The Illinoisemakers

I know, I know. Two posts about Sufjan Stevens in the same month is a bit much. I just needed to say a few words about the show last night at the Lo-Fi Cafe. For starters, that place is sweltering! It's a wonder that the performers didn't melt right off the stage. Indeed, there were many pit rings. To anyone I was standing next to: I apologize for the B.O.

I throughly enjoyed the performance. The sound wasn't that great but I'm not sure if it was due to the acoustics, the sauna, or the musicians themselves. The band wasn't terribly tight either, but they made up for it with a terrific display of musicality. He opened with "The 50 States" and it was the first time I've heard the song in its entirety. Beautiful. It should become new standard 5th grade curriculum, in place of that cheesy song the young ones learn nowadays to memorize the states. Sufjan comes off as a bit shy. He didn't remember all the words to his songs, and had lots of notes up there. I don't blame him at all.

Highlights: The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades..., The Tallest Man, The Broadest Shoulders..., The Man of Metropolis..., Jacksonville, Come on! Feel the Illinoise!..., and John Wayne Gacy, Jr. (I saw a tear stream down Sufjan's cheek during this one).

How many concerts have you been to where the performers dress in cheerleading outfits, pump pom poms, and entact original cheers dedicated to vague midwestern towns? None, you say? I hadn't either. It was strange, but hey, I'm sure the people of Peoria deserve a Ra!-Ra!-Ra! as much as any college basketball team.

After the show I spoke to Sufjan breifly about the album, the creative process, Saul Bellow, Denison Witmer, and the press. He was nice.

"The 50 States"

"John Wayne Gacy, Jr."

Sufjan leads the Illinoisemakers in a cheer

Kirk, Me, Sufjan

Heart of Darkness

My friend Kirk recently spoke to me about a book he's been reading, Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. I hadn't picked up that book since high-school and, quite frankly, wasn't ready for it back then. I remember being mezmerized by its language, but didn't put into it what I needed in order to extract any profound lesson. I've kept a copy of it on my shelf for years, so I reread it yesterday, and enjoyed it very much this time.

The main character, Marlow journeys into the jungle along the African Congo to meet an infamous ivory hunter named Kurtz who is stationed in a remote trading post. This journey becomes a metaphor for his own exploration into the heart of his soul. Along the way he becomes infatuated with meeting Kurtz. This man is magnetic, a poet, a leader, a revolutionary of the mind! Yet this man has been seduced by ideals heavier and darker than himself. He succumbed to the isolation of the jungle, to ultimate greed, to power, to self agrandizement. In his journey Marlow is tempted by those same things, and staring within himself was threatened to be overcome by those same evils. He saw in Kurtz what he could have become. He saw in Kurtz the common struggle of humanity distilled in its purest form. The dark side. This book seemed to say that every soul casts a dark shadow. It romanticizes the idea (to an extent) that becoming aquainted with that shadow will result in a degree of enlightenment. At the very least you understand the breadth of the human condition a little bit more.

The book leads you to believe, however, that there is a basic evil to human nature. I may be interpreting it wrong, but it almost seemed like it was saying human nature, in and of itself, is mainly dark. "For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam...(Mosiah 3:19)." But that comes with a qualification. J.R. Holland stated "These references to 'natural' evil emphatically do not mean that men and women are 'inherently' evil. There is a crucial difference....It is as if men and women are given, as part of their next step in development along the path to godhood, raw physical and spiritual ingredients--'natural' resources if you will. Those resources are not to run rampant but are to be harnessed and focused so that their potential (as is sometimes done with a 'natural' river or a 'natural' waterfall) can be channeled and thereby made even more productive and beneficial."

So we aren't inherently dark, but can become so if we let the natural portion of our souls fully govern us. This is what did Kurtz in, and why he acts as a mirror into the human phsyche: Watch yourselves so as to not look "The Horror!" in the face! Perhaps one of the most affecting quotes for me was not by Conrad himself, but was a note on the margins of the last page in the handwriting of Nicki Kampenhaut, my sister-in-law. It says "Those who give themselves over to materialism have no wings for spiritual exploration, and they too lose the tide."

Here's to not losing the tide.

A Drive Through Marysville

You sat like a weak-kneed breeze
with eyes full of decision and
a spine oozing with stregnth
Two miles from the old town
we passed the spectre walls
where you and now dead siblings
came of age
The wood is flaking, blurred, and colorless
It was once a rainbow, you thought,
A house surrounded by genteel cement arms
so rare during the Depression
Now it knows the meaning of that era
You blinked at the ghosted walls

and again
Seeming to long after twilight

We pass the plot where lies
her father's century old corpse and
she wonders if it isn't unfortunate that
long-life runs in her family

The wrinkles cutting her face
twisted out illegible words
and in an instant she became, in my mind,
that precious cedar from my childhood
which found comfort in a desolate home
amid a hillside bed of crimson lava rock
What vegetation had any business growing there!
Yet life came fruiting from its boughs and
grace brooding in its roots

Further down the road we
descended into the belly of Warm River
It sang her to sleep as the
new generation played on its cold, shallow banks

For my dear Grandma Blake

Herd Poisoning

On Saturday night Christy and I went to the Pioneer Days Rodeo which is held annually in St. Anthony, Idaho. The grandstands were packed, overflowing with cowmen and cowwomen a half-hour before it was scheduled to start. A light breeze carried the smell of maneur, horsehair, and hamburgers. Sitting in front of us was a scruffy man wearing a black T-shirt, the back of which held the image of a silicon enhanced blonde bombshell wearing nothing but a black bikini, a cowboyhat, and chaps. Yup. I was home.

This was Christy's first rodeo, and I was curious how she would react. She loves country music, but I couldn't be sure she would love an old-fashioned country pasttime. All questiones were answered the first moment the gate was realeased and a wild bucking bronco broke loose into the arena. All rows around us could hear her gleeful squeals. She discovered one of the highest forms of entertainment: Man vs. Beast. The evening was electric. She was entranced, eyes fixed on the competitors and the stock.

Christy had never seen any of the various categories play out: Saddle Bronc, Barrell Racing, Team Roping, Steer Wrestling. I did my best to explain my elementary understanding of how each one worked and is scored and judged.

When the Calf Roping portion arrived the first cowboy chased the calf down nearly in front of where we were seated. He lassoed the neck of the calf, whiplashing its body to a screeching halt. He then dismounted, the horse still on the run, grabbed the calf, lifted it off the ground, then slammed it back down on its side. He then snatched up three of the legs and quickly tied them together, leaving the stunned animal laying there with its hooves in the air. Christy exclaimed audibly "Oooh. That poor little calf! What are they doing to it?" I hurried and put my arm around her and tried to shush her inquiries for fear of being surrounded by a mob of hicks and hayseeds who would no doubt pull our pants down and brand our bottoms for even symathizing with a lowly calf. Christy made no efforts to speak softer, however, and vocalized again that she didn't understand the point.

Honestly, I couldn't either. In retrospect, I just didn't want to draw attention. Strangely, I found myself really wanting to blend in with these folks, with the guy beside me breathing expletives and telling jokes about Utah, and the guy in front of me with the naked cowgirl on his shirt. Luckily, I was saved by a spectator behind us who piped in and explained the history behind the event, and why it was performed the way it was. This seemed to resolve Christy's concerns, but for a moment there I was taken with a short case of herd poisoning.

Foreign Man

You want to hear a scenario that I just don't see play out too often? Here goes:

Balding man of average height gets out of bed, goes to the bathroom, gets on scale. 241 lbs. Not bad, he thinks. Man is hungry so he goes to the kitchen. Man eats whopping breakfast of eggs, pancakes, maple syrup, and butter, eats till he is full. Man goes back to his room and looks in mirror, admires his wonderfully even tan. Not bad, he thinks. Man looks outside, not a cloud in the sky. Man slips into a delightfully tight speedo, applies leftover breakfast butter to his skin. Man heads to his favorite pier to relax, contemplates the earth and the beauty of life. Not bad, he thinks.



I love Mexico. Took this photo in Puerto Vallarta, Feb '03

My Sherrie Amour

I grew up in a home where we (the children) addressed our parents as "Mom and Dad." I know in other parts of our nation you might hear a similar variation, the female parent coming first, followed by the male: "Ma and Pa," "Mama and Papa," "Mommy and Daddy," and the formal "Mother and Father." Different strokes for different folks, right?

Last night Christy and I met a couple who have a little four year old boy--cute kid, very talkative, and rambunctious. He was standing on the edge of the hot tub, ready to jump in and wanted his parents to watch so he yelled to them, "Daddy and Sherrie, watch!" It kind of caught me off guard and I tried not to laugh, because it sounded so foreign to me. He has somehow gotten into the habit of calling his mom by her first name. Throughout the night he always referred to his father as "Daddy," but anytime he talked to his mom it was by her first name, "Sherrie."

I decided that I hope my children call me by some form of "Dad." Otherwise its going to be "Les, I want some candy," "I don't want to, Les" "Les, let me stay up." I would start to feel like my wife had given birth to a Hilton, only I wouldn't have the ability to sooth my sorrows by taking a swim in my money bin. Though, now that I think about it, it would be kind of fun to go to church and hear, "I'd like to bear my testimony and I love my Mom and Les."

The Virgin and the Dynamo

When Henry Adams went to the Paris Exhibition in 1900 he was so floored by the emerging force of the dynamo that he knew he was standing on a precipice that would define America in the new century, and that might eventually be it's downfall. He likened the power of this new modern technology to the same power that the Virgin wielded throughout the preceding centuries, a force that had inspired the crusades, colonization, and the greatest art and architecture of the age.

America has, in many senses, become the stage for the technological revolution. Just as science has replaced religion for many people in decades past, technology has come to do the same. Bow to the computer chip! Wireless Worship! Answer only to your cell phone!

How many people do you know between ages 18-65 that don't have a cell phone? My Dad doesn't, and he's proud of it. He hasn't the remotest interest in even learning how to use one, which is fine, because there aren't many instances in which he would need one. And granted, yesterday it would have been nice as he was standing in the airport for 2 hours waiting for a plane that wouldn't arrive for another five, and all the while a lonely ringing cell phone gathered dust in his car (my mother loaned it to him). Part of me wants to chuckle and say, Let's not be foolish! Get with the times! Step into the digital world! But another part of me says, How dependent am I on the conveniences of modern technology? Is this healthy? Am I losing touch with a greater power and a greater ability the more I lean on silicon and plastic to get me through the day? Maybe I need to be careful, or I'll let a universe of iPods, hand helds, and lap tops snatch me up in some thousand gigabyte death grip.

But seriously though Dad, get a cell phone.

If I Only Had A Beard

You can't always get what you want? Curse you Mick Jagger!

In my case I've always wanted to grow facial hair. I mean ALWAYS. Call me crazy, but there is just something magnetic about a bearded man. Unfortunately my face is as smooth as a watermelon. Most of the influential men to ever walk the Earth have had some form of facial hair: Martin Luther King Jr., Confucious, Ghandi, Socrates, Shakespeare, Leonardo Da Vinci, Brigham Young, and, of course Jesus Christ.

I was very pleased to find out there is actually a contest devoted to the growers of powerful facial hair. It only seems fitting right? If we can have contests for spelling words, eating hot dogs, and standing still for the longest amount of time, surely there is a place for the extremely hairy. This contest is called the World Beard and Moustache Championships, and is being held this year in Berlin, Germany. There are many categories: Natural Beard, Handlebar Moustache, English Moustache, Sideburns, etc. But you've got to hand it to anyone who enters a facial hair competition under the "freestyle" category. I thought I would post some photos of past notables.

This one I call "My Head Is A Beard" because of the seamless segway from facial hair to normal hair.


I call this one the "Arachnabeardia" due to its many graceful legs.


I call this one "Mullet Face" for obvious reasons.



I call this one the "Harley Davidstache" because I could sit on his chest and drive his face like a chopper.

LTLBRAT

Confidence is such a fascinating personality trait. It's a positive attribute for sure. How many times have you seen a gorgeous woman completely enamored by some ho-hum looking joe? At first glance the guy looks like your grandma's mailman, but because he is confident he's got the world on a string. Men like confident women too, women who embrace their bodies, who don't pretend for the sake of impression, women grounded in self-reality.

But as with perfume, chocolate milk, and hair bands, you can have too much of a good thing. The overconfident are some of the most frustrating people to be around. I couldn't help but think about this today as I was driving to work. I was passed by a bright orange Ford Mustang convertible. Its personalized liscence plate read "LTLBRAT" and the vanity cover said "Why can't I be rich instead of beautiful?"

I'm always intrigued by vanity plates because they really seem to be the 9 characters-or-less definition of ourselves. How do you sum yourself up and proclaim it to the world? If you're a democrat, "IH8DUBYA." If you're a gun fanatic, "TRGRHAPY." If you're homosexual, "R U GAY 2." Its just funny. I can't really think of anything that would really get to the heart of me. Maybe "2SKNY2BTRU" but that would be too long. Perhaps "SMALLBUM" but I don't know if that really captures the essence of me. Plus that could change anytime soon, and I'd be stuck in line at the DMV trying to explain why they need to issue me a new one that says "JNK-IN-TRNK" and I don't know if I'm confident enough for that sort of thing.

To Be Alone

Not long ago a good friend of mine recommended that I read Chuck Palahniuk's Stranger than Fiction. He was kind enough to photocopy some exerpts from it (I don't think Chuck would mind) for me, just to give a taste. I found the book's introduction particularly insightful. It addresses the lonely business of writing. Stories are about people, and you have to be around people in order to develope these stories, along with their tangible characters. Yet writing is largely an individual's task, and reading an individual experience. He likens this to an overall human impulse to be alone, that perhaps just as badly as many of us want and need to connect with other people we also want and need physical apartment, a place to be alone with our thoughts.

I think quite a few people are able to maintiain this balance in their lives, but there are many who gravitate to the extremes: The girl who can't be alone, who cannot drive to the corner market without convincing at least one friend to go with her. Or the guy who always refuses a social invite, and prefers to wander the streets solo, with his Walkman on ("Walkman" seems like such an old term, what would it be now, iPod?).

Just yesterday I found myself playing a round of golf all by my lonesome, and completely content that I was able to avoid being paired with anyone. I could attribute that to the fact that my game is embarressing. It's true that I don't wan't my slice on public display, but I think that just as much there was something utterly appealing about spending the afternoon ALL BY MYSELF. I can turn off my cell, intentionally not tell anyone where I am, and just enjoy that feeling you get in your stomach when no one is around. This is good. This is a time for self-awareness. This is a time for evaluation. This is a time for reconcilliation.

Then later, I turn back to the world. I turn my cell on, and write emails to friends, and kiss my wife, and become a better husband, a better co-worker, and hopefully a better human being. I tip the scales the other way for a while, because that is healthy living. And I can only take the humiliation of my golf swing for so long.