow
Days come and days go
whether or not we know
what they're moving toward
they will not slow.

...let me know what you think...

This time for real

Today I am 28. Up until a few months ago I had been telling people I was already 28 by accident (it isn't that I couldn't do the math, I just forgot to), but now I am actually that age. I can't say it makes a whole lot of difference...27 to 28 doesn't change much...at least not by itself...I suppose any change that occurs will be up to me. So, there it is. 28. And on to December.

Thankful

A few days late, but here it is...the obligatory thanksgiving post. In some ways (a lot of ways actually) it's a shame that we wait for a made up holiday that resulted in the centuries long ignoring of an entire race of people to say these things, but tradition is tradition and everyone celebrates in their own way so, pilgrims aside, this is Thanksgiving.

I was fortunate enough to be able to fly back to Minnesota to see my parents' new condo in Minneapolis. It was nicer and less strange than I expected (nine years of living away from them have dulled my childhood outrage at the selling of the family home) and it's good to see them living in a place they enjoy that's close to the things they like to do (good food, museums, theater, movies, etc...). We were also able to drive to South Dakota to see my sister's new house (their first that they've owned) and I even got to see where my niece goes to preschool. It's a part of the college campus in Brookings so the teachers are all education students, which results in what seems like a very progressive, nurturing, and individually-minded atmosphere, which is great and very refreshing. On Thanksgiving day my wife's dad and stepmom, my sister and her familiy, and my mom's sister's family all ate a characteristically great meal at the condo. My birthday is close so there was also a tiny impromptu birthday interlude in which I was given presents and cards because I was there.

Anyway, the meat of this comes in with the actual giving of thanks...whatever the reason it was all started, it's not a terrible idea to pause and reflect a bit on those things...do it in July if you feel like it, just do it at some point. I'm thankful that I have a job...no, it's not my ideal career and yes, I hope I'm not there forever, but I'm incredibly thankful that I have it and that it affords me many opportunities both meaningful (money, health care) and not so much (endless downloading potential, access to all sorts of media manipulation, recording, and duplication, nice people to talk to about random stuff).
I am also thankful for music and the bizarre situation of today that allows me to listen to just about anything at anytime without little to no effort.
I am thankful of my position in life, by which I mean, I'm thankful that I live where I do, when I do, and with the things I have...that sounds a bit superficial perhaps, but this isn't about justice, it's about giving thanks, and I thank whatever it is that is responsible for these things that I live where I do because there are millions of people that I would not change places with for all the money or music in existence. That's not to say I don't have sympathy and won't strive to help those others...but I'm glad and very thankful that I have the luxury to say such things while sitting in a relatively comfortable location.

I am thankful for my family. My parents are intelligent, funny, talented, caring, and patient people and they've done what I imagine is everything in their power to provide me with a good life. They've been supportive with what is probably not an easy situation and I've never once gotten the feeling that I bother them as much I think I probably do which, especially when compared to other families I know and have heard of, is a rarity and something to be treasured. I don't imagine I will ever be able to properly put all of what I owe them in words (let alone deeds) and that is the immense price of parenthood. Knowing that, I appreciate what they've done even more.

I am also thankful for my sister and her family. Growing up, I was always a bit perplexed by tv shows and movies that depicted families because mine was not at all similar (I never dreaded seeing my grandparents)...my sister and I did not fight much (everyone does a little) and we also weren't big on emotional sharing, but we were (and are) very close and will always be linked in a creative and intellectual sense. I'm glad she and her husband (who is my age and already owns a house and has two kids) are doing so well in life and with their ridiculously intelligent and adorable children. I hope to be able to spend more time with them at some point (more than once or twice a year). She is a great, talented, loving and (again) patient person and I am thankful that I know her.

I am thankful for my wife's family. They have had their problems in the past and there are many more difficulties yet to come, but they are good and loving people and they made my wife what she is. I am especially thankful for my wife's step mom who, in a time of tumult for my wife, took her in as a daughter, as did the rest of her family. She and my wife's dad have built a wonderful life for themselves and that happiness and intelligence is a great thing to reflect on when thinking about the past.

I am thankful for my wife. She loves me through all my crap and is even relatively patient with my curmudgeonly gloomy episodes. She wants me to be happier and wants to be with me. She is incredibly talented, incredibly beautiful and very loving. She makes me happier than she can probably tell and I love her for everything she is.

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"Land of 1,000 Dances" by Wilson Pickett from The Exciting Wilson Pickett. This statement is not meant in any way to belittle the above sentiments, but I am thankful for Wilson Pickett. This is one of my absolute favorite songs of all time. Pickett's recording isn't the original, but it is far and away the best. From the almost gospel wail of the horns in the intro to the perfect harmony on the second round of "na na na na na's" in the chorus to the deceptively simple and incredibly tight drums, there is nothing wrong with this song. If I could have my greatest musical wishes, I would be like Wilson Pickett in a band...that energy and soul and joy is just about the best thing ever. I am physically incapable of not dancing to this song no matter where I here it, be that driving or doing this dishes. Strangely enough, this song was also one of my favorites to play in high school pep band, but our version was definitely not this. I dare you not to smile when this plays. Listen to it, then go out and find everything by Pickett you can.

Conundrum

80 people got laid off from my place of employment, the director of programming among them, which is a good thing, and, along with him several of the worst shows were canceled, which is also good. However, people I knew and liked were a part of making those programs and they had nothing to do with how horrible they were (those people still have jobs for the most part)...so, is it good that these shows are gone even though it means the loss of jobs of people I care about? If they kept their jobs, poor programming would continue (through no fault of their own, largely), but now they are unemployed. And, is it better that they are no longer a part of creating sub-par products or would they rather have the paycheck? Meanwhile, I will continue to see the product until something new comes along, so nothing for me changes, just the scenery when I look out from the glass walls of my little box. I don't know if anyone is on the other end, but I'm still putting it out there. Because I'm getting paid and I need the insurance.

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"Catholic Sex Confession" by Citizen Fish from Thirst. Keeping with today's theme is a song from a band that likes to question the status quo. Formed from members of Subhumans, Citizen Fish is a lot like that band, but with a beat you can dance to. This has always been my favorite song of theirs, not only because it touches on a lot of issues I question myself (namely the strict religion/human living their life situation) but is also a beautifully designed piece of music. There is no chorus, nor verse really. It is just a story, that kind of rhymes and just constantly builds until the climax of the tale. It's about a nun that apparently has a hard day and winds up having sex with someone and then she goes to the priest to confess. "Did you use contraception/You didn't? that's good/The pope doesn't use it/No reason you should"...that pretty much some it up, but they go further...with the nun ultimately confronting the priest (before, in the booth, he was anonymous and his prescription was "Hail Mary times 10/Don't do it again") with "This body is mine, not a baby machine/In the eyes of the church I am trash" Anyway, I'm sure a lot of people won't like this one, but I think it's brilliant...and I don't always agree with them entirely, but its hard to deny the craft that went in to this "punk" song.

(hmmm, youtube has failed me on this one...sorry...if you know me and are interested in hearing this track, let me know and I'll get you a copy...all I could find was a sample on Amazon..click the pic)

An Intriguing but Irrelevant Faux Rant About Nothing.

Hello,

The other night, while discussing vague politics during a friend's birthday celebration, someone in the party observed trenchantly, "It's all about red and blue", referring to the color-coded division of interests in America along mostly party based lines. Because I had nothing of value to add, stemming from my lack of desire to engage in a political debate at a large round table in a bar with a group of people who are all essentially on the same page in terms of viewpoint but like to say similar things in different ways; I chimed in with the observation that 3-D glasses, then, are the perfect metaphor for National unity. One red square and one blue square work together (though still separate) to create something fresh, forcing the crowd to look at things from a different point of view. But, immediately after uttering this, I realized that when one goes to a 3-D movie these days one is not handed a pair of cardboard frames with one lens each of red and blue cellophane. No, instead one is asked to select from a large barrel a pair of sleek, plastic frames, each individually wrapped in a plastic bag, fitted with sheik, gray, almost-actual sun-glasses-or-at-least-those-flimsy-UV-protective-film-shades-one-gets-from-the-optometrist-after-glaucoma-testing-esqe, polarized lenses. (see below)



Why does this matter you ask, doesn't it create the same effect? Yes, it does. In fact, the new glasses produce a much clearer and easier to watch effect than the old red and blues. However, if the cooperative meeting of colored plastic is a metaphor for healing the long-standing divisions of our nation by showing us that each side can remain separate, but work together to create a more progressive whole, then what are these new-fangled Ray-Bans gone awry meant to teach us? I posit that these polarized 3-D shades are nothing less than an attempt by corporations to seduce the peoples of the world by using what seems like an improved and fascinating technology to lull us in to a state of benign complacency in the guise of progression like so much Huxleyan Soma. I know some might see this as a stretch, but let's look at the facts:

1) Most 3-D movies are released by either Disney or on behalf of films designed to educate and
inspire the public with sweeping aerial vistas, but that aren't in any way enhanced by being
viewed in 3-D.

2) The majority of the new 3-D releases are that were not filmed with the intention of being in
3-D, thus there is nothing in the movie that takes advantage of the technology...it just looks
sort of embossed. (i.e. The Nightmare Before Christmas, Toy Story)

3) Most modern 3-D releases are geared towards children, thus indoctrinating the youth at an
early age to accept current methods and technology.

4) After watching a 3-D movie these days, there is a giant barrel in the theater hallway in which
one is asked to toss one's glasses. This gives the public the impression that the new point of
view is temporary and disposable and not meant for holding on to.

5) Plastic glasses individually wrapped in plastic bags that are used once and then thrown away
at the service of giant, faceless corporations that spend countless millions of dollars in the
production of something that will be seen for 90 minutes at a time for about two months and
then not seen again in that state by anyone until ten years later when the anniversary print is
re-released in theaters is a target for environmentalists and those offended by gross, needless
waste and rampant corporate spending. Thus, concerned citizens will begin to decry 3-D as a
sham and the intellectual class will abandon it...unwittingly also abandoning the promise
that red and blue 3-D has for those who enjoy ultimately meaningless but impressive
sounding metaphors laden with pseudo-political possibilities.

6) Gray is the international symbol for in-between. This tells the public that taking a stance is
not necessary to create a wondrous new prospective. Thus, the public is lured in to
complacency. No longer challenged by the difficult to focus on juxtaposition of red and blue,
we are left to simply stare through a haze of gray, feeling no motivation for change or
wider analysis.

There are some that may cry shenanigans on this treatise and suggest that I am simply wasting the public's time as I sit at work trying desperately to stave of a mindless stupor. To those people I say this: I recently spent several hours watching a group of individuals who are paid to represent the views of the american people pontificate on the fact that a certain suggested policy will create the unfathomable horror of taxpayers having to fund abortions and birth control if it passes in order to convince the rest of said body that there should be a stipulation against said problem despite the fact that, seemingly unbeknownst to those in charge of the keeping of our nation's laws, taxpayers money currently goes towards such things already. I ask you...which is more pointless? I do my work pro bono.
Ah, progress.

Coming soon: "The New Polarized 3-D Glasses: A Beacon of Lasting Peace"

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"Mayonnaise" by Smashing Pumpkins from Siamese Dream. Liking Smashing Pumpkins is not easy. There is a lot of you have to have a great deal of patience with...Billy Corgan is an almost insufferably egotistical and pompous jackass, their last three albums have been almost entirely forgettable, and the always seemed to hold themselves in much higher esteem than anyone else, and, even their great albums force you to wade through a fair amount of artistic pretenstion...but, that said, every time I hear this song, I am reminded of why I put in the effort.
There is a fair amount of right time, right place with this track as it served to encapsulate my thoughts and feelings at that time with alarming succinctness. That said, there isn't a lot to analyze. The lyrics are true without being sappy and the perfectly-honed squeal of feedback in the chorus make it a strong and emotive almost ballad that expertly bridges the rare gap of honest and heavy. An unforgettable track from a stellar album. This song is my adolescence.

Last night

(if you click the pics you can get a larger view and better detail of the makeup.)

Well, it wasn't the most graceful costume, but I did it in 10 minutes in the bathroom at work with some black and white creme makeup and a little fake blood. It got me some great looks on BART from the college kids dressed up like referees and pimps and "people from the 80's". It suited my purpose fine.

When Nissa picked me up from BART she didn't notice me at first then was a bit shocked, to which I told her
"I got hit by a car."
Nissa: "WHAT??!!"
"No, I know, it's crazy...I thought I'd be dead, but after like five minutes I got right back up again..."

Note, the joke didn't exactly land because Nissa had been too initially shocked by the car hitting part...it's hard to play jokes on your wife because she's too emotionally invested...

I love Halloween. There's something immensely satisfying about walking down the street in costume, especially if you act like there's nothing unusual about your appearance. One of the high points of my evening was leaning against a pole with my feet crossed waiting for the BART reading The Metamorphoses by Ovid in zombie makeup. That had to be funny to someone.

For as long as I can remember I've been fascinated with being other people...it's actually where I'm most comfortable. I've always loved acting, but I've also always enjoyed pretending I'm someone else and then thinking of things that person/character might say...
I was hoping someone would ask me what I was last night, I imagine the conversation would go something like this.

person:"What are you supposed to be?"
me: "What do you mean?...Oh, no, I just got hit by a car.
p:"Oh..."
m:"Yeah, I figured I'd be dead, but like five minutes later I just got up and was fine....I'm incredibly hungry though."
p:"For people?"
m:"What?! No, no, not at all. Zombies have gotten a pretty bad rap in the media. I've got dinner waiting at home."

And part of me starts thinking of the possibility of a film or story in which zombies are just a misunderstood minority that can get a long with regular people...kind of like My Best Friend is a Vampire (sorry, no trailer on youtube...the broad strokes of it are that vampires aren't pure evil like most people think, they are a misunderstood group of people that happen to live forever and drink blood (bought from butchers' shops), any fan of House should watch it, if only to find out how far Robert Sean Leonard has come (See Tape)), but for zombies...but I also realize that what makes a zombie a zombie is a certain mindless quality...of course there's always the caveat that the way movies portray things isn't necessarily accurate, but that's a pretty big hurdle to jump.

A large part of me would like to wear some different disguise every night when I walk home just for the hell of it...and I realize there's nothing technically keeping me from doing this...but there's also something that wants to wait for special occasions...




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"Holiday in Cambodia" by Dead Kennedys from Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables. This is one of those rare punk tracks that is not only subversive and shocking and fast, but also surprisingly well constructed and thoughtfully composed. As a long time fan of music that has been labeled punk, one puts up with a lot of simple, repetitive instrumentation and less than thought out songwriting, but that's all part of it and kind of the point....with this track that thought is necessary. From the semi-psychedelic guitar intro to the frenetic 2 and 4 almost disco hi-hat in the verse, "Holiday in Cambodia" has all the loud, brash hallmarks of classic punk, but is also very inventive and unpredictable in its structure. Then, of course, there are the lyrics...an almost entirely coherent screed against Western complacency and Eastern brutality and totalitarianism that shows how, along with the shock for shock's sake elements, Jello Biafra was and is an intelligent and thoughtful songwriter. This is another song it seems silly to analyze (that's why I will more than likely never make the leap from amateur suggester to professional critic...I don't fully believe in it) so I'll just say, give it a listen, or, as is more than likely the case, listen again.



(P.S--extra East Bay credit, the picture for this album cover comes from the riots that ensued after Dan White, the city supervisor that killed Harvey Milk and George Moscone, got a suspiciously light sentence.)