A Never-Ending Search

Some months back, for the first time, I heard pianist McCoy Turner's take on Speak Low, a Kurt Weill standard many jazz musicians play. Listening carefully to Tyner's amazing interpretation, I began analyzing my tepid version of this tune, one I've played steadily for several years. The journal entry I wrote not long after finishing my analysis oozed self-pity. Not my best moment.

Fast forward to a recent conversation with an ex-guitar teacher. When I shared how discouraging it can sometimes be to listen to someone with the speed and superhuman technique of Tyner or guitarist Joe Pass, he reminded me of the days when Miles Davis shared a stage with Charlie "Bird" Parker. What if Miles - my old friend asked me - had allowed himself to be discouraged by Bird's prodigious gifts? Think - he coached me - of what the world would have missed if Miles hadn't used what he learned playing alongside Bird as a path toward finding his own musical voice. 

I've been searching for my voice on the guitar most of my adult life. And I'm grateful for those fleeting moments when it feels like I'm getting close, especially if I'm improvising at the time. But I decided long ago that it's unwise abbreviating and calling myself a jazz guitarist. I'm a guitarist who has studied and enjoys jazz, likes to improvise, and favors tunes from the Great American Songbook and jazz standards. It's a much longer explanation but a far more accurate one. Joe Pass, Wes Montgomery, and Pat Metheny are jazz guitarists. And so is that ex-teacher of mine who reminded me recently to keep searching for my voice and remember that speed is just one element, and sometimes not the most important one. 

Nomophobia or Rudeness?

Nomophobia - Wikipedia

This cranky and contrary old fart is finding it harder all the time to differentiate between nomophobia and garden variety rudeness. And yes I realize that my decision to make minimal use of a cell phone puts me in a rapidly shrinking and marginalized minority. 

That said, I'd like to ask all of you - enamored of or tethered to your cell phone or not - what might have been your reaction had you experienced what I did in my local public library this a.m.? Allow me a brief but wholly accurate set-up.  

Between the lobby of the library and the quiet study area where I placed myself there are no fewer than thirteen signs (counted after the fact) that read "Please restrict cell phone use to the lobby area". This includes one sign on each of the three tables in the study area and one on the wall directly above each. The library lobby is a distance of twenty paces away from those tables (also counted after the fact).

I'm guessing you can predict what happened moments after I sat down. What might surprise you is how the librarian blithely responded after my sheepish request that she intervene with the patron who began a cell phone conversation. "Oh, don't worry about it. This happens every day."

What possible rationale could anyone offer under these circumstances for disturbing others? Didn't see all thirteen signs? Didn't want to walk the twenty paces? What? My frequent use of the library is partially motivated by a wish to avoid the ubiquitous assault of the 24/7 news cycle - abetted by a TV in nearly public space - and the nearly inescapable presence of cell phones, both in the public and private spheres. 

Nomophobia or rudeness?  

A Snob Is Born

When it comes to movies, I am close to being indiscriminate. I'll watch almost anything and put off doing urgent things needing attention when I spot something I haven't seen. In the age of streaming, it's become effortless to indulge myself; my geek cup has runneth over.

It's also been easy sliding into less discernment because, putting aside the "I could be doing something more productive" internal conversation, being a movie geek is a largely benign habit. But I recently stumbled across a downside to my geekdom. And the downside comes wrapped in a little story.

The downside: Being indiscriminate has taken away some of my passion. Because I've seen so many, some of the conventions of genre movies (Westerns, romantic comedies, sports films, musicals, etc.) are no longer as fresh for me. I find myself a tad cynical when able to predict how these types of films will turn out. The story: I've begun to give offbeat, unusual, or non-genre films more credit than they sometimes deserve. Yes, this film geek could be morphing into a snob. This type of thing ever happen to you? If not with movies, how about with literature? Music?  

Occurred to me it's possible this road I find myself on may be the same road professional critics find themselves on from time to time. Ever notice how there are a few critics who rarely seem to like anything a lot of us "regular" folks like? Perhaps those critics have seen or read or listened to so much of what they're paid to criticize that they've gotten cynical, then told themselves a story, and presto = a snob is born. Your thoughts? Strategies to assist me from descending into reflexive snobbery? 

A New Author Worth Your Time

When were you last blown away by a debut novel? 

Weeping through the final paragraph, I couldn't readily recall the last time a debut novel hit me as hard as J. Ryan Stradal's Kitchens of the Great Midwest (2015). Consequently, I then did what any self-respecting bookworm and compulsive chronicler would do. I scoured my book journals. In the end, my rewind took me back to 2016 when Leif Enger's debut Peace Like a River (2001) had a similar effect on me, albeit for entirely different reasons.

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Be Jubilant, My Feet

Stradal's debut is hilarious, moving, and wise in equal measure. Moreover, his architecture is thrilling but completely submerged until the denouement, one of the strongest final chapters I've read in recent memory. And the prose? Exquisite, end-to-end, if you can stop laughing long enough to pay close attention. 

"The three women walked into a punishingly hot wooden building that smelled something like hay, dirt, and excrement being burned in an oven."   

I freely admit a novel called Kitchens of the Great Midwest would have normally not enticed me, even a little. The subject matter telegraphed by the title alone would have rendered a library drive-by improbable. Shallow of me, I know, but there it is. The sole reason I read this book was because a trusted reader who came into my life in early 2024 recommended it to me. If you're a reader, how great is it having people like this in your life?   

Showing Up

A good friend of mine often used to say that half the battle in life was about "showing up". After almost fourteen consecutive years of blogging, I have a slightly better understanding what she meant by that.

Between 10-12 times each month, I show up in this virtual world via publishing a post. Some days I'm less confident about what I publish than on other days. But I continue to hold myself accountable for showing up in the virtual world, regardless. This is not always easy for a few reasons.

First is that nasty inner critic mentioned here on numerous occasions. Equally vexing is the challenge of being reasonably certain I'm saying at least one thing in each post that is really mine. Anyone even remotely familiar with this blog knows how much I enjoy reading. When writing here - unlike my private journal where I can plagiarize to my heart's content - I'm hyper-conscious about claiming only what is truly mine as mine. As recently as two nights ago, while re-reading Emerson's essay Self-Reliance for perhaps the hundredth time, several ideas I had jotted down in my notebook for use in near-future blog posts went out the window. In that moment, those ideas struck me as being far too close to what Emerson had already covered.   

The final reason that showing up - even in the virtual world - can sometimes be difficult is even more basic. What difference would it make if I didn't show up? No difference I guess, except my own sense of being in the world.

Percival Everett

How is it that Percival Everett escaped my vigilant reading radar until recently? What recent reading discovery of yours compares to my astonishment with this man's talent?  

Soon after recovering from the experience of reading Erasure (2001) some weeks back, I made sure to do some basic research on Everett. I'm still unsure why I didn't do this soon after being blown away by James (2024) last fall. Erasure is wildly dissimilar in style, subject matter, and setting, but an equal to James in scope and skill. And whenever back-to-back books by someone new to me have an effect this profound, I'm compelled to know about the author. 

Prior to Erasure, Everett published eleven novels, beginning in 1983. Then he published eleven more in between that earlier gem and James. Add to that at least four books of short stories, six volumes of poetry, a children's book, and more. How did I miss an author this talented and prolific for this long? Considering the number of books released each year, I suppose I should be satisfied knowing a small fraction of the names of published authors. Still, now that I am aware of Everett, some serious catch-up is on the way.    

If you saw American Fiction - a 2023 Academy Award Nominee for best picture - you've already had your first taste of Everett's gift. That excellent, provocative film is based on Erasure and the screenplay closely adheres to the novel. I had some trouble dislodging Jeffrey Wright's expressive face from my mind's eye while reading, especially because Wright portrayed Thelonious "Monk" Ellison in the movie. Monk is both protagonist and first-person voice in Erasure. But "seeing" Wright as I read did not interfere with my immersion in Monk's plight. If you've read more Everett than I - not a tall order - I'm interested to know what you'd recommend I tackle next. I'm a little chastened to admit not one book from his robust catalog rings even a faint bell for me. What gives?  

Reflections From The Bell Curve: James     

Acknowledging Others

In recent memory, I can't recall having had two peak days as close together as this past Sunday and Tuesday. And though it's unsurprising both days involved interactions with people important to me, the lack of surprise brings with it no less joy.

Sunday's interaction with my daughter was shorter in duration because we met in the midst of her shooting a commercial; her schedule was tight. But just those two hours with her reminded me how proud I am of the person she has become. On the train ride home from New York, I filled several pages in my journal musing about my gratitude for her and what she continually brings to my life.

www.beyonddiversity.org

On Tuesday, I flew to Dallas with a friend I've worked with on and off for thirty-five years, someone I've mentioned here a few times since the 2011 inception of my blog. Beginning with when I picked him up for our drive to the airport at 3:45 a.m., we were side-by-side for all but about three hours until 8:00 p.m. Without exception, every conversation - in the car, on the plane, en route to our hotel, preparing for the workshop we did in the late afternoon, de-briefing following the workshop, over dinner - was stimulating, effortless, and intimate. 

I'm a fortunate person in many ways. These past five days have fortified my belief that the greatest fortune in my life is directly connected to the people in it. In my view, acknowledging people who are important to us can never be overdone. Who are some of those people in your life? When did you last acknowledge how important they are to you? What was your most recent peak experience with one or more of them? 

Better Off Without Them

How about we reverse the paradigm this year on President's Day? Although I'm all for celebrating the significant contributions both George & Abe made, why not tell me which two presidents you think we would have been better off without? Just a few guidelines before you nominate your two dodos.

* Confine nominations to the presidents who served in the only two full centuries the nation has lived through so far, i.e., the 19th and the 20th. I know this guideline might annoy some of you because of the serious shenanigans we've already endured in the 21st century. But I'd like this to be more about rear-view mirror history than present-day ranting, even if that ranting is justified. Besides, confining your choices to one president from each full century gives you a lot more possibilities to consider.   

* In the 19th century, neither William Henry Harrison nor James Garfield lived long enough to be fairly judged so leave those two out. 

* However, all the accidental presidents - e.g., John Tyler in the 19th century and Gerald Ford in the 20th - are legitimate candidates for your scorn. Ready for my nominations?

From the 19th century, I nominate Andrew Johnson - one of those accidental guys, BTW - for how quickly he began trying to dismantle pieces of Lincoln's legacy. In addition, Johnson holds the dubious distinction of being our first chief executive to be impeached, although he - like the other two with an asterisk next to their names - escaped being convicted by the Senate. By one vote.  

From the 20th century, I struggled more to make a final selection, especially because I've been around since Harry Truman held the highest job. But in the end, at least for me, Warren G. Harding eased out his serious competitors for someone we would have been better without. There have arguably been more corrupt administrations before and after Harding's, but his stands out for its blatant audacity. 

Why not join me in some harmless historical revisionism? Look at it this way. The only living person's feelings you can hurt are Bill Clinton's. I suspect he's heard worse.