Movie

It's times like this morning that I truly miss my brother.

I am the only one missing from the Miller village, the triangle of protection. Out here on my own. Normally, this doesn't bother me. I am well aware that my Granny is not going to drive four hours and drop by to check on my house cleaning habits. I consider this to be an advantage of remote living.

But then there's this morning when I opened the Netflix envelope that's been laying on my desk for a couple of days. The title of the movie was Wristcutters, A Love Story and it's based on the work of one of my favorite writers, Etgar Keret. Like his writing it was lovely, soft and kind with as much thought and intention as I could require in a film. No exclamation points, just a steady story of coming to terms with one's own dissatisfaction, the continuous search for something outside yourself and the final appreciation found in letting go.

After it was over I sighed and thought, "Man, I wish Josh had been here. He would have totally dug that movie." We could have talked about it, fought over who was going to buy the soundtrack ending with me having to buy the music. So I did the next best thing. I called him and told him to see it. Told him to call me after he watches it so I can see what he thinks. Cause it's rare, ya' know. It's rare to find people who love the same things you do so this morning I find myself missing my brother. Not in a bad way, just in one of those really appreciating having a brother ways.

Resonance of a Smile

In A Painted House John Grisham described a childhood reminiscent of sitting on the front porch, feeling the movement of the fans. The end to a long hot summer day in the south. This gathering coupled with a full belly was the reward for which you worked.

Today it is how I start my day. And I think, damn, how lucky am I that on a Saturday morning I can tune in to the late, great Studs Terkel interview a young Bob Dylan back in 1963.

Life is good.

I think one of the reasons Studs' life was so beautiful is because he saw life as beautiful.

You would think that my music today would be Dylan....but it's not...it's Waits singing about some rain.

May you all have a wonderful weekend.

Being Here

I woke up at midnight.

I washed two loads of clothes, read some bickering between liberals and conservatives and thought, "These are some really smart people."

I thought about my job and the contributions required of me so that I can help my coworkers and myself maintain our status as employed Americans.

I considered how wonderful it is that I have the opportunity to know and love Slater and how great it is that every evening we high five 'cause it's so fantastic to have made it home.

I turned on the television.

Comedy Central was showing Steven Wright doing stand up.

I smiled.

Life is good.

I am so very grateful to be here.

Maybe I should be more serious. I mean, really, some big shit is going down. Right? Or maybe it is going up. I don't know....it goes all kinds 'o ways, I think.

The only thing I truly do know is that I'm glad I have tonight.

Maybe I'll go take a nap.

Sleep is good, too.

Acting All Royal Again

I think in some form of "what the hell do I know" theme I kinda let this go for a while. It was necessary for me to step back, reevaluate priorities. A couple of times I considered deleting the blog, but something in me always suspected that I may utilize it again. Plus, I have these nice links to places I adore running down the side and may possibly be too lazy to actually transfer those into Google bookmarks.

Anyway, here I am listening to this.

You could say it was politics or maybe the economy or maybe I've just been reading so much, experiencing so much that coming back here seems as natural as Martin Simpson's relationship with his guitar. Please know I've been reading what you've been writing, and, although almost always I neglected to comment, I am in complete gratitude of all of you for freely sharing your experiences, thoughts and talents. You, my varied and wonderful internet friends, are simply beautiful. Thank you.

Now on to politics.....I have never in my life been so excited about participating in an election. Several of my friends have asked if I was going to try and vote early due to the potentially long lines. My response: "Hell, no. I want to stand in line. I want to get to know the people around me. It will be so fantastic to emerge myself in this process." Yes, they look at me like I'm a total fanatic, which by now they know I am.

And economy....Man, was I ever mad. I was pissed. Ranting and raving. Did I mention that I could have maybe been a tad bit angry? Bailout? Are you kidding me? This opposed every "principled" cell of me. For whatever reason, whether it was my upbringing or a natural tendency or a fucking past life, this one sang to me, and it had nothing to do with money or charts or TED spreads or golden parachutes. This was about natural consequences to actions without government intervention. The government is going to save us? The people I know don't need saving. Thanks but no thanks. Socialism? Oh, please, we are an experiment. Even Adam Smith followed his Wealth of Nations with The Theory of Moral Sentiments. You and me....we're participating in a form of socialism right now. In a couple of hours I will be driving to eagerly participate in some pretty extreme capitalism. The fact is that we are on the leading edge of finding out what will work best, most efficiently.....for me that has always meant less government (political) control and more you and me. We'll be just FINE!

Continuing with a smile on a small note in a tiny, rural Mississippi town while the world supposedly collapses around us I would like to mention what Slater told me last night. It went something like this....

"Mom, I'm having a problem with George."

"What's wrong, baby? What's he doing?"

"Well, this morning he didn't start so easy, and then after school today I had a hard time starting him again."

"Did you leave the lights on? Do you think he maybe has a bad battery?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Okay, we'll look into it. And, hey, why did you name him George?"

"I told you. He's named after George Costanza off Seinfeld!"

"Baby, that could be the starting problem."

This conversation lets me know everything is just fine and dandy 'cause not only have I raised a boy who thinks enough of an inanimate object to actually give it a name.....he's gotten the name from Seinfeld.

Life is good.

Music is good.

Thought

In a world of want more, do better, be greater, rise, dream.....the concept of satisfaction can be somewhat unnerving.

What if this is it?
The summit, the peak.
I've climbed my mountain.
Now what?
Just sit.
But I was raised to achieve.
And the only thing left to achieve is the next breath.

There's this character in my head, this foggy scene. It's this guy that after 38 years is being introduced to himself as if a layer was completely ripped from him. A happening so intense that it seems as if the very cells of his body all at once shifted.

A singular transformative moment.

Although we may find him attempting to mimic it so he will not be considered an alien in his own society, he has lost desire.

Is this bad?
Does this mean he's depressed and should take a pill?
Can the human animal operate without desire?
Should someone else be introduced to provide conflict?
To kick start yet another drama in his life?
It doesn't feel that way to him.
It's strangely nice.
He is satisfied.


The farmer is endeavoring to solve the problem of a livelihood by a formula more complicated than the problem itself. To get his shoestrings he speculates in herds of cattle. With consummate skill he has set his trap with a hair spring to catch comfort and independence, and then, as he turned away, got his own leg into it. This is the reason he is poor; and for a similar reason we are all poor in respect to a thousand savage comforts, though surrounded by luxuries.
Henry David Thoreau in Walden

Voice

One of the few pages I've bookmarked this year.

I take comfort and inspiration in knowing that people like this are writing letters to their Senators. May we all take advantange of having a voice.

Thank you, Charles Smith.

When Words Linger

Now you have to pay close attention to something that's going to seem real obvious. There is a difference between a great leader and a great salesman. Because a salesman's ultimate, overriding motivation is his own self-interest. If you buy what he's selling, the salesman profits. So even though the salesman may have a very powerful, charismatic, admirable personality, and might even persuade you that buying really is in your interest (and it really might be) — still, a little part of you always knows that what the salesman's ultimately after is something for himself. And this awareness is painful ? although admittedly it's a tiny pain, more like a twinge, and often unconscious. But if you're subjected to enough great salesmen and salespitches and marketing concepts for long enough — like from your earliest Saturday-morning cartoons, let's say — it is only a matter of time before you start believing deep down that everything is sales and marketing, and that whenever somebody seems like they care about you or about some noble idea or cause, that person is a salesman and really ultimately doesn't give a shit about you or some cause but really just wants something for himself.

David Foster Wallace
He will be missed.

Gratitude

"In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to pay back the people in this world who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it's wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you, forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices."
Elizabeth Gilbert from her book, Eat Pray Love


Thank you, world.
Me