Just back from an hour singing on the 5th floor of Cascade Manor, '5th floor' being the place where the old folks go when they need extra help at the end of life. It's not quite hospice care, but it's not all that far from there. I seem to have two gigs a month on the 5th floor, as the activities director recognizes that I get a lot out of the folks, so Jessie brings me in there twice monthly. And it's a small crowd that I play for.... usually 7 or 8 folks, sometimes a few more if it's the 'ice cream social'.
Today's gig was kind of incredible in that I sang from my heart and really went for the vocals. Usually I'm some kind of a clown on those gigs, trying to get a reaction, get a smile, get some participation, and all that stuff was true today also. But on top of that, I tried to be a great vocalist too, which is unusual. So I took my time and really concentrated on the shapes and colors of the notes, took some chances and thoroughly enjoyed the experience, as did my 7 audience members.
I guess it was 'ballad day' over there, as I performed (among other things) 'Somewhere' (from West Side Story), 'Someone to Watch Over Me', 'Over The Rainbow', 'Our Love is Here to Stay', 'I Remember You', 'It Had to be You' as well as the usual assortment of swinging tunes that I often do.
It was really touching to go for it and connect with these folks, who I'm starting to get to know fairly well by now. One of them, Jerry (a woman) is a great singer, knows all the words and loves music, but now she's obviously failing fast, swollen up, much less with it then a month ago. She wasn't in the room when I began, and I asked Didier, the orderly if she was going to come to the music. He went to fetch her, and I could see right away that she was not long for this plane. She had that far away look in her eye, and wasn't hardly responding to the first song I did upon her arrival. It was as though she was coming in out of the fog, but she got there eventually. It was, and is, quite touching, as I get the feeling that maybe I won't ever sing with her again. My heart was really reaching out to her and trying to have one more trip down the musical lane, and by the end, when I closed with 'When You're Smiling', she was all the way there and delighted.
With all the stuff I don't have.... relationship, consistent focus and purpose, blah blah blah, I feel so blessed to enjoy these real experiences of love and connection. Pretty much every time I strap on a guitar and make music for people, I'm so grateful to feel the love and the music.
Off to Zumba and a Wednesday night of dancing and blues jamming. Off to the coast for a gig tomorrow...
Lifting...
11:30am on a sunny and gorgeous Friday morning, breeze out of the north, clean air, cool temperature, the kind of day that makes you love the Pacific Northwest in the summer time. I just finished playing some disc golf for 90 minutes or so (basically taking a walk with a bunch of target practice along the way). I do enjoy it, especially in the morning when the course is empty and there's no waiting around. Later on in the day, the slackers wake up from their weed and micro brew hangovers and start making their way to the course. But at 9am, there's basically no one there.
Me, I'm a bit of a slacker too, but an insomniac version, so I'm always up early and wanting to exercise in the early part of the day. Nice how that works out.
I've been in a low level funk recently, self critical, unmotivated and creatively stale. Seems like I've been going through the motions, and that's been accompanied by a feeling that maybe I've lost the mojo. Maybe it's downhill from here. It hasn't become a 'crisis of confidence', but I do wonder if I've missed the boat sometimes.
Something happened after I got back from Thailand which, in retrospect, was a big blow to my psyche, so I might as well try and describe it, and maybe lift it off my neck. Not surprisingly, it has to do with creativity. While I was there, I went through an intensely wonderful period of creative effort. I had time, space, a guitar and not a lot of distractions, and it was thrilling to write a bunch of really well crafted songs, some of my best ever. The high....
And then I get back and start recording some of them, nothing fancy, but I wanted to at least commit them to tape or video or whatever. And then comes the inevitable slide into despair, knowing that I don't have what it takes to translate the creativity into money, mass awareness, fame (don't really want that), success (that word again), all of the 'shoulds' that can deflate the high into a familiar, frustrated and powerless low. It's yet another reprise of the 'he's so talented, why don't more people get to enjoy it' curse.
I wonder why I buy into it so much. Seems like it would be more fun to just enjoy the ride and leave that stencil behind. Perhaps if I were to simply accept the fact that I don't have the kind of makeup to handle all of the 'shoulds'. I suppose I've seen it as some kind of character flaw on my part, and sure, you could make the case, but maybe there's another case to be made? I'm sick of this fucking case, frankly. (I've resisted the urge to use the word 'fucking' at least three times so far in this post, such is the emotional nature of the subject I'm writing about).
And there's another source of unhappiness and worry which has been very present lately, and that is my son's retreating into his cocoon of video games, sleep and ennui, which makes me look like a world beater in comparison. I worry about him and his apparent unpreparedness for entering into the stream of life. He doesn't want to work, doesn't want to wake, doesn't want to this, doesn't want to that, and of course I wonder if it's my fault. It's almost like a cosmic joke, only it ain't particularly funny at this point.
I don't really know how to be a father, don't know how to inspire or mold or teach or go fishing or do carpentry or those fatherly things one is 'supposed' to do. What I did do was pay the child support, go get him unfailingly every summer, bring him down from Alaska, spend the summer with him, a lot of sitting around, true, but oh well, we sat around together. (And I do give myself props for hanging in there, because after the divorce, Jamila was such a vindictive bitch that she made it really hard for me to persevere. But I did). He always knew that I was his dad and that I loved him. We played sports, went on trips, hung out, had some good talks, but I never quite got the hang of board games or science or discovery and if I could do it again (which I don't want to do), I'd find a way to be more creative with it.
So who knows, maybe his personality is just very laid back and wanting to not engage with the world. And I can't really blame him, given my own beliefs about the state of the world and the end of the bubble. Part of me wants to kick his ass into gear to find something he would be passionate about, and another part figures that it's his life and he gets to live it the way he wants, even if I think it's fearful and escapist. I'm escapist too, but I don't think I'm all that fearful.
Really I just want to see him find something to get him out of his little womblike entropy state. I was fantasizing about taking a little trip with him, telling him to bring a jacket and then just dumping him off a couple hours or more from home and letting him figure it out. Go ahead dude, start surviving, have an adventure, use your wits, get off the fucking couch. He seems to have no self-confidence, no desire to actually do anything. And as his dad, I worry about whether he'll be able to take care of himself in this world. So far, not a lot of evidence in that direction.
Even though I'm writing about negative and worrisome stuff, the fact is that I'm ascending somehow. I felt the beginnings of it yesterday as I was driving to a library gig in the town of Sheridan, which is northwest of Salem. It was nice weather, cool and fresh, and when I got into the countryside, it was just gorgeous. Something about the hills and sun and clean air made me remember my song called Oregon Trail, and I started singing it in my mind, trying to remember the lyrics in case I wanted to use it at the show.
We come out from Tennessee, Maryland, Missouri
Streaming like a salmon run
We was heading to Oregon
Hard traveling hard times
But you better not fail
Push on, no turning back
Westward Oregon Trail
Hodown, let's go down
Down to the river running
Wheels turn, people spin
Round 'em up and reel 'em in
Even though it was an outdoor show, not my favorite idea, it was GREAT. I had big energy, everyone had a great time and I felt good about being able to pull it off for all ages, which ain't that easy to do. The kids loved it, the grandmas loved it, the librarian loved it and I loved it. Playing in the park, knowing what to do in the moment, keeping their attention and their energy it was a blessed show, and perhaps a turning point toward the positive. Still feeling good today, have a couple of gigs this afternoon and I'm looking forward to making music and lifting spirits, not the least of which is my own...
Me, I'm a bit of a slacker too, but an insomniac version, so I'm always up early and wanting to exercise in the early part of the day. Nice how that works out.
I've been in a low level funk recently, self critical, unmotivated and creatively stale. Seems like I've been going through the motions, and that's been accompanied by a feeling that maybe I've lost the mojo. Maybe it's downhill from here. It hasn't become a 'crisis of confidence', but I do wonder if I've missed the boat sometimes.
Something happened after I got back from Thailand which, in retrospect, was a big blow to my psyche, so I might as well try and describe it, and maybe lift it off my neck. Not surprisingly, it has to do with creativity. While I was there, I went through an intensely wonderful period of creative effort. I had time, space, a guitar and not a lot of distractions, and it was thrilling to write a bunch of really well crafted songs, some of my best ever. The high....
And then I get back and start recording some of them, nothing fancy, but I wanted to at least commit them to tape or video or whatever. And then comes the inevitable slide into despair, knowing that I don't have what it takes to translate the creativity into money, mass awareness, fame (don't really want that), success (that word again), all of the 'shoulds' that can deflate the high into a familiar, frustrated and powerless low. It's yet another reprise of the 'he's so talented, why don't more people get to enjoy it' curse.
I wonder why I buy into it so much. Seems like it would be more fun to just enjoy the ride and leave that stencil behind. Perhaps if I were to simply accept the fact that I don't have the kind of makeup to handle all of the 'shoulds'. I suppose I've seen it as some kind of character flaw on my part, and sure, you could make the case, but maybe there's another case to be made? I'm sick of this fucking case, frankly. (I've resisted the urge to use the word 'fucking' at least three times so far in this post, such is the emotional nature of the subject I'm writing about).
And there's another source of unhappiness and worry which has been very present lately, and that is my son's retreating into his cocoon of video games, sleep and ennui, which makes me look like a world beater in comparison. I worry about him and his apparent unpreparedness for entering into the stream of life. He doesn't want to work, doesn't want to wake, doesn't want to this, doesn't want to that, and of course I wonder if it's my fault. It's almost like a cosmic joke, only it ain't particularly funny at this point.
I don't really know how to be a father, don't know how to inspire or mold or teach or go fishing or do carpentry or those fatherly things one is 'supposed' to do. What I did do was pay the child support, go get him unfailingly every summer, bring him down from Alaska, spend the summer with him, a lot of sitting around, true, but oh well, we sat around together. (And I do give myself props for hanging in there, because after the divorce, Jamila was such a vindictive bitch that she made it really hard for me to persevere. But I did). He always knew that I was his dad and that I loved him. We played sports, went on trips, hung out, had some good talks, but I never quite got the hang of board games or science or discovery and if I could do it again (which I don't want to do), I'd find a way to be more creative with it.
So who knows, maybe his personality is just very laid back and wanting to not engage with the world. And I can't really blame him, given my own beliefs about the state of the world and the end of the bubble. Part of me wants to kick his ass into gear to find something he would be passionate about, and another part figures that it's his life and he gets to live it the way he wants, even if I think it's fearful and escapist. I'm escapist too, but I don't think I'm all that fearful.
Really I just want to see him find something to get him out of his little womblike entropy state. I was fantasizing about taking a little trip with him, telling him to bring a jacket and then just dumping him off a couple hours or more from home and letting him figure it out. Go ahead dude, start surviving, have an adventure, use your wits, get off the fucking couch. He seems to have no self-confidence, no desire to actually do anything. And as his dad, I worry about whether he'll be able to take care of himself in this world. So far, not a lot of evidence in that direction.
Even though I'm writing about negative and worrisome stuff, the fact is that I'm ascending somehow. I felt the beginnings of it yesterday as I was driving to a library gig in the town of Sheridan, which is northwest of Salem. It was nice weather, cool and fresh, and when I got into the countryside, it was just gorgeous. Something about the hills and sun and clean air made me remember my song called Oregon Trail, and I started singing it in my mind, trying to remember the lyrics in case I wanted to use it at the show.
We come out from Tennessee, Maryland, Missouri
Streaming like a salmon run
We was heading to Oregon
Hard traveling hard times
But you better not fail
Push on, no turning back
Westward Oregon Trail
Hodown, let's go down
Down to the river running
Wheels turn, people spin
Round 'em up and reel 'em in
Even though it was an outdoor show, not my favorite idea, it was GREAT. I had big energy, everyone had a great time and I felt good about being able to pull it off for all ages, which ain't that easy to do. The kids loved it, the grandmas loved it, the librarian loved it and I loved it. Playing in the park, knowing what to do in the moment, keeping their attention and their energy it was a blessed show, and perhaps a turning point toward the positive. Still feeling good today, have a couple of gigs this afternoon and I'm looking forward to making music and lifting spirits, not the least of which is my own...
I Guess I Need a Job (he said idly)
I decided to take some of those Facebook jokes I've been infatuated with for the past week and turn them into a song. It's a song for word nerds, people who like wordplay and puzzles. Will Shortz would dig it, I'm guessing. And I think I'd sing it with pauses for the audience to chime in, with maybe the punchline or even a different funny possibility. Some kind of audience participation comedy piece.
'I guess I need a job', he said idly
‘With those baggy jeans, you shouldn’t bend over’, he cracked
'That's right, I left you', he yelled with abandon
'I don't feel so good', he croaked
'Breast milk is very healthy’, she expressed
'I hope I don't get Alzheimers', he said absent-mindedly
'Cocaine is for losers', she snorted
'That's redundant' he said over and over again
'You're no Sinatra', she said frankly
'It's just a little tumor', he insisted
'Need some help with the yard work?' he offered rakishly
’Everyone to the back of the boat’, he said quite sternly
That’s a lye, he said caustically
'Ham and cheese on white', he said wryly
'Get a life', he said dead seriously
'Blueberry or multi grain? He waffled
'OK now cut it out!' she snipped
'I'm outa here', he said absently
'That's my third birdie', he crowed
‘Maybe we should close the window’, she opined
.
Here are a few for the bullpen:
He was so excited, he splurged on a brand new suit
'That's gross' he said 144 times.
More to come...
'I guess I need a job', he said idly
‘With those baggy jeans, you shouldn’t bend over’, he cracked
'That's right, I left you', he yelled with abandon
'I don't feel so good', he croaked
'Breast milk is very healthy’, she expressed
'I hope I don't get Alzheimers', he said absent-mindedly
'Cocaine is for losers', she snorted
'That's redundant' he said over and over again
'You're no Sinatra', she said frankly
'It's just a little tumor', he insisted
'Need some help with the yard work?' he offered rakishly
’Everyone to the back of the boat’, he said quite sternly
That’s a lye, he said caustically
'Ham and cheese on white', he said wryly
'Get a life', he said dead seriously
'Blueberry or multi grain? He waffled
'OK now cut it out!' she snipped
'I'm outa here', he said absently
'That's my third birdie', he crowed
‘Maybe we should close the window’, she opined
.
Here are a few for the bullpen:
He was so excited, he splurged on a brand new suit
'That's gross' he said 144 times.
More to come...
Current with the current
I went to a gathering last night, a peripheral friend was having a retirement party, and even though I wasn't invited, I figured it was fine to show up, and indeed it was. Karen just completed a thirty year career as a high school art teacher in Springfield, and unlike many folks I know who teach art to the masses, she found a way to keep centered and energized and fulfilled. Talk about success! Now she gets to retire (whatever that means), and she's one of the winners who is still healthy and vibrant, and now gets paid to not have to work. Mazel Tov.
The party consisted mostly of white 50 and 60 somethings, some of her teacher friends, some of her artist friends, some of her river friends, as she and her husband David are avid outdoors people. It was a white group with one exception, and for some reason, I was very struck by the whiteness of it all, and not in a good way. Good people, good food, good music (for the most part) and very white.
I had an excellent talk with two folks I had never met before, as we lingered below while the rest of the party went up to the barn for some live music. I can't seem to find their cards this morning but I remember their names, Sandy Harder, she's a graphic designer and her husband David (I think it was) Laub. I definitely remember his last name, as it is contained inside my name Glauber. I asked him what it means, and he said 'Forest'. Which was kind of cool, as we were in a forested setting outside of Eugene, with the sun setting and evergreens all around. It was beautiful.
The three of us had an excellent conversation, full of laughter and insight. At one point, when I found out that Sandy was from Bethlehem, PA, I mentioned that 'do you know that Bethlehem comes from the Hebrew 'beit lechem' house of bread? They didn't know that, and David mentioned 'see, you learn something every day'. He told me that they've turned the big steel mill into an enormous casino, and if that is not a great metaphor for the state of the US economy, I don't know what is. It's a potent image.
But the reason I'm writing about the conversation is because at a certain point, I felt extremely comfortable with them, enough to change the subject completely and throw in a curve ball. I started by saying something like 'This is totally off topic, and you may think I'm weird', which made Sandy perk her ears up and say something about 'uh oh, that's quite an introduction'. She said it with a smile and it was all good vibes, but I guess that's the 'meta conversation' that is so appealing to me. Talking about talking or something like that. Anyhow I wanted their feedback on my existential dilemma of the moment... not because I wanted to be the center of attention, but because I had a sense that they were both quite wise and I wanted to hear what they had to say. And my intuition was correct.
The dilemma goes something like this: If the whole thing is crumbling and there is no future in this society, how do you plan and act and plant as if there is a future? I'm not saying that my premise is correct, but damn, it sure seems like things are heading in a Niagara Falls kind of direction. I think I understand my own decision making process, which has been to not engage fully in a future-less system. But I was curious as to how these folks, who seem bright, artistic, smart and positive deal with the same Oregon society in which we find ourselves.
David started talking, and talked about the idea of 'faith'. This is the time when you need to have some belief that the earth will be here, people will be here. He contrasted that with the prophets of doom, who although they take about 'ye of little faith' maybe it's them that are actually the faithless ones. This is a paraphrase, and I added something to it as well, but his offering was in the realm of faith and belief. And that was a very beautiful thing for this reason. Here we were, sitting in a gorgeous, forested setting, the moon rising, the light fading while Mr Forest (Laub) is speaking from the heart about 'faith' to Mr Believer (Glauber). Is there a word for the perfection of that moment? Nothing comes to mind. Or how bout this? I am he as you are he... Our names are so similar, his fits inside of mine, and we had a moment of revelation there in the woods. Perfection.
And then Sandy wanted to chime in, and I made a joke and said, 'No it's OK, I just wanted to hear from David' as if I were some kind of male chauvinist pig, and we all laughed about it. But what she shared was equally pertinent and helpful, especially when she put it in terms that rang a bell with me. She said, 'I feel like a more successful person when I'm working on some kind of a plan. Even if it's for just a three week project, or a six month time period' Something about her use of the word 'success' really hit me, in that it was a different definition of that word, and it was one that I could embrace, rather than run away from. In the past, 'success' was such a fearful concept; in my mind it was an all or nothing lifetime test. You're either a 'success' or a 'failure', and it had a lot to do with money and striving, and chances are that I wasn't going to like the results. But here was a more parsed out definition of that bogey man, one in which you could experience 'success' a day at a time or a week at a time. Maybe I don't have to throw out the baby with the bath water and reject the whole notion of 'success'. So yeah, I'm going to think about a small project that I want to accomplish and then enjoy the fruits that can come along with it. One little step at a time. Thanks you, new friends. Thank you forest and moon.
The party consisted mostly of white 50 and 60 somethings, some of her teacher friends, some of her artist friends, some of her river friends, as she and her husband David are avid outdoors people. It was a white group with one exception, and for some reason, I was very struck by the whiteness of it all, and not in a good way. Good people, good food, good music (for the most part) and very white.
I had an excellent talk with two folks I had never met before, as we lingered below while the rest of the party went up to the barn for some live music. I can't seem to find their cards this morning but I remember their names, Sandy Harder, she's a graphic designer and her husband David (I think it was) Laub. I definitely remember his last name, as it is contained inside my name Glauber. I asked him what it means, and he said 'Forest'. Which was kind of cool, as we were in a forested setting outside of Eugene, with the sun setting and evergreens all around. It was beautiful.
The three of us had an excellent conversation, full of laughter and insight. At one point, when I found out that Sandy was from Bethlehem, PA, I mentioned that 'do you know that Bethlehem comes from the Hebrew 'beit lechem' house of bread? They didn't know that, and David mentioned 'see, you learn something every day'. He told me that they've turned the big steel mill into an enormous casino, and if that is not a great metaphor for the state of the US economy, I don't know what is. It's a potent image.
But the reason I'm writing about the conversation is because at a certain point, I felt extremely comfortable with them, enough to change the subject completely and throw in a curve ball. I started by saying something like 'This is totally off topic, and you may think I'm weird', which made Sandy perk her ears up and say something about 'uh oh, that's quite an introduction'. She said it with a smile and it was all good vibes, but I guess that's the 'meta conversation' that is so appealing to me. Talking about talking or something like that. Anyhow I wanted their feedback on my existential dilemma of the moment... not because I wanted to be the center of attention, but because I had a sense that they were both quite wise and I wanted to hear what they had to say. And my intuition was correct.
The dilemma goes something like this: If the whole thing is crumbling and there is no future in this society, how do you plan and act and plant as if there is a future? I'm not saying that my premise is correct, but damn, it sure seems like things are heading in a Niagara Falls kind of direction. I think I understand my own decision making process, which has been to not engage fully in a future-less system. But I was curious as to how these folks, who seem bright, artistic, smart and positive deal with the same Oregon society in which we find ourselves.
David started talking, and talked about the idea of 'faith'. This is the time when you need to have some belief that the earth will be here, people will be here. He contrasted that with the prophets of doom, who although they take about 'ye of little faith' maybe it's them that are actually the faithless ones. This is a paraphrase, and I added something to it as well, but his offering was in the realm of faith and belief. And that was a very beautiful thing for this reason. Here we were, sitting in a gorgeous, forested setting, the moon rising, the light fading while Mr Forest (Laub) is speaking from the heart about 'faith' to Mr Believer (Glauber). Is there a word for the perfection of that moment? Nothing comes to mind. Or how bout this? I am he as you are he... Our names are so similar, his fits inside of mine, and we had a moment of revelation there in the woods. Perfection.
And then Sandy wanted to chime in, and I made a joke and said, 'No it's OK, I just wanted to hear from David' as if I were some kind of male chauvinist pig, and we all laughed about it. But what she shared was equally pertinent and helpful, especially when she put it in terms that rang a bell with me. She said, 'I feel like a more successful person when I'm working on some kind of a plan. Even if it's for just a three week project, or a six month time period' Something about her use of the word 'success' really hit me, in that it was a different definition of that word, and it was one that I could embrace, rather than run away from. In the past, 'success' was such a fearful concept; in my mind it was an all or nothing lifetime test. You're either a 'success' or a 'failure', and it had a lot to do with money and striving, and chances are that I wasn't going to like the results. But here was a more parsed out definition of that bogey man, one in which you could experience 'success' a day at a time or a week at a time. Maybe I don't have to throw out the baby with the bath water and reject the whole notion of 'success'. So yeah, I'm going to think about a small project that I want to accomplish and then enjoy the fruits that can come along with it. One little step at a time. Thanks you, new friends. Thank you forest and moon.
Starts with a D
Depressed? not quite. Dispirited? kinda. Despondent? not exactly. Diminished? not exactly. Disaffected? I'd say so. Dried up? I wouldn't think so. Despairing? nope. Determined? nope. Destitute? not hardly. Defunct? not yet. Derelict? at times. Dreadful? rarely. Dejected? that works. Done? nope. Driven? uh, no. (that's a good one, 'driven'. What's the opposite of driven?) But I digress... If I were to grade myself lately, hmmm, what grade would it be? That's right, a C (he laughed, with a phlegmatic rasp)
And I'm thinking of all those 'D' words and the one that I just hit upon feels the truest somehow. 'Decathecting' And the spell checker underlines it as if I made a mistake, but I don't think I did. I remember that word from a long time ago. Was it part of Kubler Ross' steps to dying? You know, anger, resignation, that kind of stuff? Because it's there in my memory bank, and before I enlist senor Google's assistance, (before I 'defer'), I'll take a crack at defining the term.
I believe that it means separating oneself from the things of this life, perhaps to ease the transition into death. Letting go of stuff. Here is one definition: to withdraw one's feelings of attachment from (a person, idea, or object), as in anticipation of a future loss: He decathected from her in order to cope with her impending death.
I'm good at letting go. My history tells me so.
Not so good at holding on when all we have will soon be gone
I'm good at letting go.
I wonder which came first, the not chicken or the not egg? In other words, am I good at letting go because it's in the true nature of things that we are born alone and die alone. Or am I flawed in some way, unable to connect over time, and somehow I've parlayed that quality into a philosophy of the 'decathect effect'.
But I've been working on this philosophy the whole of my adult life somehow, never taking 'society' all that seriously. Never buying in to the myth of the American dream. It's a myth for me anyhow, though it's real for millions, or at least used to be. I am the American dream, born in prosperity, not needing to struggle to stay afloat, and ironically, that gives me the perspective to reject the American dream.
As a side note, the person in my life who most personifies the American dream is my Chinese friend Ted Tang who at the age of 18, swam into Hong Kong in the middle of the night, avoiding the guards and spotlights, arrived wet and cold, found his people, started working, worked his way to San Francisco, worked his way into owning a restaurant in Eugene, put his kids through college and is living in a big house on the hill. Well deserved, sir.
Me, the opposite. I remember being a teenager, going into New York City from White Plains. It's maybe twenty miles to Grand Central Station and the ride goes from leafy suburbs to increasingly grey city, with brick businesses getting more and more dense the further south you go. I remember looking at all of the businesses I passed along the way, building supply places, factories, plumbing supply joints, retail stores, all the possibilities of things that adults do, and I just hated all of it. It looked so bleak and uninviting. I wanted nothing to do with any of it. If this is what being an 'adult' is, uh, no thanks.
Rejection. And when I went to college, somehow I began studying philosophy and I came to Herbert Marcuse and his 'Great Refusal', from the book 'One Dimensional Man' which definitely corresponded to the way I looked at things. this from Senor Google.. "The work offers a wide-ranging critique of both contemporary capitalism and the society in the Soviet Union, documenting the parallel rise of new forms of social repression in both these societies as well as the decline of revolutionary potential in the West. He argued that "advanced industrial society" created false needs, which integrated individuals into the existing system of production and consumption via mass media, advertising, industrial management, and contemporary modes of thought.[1]
This results in a "one-dimensional" universe of thought and behaviour in which aptitude and ability for critical thought and oppositional behaviour wither away. Against this prevailing climate, Marcuse promotes the "great refusal" (described at length in the book) as the only adequate opposition to all-encompassing methods of control. Much of the book is a defense of "negative thinking" as a disrupting force against the prevailing positivism.
And now at age 57, there is oh so much more to refuse, if one chooses that route, which I kinda do. It's probably not my greatest asset, this refusal to buy into Ipads and smart phones and blackberry's (which are so '2002' by this point). That's the thing for me. Everything is increasing at such ridiculous velocity that it seems absurd to try and keep up with it. Do I need to upload photos of my home renovation onto my facebook page so all my 'friends' can see the new flooring?' Probably not.
As Peter Himmelman sings on 'Impermanent Things' (and do check out that tune on Youtube, it's fantastic). 'So why keep hanging on to things that never stay. Things that just keep stringing us along from day to day'.
I guess the question is 'What's left after you reject everything?' And that's the territory I've been patrolling lately. It's a lonely path at times, yet there are daily examples of connection, music, laughter and spirit which lift me up. I go flower to flower, warmth to warmth, spirit to spirit. I have to rush off now to play for kids, then play for parents then play for seniors. At each stop there will be music and smiles and hopefulness, even in the Alzheimer ward. It should be 'Delightful'.
And I'm thinking of all those 'D' words and the one that I just hit upon feels the truest somehow. 'Decathecting' And the spell checker underlines it as if I made a mistake, but I don't think I did. I remember that word from a long time ago. Was it part of Kubler Ross' steps to dying? You know, anger, resignation, that kind of stuff? Because it's there in my memory bank, and before I enlist senor Google's assistance, (before I 'defer'), I'll take a crack at defining the term.
I believe that it means separating oneself from the things of this life, perhaps to ease the transition into death. Letting go of stuff. Here is one definition: to withdraw one's feelings of attachment from (a person, idea, or object), as in anticipation of a future loss: He decathected from her in order to cope with her impending death.
I'm good at letting go. My history tells me so.
Not so good at holding on when all we have will soon be gone
I'm good at letting go.
I wonder which came first, the not chicken or the not egg? In other words, am I good at letting go because it's in the true nature of things that we are born alone and die alone. Or am I flawed in some way, unable to connect over time, and somehow I've parlayed that quality into a philosophy of the 'decathect effect'.
But I've been working on this philosophy the whole of my adult life somehow, never taking 'society' all that seriously. Never buying in to the myth of the American dream. It's a myth for me anyhow, though it's real for millions, or at least used to be. I am the American dream, born in prosperity, not needing to struggle to stay afloat, and ironically, that gives me the perspective to reject the American dream.
As a side note, the person in my life who most personifies the American dream is my Chinese friend Ted Tang who at the age of 18, swam into Hong Kong in the middle of the night, avoiding the guards and spotlights, arrived wet and cold, found his people, started working, worked his way to San Francisco, worked his way into owning a restaurant in Eugene, put his kids through college and is living in a big house on the hill. Well deserved, sir.
Me, the opposite. I remember being a teenager, going into New York City from White Plains. It's maybe twenty miles to Grand Central Station and the ride goes from leafy suburbs to increasingly grey city, with brick businesses getting more and more dense the further south you go. I remember looking at all of the businesses I passed along the way, building supply places, factories, plumbing supply joints, retail stores, all the possibilities of things that adults do, and I just hated all of it. It looked so bleak and uninviting. I wanted nothing to do with any of it. If this is what being an 'adult' is, uh, no thanks.
Rejection. And when I went to college, somehow I began studying philosophy and I came to Herbert Marcuse and his 'Great Refusal', from the book 'One Dimensional Man' which definitely corresponded to the way I looked at things. this from Senor Google.. "The work offers a wide-ranging critique of both contemporary capitalism and the society in the Soviet Union, documenting the parallel rise of new forms of social repression in both these societies as well as the decline of revolutionary potential in the West. He argued that "advanced industrial society" created false needs, which integrated individuals into the existing system of production and consumption via mass media, advertising, industrial management, and contemporary modes of thought.[1]
This results in a "one-dimensional" universe of thought and behaviour in which aptitude and ability for critical thought and oppositional behaviour wither away. Against this prevailing climate, Marcuse promotes the "great refusal" (described at length in the book) as the only adequate opposition to all-encompassing methods of control. Much of the book is a defense of "negative thinking" as a disrupting force against the prevailing positivism.
And now at age 57, there is oh so much more to refuse, if one chooses that route, which I kinda do. It's probably not my greatest asset, this refusal to buy into Ipads and smart phones and blackberry's (which are so '2002' by this point). That's the thing for me. Everything is increasing at such ridiculous velocity that it seems absurd to try and keep up with it. Do I need to upload photos of my home renovation onto my facebook page so all my 'friends' can see the new flooring?' Probably not.
As Peter Himmelman sings on 'Impermanent Things' (and do check out that tune on Youtube, it's fantastic). 'So why keep hanging on to things that never stay. Things that just keep stringing us along from day to day'.
I guess the question is 'What's left after you reject everything?' And that's the territory I've been patrolling lately. It's a lonely path at times, yet there are daily examples of connection, music, laughter and spirit which lift me up. I go flower to flower, warmth to warmth, spirit to spirit. I have to rush off now to play for kids, then play for parents then play for seniors. At each stop there will be music and smiles and hopefulness, even in the Alzheimer ward. It should be 'Delightful'.
Clever?
I guess I default to 'clever' when I don't have anything going on. Perhaps it's because I have a natural ability to put words together, kind of like an interior crossword puzzle, and it gives me a similar satisfaction to go inside and start making connections and look for the amusing combinations. On the one hand, it's a time waster, on the other hand it's fun. So I'll waste a little time and share some of the stuff I came up with, and then maybe I can get to the thing I've been avoiding.
I started with a little comment, 'I'm not allergic to poison ivy, he said rashly' and it led to a host of similar puns. I guess they're puns for the most part, though I try to make them a little more involved than a simple pun. Some of the others I came up with were:
'Ham and cheese on white', he said wryly
'That's gross', he said 144 times
'I guess I need a job', he said idly
'I don't feel so good', he croaked
'Breast milk is very healthy for babies', she expressed
'I hope I don't get Alzheimers', he said absent-mindedly
'Cocaine is for losers', he snorted
'Need some help with the yard work?' he offered rakishly
'You're no Sinatra', she said frankly
'It's only a little tumor', he insisted
Some others came in from Facebook friends:
'Get a life', he said dead seriously
'That's redundant' he said over and over again
'Swimmingly' he gurgled
'Blueberry or multi grain? He waffled
'OK now cut it out!' he snipped
'I'm outa here', he said absently
'The pastry chef was baked'
When Mike and Peter Martin started writing a lot of responses, most of which were off-topic, I came up with a good line.
'My threads have been Martinized', he steamed. (That one has all kinds of connections and double entendres and attitude) Bravo, Glauber.... (not that anyone cares besides me)
I also came up with a joke the other day after watching the South African runner Semenya take second place in the 800 meters. She's the one who is likely 'intersex' with lots of male genetics, and it's been very controversial for her to run as a woman. It must be an incredibly difficult position to be in and I have much sympathy for her, so it's not cool to joke about it, right? But she showed up and ran, didn't seem that into it and took a second place, almost as if she preferred to not have the attention that comes from winning. I quipped, 'it looks like she mailed it in' ouch... but hey, it's a pretty great line, under the circumstances.
So what is it that makes that original list of quips funny? There are two ways of doing them, one based on the verb, one on the adverb. That's what I do to generate the jokes... think of verbs or adverbs which have two meanings and then see if something triggers my 'funny bone' when I start playing with the meanings. Let me try and come up with a couple right here. Take the word 'crack', like a wise crack. But it could also be a butt crack. So you could have something like
'With those baggy jeans, you shouldn't bend over like that', he cracked.
'Barb is kinda dull', he said pointedly
'I'm not impressed with the Roman bridges' she said archly
'That's quite an abutment you've got there'
'Maybe we should close the windows', she opined
'I hate the taste of yams' she said candidly
'Everyone to the back of the boat!' he said sternly
He was so excited about his hot date that he splurged on a new suit
I started with a little comment, 'I'm not allergic to poison ivy, he said rashly' and it led to a host of similar puns. I guess they're puns for the most part, though I try to make them a little more involved than a simple pun. Some of the others I came up with were:
'Ham and cheese on white', he said wryly
'That's gross', he said 144 times
'I guess I need a job', he said idly
'I don't feel so good', he croaked
'Breast milk is very healthy for babies', she expressed
'I hope I don't get Alzheimers', he said absent-mindedly
'Cocaine is for losers', he snorted
'Need some help with the yard work?' he offered rakishly
'You're no Sinatra', she said frankly
'It's only a little tumor', he insisted
Some others came in from Facebook friends:
'Get a life', he said dead seriously
'That's redundant' he said over and over again
'Swimmingly' he gurgled
'Blueberry or multi grain? He waffled
'OK now cut it out!' he snipped
'I'm outa here', he said absently
'The pastry chef was baked'
When Mike and Peter Martin started writing a lot of responses, most of which were off-topic, I came up with a good line.
'My threads have been Martinized', he steamed. (That one has all kinds of connections and double entendres and attitude) Bravo, Glauber.... (not that anyone cares besides me)
I also came up with a joke the other day after watching the South African runner Semenya take second place in the 800 meters. She's the one who is likely 'intersex' with lots of male genetics, and it's been very controversial for her to run as a woman. It must be an incredibly difficult position to be in and I have much sympathy for her, so it's not cool to joke about it, right? But she showed up and ran, didn't seem that into it and took a second place, almost as if she preferred to not have the attention that comes from winning. I quipped, 'it looks like she mailed it in' ouch... but hey, it's a pretty great line, under the circumstances.
So what is it that makes that original list of quips funny? There are two ways of doing them, one based on the verb, one on the adverb. That's what I do to generate the jokes... think of verbs or adverbs which have two meanings and then see if something triggers my 'funny bone' when I start playing with the meanings. Let me try and come up with a couple right here. Take the word 'crack', like a wise crack. But it could also be a butt crack. So you could have something like
'With those baggy jeans, you shouldn't bend over like that', he cracked.
'Barb is kinda dull', he said pointedly
'I'm not impressed with the Roman bridges' she said archly
'That's quite an abutment you've got there'
'Maybe we should close the windows', she opined
'I hate the taste of yams' she said candidly
'Everyone to the back of the boat!' he said sternly
He was so excited about his hot date that he splurged on a new suit
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