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Friday, December 20, 2024

Reading Re-Cap: 2024

For this 8th iteration, I had to make some adjustments to the headings I've used since the inception of this series in 2018. First off, no novel I finished this past year that is worth recommending felt like a good fit with the word casual.  And because each of the seven novels I'd previously recommended to casual readers were so uniformly excellent, I chose not to cheapen the heading this year with something not worth the time. I look forward to returning to it next December.     

This year also has the first-ever * attached to novel most likely to be recommended to discerning readers and - as you'll see below - I cited the same title for two headings - most intriguing and most personally useful. In earlier years each of those headings had their own book. All that aside, ignore my headings if you wish when you offer your own 2024 reading re-cap. I've been pleased when readers of my blog have sought out books from either my re-caps or titles offered by others as a comment on this post in years past. 

Novel* most likely to be recommended to discerning readers: James - Percival Everett (2024)  

Reflections From The Bell Curve: James  

I attached that asterisk because after finishing Claire Keegan's Foster a few weeks back, I thought that book would inch past James for this heading this year. But technically, Foster is a novella. Do yourself a favor, discerning readers; read both, soon. 

Novel and non-fiction that most deepened my experience of living: Heaven and Earth Grocery Store - James McBride (2023); The Splendid and the Vile - Erik Larson (2020)

Most worthwhile re-read: The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro (1989)

Most intriguing AND Most personally useful: You're Not Listening - Kate Murphy (2019)

As always, I reserve the right to make an adjustment to this re-cap if anything I finish over the next twelve days surpasses any of the titles above for their respective headings. Given TC Boyle, Elizabeth Strout, and Colson Whitehead are among the authors in my current queue, don't take any bets on this being the final final word. Most of all, I look forward to hearing your re-cap. Bookworms unite!  


Tuesday, December 17, 2024

A Friendship Nourished by Music

Aside from those in your family of origin, which relationship in your life has the oldest roots? What has helped to nourish those roots? 

Bob and I started kindergarten together in 1954. We remained schoolmates and on/off friends through grammar school and junior high. Beginning in 1964, when he drafted me to learn drums to complete the band he'd started, we were virtually inseparable until graduation from Irvington High in 1967.

In our sophomore year of college - me at Newark State, him at Seton Hall - I turned the musical draft around, asking him to round out a group I'd formed as a freshman. The three-part harmony he heard in my trio sealed the deal; we were joined at the musical hip again until spring of senior year, 1971.  

Although each of us knew what the other was up to, young adult life separated us until the mid-80s. In an odd coincidence, it turned out we'd each bought homes less than a mile from one another. After we discovered the proximity, our musical bond helped re-ignite our dormant friendship. We began following a smoking ten-piece band for years. Next: Starting our own families - quite a bit later than most of our peers - and a longer break, except for holiday cards.   

The final movement in this lifelong symphony began over ten years ago, soon after I stopped working full time. Thank you, Facebook. For the last few years, our distance from each other has made regular face-to-face contact more challenging. But not long after having lunch together last month, it dawned on me that my relationship with Bob had now entered its eighth decade. Those long periods without contact apparently did little damage to our strong and enduring roots, which have been continually nourished by the most ancient of the arts, music.   

Sunday, December 15, 2024

Making the Effort

I'm comfortable asserting that there are few things guaranteed to make a more positive impression than folks who remember our name after meeting us just one time. Ever stopped to consider why such a simple thing as hearing someone you hardly know use your name has such an outsized impact on you? 

Spending lots of time with my new grandson these last weeks has fortified my resolve to continue being that person who works diligently at remembering names. How many times in our early lives do we hear our names said by the people caring for us? Take a moment and think about the imprint our names make on each of us during infancy. Then think about the way you feel when someone new to you uses your name. 

Nourishment, sleep, and touch help us thrive. I'm currently re-experiencing how critical each of these elements are in a new life. I submit that hearing our name satisfies another primal need in all of us, for all our lives. And knowing another person made an effort to remember our name makes that person stand apart from those who don't. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: That Name Thing


Wednesday, December 11, 2024

#73: The Mt. Rushmore Series

For this latest iteration in my most prolific series, I'd like to hear nominations for films that - in your view - best portray fraying or highly dysfunctional marriages. Movie junkies should have little trouble offering up four. The rest of you, please weigh in with at least one or two. 

One qualifier: Try to avoid using any film marriage coming apart for the most obvious reason, the death of a child. Because as great as Ordinary People and Manchester by the Sea are, I'd like you to instead try to recall movies that accurately depict the nitty-gritty of married life, i.e., day-to-day life together, flaws and all. My mountain is listed chronologically by release date of film. Construct yours however you wish. 

1.) Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966): In my view, Mike Nichols's adaptation of the eponymous Edward Albee play set the standard for this type of movie almost a half-century ago. I've often wondered if the tempestuous real-life marriage of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton helped fuel their explosive performances in this groundbreaking film.  

2.) Another Woman (1988): Woody Allen has explored the fraught terrain of marriage several times over his long and controversial career. For my money, this gem - anchored by an extraordinary Gena Rowlands turn - is the best of the bunch. And in the smarmy husband sweepstakes, few have ever surpassed Ian Holm. 

3.) Revolutionary Road (2008): It took forty-seven years for someone to convert this coruscating Richard Yates novel into a movie. What I appreciated about this brave adaptation was how director Sam Mendes and screenwriter Justin Haythe didn't take sides. Leo De Caprio and Kate Winslet emerge as equally flawed and human in this difficult-to-watch, brilliant film. 

4.) Marriage Story (2019): In order to avoid duplicating directors on my monument, I picked this Noah Baumbach film over its near equal, The Squid and the Whale (2003). Tough choice; both movies are close to perfect. In the end, the later film got enshrined on the strength of the climactic fight scene between Adam Driver and Scarlett Johansson. The intensity and complete believability of that scene is seared into my memory. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Two To Zero (So Far)

p.s. Thanks to my film-loving daughter for suggesting a post like this to me several months ago. In the end, the subject was a perfect fit for Mt. Rushmore. Would be sweet if a few people - especially you, sweetheart - chimed in today.       

Sunday, December 8, 2024

Talking to Strangers

Although all the Malcolm Gladwell books I've read previously have enriched me in some way, I suspect Talking to Strangers (2019) will linger with me longest. Which book by this influential contemporary essayist has had a similar impact on you?

Gladwell uses the Sandra Bland tragedy to bookend his persuasive argument that the way we human beings draw conclusions about people we don't know is deeply flawed. His scrupulous deconstruction of the Jerry Sandusky scandal helped me see how hastily I condemned some of the collateral players in that notorious case. A similar aha arrived when Gladwell assisted me to see shades of gray in the infamous Stanford rape case involving Brock Turner and "Emily Doe", who later identified herself as Chanel Miller in her memoir entitled Know My Name.

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Remember Her Name

I'm still more inclined to sympathize with Miller's plight than I am with Turner's damaged reputation. But thanks to Gladwell, the Sandusky & Miller cases, Neville Chamberlain's pacifying of Hitler, and officer Brian Encina's tragic misreading of Sandra Bland's defiance are all filed now in a more nuanced portion of my brain. 

Upon finishing, I frequently ask myself how I benefitted - as a reader, as an aspiring writer, or as a thinker - by spending time with a book. Talking to Strangers spoke to me across all three of those dimensions. What recently finished book landed that way with you? 

    

Thursday, December 5, 2024

The Continuing Search for Holden Caulfield

Of all the characters created in 20th century fiction, Holden Caulfield has to be among the most memorable. Holden's unique voice in JD Salinger's Catcher in the Rye captured the alienation many of us feel during the awkward years of adolescence.

Catcher in the Rye has remained popular since its publication in 1951. But Salinger would not allow any of his books to be adapted to film, meaning Holden has never been represented on the screen. This film geek has lost count of how many times he's cast Holden in the never-made movie. Although not a good fit ethnically, Sal Mineo has stayed in my mind for this iconic part among actors who came of age in the 50's. Which actor do you see as Holden from the decade in which Catcher in the Rye was published   

Can't envision an actor from the 50s you say? How about the 60s then? Of late, my wife's vision of Dustin Hoffman has struck me as a better fit than the previous 60s actor I'd pictured. Hoffman is more ethnically accurate than Sal Mineo and, like Mineo, about the right height as I've always imagined Holden. But now it's your turn. How about an actor who came of age in each subsequent decade since Holden's creation? You've still got the 70s, 80s, 90s, 00s, 10s, and now the 20s to work with and yes, before you ask, I've got someone in my mind's eye from each of those decades. But right this moment I'd rather hear from the aspiring casting directors among you. Is your couch ready?  

p.s. I have envisioned a contemporary actor, less ethnic than either Mineo or Hoffman that might be right. One issue with Timothee Chalamet portraying Holden Caulfield is that Timothee is just a little too pretty. But he'll do until someone takes his place in my imagination. Or until one of you suggests an alternative.  

Monday, December 2, 2024

Home Away from Home with a Genius

Our imminent trip to be with my new grandson in L.A. will end up being the longest period my wife and I have spent away from home since our cross-country driving trip in 2000. Although I suspect it will not be the case, should you detect a different vibe across my next several posts, just assume the fabled Southern California mellow has me in its temporary grip. Don't worry; I'll be back to my cranky East Coast self by the time the ball drops to greet 2025. Actually, I think I'm immune to mellow.  

In the meanwhile, my daughter has reserved a pile of books for me through the L.A. library system, my son-in-law's guitar awaits my nimble fingers, my grandson's continuing musical education is ready to be resumed in earnest. Though I plan to avoid excess gushing about this particular two-month-old during the time spent in my home away from home, I offer no guarantees. Consequently, if you decide to tune out my December reflections, I won't take it personally. Just don't expect me to listen to any future crowing you make about your grandchildren. 

In addition, skipping upcoming dispatches from the bell curve means you could miss out on knowing the prodigy's first spoken words, in several languages. And soon after, when I post the first YouTube video of him playing the Chopin etudes, you'll wish you'd been paying closer attention. Just saying. 

Saturday, November 30, 2024

Creativity

"Novel associations that are useful."

For me, creativity is a driving force in life. Of all the definitions I've been exposed to, the one in italics above has stuck with me the longest. How do you define this elusive quality? More significantly, how do you express yourself creatively? Since its inception in March 2011, this blog has been both a catalyst for other manifestations of my creativity as well as a critical component all by itself in my creative life. And as with all creative endeavors I've undertaken, some days I'm more satisfied with what I've created here than on others. 

How do any of us evaluate the merits of one creative endeavor vs. another? Over my lifetime, I've many times heard interviewers ask authors, songwriters, artists etc. which of their works was their "favorite". Often the answer given is some variation on "...they're each my 'children' so asking me to name a 'favorite' is unfair..." For those of us on the bell curve who might never be interviewed, why not weigh in right here today and tell me and others: "What is your 'favorite' thing you've created?"  I'm listening and interested.

Thursday, November 28, 2024

A Thanksgiving Gift

"My heart does not so much feel that it is in my chest as in my hands, and that I am carrying it along swiftly, as though I have become the messenger for what is going on inside of me."

Claire Keegan is an astonishing author. Her concise prose is emotionally honest. Her storytelling is nearly flawless. And her characters - like the un-named young narrator in Foster - will remain with you. When I read the sentence above near the end of this timeless novella, my heart broke. I will never forget this book.

Though Foster is only my second exposure to Keegan, two books alone have persuaded me that people will be reading her work one hundred years from now. She is that good. Not a reader, you say? Watch the movie adaptation of Foster - entitled A Quiet Girl - and try to stay composed as the film concludes using a scene lifted directly from the book. You might decide right then to make an exception. 

Experiencing Claire Keegan's gift reminds me what great literature has brought to my life. Consider this unqualified recommendation my Thanksgiving gift to you. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Owning It All

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Book Club Report: Year Seven


Saturday, November 23, 2024

Key Learnings: Year 75

For me, this past year ended up being a rich one for learning. Though I'm limiting this post to three key takeaways in the interest of brevity, when you take the time to assess the key things you've learned over this past year - birthday aside - don't limit yourself. I've found that doing an exercise like this each year enhances my gratitude for the good fortune of my life. In my 75th year, I learned ...

*To be more generous with myself. Early in 2024, while touring Taliesin West - Frank Lloyd Wright's home and studio in Scottsdale, Arizona - the richness of that creative space helped me to see that my lifelong reluctance to spend money on experiences like this was both foolish and short sighted. The best $39.00 I spent this past year was on the audio tape I listened to while roaming those grounds. I resolved that same day to begin being more generous with myself.

*To begin paying more attention to poetry. The leader of a writer's group that I belonged to for a while frequently used poetry as a prompt when kicking off her sessions. I've always enjoyed poetry and have even tried my hand at it, but repeated exposure to more of it this past year convinced me to pay more attention from now on. 

*To honor my long history as a musician. This key learning arrived during the week I spent at a guitar camp in August. As I listened to one of the great teachers tell his story, I began sketching out my own. This simple writing exercise gave me a more nuanced perspective on my 60+ year musical journey. 

I'd welcome hearing your key learnings from this past year. I suspect others might as well. 

Friday, November 22, 2024

Goal for Year 76

Since beginning this day-before-my birthday tradition in 2011, the years I've most enjoyed have been those when some of you have shared a goal(s) you have for the next year, birthday aside. Doesn't matter if you shared here via a comment or, if you contacted me offline. In my experience, sharing a goal enhances the likelihood that you or I will begin working on it. And if you make the goal specific and measurable, add action steps, ensure it's realistic, and attach a time frame to it, you make it into a SMART one, thereby increasing the chances of attaining it. Why not join me today?

Over my 76th year, I will begin using techniques learned from Kate Murphy's You're Not Listening (2019) to improve my listening skills. Specifically, I will work on maintaining a demeanor that communicates to the speaker that I am not judging what they are saying. I will also remain mindful of closeness communication bias, a trap I've fallen into with many people close to me when I "think" I know what they're going to say before they say it, which affects how carefully I'm listening and whether the speaker feels heard. I will measure my success by assessing how much more I'm learning about the people around me and by asking my wife for feedback about my listening demeanor after she's watched me interact with my siblings. 

Wish me luck. Good luck with your goal. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Rescuing Ourselves

           

Wednesday, November 20, 2024

Synaptic Sparks Create Brain Fire

The first synaptic spark involved Leo Tolstoy and John Lennon.

"...and it seemed to him that he was Nikita and Nikita was he, and that his life was not in himself but in Nikita." (from Master and Man, 1895) 

"I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together."  (from I Am the Walrus, 1967)

That first spark lit as I was reading Tolstoy's passage near the end of his short story in preparation for a discussion of it with two discerning readers. Lennon's words just popped into my head. Then, as our discussion concluded, one of those readers added fuel to my low flame by citing a Lou Reed lyric from Perfect Day (1972):  "You made me forget myself; I thought I was someone else, someone good."  

Despite repeated exposure to Perfect Day - it's a song I've taught to several guitar students over the years - if my bookworm friend hadn't pointed out Reed's lyric to me, the connection between Tolstoy's prose and Lennon's observation could have been one of those short-lived synaptic sparks, one perhaps not even worthy of a blog post. But Reed's self-effacing, honest lyric raised my brain temperature. It also made me want to ask you something. 

How many of you can relate to what I believe all three are getting at here, each in their own way? When I'm with certain people, I feel like I'm the best version of myself. Or, at minimum, those same people can help me "forget" versions of myself that I welcome being rid of, like unkind Pat, harshly judgmental Pat, self-centered Pat. In other words, I'm more consistently "good" when those folks are nearby. This sound even vaguely familiar? Thanks to my bookworm friend, the flame grew a bit hotter as I walked out of our meeting place. I jotted down the three sparks in my notebook and then ... 

"You complete me." Remember that scene from Jerry Maguire (1996)? I'll refresh your memory. Renee Zellweger and Tom Cruise are sharing an elevator with a couple who are speaking to one another in American Sign Language (ASL). Those three words are how Zellweger translates to Cruise what the man has just signed to the woman. Now my brain was on fire. Did Cameron Crowe - the writer and director of that terrific film - ever read Master and Man? Given he is an unrepentant rock n' roll junkie, I'm sure he was quite familiar with I Am the Walrus, and it's highly likely he'd also heard Perfect Day. But for the purposes of this reflection, none of these hot-wired connections need have ever occurred to Crowe. Tolstoy, Lennon, Reed, and Crowe all landed on an inescapable truth, and it doesn't matter who came first or whether any of them were influenced by the other. I was reminded, again, that we all need others to help us discover our best selves. Literature, music, film, and the synaptic sparks between each that light up for me periodically; I live for moments like this. 

Sunday, November 17, 2024

Her Story

What I wish most today, on the anniversary of her passing forty-seven years ago, is to remember a lot more about my mother. 

I've got fragments. She collected salt and pepper shakers. She enjoyed it when I would sing Honey Don't for her. She laughed easily and loved doing soBut I don't remember her favorite movie star, singer, author, or food. I don't recall how she reacted to Kennedy's assassination, Watergate, Neil Armstrong walking on the moon.  

I remember she taught me the cha-cha. I remember her terse advice about public speaking: Stand up to be seen, speak up to be heard, sit down to be appreciated. I remember she volunteered to be the parent chaperone on nearly every school trip. But her speaking voice and the smell of her perfume left me long ago. I want to clearly recall both. 

I still own an end table with a marble top she gave me when I moved into my first apartment. I also have a three sentence note of appreciation I wrote her for Mother's Day in 1957, in cursive. And a picture of the two of us taken at my youngest sister's wedding in 1970 regularly rotates among the photos in the Aura frame sitting in my kitchen. Today, I want more than these few reminders of her. 

I want to remember every song she sang when my dad accompanied her on the ukelele, every joke she enjoyed telling, every story she told me about growing up, her marriage to my father, being a mother to four children born in forty-nine months. I want to remember every part of her story. 


Thursday, November 14, 2024

Let the Screening Commence

The screening process for acceptance into my reading posse, an august and widely-sought-after sinecure I've referred to on this blog more than a few times, has officially opened. Compensation is negotiable, requirements listed below are not.

* Applications will be accepted from only those providing proof of having read a minimum of one book by at least 20% of the authors from my list of favorites. Said list provided upon request. That's a paltry six books from a list of - at this point - thirty-two unquestionably exemplary authors.  

* After providing said proof, the first five book recommendations made to me by any applicant must hit the ball solidly. Attached FYI is my elegant baseball metaphor, a useful reference for this bullet and the next. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: 2nd Attempt To Capture The Sports Market

* Should the first five recommendations meet my indisputably erudite mark, viable candidates then enter a probationary period wherein the next three recommendations must be, at minimum, a base-on-balls. 

* Successful completion of the eight-book vetting period earns a candidate a slot on my posse. Said slot is permanent unless future batting average dips below .333 at any point, triggering an adjustment in compensation, public censure, and a potential reason for me to re-open the screening process. 

Let the screening commence.       

Monday, November 11, 2024

One of the Greatest Generation

It doesn't take much to remind me how fortunate I am to have had a father like mine. His strengths as a man, a husband, and a father are more evident to me today than ever. And though he's rarely far from my thoughts, certain days each year - like Veteran's Day - bring him into sharper focus. On those days, I owe him the small honor of celebrating his life and his role in helping shape me into the man, the husband, and the father I've become. In what manner are you honoring the veterans from your life today?

My Dad's role in helping shape me into a man shows up most via my strong work ethic. Throughout my working life, I always had at least one part-time job in addition to my full-time one. I'm also pleased to say I never collected a day of unemployment from the start through the finish of my full-time work years. 

His role in helping shape me as a husband is more profound. My Dad's unwavering loyalty to my Mom showed me the critical role that trust plays in building a solid marriage. I know he would have been proud of how I've followed his lead for over forty-one years.

I'm most grateful for what my own father modeled that helped shape me into the father I hope I've been and continue to be today. His unconditional love for the four of us was never in doubt. That all of us would get a college education was a given. Though he was proud of having served the country in WWII, he never once lobbied my brother or I to follow that path. I don't recall him saying these exact words but his example always said to me "Be who you are, not who I am." From the time she was able to understand that message, I tried to convey the same thing to my daughter. My goal from the day I became a parent was to be a father as good as my own. 

To all veterans and especially you, Dad: Thank you for your service.   

Friday, November 8, 2024

Passing the Torch

My brother and I have been bonded by music our whole lives. Our passion transcends genre. I can't easily recall more than a handful of groups or solo artists over whom we've differed musically. If not for his influence, it would have taken me longer to discover Thelonious Monk's quirky music and Tom Waits could have passed me by. Also, my dives into King Crimson, Santana, and Steely Dan would likely have remained shallow if not for his prodding.   

Now he has delivered to me an immense young talent who I can envision filling the space left by Ella Fitzgerald - Samara Joy. And here's a cool part of this brief musical story. Although he was the one who made sure I'd be exposed to her, it was my brother's son, my oldest nephew, who discovered Joy in the first place, and then turned his father onto her. It gets better.

Both my nephews are fine musicians, no surprise given my brother's relaxed and natural musicianship and the stereo that was rarely silent as they grew up. The oldest is now a music teacher and during the years I taught guitar to children new to the instrument, the younger was - without question - my most innately talented student. The two of them played together - piano, guitar, vocals - for their cousin's wedding ceremony in 2019. Right? Now the best part.

Last night, as the four of us sat enraptured watching Samara Joy's show at the Count Basie Theatre, I felt lucky. Lucky to share this passion with these three people I love dearly. Lucky to know that each of them understood the musical riches we were experiencing together. Lucky to hear each of us, in turn, laughing when either Joy or one of the seven extraordinary musicians supporting her pulled off a feat of super-human musicianship.  Most of all, lucky how we will pass the musical torch to one another for as long as we live.    

p.s. You owe it to yourself to sample Samara Joy's magic. Begin by checking out the You-Tube video below.

Samara Joy - Can't Get Out Of This Mood (Official Studio Video)   

Wednesday, November 6, 2024

On This Night of the Day After

I'm grateful for my good health and financial security and will look forward to embracing the passions that sustain me.

I'm fortunate to have a lifelong partner and loving daughter who share my values and a new grandson with whom I will spend as much time as possible through my remaining years. 

I pledge to continue reflecting here regularly and will anticipate you joining me to celebrate moments of hope and joy.   


Sunday, November 3, 2024

Rescuing Ourselves

If asked to rate yourself as a listener - with one being poor and ten being exceptional - what would you say? How closely do you suppose your self-score would match how others see you? 

You're Not Listening: What You're Missing and Why It Matters (2019) will stick with me. I know this because my extensive notes on Kate Murphy's carefully researched and skillfully presented book are a potent combination of the following:

* New learning: Being exposed to the psychological phenomenon called "closeness communication bias" provided powerful insight into how easy it can be to stop listening carefully in any long-term relationship, i.e., "We think we already know what the other person will say." 

* Questions to ask others about their listening skills and ... using the same questions to more carefully examine my own listening skills: Start with the two questions opening this post. Then explore others that came to me as an accompaniment to my new learning, like ... Which people close to you do you have difficulty listening to? What makes listening to them difficult? What does the difficulty you're having with that person - as a listener - say about you? Which of your listening behaviors might turn off people who are speaking to you?

* Straightforward, sharp prose: "Perhaps the greatest barrier to keeping our minds on track and following someone's narrative is the nagging concern about what we're going to say when it's our turn."  Or... "Secure people don't decide others are irredeemably stupid or malicious without knowing who they are as individuals. People are so much more than their labels or political positions." That's just a small taste.  

Without question, You're Not Listening is the best book of its type I've finished since Sherry Turkle blew me away in 2015 with Reclaiming Conversation. And though the research cited in both books supports my own belief that the unceasing distraction of ubiquitous cell phones has helped to create a culture where empathic listening is increasingly at risk, both books are also hopeful. Each offers practical advice on reining in the technology. I believe we need books like these to rescue us from ourselves.    

Reflections From The Bell Curve: The Choir And The Monkey      

Thursday, October 31, 2024

My Favorite Holiday

I require neither an excuse nor permission to be weird. But October 31 is the one day each year even the most buttoned-up can let it rip. How did you transform yourself today? If you didn't, why not?

OK, if you didn't get weird today, here are two ideas for next Halloween. If you use either in 2025, make a note to return here and give me a report on how it went. It's OK to steal my stuff but at least have the decency to let me know the results. 

* Have you lived in a well-established neighborhood a long time and paid enough attention through the years to how your neighbors dress? How about a neighborhood party - definitely want to include drinking at this party - where everyone dresses as someone from the neighborhood? Enliven it by awarding a prize to whoever does the best job simulating a neighbor's look/couture. FYI, I suggested this to folks in the first neighborhood where my wife and I owned a home. It didn't take off. However, I'm reasonably sure that happened because I made it too risky for some of my highly hetero male neighbors by suggesting opposite gender roles for costumes. Learn from my mistake and keep the men as other men and the women as other women. Boring, but more likely to launch.  

* Don't think that will work? How about this instead? Why not use Halloween 2025 to dress up as a person of the opposite gender you admire from history? No need to go trick or treating; just don the garb and have some fun. I've always imagined I'd make a great Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, or another of the earliest feminists. Why the opposite gender? Why not? It's Halloween - What other day of the year would you try this?

If either of the above is too tame for you, get your disguised self into Greenwich Village next October 31. Try to stand out there. I dare you. 

Tuesday, October 29, 2024

Information About the Human Condition

Of the many rationales I've heard from men throughout my life - starting with my father - why they don't read fiction, the one that has most consistently befuddled me is "I read for information." 

While immersed in Imagine Me Gone (2016), there were moments when my befuddlement with that rationale took on an odd aspect. Adam Haslett's novel - told by five first person narrators - examines the toll that mental illness invariably takes on a family. It is often painfully sad. But as I finished, it occurred to me that some of the sadness I felt during this exceptional reading experience might be connected to men I've known who "read for information". Given those limits, isn't it likely Haslett's masterful exploration of the human condition would bypass most of them? Predictably, the men most dear to me who would've been excluded, including my Dad, were foremost in my reflections. 

Of course, any man - those in my life or otherwise - could easily read a textbook, non-fiction account of any length, case study, etc., covering mental illness vs. family dynamics for "information". I submit none of that information would stay with any man - or woman - like Imagine Me Gone will stay with me.  


Saturday, October 26, 2024

The Countdown

From the outset of this blog in March 2011, I have not been evasive about my worldview. At the same time, across 2,400+ purposefully eclectic posts, I've mostly steered clear of politics. My reticence is not connected to the strength of my beliefs and core values. I've avoided politics on this blog largely for the same reason I avoid the subject in day-to-day conversation - the power of confirmation bias.  

All of us are all hard-wired to seek out information that reinforces our strongly held opinions and tune out the information that does not. Though it's possible to neutralize that automatic internal screening mechanism - one that helps us make sense of the world - we can't do so without a fair amount of effort. Complicating things in our 24/7 news/TVs in every public space/Smart phone in every hand world is the unceasing barrage of misinformation hurled at us these days via rogue Internet sites and uneducated bloggers, our "friends" on social media, and those conspiracy theorists and tweeters/re-tweeters with millions of followers. I see little percentage in adding to that divisive screaming fray with my puny blog and predictable political positions. What possible purpose would it serve except to confirm the biases of any like-minded reader? If I'm not adding value or helping to reverse the incivility of what passes for nuanced political discourse these days, what is the point? Call it confirmation bias, preaching to the choir, or screaming into an echo chamber. It's all the same stuff. Which brings me to my plans over the upcoming ten-day countdown. 

Sometime around ten days from now - could be later - we'll know who'll be sworn in next January as our 47th president. Between now and November 5th, I'll publish a few posts, none of which will touch on the final pleas of either viable candidate or mention those battleground states we all know will decide the winner. And even though my vote is less than critical - New Jersey has not been in play in a presidential election since the early 80s - I will vote to help ensure the popular vote reflects my voice, however marginally. If that sounds weary to you, mea culpa. I do have a more compelling reason, one I've mentioned previously and connected to my politics, forged by studying U.S. history: I will vote to honor those who came before me and were denied that right. Let the countdown begin.

Friday, October 25, 2024

Small Successes in Patstan

For years now, I've regularly tweaked the layout on my home page to make use of the widgets called Featured Post and Popular Posts. Sincere thanks to those of you who have clicked any of the posts that have appeared under either heading, no matter how infrequently.

Because of Blogger's robust analytics, it's easy to know how many new views these posts get. For some time, my arbitrary threshold for changing the Featured Post widget - located on the left of the home page - has been to do so after that single post gets twenty new views. When that happens, it reminds me to switch the grouping of Popular Posts - "all time", over the last year, last thirty, or last seven dayslocated on the right side

I have no way of knowing how many of those views mean someone has actually read the featured post I've exhumed from my archives. But based on new comments received and offline responses, I'm often confident at least a few people are paying attention, sometimes. Call me needy; I consider this a small success, my version of getting a royalty check for .50 for a song that was popular sometime in the 60s and got some recent airplay or sold a record or two in a bargain bin in Omaha. Except, I don't get paid; oh well - details. 

Unpaid royalties aside, there have been more than a few days I've been sustained by someone who reacts to an old post, featured or "popular". And though I've been tempted to edit my old work more times than I can count, it has also been gratifying when an old post gets a reaction but holds up under my scrutiny - another small success. What small successes have you recently had?


Wednesday, October 23, 2024

Coming Clean, Sort Of

Though nine evenings still remain in October, my record for most movies watched in one month has already been shattered. Lest anybody be tempted to recommend medication, I'll keep the number to myself. I will confess we're already talking double digits. Really.   

Duly chastened as I am about the hours I've spent indulging my indiscriminate film jones this month, I offer two mitigating factors in meager defense. See if you can relate at all. 

* I've spent over ten hours on airplanes. I had books and my journal. Mediation or listening to music were additional options. I did end up doing a little reading. But the lure of that tiny screen in my face undid me. Then, scanning the choices, I was overwhelmed, pathetically, in both directions. Watched two on the way to L.A. and one on the way home. Only one will stick: Carlos, a documentary about the incomparable Carlos Santana.

* The TV in our two week rental in L.A. dominated the living space. There was a door to the bedroom that could be shut when I played guitar, meditated, read, or wrote. However, there's a solid reason why the only TV in our home is not in our living space. If it were, it's possible I'd be regularly searching the streaming services for the latest and, in many cases, not so greatest movies. In our rental, I was thoughtlessly ensnared in that trap. Saw a few OK documentaries, went gaga watching Vera Drake - a Mike Leigh gem from 2004 - but otherwise squandered some serious time. Low point? There was significant competition for that dubious distinction, but my near-complete disillusionment with Stand By Me a Rob Reiner film I've held in high esteem for many years - landed with a thud on a re-watch. Should have played the guitar or something.   

If only I'd gone into the bedroom more vs. getting continually mesmerized by that big screen. In the meanwhile, since returning home, I will not claim total abstinence. But my film consumption is now under control again. Don't ask exactly what that means; allow me a little dignity. Besides, the record has already been broken. What's the harm now?             

Saturday, October 19, 2024

Putting First Things First

Perhaps my continuing journey into Act Three is at play here. But how many of you have also noticed the disconnect that can separate introspection and optimism? For example, on days when this optimist is in a more introspective space, the probable "lasts" in my remaining life come more easily into focus than the likely "firsts". Does this make my optimism suspect? Or does it render me more realistic?  

Either way, beginning when my first grandchild entered the world, I made a pledge. Each time a probable "last" crosses this introspective optimist/realist's mind - e.g., my trip to Africa this past winter might be my last - I will immediately capture an actual "first" in my journal. I've been pleased to discover how easy this has been these past two weeks. Doing it has also fortified my optimist bona fides. Directly below are three recent firsts that helped provide some ballast for three probable "lasts" that popped into my head in some recent moments of introspection. I'll spare you those gloomy bits.   

* Played my first-ever applause-worthy guitar solo in an open jazz jam session.

* Was grateful having a cell phone nearby for the first time, in the hours leading up to and after the birth of my grandson.

* Had my first experience with acupuncture.

Why not join me? Doesn't matter if you consider yourself an optimist, realist, pessimist, anythingist. Also doesn't matter if you introspect more than, as frequently, or less than me. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised about the light this brings to you.     

  

Thursday, October 17, 2024

Mike; Have You Met Anne?

Have you ever imagined having an opportunity to speak with a favorite artist about another artist you are sure they would enjoy? I suspect no regular readers will be surprised to learn this particular thought has crossed my mind frequently with respect to musicians, authors, and filmmakers. 

Ever since watching Vera Drake, a 2004 treasure by director/writer Mike Leigh that somehow got by me until recently, I can't get Anne Tyler's quotidian novels out of my head. Given their respective reputations and substantial oeuvres, it's more than possible Leigh and Tyler are already aware of each other's work. But if not, I want to be the one who turns them onto each other. Before continuing, however, I have a request: If a scenario like this has occurred to you, even once, please share it with me and include your logic - no matter how far-fetched - for believing each artist would enjoy the work of the other. It would be nice to know I'm not alone on the bell curve with this.  

Mike Leigh - Wikipedia  

Although Mike Leigh is hardly a household name, I'm reasonably sure many of you have seen at least one or two of his films. Secrets and Lies (1996) is arguably his most widely known, and my personal favorite. All of his films I've seen - including Vera Drake and Secrets and Lies - share an essential and under-valued quality with Anne Tyler's novels; they are quiet. His characters, like Tyler's, are not larger than life; they are life itself. Each character in Leigh's films and Tyler's novels is revealed at an unhurried pace, their strengths and flaws in equal measure. The messiness and miracles of everyday life get the same amount of attention. Car chases and crashes, intrusive music, and capital "d" drama are all blessedly missing.

Anne Tyler's novels are criminally under-represented on film. Only the adaptations of The Accidental Tourist (1985) and Breathing Lessons (1988) got much attention. My last visit to Tylerstan - a world I've journeyed to at least a dozen times since the mid 70s - was reading A Spool of Blue Thread soon after its 2015 release. I'm confident Mike Leigh would make cinematic magic out of the multi-generational story of the quirky Whitshank clan. All I need is his contact information. Anyone want to assist me?  

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Anne Tyler's World  


Sunday, October 13, 2024

Initiation to the Miracle of Music

I always made it my mission to surround my daughter with music, beginning the day we brought her home from the hospital as an infant. From then on, whenever we were in the car, a CD or cassette (remember those?) was playing, or the radio - pre-Satellite and Internet iterations - was on. Although recorded music was not always on at home, my guitar was never out of reach and I frequently played for her, almost from the start. One of my most cherished memories from her childhood occurred soon after I recognized her singing potential. 

I was casually accompanying her on They Can't Take That Away from Me. In the repeat of the middle section, my seven or eight-year-old lifted an improvised turn from Sarah Vaughn's version of that well-known Gershwin classic. Right after doing so, she stopped singing and asked me -"Daddy, where did that come from?"  I explained that she'd been continually listening to Sarah, Ella, Billie, and many others for her whole life and that, sooner or later, something like this was bound to happen. I will never forget that moment of musical magic. And now, I get another chance.   

Although I did not bring him home from the hospital, within twenty minutes of first holding him two days after he was born, my grandson's musical education began in earnest. The good news? Because of Internet radio - and the twenty plus flawless stations I've created over the last fifteen years - I can expose him to whatever I want, whenever I'm holding him, wherever we happen to be. I can curate tune-by-tune from every genre, at any tempo, helping to ensure he's endlessly eclectic when he begins choosing his own music later in life. No more reliance on sometimes sketchy DJs, no more worries about a cassette flaking out or no CD player available, no more needing to be in a car. If a computer and Blue Tooth are nearby (when are they not?), he and I will be consistently co-joined in musical heaven. Want to guess what Gershwin song and which version I picked to initiate him to the miracle of music? Will lightning strike twice? How can it hurt to try?    

Thursday, October 10, 2024

I Vote Because

 "I vote because..."

How would you finish that prompt?

I'm not sure how many different endings I've created for it since my local activist group first linked up with Vote Forward. At a recent meeting, I was gratified to learn that Vote Forward - in partnership with local activist groups like mine all over the U.S. - has encouraged over 37 million people to vote since 2018. The sample letters and instructions are provided to anyone who wants to get involved. Visit their website; it's not too late. 

Vote Forward (votefwd.org)

The final Vote Forward push in this election cycle is aimed at under-represented voters in the swing states. I mailed forty letters just before leaving home to welcome my new grandson into the world. Doing so felt right because the energy I'm putting in right now aligns with my growing concern about the fragility of our democracy and the potential impact voter suppression could have on his future. Working with Vote Forward the last six years and assisting the League of Women Voters in their voter registration drives since 2020 are two ways that have helped me put into action my belief in the importance of voting. 

For the record, in my latest group of letters, I finished the prompt as follows: "I vote because I want to honor those who came before me and were denied the right to vote." As a student of history, I was satisfied making my plea this way. I hope it speaks to at least one potential voter who receives it. 

   

Monday, October 7, 2024

James

James is the best novel released in 2024 that I have read so far in 2024.

What a relief it is to make that statement without any concern about being overly praiseworthy. After reviewing my book journal, I couldn't locate another 2024 novel finished between January-September that closely rivals Percival Everett's re-imagining of Huckleberry Finn told through the lens of Jim. 

"...where does a slave put anger? We could be angry with one another; we were human. But the real source of our rage had to go without address, swallowed, repressed."  

My insatiable hunger for books combined with the pledge I made in 2011 to publish posts about only the ones that move me has sometimes made it challenging to find fresh ways to say "wow". No such challenge when it comes to James. This is exceptional literature.

"I hated the world that wouldn't let me apply justice without the certain retaliation of injustice."   

Having so many discerning readers in my life is a gift I do not take for granted. To any of those folks who happen to be reading this post and recommended James to me - I owe you one. Wow.

" 'And who are you?' 

'I am James'

'James who?' 

'Just James' ".

 

Friday, October 4, 2024

Dilemma #1

Right around the time he was born last night, I began reflecting on what the world might be like in 2098, the year my new grandson is the same age I am now. Those of you with grandchildren: Ever let your mind wander this way? What have you envisioned?

When any of my reflections began meandering toward a doomsday scenario of any stripe, I willed myself to return to hope. And I quickly discovered the best way to do that was by focusing on the certainty that the unknowable future my grandson will live through - calamities aside - will continue to produce memorable literature and music, both of which have given me immeasurable joy. Thus, my first dilemma as a grandfather: Tomorrow - when I'm with him for the first time - do I read a book before or after the first song I play?    

But back to 2098. Will people still be listening to George Gershwin's music seventy-four years from now?  I believe they will - more cause for hope. Will Oliver Twist's story continue to enchant readers? I think it will. Isn't thinking about the lives of our grandchildren through the filter of memorable music & literature preferable to wondering if wars will ever end, etc.? 

I'm sticking with this plan. 


Tuesday, October 1, 2024

A Muse About To Be Born

Egotistical impulses aside, I do try to resist re-reading my older posts. However, the pleasant surprises that frequently await me when I do so - a turn of phrase that satisfies, an insightful comment from a reader, and most rewarding, recalling what inspired a post in the first place - sometimes reinforce my solipsistic urges. Closing the confession booth now. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the inspirations I'm referring to often spring from a conversation or some kind of interaction with one of the many people who enrich my life. When one of those people recently described how becoming a grandparent is guaranteed to transform me, her words moved me to tears. I wondered: Will my imminent membership in a club that everyone reveres - days away now - become my newest source of inspiration? Based on what happened when my daughter entered the world and how much she has brought to my life since 1989, I'm reasonably sure it will. 

Here's something I anticipate with joy. Years from now, I'll stumble across an old post - maybe this one? - celebrating my first grandchild. I'll then be driven to do a search using "grandchild" as the keyword. Several dozen posts will pop up. I'll re-read them all and feel no guilt about it.  

Saturday, September 28, 2024

Editorializing

Is it possible these days to speak without editorializing? 

The older I get and the more closely I pay attention to my own words and the words of others, the more I've come to believe that editorializing is fast becoming a nearly inescapable fact of human communication. Consider the following:

* The load many everyday words and expressions now carry - e.g., "choice", "identity", etc. - and how frequently more words are added and become similarly loaded.    

* The way our increasingly partisan media exacerbates the issue, endlessly repeating sound bites filled with those same loaded words, nuance be damned. 

* The ubiquity of 24/7 screens in almost every public and private space, further compounding the issue by isolating us as well as promoting allegiance and respectful interaction to only those with whom we agree.  

How will younger people who have been educated in this screen-saturated world learn how to break free and communicate without editorializing? How can the older folks among us make a difference in this arena with the time we have left?

   

Wednesday, September 25, 2024

#32 (On My Way to 100)

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Always on the Lookout

Given just five authors have been added to my list in two years, it appears the strategy I announced in the 2022 post above was well considered. At my current pace, I will still be well under 100 "favorite" authors in my centennial year. I wonder who else might ascend into my pantheon between now and 2049. More to the point, how likely is it that I'll still be blogging as my first century comes to a close? I guess we'll see.  

For those keeping track, on the strength of The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store, James McBride now holds author position #32 on my venerated, non-hierarchal list. Not only is this the third McBride title in a row that has knocked me out, this 2023 powerhouse also holds the dubious distinction of being my longest ever book journal entry. I couldn't stop gushing/writing; I wanted to hold onto this reading experience as long as possible. 

"Chona had never been one to play by the rules of American society...To her the world was not a china closet where you admire this and don't touch that. Rather she saw it as a place where every act of living was a chance for tikkun olam, to improve the world. The tiny woman with the bad foot was all soul." 

McBride's gift for creating memorable characters like Chona is surpassed only by his generous heart. If you read just one book this year, consider making it The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store. Please. 

 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Swinging With James McBride

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Reading Re-Cap: 2020

Monday, September 23, 2024

Stay Tuned

Ever heard of Shane Atkinson? 

I hadn't either until watching LaRoy, Texas. Soon after arriving back home, I had to know who wrote the screenplay for the film I'd watched on my flight. After learning Atkinson had also directed this little gem, I knew his was a name worth remembering. The last film written and directed by the same person that impressed me this much was The Fabulous Baker Boys. For anyone taking notes, Steve Kloves was responsible for that 1989 treasure. 

Given how frequently over-hyped marquee movies disappoint me (Maestro or Killers of the Flower Moon, anyone?), being pleasantly surprised by something I never heard of is such a treat. I'm guessing Atkinson has seen Fargo more than once - who hasn't? - but the Coen-ish comedy-noir tone he juggles expertly in LaRoy, Texas did not strike me as derivative. Also, his casting of the criminally under-used Dylan Baker as a vicious killer and Steve Zahn as a hapless private eye is nearly perfect. I was less impressed by John Maguro in the lead role, though he held his own until his final scene, the only place this movie let me down.  

The best part? Because my daughter is part of a writer/director team beginning to make inroads in the wacky film industry, movies like LaRoy, Texas and The Fabulous Baker Boys - as well as the reputation of the Coen Brothers - all give me hope. Stay closely tuned and I'll be sure to let you know when you can start looking for her name, as I did for Shane Atkinson's.      

Friday, September 20, 2024

Rocky Mountain High

Though it's possible this third trip to Rocky Mountain National Park could be my last, my gratitude for having even one chance to visit here easily displaces any potential letdown. If you've never spent time in this part of heaven, I strongly recommend you add doing so to your list; you will be blown away. Picking a favorite National Park may be a fool's errand, but RMNP is clearly in the top tier. 

Today's hike to the aptly named Dream Lake was a fitting coda to this week. I can't imagine anyone who could resist being moved by the resplendent beauty of this place. Can any picture hope to capture even a small fraction of its idyllic splendor? Of course not. But if either the picture below or my entreaty to visit RMNP entices you - even in the smallest fashion - I'm satisfied.

In the meanwhile, I'm soon to be Jersey-bound on a Rocky Mountain High.


  


Tuesday, September 17, 2024

Women of Heart and Mind

It's difficult to say what juices me most about the music courses I've been developing and delivering for over a decade. My creative life has been enhanced, my network of friends has grown, my devotion to music has deepened. Despite the significant investment of time required to develop a new course, each time one begins taking shape, the mental effort is invigorating.    

My newest course - Women of Heart and Mind: A Changing Musical Landscape - is currently in its embryonic stage. I already know some of the women composers and songs I'll feature and some links I'll make connecting trailblazing musical pioneers like Carole King, Joni Mitchell, and Laura Nyro to the advent of second wave feminism. But as always, as the course moves toward its maiden voyage, songs and composers will be added and dropped. And that's where you come in. 

Which women composers would you expect to hear represented in a course like this? Which songs are strongly linked in your mind to the feminist movement? I've already gotten a few solid ideas from people in my hiking group, my writer's group, my book club. Why not toss me a few of yours? 

Sunday, September 15, 2024

The Historian's Annual Report

Although no one suggested we needed one, some years ago I appointed myself historian for the group of sixteen of us who met in Alaska in 2015 and have reunited somewhere in the U.S. ever since. This year, we've returned to Rocky Mountain National Park, the sight of our first reunion in 2016. That year found us based in Grand Lakes, Colorado, on the west end of the park. This year, we're in Estes Park, on the east end. Given the stunning beauty of this National Park, it hardly matters.

Over nine years as "Rogue Scholars", a few group traditions have been initiated, each one enriching our time together. Throughout the week, we all contribute to a gratitude jar by writing on post-its some things we are grateful for. These can be things about each other, about the group itself, about our current location, etc. Then, on our last night, we take turns reading aloud all the post-its. The tradition reminds each of us how fortunate we are to have found each other and to have built these lasting friendships.

We also have a book discussion on one evening of our time together. For the past three years we've linked the book to our location to help deepen our appreciation for the area we're visiting. This year's book - The Meadow - is James Galvin's moving memoir/prose poem about the changing face of Western America. I've been elevated by every book discussion this group has had and expect nothing less tomorrow night.   

Playing music has been another evolving tradition helping to fortify our bond. I was able to bring my guitar along for reunion #2 in the Adirondacks, #5 in Acadia National Park, and #7 - last year - in West Virginia. Our group includes a husband and wife who also are musicians - violin and piano respectively - and this year the wife brought along her harp. I look forward to hearing her play over the coming days and also to hear the impromptu a cappella duets she frequently sings with another Rogue Scholar companion. The blend of those two women's voices has enchanted all of us many times. What a blast.      

Thursday, September 12, 2024

Book Club Bonanza

This week has been a book club bonanza. In order of the riches:

* On Tuesday, my own club - now in its 8th year - met to discuss This Is Happiness, a 2019 novel by Niall Williams. Pleased to report the book - the first home run I finished in 2024 - was universally well-received. One charter member of my club - a serious reader - called it "...the best book I've read all year." 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: This Is Happiness

* On Wednesday, I attended my first meeting of a club that reads only non-fiction. My tenure in this group is officially off to an auspicious start with The Spy and the Traitor (2018 - Ben Macintyre), the best non-fiction book I've read in months. Spending time with a new group of people bonded by a love of reading is an almost surefire way to keep my mojo buzzing. I'm now pleasantly anticipating next month's discussion.    

* The Return by Hisham Matar was the subject this morning at my smallest club; just two of us have been meeting every month for ten years. Although memoirs have been a lower priority for me for a long time, Matar's 2016 account of his quest to learn of his father's fate in a notorious Libyan prison is worth any discerning reader's time. Muscular prose, riveting story, significant cautionary tale about the dangers of unchecked political power in the modern world.  

And there's more soon to come. When we re-unite tomorrow with the fourteen folks with whom we've been travelling since 2016, one of our first evening's activities will be spent discussing The Meadow.  James Galvin's 1992 moving meditation on the majestic Colorado landscape and one man's relationship with the land is an ideal choice for this group given we'll be spending a great deal of our time during this eighth reunion in and around Rocky Mountain National Park. What a week for this bookworm; I'm a lucky guy. What have been some of your most recent reading riches, book club or otherwise?  

" I used to think the greatest gift you could give a person was a book, but now I think it is to have a conversation about a book." - Will Schwalbe     

Sunday, September 8, 2024

Thank You for Being a Friend

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive.": Anais Nin

Though I've always been someone who has made friends easily, acknowledging how much value each friend adds to my life can never be overdone. How about you? If you could rewind your tape, would you do as I wish I could and make sure every friend you've ever had knew for sure "...a world was born when they arrived?

It's fitting that Anais Nin's words came to me many months ago via a friend who reads my blog enough to know how little treasures like this often find their way into my reflections. After thanking her for sending me the quote, I copied the words into my blog journal with little idea how they might later be useful. 

But my life is rich with friends. Months later, a different friend suggested a visit to Swaminarayan Akshardham in nearby Robbinsville, N.J. Although I had heard of this Hindu mandir (temple) - the second largest in the world - had this friend not suggested a trip there, I might never have visited it. I was awed by its majesty, ennobled by the history, and grateful for my friend's suggestion. I think I remembered to thank her and made a note in my blog journal about the experience. 

The most recent link to Nin's words then occurred to me soon after returning from guitar camp at the end of August. I was perusing my blog journal and catching up with e-mail when I noticed one from another friend. This friend has been sending me great music links and lectures by trenchant cultural critics for many years. I knew it was past time to acknowledge how our long friendship has aided my development as a musician and a thinker. I wrote a torturously lengthy e-mail doing exactly that. Inspiring words, ennobling experiences, transcendent music & incisive social commentary; a few of the worlds that might not possibly have been born had these friends never arrived. Thank you all.   

   

Thursday, September 5, 2024

Words for the Ages: Line Thirty-Three

"There's a crack in everything; that's how the light gets in."

One of my genuine pleasures in life since initiating this series in 2017 has been the search I've been on for timeless kernels like the one above. I owe this particular re-discovery to the guitar camp I attended last month. In one of the discussions following a morning meditation, a fellow student reminded me of this profound lyric from Leonard Cohen's 1992 song entitled Anthem. Context: We were discussing the value in embracing the flaws we all have as musicians. 

Not long after, I was further reminded of the wisdom of Cohen's words when I had cause to re-read a post I'd published in early August a few weeks before the camp. A reader's comment from that post brought back a mantra I've long repeated to my own guitar students, i.e., "when improvising, there are no wrong notes, only notes you didn't intend to play". Which is not far from what Cohen was getting at in Anthem, albeit with more poetic finesse.

 Reflections From The Bell Curve: Taking a Third Swing

What are the cracks in your life or experience that have allowed light to get in? And, do you have another Leonard Cohen lyric you'd nominate? I'd welcome hearing something you unearth that stands alone, is brief enough to be easily recalled, yet still reveals a universal truth. Given Cohen's substantial body of work and poetic sensibility, I wouldn't be surprised if several of you came up with a different lyric of his that could reasonably be called words for the ages.          


Monday, September 2, 2024

Still on the Job

Which national holiday would you cite as the least celebrated? Put another way, when did you last propose a toast to organized labor? Or, when you got up today, who were you most anxious to contact to wish them well? 

The last time I recall actively thinking about Labor Day was years ago when someone much younger than I declared that unions were an "obsolete" concept. Like many past conversations, I've since re-played that unsettling one in my head, persuasively and articulately demolishing the wrongheadedness of that simplistic statement. Wouldn't it be great if real life worked like that? 

What actually happened was less dramatic and wholly unsatisfying. I found myself getting emotional and had trouble putting a single coherent sentence together. Perhaps the word fairness crossed my mind. I do recall thinking of my father's life as a working man and the importance of unions for him. But recounting that piece of ancient history would not have helped me deconstruct the word obsolete for the clueless individual who'd used it. 

That bad-tasting, long-ago conversation had faded from memory until I got up this morning and noticed the holiday. When the memory returned, I discovered I was no longer disappointed in my inadequate response. Instead, I welcomed the memory because it broke back thoughts of my dad as well as the importance of this under-celebrated holiday. Any day I remember to honor my dad is a good day, holiday aside. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: What Holiday?


Saturday, August 31, 2024

The Magic in Words

"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien

When did you most recently allow yourself to wander? What did you discover when you did so? What prevents us from wandering more frequently? 

Like most people, I'm a creature of habit. I practice my guitar a certain way, I do similar exercise routines, I often read in the morning. But months ago - after hearing Tolkien's words cited by a composer I admire as he described his process - something shifted in me. I decided on the spot to begin integrating a small dose of wandering whenever I picked up my guitar. How could doing so possibly hurt?  

After several weeks, a small but noticeable effect took hold. Some of my improvisational ideas began to feel less predictable to me. Though I'm sure no one but me would notice the difference, something definitely opened up as I allowed myself to wander more in the musical unknown. Fresh songwriting concepts soon presented themselves. It's been magical and thrilling.

This morning, more magic. I decided it was time to share here what I've discovered about wandering and the connection to that composer's use of Tolkien's words. As I began typing, I mistakenly inserted the word wonder into the Tolkien quote. Isn't it intriguing how the words wander and wonder share five letters? I can't recall ever taking note before of the magical connection between those two words. Have you? 

Wednesday, August 28, 2024

A Better World

I'm confident saying each of us has fantasized at least once over our lifetime of one thing that could make the world a better place. In this moment, what one thing comes to you?

Although I've indulged in this harmless fantasy more than a few times, the one thing I seem to come back to most predictably is empathy. Imagine if every one of the over eight billion people alive today had even just a little more empathy. How could the world not be a better place if all of us more routinely took the time to walk in the shoes of those we encounter? 

Reviewing my bumpy journey, my lowest retrospective moments are often connected to instances when some base instinct - judgment, spite, envy - displaced my empathy. Often, I re-play those instances in my memory until I'm the person I wished I'd been. I want to believe that this strategy - i.e., re-inventing moments when empathy was not my automatic response - has helped me be more mindful in parallel situations when they later occurred. 

What are some of your strategies for continuing to expand your empathy? Who in your life most embodies this noble instinct? And what's another thing in short supply that you think could make the world a better place?     

Sunday, August 25, 2024

Repayment Day

Over the thirteen-and-one half years I've been blogging - aside from my wife and daughter - there have been perhaps three dozen other regular readers who have made more than a handful of public comments here. Though I disabled the "followers" widget from my home page many years ago, I also know there have always been some other regular non-commenting non-family readers. I know that mostly because those folks have frequently communicated with me offline, in some fashion, about posts they've read.  

I'm grateful to everyone in all three groups - frequent commenters (past & present), infrequent (past & present), and non-commenters. And, if you are what I've come to call a "passer-by" - comment or no comment variety - thank you for reading me today, although you can stop now. Almost everyone else: Feel free to skip the next paragraph. It is pertinent only to one person from group #1, present tense variety.   

Thank you for taking eighteen minutes out of your life this morning to make comments on four of my posts. Although this is not the first time you have written more than three comments in one day, and it's not even your record for most comments made in one day, because I happened to be writing a post on a different subject as your comments arrived, I was able to notice how much time - at minimum - you spent today on a task that rewards me but gives you nothing in return.  

Back to everyone from all three groups and any passers-by who ignored my earlier suggestion. If there is a way I can re-pay any of you for reading or commenting, please tell me what that is. Connecting in a small way with anyone who has taken precious time to read or comment here has been - since March 2011 - a powerful and affirming experience for me. If I'm able, I'd like to reciprocate. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Maiden Voyage


Friday, August 23, 2024

Here I Go Again

What did this camper/student take away from a week spent with eighty-nine other guitarists, not including the faculty?

* From his fellow students, he re-learned that the people he gravitates toward are those who are genuinely good listeners in a non-musical context, e.g., sharing a meal. Since good listening is a critical skill for any musician, it follows that some of those same people are the ones this student wanted as jamming partners, technical skill aside.

* From the faculty, he re-learned that kindness - in demeanor, in language, in delivering critical feedback - trumps all. How well someone plays, how many famous people someone has played with, how much praise is heaped on someone by their talented peers, matters far less to this student than if that someone appears to be a kind human being.    

I need more time to fully process what I learned about guitar and what I learned about my playing this past week. Periodically reviewing my notes will help me with those things. But what I learned about myself as a person this past week is how much work I have to do. Not terribly profound or unique but clearly true. Fortunately, every day I'm alive gives me time to practice, both my guitar as well as all the other stuff. Here I go again.  

Monday, August 19, 2024

The Sixth Inning Stretch

On my seventy-fifth birthday in November, the years 2009-2024 will represent exactly 20% of my life, i.e., five parts, each fifteen years long. When this arbitrary mathematical marker interfered with a recent meditation, I was unsure where it would take me. But as is my lifelong habit, soon after my return, I began writing. Perhaps some of you will follow me down this short four-pronged path? I found it instructive; I suspect you might as well. 

* Depending on your age, divide your life into between two and five parts with an equal number of years in each part. Then, write down the years of each part, e.g., in my case, part five reads 2009 - 2024.

* Looking at the years comprising each part, do a brief automatic writing exercise, capturing the first several things that come to mind that occurred during those years. Capture as many or as few as you like but avoid overthinking, evaluating, or editing. Just write.  

* Next, give each part a descriptive name/title/heading. Again, avoid over-thinking; go with your gut. If you want, you can re-name any or all of the parts after you do the final step. For example, my part five ended up being later re-named "The Post Full-Time Work Years". 

* Last, try to identify at least one predominant feeling attached to what you captured in the second bullet above. Dig deep here; try to be as specific as you can. For example, I wrote "most personally satisfying" alongside part five vs. a word like "happy", which is accurate but less precise. It's possible this final piece will end up being the most challenging and most revealing for you. It was for me. 

"And now a quarter of my life has almost passed, I think I've come to see myself at last."

If anyone has contact information for John Sebastian, please ask him on my behalf if he stands by the sentiment expressed in that lyric from Darling Be Home Soon, written in 1966 when he was twenty-two years old. Since Sebastian is now eighty - making twenty-two close to a "...quarter of his life..." -  it's a fair question, don't you think? And how about you? Would you assert that you were able to "...see yourself..." when a quarter of your life had passed? I know I wasn't that precocious. If I shared with you my title for the second 20% of my life, i.e., from age sixteen through thirty, you'd know for sure that John was way ahead of me. 

  

Friday, August 16, 2024

Skipping the Occasional Meal Together

Watching my wife lost in her garden early today, I thought of instances when she's commented on me being in a musical trance. Soon after, it dawned on me what a gift it is that our individual interests don't necessarily always overlap. 

Although powerful music gives my wife as much pleasure as beautiful gardens give me, I believe the solitary moments each of us have spent consumed by our passions have strengthened our bond. This is so in part because those moments have helped animate many of our subsequent conversations, like the one we had later in the day.    

Have you known couples who appear to enjoy doing almost everything together and spend very little time apart? I have; bravo to them. I'm guessing no one who knows our forty-six-year partnership well would ever describe us in this fashion. Bravo to us. Although I'm good with "...for better or for worse..." and proud of how I've risen to the occasion with respect to "...in sickness and in health...", I'm also relieved those vows say nothing about "... having lunch together every day..." 


Tuesday, August 13, 2024

Hypocritical Ambivalence

 ambivalence: the coexistence of positive and negative feelings toward the same person, object, or action.

That dictionary definition of ambivalence perfectly describes my everyday attitude about how most of us - willingly or not - have become insidiously tethered to technology. My positive-negative toggling about this modern-day blessing/curse frequently gives me whiplash. To wit:

* I'm a blogger who lusts after readers. But ... I stubbornly resist using my cell phone for anything but the most basic tasks. I also resist giving out my always-asked-for e-mail. Unless, that is, you want the URL for my blog.   

* I cherish the efficiency of bar codes at supermarkets and the ability to communicate with multiple people using a group e-mail and online resources that make research easier. But ... I'm easily triggered by the use of cell phones within nanoseconds to retrieve a factoid - before anyone has a chance to exercise their memory or otherwise use their brain - and indiscriminate dependence on any social media for commentary/punditry, and unquestioning belief in the "truth" of anything found online, e.g. Wikipedia.

* I like having a watch that tracks my steps, and GPS to help me avoid the directionally-challenged who roam among us (although I reserve the right to say it's advisable all of us should know north from south and east from west), and lots of choices of easy-to-access music and other entertainment content. But ... I really don't like the intrusive, ubiquitous beeping/buzzing/purring/meowing of watches, or automobile instrument panels, or everything, or so it seems. Quiet moments, revealing conversations, even intimate encounters are constantly at risk of being invaded by some infuriating sound or worse, a snippet of song.  

I considered using my oldest series - Words That Can Haunt Me - as a way to frame my ambivalence about today's kowtowing to technology. But in the end, it's not the word ambivalence that haunts me. It's my own surrender to select pieces of the technology that prompted today's reflection. At its base, I guess it's my hypocrisy that haunts me.


Sunday, August 11, 2024

A Pesky Dilemma

How is it that the short, episodic chapters in Cloud Cuckoo Land (2021) worked so well for me as a reader? Ever since finishing Anthony Doerr's mind-blowing novel a few weeks back, I've been trying to land on a satisfactory answer to that question, given how bite-size chapters in many other books have predictably annoyed me over much of my reading life.  

"Each morning comes along and you assume it will be similar enough to the previous one - that you will be safe, that your family will be alive, that you will be together, that life will remain mostly as it was. Then a moment arrives and everything changes." 

Could it be as simple as the reliably rich insights found throughout Cloud Cuckoo Land?  Perhaps, though I do wonder if worthy insights in some of those other books were overlooked simply because I got put off too quickly by bite-size chapters, especially when the prose wasn't as muscular as Doerr's.

Doerr divides his 622-page masterwork into twenty-four parts, each prefaced by a brief passage from an ancient text by Antonius Diogenes, which itself tells the story of a shepherd's journey to a utopian city in the sky. From there, this gifted author further divides his narrative across three time periods - 15th century Constantinople, 2020, and the near-future - using the stories of five well-developed characters, via individual chapters devoted to their interlocking stories. For me, the architecture was both challenging and thrilling. Did that contribute to my higher tolerance for those short chapters? Perhaps, although again, I do wonder if this kind of structure in a more traditional linear story might have struck me as gimmicky.  

I'm reasonably certain better minds than mine have published well-researched critical theories teasing apart distinctions between best-selling page turners that use episodic morsels vs. books of literary merit like Cloud Cuckoo Land that utilize a similar cadence. I guess my next step is to educate myself to some of those theories. In the meanwhile, I'm curious to know if my pesky dilemma sounds at all familiar to readers out there. If yes, please share with me what conclusions - if any - you've drawn. 


Wednesday, August 7, 2024

Taking a Third Swing

By the time I got around to attending my first weeklong guitar camp in 2001, I was fifty-one years old. The numerous advertisements I'd seen for these camps in Guitar Player had enticed me through the previous twenty+ years I'd spent studying jazz guitar.  During those years, I frequently wondered how long I'd postpone this experience that was on my list of goals. After all, before I began studying at thirty, I'd spent the previous ten+ years making a living playing guitar to accompany my singing. What would it take for me to finally take this plunge? Aside from remembering how inadequate I felt that week in 2001, all that remains with me now is my mantra when I got home - "never again".  


In 2016, a good friend and jamming partner talked me into taking a second shot, an experience I wrote of in the post above.  At that point, I was five years into my project to memorize 300 jazz standards, started soon after leaving the world of full-time work. I guess I felt ready for the challenge. Although my sophomore effort ended up being a marginally better experience than my maiden voyage in 2001, I still returned home discouraged. I had some good moments jamming with my friend in the cabin we shared but - surrounded by guitarists who intimidated me - I barely played in the classroom settings and skipped performing at the student concert held on the final night. Though I don't recall saying "never again" again, I probably thought it.   

And yet, later this month, I'm taking a third swing. I cannot identify the logic for me doing so. It's been eight years since my last guitar camp experience but wait. Read that again. Camp? At seventy-four? With or without a guitar, how do I make this sound less weird? More important, how do I ensure I don't return this year either saying or thinking "never again"? 

Sunday, August 4, 2024

Words for the Ages: Line Thirty-Two

"Our differences do a lot to teach us how to use the tools and gifts we've got." 

Although I took two small liberties with the lyric above from I Won't Give Up (2012), my doing so takes nothing away from the message Jason Mraz delivers in his excellent song. These are seventeen words for the ages - i.e., a terse phrase that stands alone, is easy to remember, and conveys a universal truth.

And that universal truth not only applies to love. It also applies to us as a species. Imagine if people embraced and celebrated their differences - race, religion, ethnicity - as a way to teach us how to use the tools and gifts we've got. Isn't it safe to say our world would be a more humane and civil place? I have no idea if Mraz had this larger truth in mind when he composed what sounds to me like a love song. But it doesn't matter. His are words for the ages, regardless.

As always, I welcome your nominations for this series of mine, now in its eighth year. Got a different Jason Mraz lyric you think fits the criteria at the end of the first paragraph above? Or, how about a terse phrase from a song by a different songwriter? For the record, the two minor liberties I took were deleting the word "they" in front of "do" and changing "we" to "we've". Apologies, Jason. 


Thursday, August 1, 2024

Scuttling Saint James Day

Every August 1 since 2012 I have proposed here the establishment of a new national holiday in a valiant attempt to rescue August from its barren state. Alas, though all my holiday proposals have been brilliant - Hallmark has a line of cards ready for each - not one has gotten enough richly deserved notice. This indignity is hard to bear in light of the massive reach of my blog. The hoi-polloi can be so fickle. How much can one holiday-inventing genius stand? 

This year, I gave serious thought to proposing August 1 be heretofore declared Saint James Day - honoring my middle name - a superbly logical suggestion given the March holiday that already venerates my first. I know there is guaranteed support for this superlative notion, given the number of people sharing my noble middle moniker as a first, middle, or even last name, e.g., Henry and William - rest their souls - and LeBron. Imagine the cheering throngs. Who knows? Perhaps initiating a Saint James Day movement could have acted as an entree for my blog to finally win over reluctant sports fans who have yet to join the bell curve minions. 

In the end, I concluded that proposing Saint James Day - inspired as it is - crosses an egotistical bridge too far for even this breathtaking mastermind. Instead, I decided that providing the links below for a few of my outstanding earlier proposals is a reasonable compromise. Anyone who wishes to be further dazzled just say the word and I'll forward the remaining nine to you. Resist the temptation to steal my ideas; remember the Hallmark deal.

Reflections From The Bell Curve: August 1, 2014: National Book Day

Reflections From The Bell Curve: National Immigrant Day

Reflections From The Bell Curve: National Gratitude Day


Wednesday, July 31, 2024

Becoming You

By now, even the most casual follower of my blog might have noticed that, aside from indulging my indiscriminate movie lust, I don't spend a lot of time watching TV. But for weeks now I've been talking to everyone I know about Becoming You, an exceptional six-episode series recently streamed on Apple TV. Without question, it's worth your money to pay for a one-month subscription just to watch this series alone. 

Subtitled The First Two Thousand Days, with a captivating narration by Olivia Colman, the premise is brilliantly simple. Traveling around the globe, the filmmakers capture children from over one hundred nations as they approach important and universal developmental milestones. Some of my favorite moments involved learning about the impact of culture on children as they "become themselves" over their critical first five years of life. 

The opening sequence - a Japanese custom called "First Errand" - will hook you, I guarantee it. But there's so much more - getting to a play date in Borneo, transportation in Mongolia, the universality of first words, how gender exerts itself. Over almost 2400 posts across more than thirteen years, this is only my second endorsement of a TV show. I hope that level of discrimination has helped me earn your trust. If you do end up watching Becoming You, I'd enjoy hearing your impressions. I'm confident others would as well.    

Sunday, July 28, 2024

Crabby About Grade Inflation

As a way to alert readers whenever one of my blog posts might sound a bit crabby, beginning in 2014, I began using some form of that word - or a synonym - in the title of any such post. Over the ensuing decade I've published about twenty, an average of two per year. I'm not claiming to have been crabby about so few things over the ten years. I am human and 2016-2020, in particular, gave me a lot of material, though I have mostly stayed away from politics primarily because too many people scream too much and too loudly these days. 

But when it comes to grade inflation, this crab has had enough. Specifically, how is it possible that so few books graded by readers on Goodreads have a cumulative rating lower than 3 stars, aka "I liked it"? It mystifies this curmudgeon to know how so few readers find so few books deserving just 2 stars, especially given the descriptor that accompanies that rating, i.e., "It was OK." What are these grade-inflating readers afraid of? Hurting an author's feelings, perhaps? Clearly, there are many books that are - just like many movies, many songs, many paintings, many meals, many anything - in fact, just OK.  

This cranky blogger is using Goodreads only as the latest example of grade inflation, a subject that has made him cantankerous for decades. As an educator, I've had students of all abilities. But I've had few who believed they deserved a "C", i.e., an average grade. Truth be told, the overwhelming majority of students I've had thought they deserved an "A" or, at worst, a "B+". But if no one is average, of what value is a "B" or an "A"?  

Reflections From The Bell Curve: A Crab Out Of Water

Thursday, July 25, 2024

Swinging With James McBride

Of course, James McBride is a musician. The prose in Deacon King Kong (2020) swings as effortlessly as Duke Ellington. The sharp dialogue has an unmistakable cadence. The interplay of the characters in this quintessential NYC novel reminded me of the way great jazz musicians listen carefully to one another when trading eight bar phrases and the laughter that frequently follows. Even the passages with an improvised feel in this book were tight.  

The narrative momentum in Deacon King Kong makes it an easy book to race through; avoid doing that. Pay close attention in Chapter One ("Jesus's Cheese") when McBride introduces folks from Five Ends Baptist; their role as a Greek chorus is a crucial element in the satisfying moral symmetry of the novel. The skilled depiction of secondary characters - e.g., the Governor, Soup, Harold - felt musical to me. It was as though each took a superb guest solo and then walked off stage. 

If you end up liking Deacon King Kong, go onto The Color of Water next. Ever since reading it upon its 1995 release, I've recommended that memoir to more people than any other I've subsequently finished. More McBride? The Good Lord Bird (2013) is his wild re-imagining of the life of radical abolitionist John Brown. If Deacon King Kong indeed swings like Duke, the musical analogue for The Good Lord Bird could be the controlled and inventive anarchy of the Mahavishnu Orchestra. And me? I'm onto his most recent novel, The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store (2023). 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Geeky Reading Magic