Next up on the reading list are biographies on Lyndon Johnson and Sam Ervin, along with other works by Eugene Peterson and John Steinbeck. If summer reading lists are any indications, this summer is lining up to be a mighty fine one indeed.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
May & Me
May has always been a unique month. For student's, it's the month where spring meets summer, school gives way to freedom, and required reading gives way to leisurely fiction. It's that magical month where the book list you've been wanting to dive into since February can finally be plunged into at full speed. So far, I've finished 2 books that I would highly recommend
First, I read The Presidents Club by Nancy Gibbs and Michael Duffy. Since the ascension of Harry Truman to the presidency after FDR's death in 1945, there has been a unique bond and dependence between sitting presidents and their predecessors. Just as Truman depended on Hoover to understand the complexities of feeding a starving Europe after WWII, to Johnson's reliance on Eisenhower to understand the problems surrounding Vietnam, past and present presidents have relied on each other not because of their party affiliation or approval ratings - but because they are the only people in the world who know the pressures that come with being the President of the United States. The book is not only a pleasant read, but it offers a unique perspective on each of the presidents since Hoover and how each played a part in American history long past when their administrations ended. Of particular interest in this book is the role Nixon played in the Paris Peace Talks of 1968 and his meddlesome ventures to restore his presidential stature in the two decades after his resignation in 1974.
After finishing Presidents, I continued my indulgence into American history (I was a Government major after all...) with the most authoritative (to date) account of the manhunt for Osama Bin Laden and the circumstances surrounding the operation that killed him last May. Manhunt: The Ten-Year Search for Bin Laden - From 9/11 to Abbottabad by Peter Bergen includes information gleaned from interviews with past, current, and classified individuals who played a role in the hunt for Bin Laden around the world. Reading this book, you see how close US forces came to getting Bin Laden in Tora Bora in 2001 and the frustration of several "what if?" questions that might lead you to question why America didn't do more. Still, the riveting deliberations surrounding the mission into Pakistan will leave you all the more in awe of American diplomacy, military capabilities, and the resolves of a dedicated group of SEALs.
Next up on the reading list are biographies on Lyndon Johnson and Sam Ervin, along with other works by Eugene Peterson and John Steinbeck. If summer reading lists are any indications, this summer is lining up to be a mighty fine one indeed.
Next up on the reading list are biographies on Lyndon Johnson and Sam Ervin, along with other works by Eugene Peterson and John Steinbeck. If summer reading lists are any indications, this summer is lining up to be a mighty fine one indeed.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Shaq Attack
Yesterday, Shaquille O'Neal tweeted that he was retiring from the NBA after 19 years. I can't tell you about his stats, effectiveness as a team player, or much at all about his overall career. What I can tell you is that he has been a basketball star since I was a kid, and he remained a constant in an otherwise changing world.
Looking back on the players I most remembered from childhood, names like Charles Barkley, Michael Jordan, Shaq and Mugsy Bogues all come to mind. All of them all now finished. I don't have some sort of deep held affection for basketball, but when you hear that someone who has been an icon of sorts for the majority of your life is retiring, you begin to reflect on what all has changed in your life while that person has been a star.
In the time that Shaq was a star player, I grew several feet, gained a lot of weight, lost a lot of weigh, and ended up at a place where I pass a 10 ft. tall bronze camel on the way to work everyday. I went from watching the Power Rangers each afternoon after school to reading John Steinbeck during the moments when I'm not at school or at work.
Shaq's retirement doesn't affect me at all, but it does cause me to pause and think about what happens in the life of one boy who lived and grew while one man played basketball and about the countless others who experienced life while this giant of a man ran the court, recorded some rap, and made some absolutely horrible movies.
Looking back on the players I most remembered from childhood, names like Charles Barkley, Michael Jordan, Shaq and Mugsy Bogues all come to mind. All of them all now finished. I don't have some sort of deep held affection for basketball, but when you hear that someone who has been an icon of sorts for the majority of your life is retiring, you begin to reflect on what all has changed in your life while that person has been a star.
In the time that Shaq was a star player, I grew several feet, gained a lot of weight, lost a lot of weigh, and ended up at a place where I pass a 10 ft. tall bronze camel on the way to work everyday. I went from watching the Power Rangers each afternoon after school to reading John Steinbeck during the moments when I'm not at school or at work.
Shaq's retirement doesn't affect me at all, but it does cause me to pause and think about what happens in the life of one boy who lived and grew while one man played basketball and about the countless others who experienced life while this giant of a man ran the court, recorded some rap, and made some absolutely horrible movies.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Book Review: The Resurrection of Johnny Cash by Graeme Thomson
I'm a Johnny Cash fan. I would be surprised if that was news to anyone. I've managed to amass a mini-library of sorts concerning Cash's career, homelife, spirituality, etc. Some come from the man himself, others from biographers and former bandmates. All give varying accounts on the life of Cash as well as the impact his music had throughout his 50 year recording career.
With the ability to glean snippets of information from each of these books, my interest was peaked with the release of Graeme Thomson's book, The Resurrection of Johnny Cash which, according to it's description, deals primarily with the later-phase career of Cash with Rick Rubin for the American Recordings series of albums in the 90s and 2000s.
Once the book got in my hand, I began devouring the pages like a starving castway at the Sizzler...only to realize that I wasn't very hungry for the dried out, un-inspired, and overtly critical writing of Thomson. Contrary to the book's title and published description, Thomson spends much of his time backtracking into Cash's dismal recording career in the 1980's and early 1990's...a period of time which any Cash fan would just as soon forget ever happened. Of course this period of time needs to be discussed, but Thomson spends more time overall in his book on the failings of Cash's musical career than he does on the acclaim that he received with his recordings with Rubin.
Even when he does deal with the American Recordings series, Thomson fails to provide any new insight or information regarding the recordings. Any information found in his book could be located in countless other books or online articles. Perhaps one of the other major failings of this book would be the heavy emphasis on quotes from other musicians and technicians who worked with Cash at one time or another. Some individuals like Rodney Crowell, Roseanne Cash and Lou Robin have a rightful place in this book but, because he is British, he lends too much creedence and space to individuals like Nick Cave, Will Oldham and Nick Lowe (though Lowe was at one time Cash's son-in-law) and thus dilutes any wisdom that might be gleaned from the overall interviewees.
In short, Thomson fails to deliver the goods that he promises in his book's title and published description. This book neither satisfies the most rabid of Cash fans, like myself, or the novice who picks this book up with no prior knowledge of the man in black. Still, this remains a critically important period of time for Cash's life and recordings and a thorough, broad-scope view still needs to be written on the subject.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Why?
The other day, I was walking my 2-year-old cousin from my house to my grandparent’s house. As we walked along the street, I told him of the time I fell off my bike and broke my arm on that very stretch of asphalt. I had this great story of how I got hurt, and all he could think of to say was, “why?” Each explanation that followed only resulted in more “whys?” It got me to thinking about perhaps the most important question ever asked throughout history, “why?”
Why are we here? Why do bad things happen to good people? Why does the Jersey Shore continue to get renewed each and every season? The simple question of “why” really isn’t all that simple. As people, we want to understand everything, and unfortunately, it’s an impossible desire to fulfill.
As harrowing, as it might be to ask an impossible question day in and day out, I was reminded of the innocence in asking such questions, especially from the perspective of a 2 year old. It shows that one is growing in their awareness. It also shows that the person asking such a question is willing to admit that they don’t know everything and would like to know more.
Many people retreat when they are posed with the question of “why?” This question is perhaps the most dangerous when asked in a religious context. Such questions upset the norm and tip the balance of faith towards ambiguity. But often, we learn more from the questions themselves than what answers human minds can devise to try to offer some sort of answer. Quite frankly, we can never know some things about our faith, and it would be irresponsible to try and fabricate some kind of response to appease a certain point of view. But luckily for us, Christianity IS a faith that welcomes mystery and intrigue. God never chastises us for the questions we ask, but He appreciates the honesty and candor with which questions are posed, understanding that, just like infants, we must ask questions towards those who are older and wiser than us, even if we don’t understand the answer when we hear it.
Why are we here? Why do bad things happen to good people? Why does the Jersey Shore continue to get renewed each and every season? The simple question of “why” really isn’t all that simple. As people, we want to understand everything, and unfortunately, it’s an impossible desire to fulfill.
As harrowing, as it might be to ask an impossible question day in and day out, I was reminded of the innocence in asking such questions, especially from the perspective of a 2 year old. It shows that one is growing in their awareness. It also shows that the person asking such a question is willing to admit that they don’t know everything and would like to know more.
Many people retreat when they are posed with the question of “why?” This question is perhaps the most dangerous when asked in a religious context. Such questions upset the norm and tip the balance of faith towards ambiguity. But often, we learn more from the questions themselves than what answers human minds can devise to try to offer some sort of answer. Quite frankly, we can never know some things about our faith, and it would be irresponsible to try and fabricate some kind of response to appease a certain point of view. But luckily for us, Christianity IS a faith that welcomes mystery and intrigue. God never chastises us for the questions we ask, but He appreciates the honesty and candor with which questions are posed, understanding that, just like infants, we must ask questions towards those who are older and wiser than us, even if we don’t understand the answer when we hear it.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Be the Change You Want to See
On the eve of the midterm elections tomorrow, I thought about putting up a status on facebook encouraging on everybody to vote, no matter their political ideology. However, I detest when people try to sum up their political tendencies in brief, out of context statements, so with that I will say the following concerning tomorrow's vote.
I don't rightly care who you vote for, as crazy as they might be. I don't even care what direction you want to see this country go in. What I do care about is that people become part of the electoral process by exercising their right to vote. We are living in a time where PACs, pundits and patsies inform the public on current events and the political landscape in general. They are the middlemen, filtering what is really happening through their talking points in order to attract ratings, book sales and appearance fees.
Please, don't let Glenn Beck or Rachel Maddow speak for you. Speak for yourself. Millions of people have sacrificed so much so that you could speak up for yourself and become part of the process here in America. Make the most of it. Be involved beyond election day and be a part of any change that you want to see happen in this country and world.
So whether you read Huffington or Drudge, read this: do your duty, vote. Be a part of the process, not part of the problem.
I don't rightly care who you vote for, as crazy as they might be. I don't even care what direction you want to see this country go in. What I do care about is that people become part of the electoral process by exercising their right to vote. We are living in a time where PACs, pundits and patsies inform the public on current events and the political landscape in general. They are the middlemen, filtering what is really happening through their talking points in order to attract ratings, book sales and appearance fees.
Please, don't let Glenn Beck or Rachel Maddow speak for you. Speak for yourself. Millions of people have sacrificed so much so that you could speak up for yourself and become part of the process here in America. Make the most of it. Be involved beyond election day and be a part of any change that you want to see happen in this country and world.
So whether you read Huffington or Drudge, read this: do your duty, vote. Be a part of the process, not part of the problem.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Mask-querade
With my second favorite holiday of the year just days away, Halloween, we welcome it's arrival with changing seasons, mass amounts of diabetes-inducing candies and of course week long monster movie marathons. One thing that always seems to grab my eye most at Halloween isn't something you find trick or treating, or even as your peruse the aisles of costumes at your local Halloween express. No, what I am talking about are the notices that our banks so prominently post on their doors which politely ask us patrons not to come in "wearing maks, costumes or any other halloween costumes."
It's a reasonable request. I mean, if YOU WERE to rob a bank, you would more than likely grab a mask and burst on in there. Masks disguise who we are, hiding just our physical appearance and nothing else. Most people think that masks change us somehow. They hide our true character and allow us, if even for one night a year on Halloween, to be someone different. I mean, who wouldn't want to get away from the norm of our everyday existence? It would be so easy to put on a mask and become someone different.
But, life doesn't work that way. We can't change who we are by what we put on to disguise ourselves, no matter how well we are at fooling ourselves into believing that. Deep down, we will always be the same people - that is, as long as we are looking to change ourselves on the outside. Character and personality are traits that lie at the foundation of our human core, our basic identity.
It's so easy in the society we live in to want to wear more masks, to be more things to more and more people. But, in the process of being many things to many people, we lose our ability to be ourselves. Life was not made to be mired in busyness, to be pulled at by the masks we are so easily fooled into wearing. Maybe we have such an affinity for being wanting to be something other than ourselves because we are not comfortable with who we are to begin with.
Well, take comfort that no one wants you to wear a mask. What people really want, deep down is for you to simply be yourself. And that is all that humanity should ever ask, or demand of you.
It's a reasonable request. I mean, if YOU WERE to rob a bank, you would more than likely grab a mask and burst on in there. Masks disguise who we are, hiding just our physical appearance and nothing else. Most people think that masks change us somehow. They hide our true character and allow us, if even for one night a year on Halloween, to be someone different. I mean, who wouldn't want to get away from the norm of our everyday existence? It would be so easy to put on a mask and become someone different.
But, life doesn't work that way. We can't change who we are by what we put on to disguise ourselves, no matter how well we are at fooling ourselves into believing that. Deep down, we will always be the same people - that is, as long as we are looking to change ourselves on the outside. Character and personality are traits that lie at the foundation of our human core, our basic identity.
It's so easy in the society we live in to want to wear more masks, to be more things to more and more people. But, in the process of being many things to many people, we lose our ability to be ourselves. Life was not made to be mired in busyness, to be pulled at by the masks we are so easily fooled into wearing. Maybe we have such an affinity for being wanting to be something other than ourselves because we are not comfortable with who we are to begin with.
Well, take comfort that no one wants you to wear a mask. What people really want, deep down is for you to simply be yourself. And that is all that humanity should ever ask, or demand of you.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Up North
I'll be frank, I've never left the southeastern United States. Sure, I've skirted through Indiana and Illinois before on the way to mission trips, but for all intensive purposes those regions I passed through were the same kind of environments you can find in any pocket of the Southern US. It's these thoughts of travel that have been awaken in me as I contemplate my upcoming voyage to the heart of the Northern US in just a few short months for a friends wedding: Massachusetts.
I've always wanted to travel, and with the Union just hours away, I'm surprised it has taken me this long to prepare for the journey to the land of Lox & Bagel. It's not that I dread the experience, no I actually look forward to it very much. It's the mass of people that has me thinking. I mean, look at the facts, the number of people crammed into NYC reflects roughly the same number of people who inhabit NC. Not just that, but roads are more liked clogged toilets, delivering the refuse of it's citizenry back to their suburban dwellings night after night.
Of course, I do feel that most of my view of the North has been prejudiced by 2 of my favorite shows: The Sopranos, and The Wire. Both of these gritty HBO dramas depict life in subcultures that happen to be found in the North. Just as we have gangsters and drug dealers here in Harnett County, so they too have the same problems in Harlem and the Hamptons. When you think about it, they aren't so different from us after all. The world is full of people just like you and me, people trying to find a way, a purpose. But most of all, they are finding a way to get by, and what is foreign about that to me?
I've always wanted to travel, and with the Union just hours away, I'm surprised it has taken me this long to prepare for the journey to the land of Lox & Bagel. It's not that I dread the experience, no I actually look forward to it very much. It's the mass of people that has me thinking. I mean, look at the facts, the number of people crammed into NYC reflects roughly the same number of people who inhabit NC. Not just that, but roads are more liked clogged toilets, delivering the refuse of it's citizenry back to their suburban dwellings night after night.
Of course, I do feel that most of my view of the North has been prejudiced by 2 of my favorite shows: The Sopranos, and The Wire. Both of these gritty HBO dramas depict life in subcultures that happen to be found in the North. Just as we have gangsters and drug dealers here in Harnett County, so they too have the same problems in Harlem and the Hamptons. When you think about it, they aren't so different from us after all. The world is full of people just like you and me, people trying to find a way, a purpose. But most of all, they are finding a way to get by, and what is foreign about that to me?
Sunday, July 18, 2010
War Heroes, Blind Dogs & BBQ
Today has been an eventful day. Yesterday, we had a 2/3 dirty 30 reunion in Buies Creek, sans Zach, as Daniel and I made the most of a dreary excursion into greater Harnett county to cleanse our pallets with the likes of Sherry's Bakery, Mi Casita, and of course Sunni Skies. As Daniel departed for Winston-Salem this morning, I departed as well for home in St. Pauls for a family excursion that I have been looking forward to for some time now.
This excursion was to see, and meet for the first time, my maternal grandfathers last surviving uncle, Colin, who at 92 is still remarkably agile and whose memory is as sharp as ever. Colin had just participated in commencement ceremonies for the Marine Corps in Paris Island, SC where he was an honored guest in the graduation exercises. During WWII, Colin served in the Marines and saw action in the Pacific theater of that war, encountering battles in the Marshall Islands, Guam, and the especially violent Okinawa campaign. For years, I have heard my grandfather speak of this last surviving uncle with great affection and pride and I have longed for the opportunity to meet this family member who had such an important link to the history of both my family and this country.
So, my parents and grandparents loaded into the car and we made it up to Thomasville, NC to the home of my grandfather's cousin Athlene, where Colin and his wife were staying, to rendevous with them and an assortment of other elderly cousins and relatives of my grandfather. I had never met many of them before in my entire life, and if I had I could tell it had been a while when they looked at me in disbelief over how tall I had gotten since the last time I had been in their company.
Like any pleasant, God-fearing Southern family, the fellowship included Lexington style BBQ and the growlings of Athlene's blind dog named Elijiah as he struggled to understand what was going on in the darkness that surrounded them. The meal was fantastic. The company hilarious. The chance to meet the oldest surviving member of my grandfather's family was priceless. As I prepared to leave earlier this evening, Colin embraced me and was so grateful for having finally met me. I returned the sentiments and wished him the best until we meet again, wherever and whenever that might be.
This excursion was to see, and meet for the first time, my maternal grandfathers last surviving uncle, Colin, who at 92 is still remarkably agile and whose memory is as sharp as ever. Colin had just participated in commencement ceremonies for the Marine Corps in Paris Island, SC where he was an honored guest in the graduation exercises. During WWII, Colin served in the Marines and saw action in the Pacific theater of that war, encountering battles in the Marshall Islands, Guam, and the especially violent Okinawa campaign. For years, I have heard my grandfather speak of this last surviving uncle with great affection and pride and I have longed for the opportunity to meet this family member who had such an important link to the history of both my family and this country.
So, my parents and grandparents loaded into the car and we made it up to Thomasville, NC to the home of my grandfather's cousin Athlene, where Colin and his wife were staying, to rendevous with them and an assortment of other elderly cousins and relatives of my grandfather. I had never met many of them before in my entire life, and if I had I could tell it had been a while when they looked at me in disbelief over how tall I had gotten since the last time I had been in their company.
Like any pleasant, God-fearing Southern family, the fellowship included Lexington style BBQ and the growlings of Athlene's blind dog named Elijiah as he struggled to understand what was going on in the darkness that surrounded them. The meal was fantastic. The company hilarious. The chance to meet the oldest surviving member of my grandfather's family was priceless. As I prepared to leave earlier this evening, Colin embraced me and was so grateful for having finally met me. I returned the sentiments and wished him the best until we meet again, wherever and whenever that might be.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Taking Down Trees & Putting Up Brick
I just returned from a brisk, sweltering walk to the new library here on the campus of Campbell University when I saw an all too familiar, and unfortunate, sight. Crews had delimbed a massive oak tree outside of the science building on campus that had been damaged and nearly destroyed by a storm last year. Half of the tree was gone, but the half that remained was strong, supporting it's massive limbs and ensuring that all of the leaves would not die, but that they would remain green and healthy for the foreseeable future. Well, that future ended today.
It would be a common enough sight around campus to note this tree removal, but compare that removal of greenery to the massive effort that has been underway to put in more brick "monumentation" around campus. Brick is pretty if you look at it vertically ascending on the side of a building or residence hall. It's not such a wondrous sight when you see it splayed out on the ground before you, with no sprig of grass or weed yet daring to creep under it's skin. I'm all for progress, but I would like to see a more measured approach towards preserving what we have already against what we would like to add to this delicate, beautiful campus.
It is ironic however that more time and planning was probably given to the removal of this damaged, yet thriving, tree than has been given to the potential removal of another massive, yet completely dead, tree that stands next to Butler Chapel. Next time, let's look to remove the deadwood rather than that which is thriving still.
Monday, July 12, 2010
What is Life?
That question was posed by the former Beatle, George Harrison, on his debut solo album, "All Things Must Pass." Though not a philosophical composition by any means (it took him 30min to write this diddy about living apart from another's love) the question is still a very striking one. As a another birthday has passed me by, 23 is no longer the famed number on Michael Jordan's jersey, but my age. An age I could never imagine back when MJ was still playing for the Bulls and it is still hard to comprehend even now.
The other night, I was speaking with Daniel about our advancements in age and remarked how in 7 shorts years, we would be 30. Now, that might seem hard to imagine for someone still in their early 20s, but just 7 short years ago I turned 16. That seemed like yesterday! Does that mean that 30 is just around the corner of tomorrow? I hope not.
Some people are scared to death of the future. You see that fear when middle aged women and men get botox injections and hair plugs. You see it when friends parents try to be trendy and instead come off as tacky. Now, that doesn't mean that when you hit 50 you should buy velcro sneakers and a box of metamucil. With age comes (hopefully) maturity, and with that maturity, a confidence that you are on the right track of a purpose, a calling, a journey. I still have no idea what that journey ahead looks like for me, but with another year under my belt, I'm packing some pretty good experience for the road ahead.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Heat Wave
On the news this morning, the weatherman from WRAL said that today would be the hottest single day in NC in almost 2 years. When you wake up to news like that, you ask yourself why you are going to wear pants outside, let alone even step out the door of your cozy, AC controlled apartment. But so it goes for millions of office workers across the nation and world. Being as I am at my new job at Campbell, sitting in an AC controlled office seems like pure luxury to my past exposures to the heat during the last few summers.
Undoubtedly, the hottest experience I have ever had on the job was at Camp Dixie. 100 degrees wouldn't phase me if I was still working there. 100 degrees at camp means 1 thing only: more kids at the pool. This would usually be good news for me, who would be working the go-karts in the morning and afternoon when the sun would be it's hottest. I figured I would wait a few minutes, see no one was coming, and then pack the show up and go stand in the walk-in fridge down in the kitchen to freeze-dry my sweat.
But almost always, there would be those few kids who, contrary to rational thought, would forgo the comfort and coolness of pool and lake and instead opt to sweat to death in the dirty, noisy go-karts. A more nagging issue about these delightful children is that they would not simply ride one time, thank me with their gratitude and then be on their merry way. No, that would be much too easy. Instead, these children, seeing their was no line of their fellow mates to bump them off, would ride and ride and ride until they got tired out (which never happened).
But, can I blame them? No. Because they are kids, the kind of kids who will have as much fun as humanly possible with the materials provided. I was looking at the situation differently because I had to sit out there while they had fun and make sure that they don't decapitate themselves in the process. As I get older, it becomes increasingly easy for me to appear cynical towards youth and their way of life. But, as Mr. Rogers once told a group of dentists who were trying to find a way to make visits to their offices less painful for children, he simply told them, "Remember, you were once children too."
Thursday, May 27, 2010
I Was So Much Older Then
There was a time, in my youth, when my mom would turn the channel if she walked into a room that had the News on the television. She always said one's life was sad enough without hearing the rest of the world's trouble. I never understood, but I was younger then.
http://www.aolnews.com/world/article/south-korea-vs-north-korea-what-another-korean-war-would-look-like/19491485
http://www.aolnews.com/world/article/south-korea-vs-north-korea-what-another-korean-war-would-look-like/19491485
Monday, April 26, 2010
Highway 27 Hero
On my drive to Buies Creek this morning, I noticed a strange sight as a man had parked his car off of highway 27 and was walking into the road for no apparent reason. And then I saw it. The man had stopped because a turtle was stuck in the median of the road and the driver, fearing for the safety of the turtle, had stopped and risked his own life in making sure the little guy made it across the road. It was one of those moments that make you feel all warm and sweet inside.
Then I started thinking, “how often do I help others like that?” countless times I have seen people stranded on the sides of roads but have never stopped to lend a hand. I have tried, in vain, to save a dying squirrel on the road beside my house. But does the satisfaction you get from helping others in the act or the resolution? For instance, would the man this morning still feel sense of pride in saving that turtle from oncoming cars just to know that it was run over by another car hours later? Would a graduate student still feel like he/she did a great job on their paper even when it is returned to them with a “F” on the cover?
These are all important questions to ask for we cannot know what will happen, or what people will think when we try to help then. We only know that what we are doing at the moment is the right thing to do. The future for them, better of worse, remains uncertain for us all. All we can try to do is the best we can each and every moment, hoping and praying that the future is better than the present for every person and thing we come into contact with.
Then I started thinking, “how often do I help others like that?” countless times I have seen people stranded on the sides of roads but have never stopped to lend a hand. I have tried, in vain, to save a dying squirrel on the road beside my house. But does the satisfaction you get from helping others in the act or the resolution? For instance, would the man this morning still feel sense of pride in saving that turtle from oncoming cars just to know that it was run over by another car hours later? Would a graduate student still feel like he/she did a great job on their paper even when it is returned to them with a “F” on the cover?
These are all important questions to ask for we cannot know what will happen, or what people will think when we try to help then. We only know that what we are doing at the moment is the right thing to do. The future for them, better of worse, remains uncertain for us all. All we can try to do is the best we can each and every moment, hoping and praying that the future is better than the present for every person and thing we come into contact with.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Green Thumb
With my brother in Chi-Town and Daniel preparing to be arrested in Atlantic City, I find myself being the only member of the Dirty 30 in NC for a few days. Currently, I am at home in St. Pauls, preparing to celebrate a joint family birthday this evening for 2 of my aunts. All day, I’ve tried to stay busy doing something outside. If you know me at all, you know that yard work is one of my favorite drugs, and today I’ve had an extra long fix of it.
I can’t remember just when I began to really love doing yard work. Growing up, I detested it. Pushing a mower through knee high grass in the blazing sun was not the way I wanted to spend my free time, especially in the summer. When I was younger in fact, Zach and I would go to my Great-Grandparents house down the street, in hopes of doing some yard work for a little bit of money. As Zach toiled in the yard solo, I would join the company of my Great-Grandfather (Chewy as we called him), helping myself to a Cokie (Just regular Coke) and crackers. As Zach finished a hard days work in the yard and as my television program went off, we would both receive $5, a hug, and a goodbye.
But, as I got older, I began to find an outlet in yard work. I loved being able to zoom across the yard on the riding mower, and I felt like Picasso, as I made sure every sprig of grass stood just right. I cannot begin to tell you how many weeds I have pulled from the soil of the earth with my bare hands. Just today, I’ve probably pulled up close to 100 dandelion weeds. Nothing says progress than a wheelbarrow full of green refuse.
Perhaps the most enticing thing about yard work is the serenity I find in it. My quiet neighborhood offers a peaceful environment in which to connect to nature and to my thoughts. No, I’m not some hippie, but I believe you can learn a lot about yourself just by being outside and feeling dirt between your fingers.
I can’t remember just when I began to really love doing yard work. Growing up, I detested it. Pushing a mower through knee high grass in the blazing sun was not the way I wanted to spend my free time, especially in the summer. When I was younger in fact, Zach and I would go to my Great-Grandparents house down the street, in hopes of doing some yard work for a little bit of money. As Zach toiled in the yard solo, I would join the company of my Great-Grandfather (Chewy as we called him), helping myself to a Cokie (Just regular Coke) and crackers. As Zach finished a hard days work in the yard and as my television program went off, we would both receive $5, a hug, and a goodbye.
But, as I got older, I began to find an outlet in yard work. I loved being able to zoom across the yard on the riding mower, and I felt like Picasso, as I made sure every sprig of grass stood just right. I cannot begin to tell you how many weeds I have pulled from the soil of the earth with my bare hands. Just today, I’ve probably pulled up close to 100 dandelion weeds. Nothing says progress than a wheelbarrow full of green refuse.
Perhaps the most enticing thing about yard work is the serenity I find in it. My quiet neighborhood offers a peaceful environment in which to connect to nature and to my thoughts. No, I’m not some hippie, but I believe you can learn a lot about yourself just by being outside and feeling dirt between your fingers.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Mission: Jersey
Many the time was it my displeasure to walk into my apartment in the Dirty 30 and behold my questionable roommate watching The Sopranos. Despite this unwholesome obsession with the lives of the Jersey-Italian mafia, I have not allowed it to tarnish my understanding of the beauty of Atlantic City.
At approximately 1:00am on Friday, April 23rd, I shall again begin a venture to Atlantic City. I will of course cringe at the gangs and their obvious, broad-daylight activities... until, that is, my arrival at the valet parking of The Bally's! Once there, I shall be greeted by a life of hot tubs & complementary massages; enticing cocktail waitress with comparably enticing cocktails; and the oh-so-inspiring illusions of becoming a millionaire. In sum, all of the components of Materialistic America await me for a weekend of utter relaxation and living above my means. And I cannot wait.
However, this adventure is not without its ancillary purposes. Of course the main objective is to enjoy Western luxury at its finest. However, alternative motives enhance my anticipation. For example, the plans to network with the finest of the Jersey Mafia under an alias (Daniel Tyler Ward). And do not think for a moment that the on-going mission of bankrupting Tyler in gambling fees is lost on me. Oh, no. And to my delight, there is quite possibly no locale which is finer for the accommodation of such aspirations.
My friends, in two days time... Mission: Jersey will be "in progress."
At approximately 1:00am on Friday, April 23rd, I shall again begin a venture to Atlantic City. I will of course cringe at the gangs and their obvious, broad-daylight activities... until, that is, my arrival at the valet parking of The Bally's! Once there, I shall be greeted by a life of hot tubs & complementary massages; enticing cocktail waitress with comparably enticing cocktails; and the oh-so-inspiring illusions of becoming a millionaire. In sum, all of the components of Materialistic America await me for a weekend of utter relaxation and living above my means. And I cannot wait.
However, this adventure is not without its ancillary purposes. Of course the main objective is to enjoy Western luxury at its finest. However, alternative motives enhance my anticipation. For example, the plans to network with the finest of the Jersey Mafia under an alias (Daniel Tyler Ward). And do not think for a moment that the on-going mission of bankrupting Tyler in gambling fees is lost on me. Oh, no. And to my delight, there is quite possibly no locale which is finer for the accommodation of such aspirations.
My friends, in two days time... Mission: Jersey will be "in progress."
Cash'd Out
Earlier this week, I was excited to receive an update from the official Johnny Cash website about the release of a collection of Cash’s albums from the 1970’s. For any avid Cash fan, this is great news…at first. Now, don’t take me wrong and think that this music is bad, as I have not listened to a large amount of it. But, what I do know is that Cash was definitely out of his element, musically speaking, from the late 70’s into the early 90’s and I fear that much of this collection would echo such material.
By the early 70’s, Cash was at the top of his game. He had kicked drugs, married June Carter, begun a successful TV show on ABC and was expanding his musical creativity in a variety of forms. However, with such success, Cash let his creativity flounder. Instead, he sought to continue doing those things that had made him successful in the first place. It can even be argued that his renewed spirituality attributed to his lack of creativity in the recording studio, seeing as his passion and focus had been directed instead towards his faith and family. However, when he began to realize that the times were changing, he began to play music and write songs that were not true to the essence of who he was, and the fans refused to listen to this man claiming to be Johnny Cash.
It stands in contrast that these recordings are being reissued and released just 2 months after the last collection of Cash’s work with Rick Rubin on the American Recording series, ”American VI: Ain’t No Grave” was released. If there is one line to be drawn between the Cash of the 70’s and 80’s, and the Cash of the early 2000’s, it is that Cash was still writing a wealth of songs 30 years ago, as opposed to the numerous cover songs that dominated his last collection of albums.
But no matter what song he has ever touched, Cash has made them all his own. From gospel standards to Nine Inch Nails covers, Cash turned all the music that passed before his eyes a darker shade of black after he was done with them.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Extreme Parenting: Radical Unschooling
I came across this earlier and wanted to hear other thoughts/reflections on this concept.
- Is this too idealistic?
- Will it adequately prepare kids for the real world? College?
- Can this type of learning be more meaningful than a traditional classroom setting?
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Cow Shit & Honeysuckle
In reflecting on my favorite memories from this time of year, two incidents in particular come to mind, both of which pertain to my childhood. As a child, I was a raised on a farm where my dad brought up cows to sell at the local stock market—and by this, I mean a livestock market, not the one on Wall Street. It was on a farm one raunchy spring day that my dad and I were walking out to the truck, and there is a bull…mounted on a heifer in the pasture. My dad simply points to it and says “Son, that’s love.” That was all of “the talk” I ever received from him. And, surprisingly, it really was enough.
The second favorite spring-time memory also pertains to cows and their unwholesome activities. It is this time of year that the honeysuckle starts really exerting its fragrance in the wild. The drive up to our house from the road always smelled of honeysuckle, and cow shit, and it was an oddly enjoyable combination to smell. I always associated with it home.
I suppose here I will leave you, excepting the final statement that sharks are indeed magnificent creatures, and never have I been so grateful to have met one as in the incidence which Tyler describes below.
The second favorite spring-time memory also pertains to cows and their unwholesome activities. It is this time of year that the honeysuckle starts really exerting its fragrance in the wild. The drive up to our house from the road always smelled of honeysuckle, and cow shit, and it was an oddly enjoyable combination to smell. I always associated with it home.
I suppose here I will leave you, excepting the final statement that sharks are indeed magnificent creatures, and never have I been so grateful to have met one as in the incidence which Tyler describes below.
Springtime in the Mountains
After a lazy morning yesterday, I decided to spend the afternoon in one of my favorite places here in the High Country: Valle Crucis. Settled in a quiet valley (hence the valle part), this little community has its natural beauty intact, free from any type of commercial development. It is also home to the original Mast General Store; the rustic charm and vivid history of that place is a reminder of a simpler (and perhaps nobler) America of yesteryear. I particularly enjoy the Mast Store on the weekends due to the fine pickin' (i.e.-bluegrass music) that takes place on the back porch.
I went into the Store to buy my drink of choice( a bottled RC Cola, of course) and happened to notice a grandfather and grandson at the nearby pocketknife display case. The grandson's eyes were wide open, gazing upon those knives with such a sense of desire and adoration. I could overhear the grandfather telling the young boy about the importance of a good pocketknife and the responsibility that comes with owning one (a responsibility the grandfather said would come in "due time"). They continued looking for a little while longer and then moved on to other merchandise in the store. After exiting myself, I couldn't help but think about the correlations to my own life. Growing up, no one enjoyed a good pocketknife more than me. Whether it was carving, cutting, or whittling, I looked for any excuse to brandish the knife I was most likely carrying. I remember the joy of buying an older looking knife at a Civil War reenactment (thinking it to be an impressive piece for my collection) and the disappointment I felt upon finding that said knife was made in Pakistan. While lacking in comparison to other "firsts" in life (girlfriend,dance, car, and so on), it seems receiving your first pocketknife leaves some indelible mark on boys in the South and signifies an important step in the maturation process. I wonder how much longer it will be before that grandson experiences that feeling....
I went into the Store to buy my drink of choice( a bottled RC Cola, of course) and happened to notice a grandfather and grandson at the nearby pocketknife display case. The grandson's eyes were wide open, gazing upon those knives with such a sense of desire and adoration. I could overhear the grandfather telling the young boy about the importance of a good pocketknife and the responsibility that comes with owning one (a responsibility the grandfather said would come in "due time"). They continued looking for a little while longer and then moved on to other merchandise in the store. After exiting myself, I couldn't help but think about the correlations to my own life. Growing up, no one enjoyed a good pocketknife more than me. Whether it was carving, cutting, or whittling, I looked for any excuse to brandish the knife I was most likely carrying. I remember the joy of buying an older looking knife at a Civil War reenactment (thinking it to be an impressive piece for my collection) and the disappointment I felt upon finding that said knife was made in Pakistan. While lacking in comparison to other "firsts" in life (girlfriend,dance, car, and so on), it seems receiving your first pocketknife leaves some indelible mark on boys in the South and signifies an important step in the maturation process. I wonder how much longer it will be before that grandson experiences that feeling....
Jaws of Life - Tyler
With the waves of pollen now gone from every outdoors surface (including my shoes) and with the temperature steadily rising with each passing week, I can once again welcome warm weather and springtime back into my life. I’ve always thought how funny it was that as soon as the temperature drops into the 60’s in the fall, everybody throws on hoodies and jeans; and inversely how everyone throws on shorts and t-shirts and soon as it hits the 60’s in the spring. It is a fair assumption to say that all humans are walking contradictions of themselves.
Some of my favorite springtime memories are very generic: Easter egg hunts, playing outside, seeing my many caterpillars I could find roaming the sidewalk, etc. One memorable spring outing occurred 3 years ago when Zach, Daniel, and myself took a weekend trip down to Sunset Beach. Walking along the shore, we reached the inlet that separates Sunset Beach and Ocean Isle Beach. The inlet area is great for several reasons. For one, it is one of the most secluded areas on the shore, as well as containing numerous tide pools to wade around. As we strolled out to a sandbar in the tide pool, we thought nothing about the aquatic life that surrounded us.
The sandbar was barely visible because of the water flowing over it with each wave. But there it was, a small rounded sandbar inviting us to stand on top of it. I stood there, gazing out over all of the water, feeling one with nature. That’s when we spotted it. Some giant fish that was on the other end of the sandbar where the sand dropped off was resting in the water. As I approached it with curiosity, a gentle waves caused the fish’s body to move ever so slightly. At that moment, I realized 2 things: it was a shark, and it could still be alive.
With those 2 things in mind, I got the heck out of dodge. Before Daniel and Zach could see my reaction, they could hear my body racing through the tide pool and back onto the shore. My fears were calmed but for a moment when Daniel reached into the water and pulled the dead, lifeless shark out of the water. I say I was calmed but for a moment because I knew that Daniel would use that shark to torment me…so I kept on running. As sure enough, Daniel kept on coming, cradling that dead shark and sporting a satisfied grin that I knew was intended for me. As we had our standoff on the shore concerning what to do next with the killer of the ocean, Daniel thankfully opted for a picture with the beast, leaving it on the beach instead of strapping it to the hood of our car to bring back to Campbell (which was his first option).
Springtime is a great season for new beginnings and expectations. It is that preparatory time before summer comes and the warm weather of springtime turns into the sweltering heat and humidity of summer. But how cool the breeze can still feel when you are running from your roommate and a dead shark.
Some of my favorite springtime memories are very generic: Easter egg hunts, playing outside, seeing my many caterpillars I could find roaming the sidewalk, etc. One memorable spring outing occurred 3 years ago when Zach, Daniel, and myself took a weekend trip down to Sunset Beach. Walking along the shore, we reached the inlet that separates Sunset Beach and Ocean Isle Beach. The inlet area is great for several reasons. For one, it is one of the most secluded areas on the shore, as well as containing numerous tide pools to wade around. As we strolled out to a sandbar in the tide pool, we thought nothing about the aquatic life that surrounded us.
The sandbar was barely visible because of the water flowing over it with each wave. But there it was, a small rounded sandbar inviting us to stand on top of it. I stood there, gazing out over all of the water, feeling one with nature. That’s when we spotted it. Some giant fish that was on the other end of the sandbar where the sand dropped off was resting in the water. As I approached it with curiosity, a gentle waves caused the fish’s body to move ever so slightly. At that moment, I realized 2 things: it was a shark, and it could still be alive.
With those 2 things in mind, I got the heck out of dodge. Before Daniel and Zach could see my reaction, they could hear my body racing through the tide pool and back onto the shore. My fears were calmed but for a moment when Daniel reached into the water and pulled the dead, lifeless shark out of the water. I say I was calmed but for a moment because I knew that Daniel would use that shark to torment me…so I kept on running. As sure enough, Daniel kept on coming, cradling that dead shark and sporting a satisfied grin that I knew was intended for me. As we had our standoff on the shore concerning what to do next with the killer of the ocean, Daniel thankfully opted for a picture with the beast, leaving it on the beach instead of strapping it to the hood of our car to bring back to Campbell (which was his first option).
Springtime is a great season for new beginnings and expectations. It is that preparatory time before summer comes and the warm weather of springtime turns into the sweltering heat and humidity of summer. But how cool the breeze can still feel when you are running from your roommate and a dead shark.
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