Orchestral Variants

Not to get weird on you or anything, but I think there's another me from an alternate universe floating around out there somewhere.

Or maybe he's floating around in here and just comes to visit me in my head sometimes. Or, maybe that's way too philosophical. Or, maybe I just need medication.

Its just that he came to visit while I was listening to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra a couple of days ago. This other Dave exists in a universe that differs from our own, beginning when he made a different choice during his junior year of college. Not a specific, "I turned right and I should have turned left" sort of choice like you see in the movies. This was more of an attitude choice, a choice to listen to others or listen to himself. A choice to focus on specific skills or move with natural talents. The choice was a choice to really pursue his dreams, even though he couldn't even see the potential of them from where he was, or to listen to those around him who were encouraging him to learn "marketable" skills, to move in the direction that "real life" was taking him instead of trying to change things around in pursuit of some crazy dream all of the time.

From that point on, this alternate Dave's future...now his present...became much different than mine.

Now, I know that nearly all of us have been rock stars in our dreams. I've certainly used my air-guitar to rocket myself to stardom numerous times in front of numerous mirrors, and I'm sure that most of you have, as well. This other Dave (shall we call him "Alternate Dave?") succeeded. He actually played guitar. He had picked it up after I had stopped focusing on keyboards during my brief experience as a music major. Except he had stayed with the keyboards...and the drums as well...and picked up the guitar later. I admire Alternate Dave's taste in music...he likes a good rock n' roll guitar line just as much as I do. He also appreciates classical and jazz just as much as I do...that's why he plays with TSO, you see. He also writes for them, though. He writes lyrics, and writes stories on their CD jackets. He's involved in directing the stage production of their performances, as well. He uses all of these random talents that I've used only sporadically (and then only seriously in the past 5 years) and uses them together, not to be successful, but just to do what he loves, and let the rest work itself out.

The difference is the guitar. I don't think you'd want to hear what would happen if I picked up a guitar.

I write this only to say that I'm really jealous of Alternate Dave. I wish I was using all of the things I love and pursuing them for a living. That would just be cool. I wonder if Alternate Dave would consider trading places with me, even if just for a little while? Or better yet, perhaps he can give me pointers on how to re-arrange this particular reality. After all, its never too late, right?

Even better, because things might become strange in my head if I start quoting Alternate Dave, what if you gave me advice?

Go for it. My comment chain awaits.

Photo Atribution: 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/mc_sensei/ / CC BY-SA 2.0

Stopwatch

I had an amazing idea this weekend. What would happen if, all over the world, simultaneously, everyone of all occupations and faiths and ethnicities, just paused. Just stopped to consider. Just took a moment. What if all of the noise stopped, all the broadcasting ceased, for just, say, five minutes. Quiet. Only people talking to each other, and then only if they chose. More importantly, time for everyone to talk to themselves, to listen to themselves.

Well, logistically, I suppose that's fraught with complication. Whenever that moment happened to occur, a large percentage of the world would be in the middle of the night and thus asleep, and so it wouldn't affect them very much. So, we'd have to do this on a sort of rolling deployment, to occur at, say, 10:00 a.m. local time. Ultimately, though, I'm more interested in what would happen as a result.

I had a slow morning Saturday. I love slow Saturday mornings. Scratch that....I adore them. Wake up at 10:00, get around to breakfast by 11:00, not leave the place until 2:00 after several cups of coffee, reading, conversation, and all those around-the-house things you've been meaning to do all week. That's just one of the finer pleasures in life to me. When I finally did get out and about, though, life became sort of hectic again. No matter how much I attempt to avoid a materialistic Christmas, American culture still thrusts it onto me. So, we were gift-shopping. And running essential errands (the grocery store is necessary for that annoying need we have to eat). Sunday had a few more errands, and then balancing all of the things we really want to do in our "free time" (something I suspect will be illegal in the U.S. within five years) while juggling real-life stuff...laundry, cooking, cleaning, etc. All before going to see a friend sing last night. There just aren't enough hours in the day, and, ultimately, Karen and I don't even have that full of a calendar, relatively speaking.

Late in the afternoon, I was reading, because that's something I'm determined to make time for. Yesterday was a dark and all around miserable day in Virginia...rainy, grey, and cold. Karen and I were on the sofa in front of the fireplace with our respective books in hand, when the first glimmer of sunlight filtered in through the windows. The glimmer only lasted a few moments, and was gone again. However, it was followed by another a short while later. The second glimmer was even briefer than its predecessor, though. Oh well. I'll take what I can.

A few pages later, brightness came. I turned to see it...I had line-of-sight through the window at the end of our sun room. The sun looked around the building across the street, and right at me. Bright, burning, momentarily even warm, it filled our entire living room and left spots between my eyes and the page after it was gone. This wasn't a glimmer, it was a flare, and it was the sort of event that causes you to stop what you're doing and pay attention. Soak it in. Listen. Be still.

I know its going to sound odd to say that I "listened" to a moment that was a visual experience (I remember a character from Ghostbusters earnestly ordering, "Listen! Do you smell something?"), but I became quiet and listened for those few seconds yesterday. I didn't hear myself so much as I heard quiet, a Divine quiet, a pause in the life of a dark and rainy day to experience light. Not a light that went away, but that asserted itself very strongly to remind us that it is still there and at full power on the other side of the grey, and that it will make its return when it decides it wants to. I listened because it commanded attention.

What would our Christmas season, our work-week, our daily routine be like if we had a moment like this each day? Just a moment where we put our schedules aside and chose not to ignore a hue that commands...or even gently requests...our attention?

What would the world become if we all stopped periodically, became quiet, and listened? I doubt it will happen as a worldwide event, but we could launch it as an event for ourselves, and enjoy the results.

I wish you all a quiet week.

Photo Attribution: 

http://www.flickr.com/photos/robbie73/ / CC BY-SA 2.0

Warp-Speed Requiem

I'm inept.

Well, not skilled, at least. A few years ago, a friend who was in law school told me her opinion: that the higher you move in the realm of academic knowledge, the more common sense you lose. At last reading, mine should be functioning at about 50%. The forward shields took a beating with that last academic encounter, and we're diverting all the extra power to impulse engines to keep from socially drifting. In order to keep power to life support as well, non-essential functions had to be shut down temporarily.

And, with it, common sense in the realm of interpersonal relationships.

Now, people tell I'm cranky. They chuckle a lot and shake their heads as if to say, "Oh, that's just Dave." In fact, they usually tell me that I'm like House, and they're not really joking. Except, its just when I'm around groups of people. Alone, I'm a lot more like Monk.

It bothers me the most when I realize I've done it to family. I miss obvious gestures from my father-in-law that are invitations to build a relationship. I inadvertently speak to my parents in a way that sounds condescending.

To make me feel better, I'm labeled as an "introvert," or told that I "do better one-on-one." In my defense, part of this has to do with the fact that I'm a Northerner that has been transplanted to the South, where politeness and social expectations are of a decidedly different flavor. At the end of the day, though, be it due to academia or whatever other reason, my social common sense has died, and this is its requiem. Or, perhaps its just malfunctioning, and in need of repair along with the other systems.

I'll let you know after the overhaul. Hopefully, the ship will be repaired soon, and able to jump back to hyperspace.

A Modest Proposal

If I might have a moment of your time, permit me to make my case.

I. I caught my share of virtual grief from Facebook friends today. It was the "first snow" of the season in Virginia. Soon after waking, the white stuff began to dust the parking lot outside, and everyone just seemed so happy about it. I wasn't. I dared to tweet my unhappiness. Thus, the grief I received. You'd think that, because I don't like snow, I was un-American or something.

II. This leads me to the observation that one tends to enjoy whatever weather patterns or climate that they might have seen themselves as having been deprived of during childhood. Several of those friends who booed my virtual opinion are those who grew up in areas that saw little to no snow. Conversely, I was forced to deal with nasty North Eastern U.S. winters my entire life prior to 5 years ago. I moved south, in part, to escape snow. While there is obviously still some snow in Virginia, there is significantly less than I experienced during my childhood. If I might be blunt, however...any snow is too much, and if I never saw the stuff again I could die a happy man. I guess I should have moved further south.

III. Is there any worse feeling than being cold? I suppose I might concede that there could be some fleeting beauty in white stuff falling from the sky (usually lasting about 10-15 seconds before it  fades), but as soon as I stepped into the breezeway outside of our apartment today, the cold sliced through me and I wanted to retreat. Then followed the headache of negotiating traffic on wet streets, and being pelted by snow/rain/nastiness immediately upon stepping out of the vehicle, not to mention dragging soggy wet winter into the floorboard of the car with you when you get back in. Seriously, someone tell me what's good about this? And don't even get me started on how much longer it takes to do laundry in the winter!

IV. Snow is accompanied by dreary, grey skies, punctuated by bare tree limbs that scratch at the light-less canopy with their naked, tortured bodies (Did that sound nihlist? My bad). In all seriousness, I suffer from what was previously labeled in the psychological community as "seasonal affective disorder." While the diagnosis technically does not exist in the current incarnation of the DSM-IV, it remains a very real event for me. Take away my sunlight and leave me trapped beneath perpetual dusk, and I get depressed quickly. This began occurring in college, and has grown progressively worse since. So, realize that my opinion comes through the lens that snowy weather really is not a pleasant emotional experience for me.

V. Disliking winter (I really have no use for the season at all) does not make me a "scrooge," as I fully recognize that snow is not a pre-requisite for "getting into the Christmas spirit." If anything, in fact, it probably hurts that process more than it helps it for me.

VI. Incidentally, I'm more into observing Advent than the materialistic mess we've morphed the holiday of Christmas into, anyway, but...that's a post of its own.

VII. So, might I present a modest proposal? And not even nearly as bleak as other proposals of that identification have been. You see, I think there's something to this whole "Christmas in July" concept. Why? Because there's light in July. Besides, if my studies served me correctly, Christ's birth likely didn't happen in the winter, in any case. And light, my friends, is the source of much spiritual imagery in the Scriptures. Recognizing that light was such an important poetic symbol in religious writing, I find it ironic that we observe Christ's birth at a time when sunlight experiences a very notable absence, and we feel forced to compensate by stringing electrical lights around our dwellings in a losing battle to offset the cold and grey appearance of death that we face outside as most of the greenery has fallen and the ground become hard (I know, I know...there I go being nihilist again). So, I say, let's observe Christmas in the summer, and all find warm places to go for vacation in the winter. It makes more sense anyway that you would want to travel from somewhere cold to somewhere warm in December, as that would entail the sense of escape that a good vacation should have...instead of just moving from warmth to warmth. Let's learn a lesson from birds, here, shall we? Migration just could be the answer to many of our ills. This way, everyone experiences more sunlight and its vitamin-D-produced happiness year 'round, instead of just bingeing and purging in our existent lifestyles. And that whole ridiculous mythology about an obese gift-giver finding his way down your chimney? Well, that can be conveniently re-written. Now, he can just leave things by your pool instead.

Besides, I've always thought palm trees had such a pleasant look with Christmas lights on them, don't you? Replace the eggnog with little drinks with umbrellas and...well, now we're onto something! Then, those of us who suffer from November to March would have such a great reprieve from the mess, from the weather delays for holiday travels (I sat in an airport for 7 hours on Thanksgiving day due to fog...how did you celebrate?), and an all-around more pleasant disposition with all of the sunlight we would enjoy.

Yes, I'm convinced. This whole "Christmas in the winter" tradition is just over-rated, and due for a change. Let all of us who have been called "Scrooge" unite and champion the Christmas-in-July cause! Our hearts aren't two sizes too small...its just that our thermostat is set a few degrees higher! Down with tradition, retire the reindeer, and place Santa in a private jet that flies to different resorts. That suits the privileged version of Christmas better, anyway, and results in more profits for the beginning of the fiscal year...just starts things off right, right? More sunlight, more money, more distraction from the holiday's true meaning of Life, love, forgiveness, and family...this plan should go over big.

A perfectly good alternative to having to deal with the difficulties some of us face during winter? That's for the reader to decide.

So, permit me to wish you Feliz Navidad. Especially so if we could all just be warm and dry.

Swashbuckling Dreams

The music is still playing in my head.

Its the normal mark of an auditory learner, I think, to have permanently lodged in our short-term memory the most recent song that was playing before we parked the car, or got off the bus. You know what I mean...you'll be humming it to yourself all day until you're finally leaving the office, or until you have the chance to listen to something else while you plow through your paperwork. There's nothing to be ashamed of in that...it just means that music's staying power and beauty isn't lost on you.

The music in question has been playing in my head since last night. Its not the last thing I listened to on the flight home from the family's Thanksgiving celebration, its not the jazz I played while reading last night. It the theme song to the DVD I finished watching last night in order to return it to Netflix this morning, and it was (cough)...it was an (looking down, shuffling feet)...it was sort of an...a 1980's superhero cartoon theme song.

Okay, I said it. I'm out of the closet now. Last night's bedtime entertainment for me was a DVD of the top five episodes of the first season of He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. I remarked to Karen that something about the sounds of the opening credits and theme song/voiceover took me back to my elementary school days, back to a simpler and innocent time. Maybe I was just justifying it to myself...maybe. More likely, I was justifying my viewing choice to her...but that's okay, she loves me and accepts me. What was profoundly of interest to me last night, though, was watching an animated fantasy series from my elementary school years through the lens of education and sensibilities that come with me in life currently...sort of a metaphysical inspection, if you will. All good science fiction (and all good stories of any genre) have a meta-message of some variety, and animated series are no different. I'm not aware of scholarly discussion about He-Man, although that's not to say that it isn't out there, but I remember the series being of intense interest to me in my young impressionable years. I remember talking on the playground to another guy one morning, the morning of the day that He-Man's premiere was due to air. He asked me if I was going to watch it. I responded with an enthusiastic "yes!" A girl was there. She shook her head and turned to friends to discuss how incredibly immature this was.

He-Man was controversial in the animation world because of its previously un-matched violence in American animation. I can see overtly masculine images and appeal in the show now...it was, and is, all about connecting to a young male audience. He-Man was, simply, the hero we all hoped to be, the other identity that I knew lay somewhere underneath my nerd's exterior, that would surface and run to the rescue should the need ever arise in one of my peers...preferably an attractive one of the opposite gender.

I remember having a dream about a beautiful girl that needed help. I ran to her aid, leading the others in my elementary school class behind me. I was the heroic leader, charging forward to save her honor. Very He-Man-like. I always liked that dream.

You see, every boy...every man...everyone...dreams of being a hero in some regard. We long to leave a legacy, to depart this realm with the knowledge that we've accomplished something, that our lives stood for something and will leave something positive in their wake. Deep down, I always wanted to save the damsel in distress. I always wanted to be a hero to those in crisis. I always wanted to save the day.

Not long after I was out of college, I was driving somewhere after work one afternoon. I remember that my mother was in the car with me. I was  navigating out of a parking lot, when an elderly woman mis-judged a turn and hopped a concrete barrier that stood in the way of a large, ravine-style ditch. Her car slammed down on the concrete barrier rather violently as her tire slipped off the edge. Liquid immediately began flowing from underneath. I got out of our vehicle to smell that it was fuel. She had ruptured her fuel tank, and was attempting to rock the car back over the barrier, creating  the risk of potentially making a spark. While someone else called the police, I convinced the woman to place her vehicle in park, and assisted her away from the car until emergency crews arrived. I felt like a superhero. I felt like I had saved the day.

Maybe I'm making too much of a relatively minor incident, but I like to recall that moment sometimes in the belief that I helped someone. Perhaps I entered the field I'm in with a sort of superhero complex, wanting to save the world, one client at a time. Perhaps that is the alter-ego of the writer...perhaps I write as Clark Kent, while convincing myself that I can leap tall buildings in a single bound as I go to work each morning.

Perhaps that's pretty sad, but I take comfort in the fact that I can at least know that I'm trying to make a difference to others, even if I don't succeed. And I'm not alone, because, if I were, fantasies like the world of He-Man and countless other superhero adventures wouldn't resonate with humanity like they do, existing cross-culturally in genres of literature around the world.

If the only person I've ever helped was the elderly woman that day, then I feel like I counted for something. Even if there was no theme music playing or light flashing of magical swordplay.
That, I think, is why He-Man takes me back to a time of innocence, when I dreamed of what I wanted to accomplish, of the difference I wanted to make. And, that is likely why these stories appeal so heavily to me today, because I hope that I'm not through making a difference quite yet.

That's what I'm thinking, anyway. I may even have more to say later this week, because Inhumanoids is next in the cue.


Photo Attribution:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/wasteofspace/ / CC BY 2.0

The Highly Controversial Subject of Christmas Lights

Okay, this is my first video blog, so be gentle!

My friend who makes a cameo, Renee, is, incidentally, Canadian. You can find her over at Canamgirl's Blog.

The Pressure is in the Process

Continuing the train of thought from last week's post, I was having a conversation with a friend this week about language and its reduction to a utilitarian value...that Western culture, specifically in the U.S., views language only as a means to an end, valuing succinct bullet points and brevity as supreme qualities because of the manner in which they enhance production value. The conversation led us to a similar conclusion about our culture's view of humanity, and perhaps the conclusion that the degradation of the English language is due (at least in part) to the humiliation and de-humanized perception of men and women as lacking inherent self-worth.

At the end of the day, social improvement and reformation accounted for, any industrialized culture will always fight a losing battle to maintain the view that a human being is inherently valuable. The reason is because progress and production are supreme, and thus the things that an individual can make and build take priority over that person's well-being...are seen as being more important to the whole than the person is himself. Individuality is one of the first casualties of this war, and self-esteem quickly follows, because that is simply a luxury one cannot afford when one is trying to make a living.

Certainly, history shows us that we've made progress since the industrial revolution. However, materialism and morality remain mutually exclusive, and thus progress will always be the enemy of personhood, at least at some level.

Lewis spoke of the danger that accompanies the power of art. We are created as creators, and thus are engaging in our supreme life-giving capacity when we engage in creativity. There is danger in idolizing and worshipping what we've created, however, in permitting it to become something that its not. When our creation...be it a painting, a novel, a city, a new computer, whatever...assumes a perceived supremacy over the life of the person who is creating it (or facilitating its creation) then we've degraded that person. Creating is life-giving, unless we, in doing so, take life. I fear that's what may have occurred as we've began to value the product over those involved in the process.

Perhaps to regain a recognition that each person we pass on the street and pay for our lunch and drive past in traffic is, in fact, a person and possessor of hopes and dreams and creativity just like our own, is to regain a passion and a love for our language. Sadly, as long as we continue to treat each other barbarously, then we will treat our words barbarously, as well.