Tuesday, November 27, 2007

A belated goodbye...

Mailer died on November 10th. I had a lot of stuff going on then and I really didn't think that much about it until today, in a belated reading of a special tribute to him in my November 23 issue of Entertainment Weekly. (Check out the great picture of him on a balcony in NYC in 1965).

It brought to mind Armies of the Night, which had a profound effect on me when I read it. It was truly revolutionary, written in the third person, which was a sheer stroke of genius. I remember being so enamored with it that for about a year all the letters I wrote to my friends were in the third person. Looking back, that was a really liberating exercise. For some reason, I was able to get outside of myself more, sort of like the spirit of a dying man looking down on his body.

I immediately had an urge to read something from "Armies of the Night," if not the whole thing. I can't remember whether I still have a copy around but it's a moot point because we are remodeling right now so all of our books are packed away. So, I went on the Amazon site and called up "Armies of the Night" and then clicked on "Search Inside," then chose "Excerpt." This brought up the first few pages of the book and it was like being with an old friend I had not seen for far too long. A definite literary contact high! I may have to go out and buy a used version because it may be a while before the books get unpacked and I may not have it anyway.

Well, here are a couple of quotes from the brawler himself:
The sickness of our times for me has been just this damn thing that everything has been getting smaller and smaller and less and less important, that the romantic spirit has dried up, that there is no shame today. We're all getting so mean and small and petty and ridiculous, and we all live under the threat of extermination.
Ultimately a hero is a man who would argue with the gods, and so awakens devils to contest his vision. The more a man can achieve, the more he may be certain that the devil will inhabit a part of his creation.


Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Ah, The Onion

Never forget to check in with The Onion from time to time. Here's one that's typical of their dark, up-to-the-edge humor.

~ tom

Monday, November 19, 2007

Horace, (but not the Roman poet)

"Jazz is not background music. You must concentrate upon it in order to get the most of it. You must absorb most of it. The harmonies within the music can relax, soothe, relax, and uplift the mind when you concentrate upon and absorb it. Jazz music
stimulates the minds and uplifts the souls of those who play it was well as of those who listen to immerse themselves in it. As the mind is stimulated and the soul uplifted, this is eventually reflected in the body"

~~ Horace Silver

Every time I listen to "Song For My Father" (which is at least a couple of times a year, often more), my mind is stimulated, my soul uplifted, and I'm shore 'nuff poppin' my fingers and bobbin' my head.

~ tom



Olberman rules

I was checking out Michael Lally's blog moments ago. His most recent post is a link to Keith Olbermann's latest rant, about which Michael said:
"Many friends have sent me either the text for this Keith Olberman editorial, or a link to various sites that feature it, so for those of you who haven't seen it: here it is."
Also, check out my comment to Michael's post on his blog.

~ Tom

Saturday, November 10, 2007

Worth a long look...

There is a plethora of great photography on the net. But here's some that made me pause and admire, and then have melancholy thoughts about the ultimate fate of these wonderful, magical animals.

~ tom

Monday, November 5, 2007

Unconditional, lifelong comitments

"... until death do us part."

Sounds great and when we say it in the wedding vows, we really mean it, don't we. But down the road of life, stuff happens and we change. The break up comes, and somehow we move on.

But some commitments, with no vows or artifice attached, truly are unconditional and lifelong. What got me thinking about this was that our sweet 3-month-old puppy , Spenser, got hurt on Friday. I was playing tug-of-war with him as usual and I guess I got too rough, or bad luck rode in, because all of a sudden he yelped and then would not walk on his left hind leg. I took him to the Vet right away and they said they did not think it was a ligament tear or broken bone. They gave him a shot and sent us home.



He's still limping around today and we're going to see the Vet tomorrow, but I have been totally bummed out since the injury: I shouldn't have played so rough; why does this have to happen to him; he's so innocent; what if he has to have surgery, and so on.

All this in turn led me to remembrances of when my two wonderful children were growing up. Wenona, now an accomplished high-level manager at EPA and mother two wonderful grandkids, and Jesse, a senior analyst at Time Warner in Manhattan. I could give you pages and pages of times when they got hurt (Wen being attacked by a St. Bernard at age 6 and literally having part of her scalp ripped off, or Jesse being hit by an Oakland cop car in front of our house when he was about 8), but in all such instances, horrible to small, something primal and visceral happened to me. It was a feeling like "kill me Lord, rip out my guts, make me listen to Kenny G. for the rest of my life, but just let my child be OK." Same kinda deal with my little puppy the other day.

That got me further thinking about all the things my kids did that were pretty awful while they were growing up, which I will not mention here because my children deserve their privacy. But I'm sure that all of us who are parents know exactly what I'm talking about. But the cool thing, looking back, is even though I was ready to blow a gasket in most of those instances, I NEVER stopped loving them and forgiving them, and vice-versa, even though that was far from apparent in the throes of any given crisis. The same cannot be said for marriages, despite the opening line of this post. Why is that?

Even today, with Wen being almost 39 and Jesse being 34, I STILL worry about them all the time. It's burrowed in the back of my mind like some inevitable worm that keeps me from ever forgetting about them for very long.

So, I'm holding my puppy on my lap now, enjoying him licking and biting my hands when I pause to compose my thoughts in mind, and realizing that there really is a higher power in us all, isn't there.

Peace, out:

~ tom