Putting Siri Back in the Bottle

Isn't it a near certainty that our lives are headed toward more dependence on technology? What is your guess of the impact of that increased dependence on the following: Attention deficit disorder? Listening skills? Critical thinking? 

The data I'm seeing does not fill me with hope. In addition, my regular interaction with others dismays me increasingly. I've had conversations with friends who acknowledge a connection between their diminished attention span and cell phone use. I've also witnessed - as I'm sure you have - many of the impediments technology helps to create with respect to listening and conversation, a phenomenon Sherry Turkle expertly explored in her still startling book Reclaiming Conversation (2015). I'm alarmed by the rising rate of adolescent suicide, a trend many researchers attribute to the pernicious effect of ubiquitous social media. The implications of AI - especially in the creative domain - terrify me.  

That said, my inadequate solution of near abstinence is complicated. First, it frequently puts me at odds with people, including loved ones. And in what is best described as an Uber-disconnect, I'm a blogger, for crying out loud.

Still, disconnect aside, despite my obstinate resistance to most technology, I'm neither advocating for a return to the horse-and-buggy era nor am I oblivious to the benefits technology has delivered. But I am deeply concerned where we are headed. Consequently, I'd sincerely welcome hearing from you. What are some practical strategies all of us can begin using to assist in putting Siri, Alexa, et al back in the bottle, at least from time-to-time?

Reflections From The Bell Curve: The Choir And The Monkey  

Delayed De-Brief

Even though more than a week has passed since we returned from our latest National Park adventure, I'm still de-briefing the time spent away from home. This ever happen to you, i.e., you feel like there's more to be extracted from an exceptional travel experience?

Front and center in my delayed de-brief is a sense of lingering gratitude for the unremitting miracle of nature. Each hike we took in Yosemite and Sequoia National Park was more spectacular than the one before. The breathtaking views in both parks defy description. I'll never forget the awe I felt walking around the world's largest tree. 

I've also had ample time to reflect on how traveling with Road Scholar has enriched our time away from home, beginning with the first trip we took with them in 2015. It would be hard to over-state how much more relaxed I am knowing I don't have to think about anything other than showing up on time each day; Road Scholar does everything else. The direct consequence of that? I'm fully present. I'm more receptive to the information the terrific guides dispense as well as the beauty engulfing me. I'm also more open to interacting with fellow travelers and my creative riffing feels limitless. Ideas and inspiration come at me - unimpeded - from everywhere. I don't need directions, hiking maps, or anything aside from water, my notebook, and a pen. Difficult to describe how liberating that feels. 

My delayed de-brief also reminded me to add a note to our gratitude jar. I feel fortunate to have the means to enjoy experiences like these and doubly fortunate that my partner of forty-seven + years is a willing and enthusiastic travel companion.  

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Practicing Gratitude

Words for the Ages: Line Thirty-Six

"All your money won't buy another minute". 

I've never owned a recording by Kansas. That includes their biggest hit single - Dust in the Wind - the song from which the lyric above is lifted. Always liked the tune - nice acoustic guitar, inventive violin lines, subtle vocal harmony, moderately bleak but largely solid lyric - but I'd mostly stopped buying singles by 1978 and their other music didn't grab me enough to invest in an LP.

My disinterest in Kansas aside, I submit that terse phrase will outlive composer/lyricist Kerry Livgren. I hope he'll forgive the fact that I transplanted the word buy from the end of his phrase to the middle. In the original, Livgren needed buy to complete a rhyming couplet (with "sky"). But for me, the clumsy syntax of "...won't another minute buy" dulls the impact and lands with a thud. However, at least one faithful reader and good friend pushed back at my presumptuousness when I shared this notion. She gently chastised me for minimizing "artistic license". We agreed to disagree.

You decide where you want to land, then place the word buy where it suits you. No matter really because in the end, those concise seven words stand alone and contain a universal truth. They are words for the ages, clumsy syntax or artistic license notwithstanding. 

A Jolt

Happened to be changing the widget called featured post on the left side of my home page when I noticed a comment the older of my two sisters had made many years ago on the post I'd most recently resurrected from my archives. What a jolt that comment delivered to me. 

How I miss the once-frequent visits to the bell curve she made for years. Nowadays, I'll occasionally read a recent post to her, usually involving some family-of-origin folklore. Though she can no longer type in a comment, the smile on her face is often enough to tell me I've gotten through. 

I'm grateful for that smile just as I am for my sister's frequent comments during the first nine + years of my blog's life. In the early years, her comments helped inspire me to keep publishing even when my view numbers were discouraging and it seemed as though few people besides her, my wife, and my daughter paid any attention. And that jolt from her years-old comment then further reminded me of her early-in-life embrace of my awful high school poetry. It would be difficult to over-state how her lifelong support of my creative efforts has sustained me. Bad poetry, abysmal early songs, marginal musical endeavors, my blog; she never wavered. Who has been that kind of anchor in your life? When was the last time you acknowledged that person? What are you waiting for? 

 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: This Moment

The Line of Beauty

Since finishing The Line of Beauty (2004) a few weeks back, I've purposefully limited my reading diet to books of non-fiction. Alan Hollinghurst's Man Booker Prize-winning novel is literature of the highest order. It hit me with such force that I haven't wanted to risk being in the hands of a less capable novelist ever since. The closest recent analogue I can recall to this reading experience was how I felt upon finishing The Overstory (2018) in early 2020 and then subsequently gushing about Richard Powers's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel in seven blog posts over the remaining months of that year.

"Even disagreements ... had a glow of social harmony to them, of relished licence, and counted almost as agreements transposed to a different key."    

Hollinghurst had me right there, on page twenty-one. Smart sentences like that, all in the service of a pitch-perfect story about class in Thatcher-era England, adorn every chapter. The conversations in this masterful book - especially those featuring the protagonist (Nick Guest) and each of the four members of the wealthy Fedden family with whom Nick lives - are unimprovable. Details? "Dragon flies paid darting visits." Bringing a character to life? "...his tone combined candour and insincerity to oddly charming effect". Telling observations? "...he could make a mere gesture towards an action which would at once be performed by someone else."

Above all, The Line of Beauty transformed me as a reader, much like The Overstory did five years ago. This time, Hollinghurst helped me close a gap I reflexively create between myself and characters with money and power who collect beautiful things. Because all of Hollinghurst's characters were expertly rendered, instead of seeing them as "types" and feeling distanced from them, I saw them instead as flawed human beings, like me.

Reflections From The Bell Curve: To Be Continued 

Not Cut Out for Heavy Lifting

No maintenance required. Low - medium - high maintenance required. Uber-maintenance required. 

Using the five levels above, where would you place yourself on a maintenance required continuum? How closely would your self-assessment of where you are on that continuum match up with how others - especially those who know you well - see you?

While on our recent adventure to Yosemite National Park with Road Scholar, I reflected quite a bit on how grateful I am that my partner of forty-seven + years requires such low maintenance. Although I've known this since our first date in April of 1978, spending time with groups and observing what others seem to require as minimum maintenance invariably amplifies my gratitude for her. 

What does my gratitude for her low maintenance requirements say about me? How many of you in long-term partnerships have ever considered this angle, i.e., some of the reasons why we gravitate toward certain people based on how much heavy lifting we think we might have to do? I'm reasonably sure my selfishness has had a lot to do with the people I've been most drawn to throughout my life, including my partner. Under no circumstances could I ever see myself responding well to someone having what I considered to be trendy, frivolous, or expensive tastes. Nor could I see myself attracted to anyone who equated either stuff or undivided attention and adoration with affection. I'm too attached to my own exceedingly modest needs to react favorably to anyone at the higher end of that continuum. 

Not that I'd ever be in the running for anyone like that anyway. I'm certain that any person requiring a high or above level of maintenance would quickly surmise that I'm not cut out for heavy lifting.  

 

#74: The Mt. Rushmore Series

Even for those less music-obsessed than me, certain songs are guaranteed to conjure a specific time in a life. In my experience, the same applies for books - both for casual readers and bookworms - and for movies, cinephile or otherwise. 

For this iteration of Mt. Rushmore, I'd like to hear which specific detail - mundane or off-the-curve - is so inextricably linked to a movie that you immediately recall that film when that detail presents itself. My monument is listed chronologically backwards by date of the film's release. You'll soon understand why. List your monument however you choose.

1.) Detail: Port-a-potty. Film: Slumdog Millionaire. The direct inspiration for this post came during our just finished visit to Yosemite National Park. As I entered one particularly dingy port-a-potty, a scene from early in Danny Boyle's 2008 film wouldn't let me go. From there, it was easy for this movie geek to come up with three more details that simply can't be linked to any other film.

2.) Detail: Hedge maze. Film: The Shining. Even money you knew what film I would name before I did so. I submit anyone who saw Stanley Kubrick's 1980 adaptation of the Stephen King novel will never be able to separate a hedge maze - or the deranged look in Jack Nicholson's eyes - from that film.  

3.) Detail: Phone booth. Film: The Birds. Although phone booths have been featured in many movies, if you saw Alfred Hitchcock's 1963 film even once, I think you'll agree this detail and that film cannot be separated. Film buffs: Check out High Anxiety, Mel Brooks's hysterical 1977 homage to Hitchcock, phone booth included.   

4.) Detail: Shower. Film: Psycho. Within seconds after connecting port-a-potty to Slumdog Millionaire, shower = Psycho came to me. Since 1960, no year has ever passed without that shower scene crossing my mind at least one time. I suspect I'm not alone.    

If you can't come up with four, don't stress. Make one or more nominations. Unrepentant movie junkie that I am, I'd love to hear what comes to you.             

Glad I Did; Wish I Hadn't

 Glad I did; wish I hadn't. Wish I had; glad I didn't.

I'm not temperamentally inclined to spend a great deal of time thinking about regrets. But claiming there is nothing in my life I wish I hadn't done would be a lie. And the same goes for some things that I had the opportunity to do. Looking back now, there are a few of those I wish I had acted on. How about you? I'd welcome hearing which four things first come to mind when you consider the italicized phrases opening this post.

I'm glad I pledged to visit all the National Parks. In the end, I may not make it to all sixty-five - the five remote ones in Alaska and the one on American Samoa are a long shot - but had I never made that pledge, my connection to the natural world would feel smaller.

I wish I hadn't let my ego rule my early life as an aspiring musician and songwriter. 

I wish I had gone to Barcelona with my wife when that opportunity presented itself some years back. I foolishly let the price of the airline ticket dissuade me from joining her at the time. A bozo move, for sure. 

I'm glad I didn't let either the naysayers in my life or my pathetic early view numbers lead me to conclude that blogging wasn't worth the time or effort. This blog has helped me immeasurably - in several ways - to harness my creativity. 

Please share with me and others something you're glad you did and something you wish you hadn't. From there it should be easy to recall something you wish you had done as well as something you're glad you didn't.    

A Likely Last, Another First

Although it's possible I'll return to Yosemite National Park in my lifetime, it's much more likely this will be my last time experiencing this remarkable place. If you've never visited here, I'd suggest putting it near the top of your list. It's no wonder that the time Theodore Roosevelt spent with John Muir here in the early twentieth century inspired him to become the President who will be forever revered as the "father" of our National Park system.    

I briefly considered dazzling you with some pictures taken in the park over the last few days. But isn't it likely that the roadside image I included below - taken at the nearby Wind Wolves Preserve - will linger in your memory longer than yet another image of transcendent splendor? I mean really. How much beauty can anyone meaningfully absorb? Besides, I needed a first to go with the likely last I've described above to provide some ballast lest anyone accuse me of being morose. And this sign is surely a first for me. How about you? Got a comparable sign you want to share anywhere near as arresting as this?

Next stops: Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Park. Many say those parks are equally breathtaking, meaning some dazzle could be forthcoming. But there's an equal chance something quirky will capture my fancy and even odds the wi-fi will be spotty. In the meanwhile, this week my favorite National Park has to be Yosemite. But be sure to check back in soon.

Reclaiming My Film Geek Status

OK, this year I'm currently up to nine for ten only a few months after the best picture Oscar was awarded, meaning at least I'm ahead of last year's ratio in the same month. I began getting more and more behind in 2009 when the number of nominees for best picture increased from an easier-to-manage five to eight, nine, or ten. Consequently, because I've still not seen several post-2008 best picture nominees, my film geek bona fides started feeling a little suspect around this time last year. But I'm now slowly reclaiming my status; I saw the three 2024 nominees below over just this past two weeks.  

Of those three, I'm Still Here worked best for me end-to-end, a surprise because sub-titled films are not usually a go-to for me. The lead actress (Fernanda Torres) is clearly deserving of her best actress nomination as a ferociously devoted mother of five who holds her family together after her husband is "disappeared" by the military dictatorship that ruled Brazil in 1970.

Of the nine nominees I've now seen, Nickel Boys is clearly the most innovative. My expectations for this film adaptation were probably unrealistic given my reverence for the source material, Colson Whitehead's extraordinary novel of the same name. But in his directorial debut, RaMell Ross made an exceptional film that pulled off a feat I didn't think possible, i.e., he packed the same punch into the surprise ending of his film as Whitehead did with his Pulitzer Prize-Winning novel. 

The Brutalist had some terrific moments. And the main character - played by the always reliable Adrien Brody - is compelling even when it's difficult to like him. But for me, there were just as many moments when the script had a hollow ring to it. For example, the rape scene and the confrontation between the wife of the main character and the rapist both felt un-earned. 

If you've seen any of these nominees, I'm curious to know how your reactions match or differ from mine. And I'm even more curious to hear which of the ten 2024 nominees would have gotten your vote for best picture. After I see the last of the ten - Dune: Part Two - I'll report back on my vote.    

97th Academy Awards - Wikipedia         

Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch

As is often the case, I'm unsure what wi-fi service will be like during my time in three national parks over the coming weeks. If all is well, I plan to include a picture or two with some of the posts that get through. Though any image of treasures like those I'll be experiencing in Yosemite, Sequioa, and Kings Canyon are doomed to be inadequate, regular readers have sometimes commented on enjoying an occasional picture to augment a reflection. Promise to do my best to minimize the cornpone level.

In the meanwhile, I'm pleased our time away will be spent with three good friends we've been travelling with for a few years now. In total, one of those three has now visited seven National Parks with us (ten after this trip), and the other two friends have been our companions to three of those same seven; their tally with us will be up to four National Parks after this trip. And I'm even more excited that our time away will also mean spending a week with my daughter, son-in-law, and drum roll, please ... my brilliant, musical genius, all around joy, eight-month-old grandson. It's a good thing I set the tone early in the life of my book club to keep grandparent crowing to a minimum. Otherwise, I'm afraid the members of my club would have been subjected to non-stop bragging, prompting them to run from the last several meetings screaming. I can't help myself. 

Check in with me here periodically over the coming weeks. If no reflections from the bell curve are forthcoming for more than a few days at a time, assume one of the following: 1.) Spotty wi-fi; 2.) Your favorite blogger is too awestruck by the splendor of our National Parks to sit down at the laptop; or ... 3.) My grandson needs help translating The Iliad from the ancient Greek. 

A Gift and a Fuzzy Line

"I am here to live out loud.": Emile Zola

I've always considered my abundant energy a gift. But more than a few times in my life, people have told me that energy was wearing them out. I'm not always able to tell when my passion for something - and the energy feeding that passion - has overtaken me. Sound familiar to anyone? With people close to me, I can sometimes detect a tired look in their eyes telling me perhaps my passion-infused energy has crossed into attention-seeking territory. But picking up those signals from others remains an ongoing challenge. How about that? Familiar at all?

Where is that fuzzy line between living life out loud - as Emile Zola extols - and being too loud? As an extraverted man who has intense passions, that question is on the front of my radar regularly. We men have been enculturated to expect people to listen when we speak. And the extraverts among us are temperamentally inclined to use our share - or more - of airtime. Add in those intense passions and it's no mystery why the mansplainers of the world trigger me to the point of apoplexy. It's like looking at the worst image of myself. 

Using my gift wisely is a life's work. Which gift of yours presents you with a similar dilemma?

 

"Never trust people who don't have something in their lives that they love beyond all reason": from Beartown (2016) by Fredrik Backman

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Living Life Aloud

Jonesing for a Discussion

Among the things I'm grateful for, having a large number of readers in my life is near the top of the list. Even anticipating a discussion about a worthwhile book with any of these folks infuses me with energy. 

That delicious anticipation enhanced my recent re-read of The Interpreter of Maladies (1999), an extraordinary collection of short stories by Jhumpa Lahiri. My rationale for re-reading? Easy; a good friend - one of those readers I mentioned - had borrowed our copy. Soon after checking in to see how she was doing, I suggested we discuss whatever she'd finished up that point. (I'd already borrowed a library copy.)

But soon after reading the final heartbreaking sentence of the masterful opening story ("They wept together for the things they now knew" from A Temporary Matter), taking one story at a time became an untenable strategy for me. Lahiri's unshowy prose and piercing observations - particularly about assimilation - hurtled me through the second story (When Mr. Pirzada Came to Dine), an equal in every way to the opener. After then completing the title story, there was no turning back. Guitar, exercise, even eating moved back in the queue. The title story is so exceptional that I recalled many of its telling details from my first time through the book. But re-reading it revealed additional layers that had escaped me back in 1999. Such is the skill of this gifted author.

As assured as the next five stories are, the closer (The Third and Final Continent), elevated this reading experience from exceptional to transformative. After finishing that treasure, my jones for the discussion with my friend took on an almost frenzied aspect. I started planning which story we'd discuss first. One of my favorites or hers? I scoured my notes for some of the subtle details Lahiri sprinkles throughout each story like delicious treats and began wondering which of them my friend noticed. And which details did she pick up on that I missed? Which words, phrases, passages of dialogue, sentences, paragraphs that won't leave me alone are haunting her? Until we have our discussion, what do I do with all this energy? Can we start over again right after we finish?     

Words for the Ages: Line Thirty-Five

"A man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest." 

Until today's iteration, I've adhered to a guideline established at the inception of this series in 2017, i.e., not to repeat any lyricist. But a recent discussion about confirmation bias with a new friend persuaded me it was time to forego that guideline, at least this one time. Carefully re-read those twelve words above from The Boxer and share with me a lyric that more succinctly captures our shared human tendency to ignore information that doesn't support or reinforce our worldview. I'm standing by.  

In addition, if any lyricist deserves to be cited more than once in a series entitled Words for the Ages who can reasonably take issue with that lyricist being Paul Simon? Have others been more influential than him? Perhaps. More literary? Maybe. More consistent? Emphatically not. Put Paul Simon's entire catalog against any other twentieth century lyricist and compare song-by-song. After doing that comparison, return here and make your case for who has been more consistent. I'll wait.

In the meanwhile, I welcome nominations for an aphoristic lyric you would cite as words for the ages. Reach for a lyric that stands alone, i.e., one that doesn't depend on a rhyme to complete the thought. Next, make whatever you nominate terse enough to be easily recalled. The main point? Timelessness. I'll be right here.  

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Words For The Ages, Line Fourteen

Another Sweepstakes Win

If there's a sweepstakes for good fortune in a life, I've been a winner more than once. 

My winning streak started with a devoted mother who was involved in nearly every aspect of my young life. Chaperone on trips of every type, cub scout den mother, president of the grammar school PTA. I felt loved and cared for my entire childhood. My turbulent adolescence tested my mother in several ways. She passed, her love for me never wavering.     

If I worked at it, I could perhaps conjure a mother equal to the one my daughter has had. No doubt, like all mothers, she made mistakes with our only child. But ask me to recall anything specific beyond trivialities, and I'd have trouble. Without question, my daughter couldn't have had a better role model as an independent woman than her mother. In that respect, even conjuring an equal is challenging for me.

  

My daughter never knew either of her grandmothers. How then to explain her immediate and undeniable suitability as a new mother other than the adoration and attention her own mother showered on her from the second she entered the world? And so it was, from the first moments I saw my daughter holding my new grandson last October. In her face, her touch, her very essence, I sensed both my mother's spirit and my wife's laser-like focus on our daughter as her life began.  

I now look forward to the day my grandson recognizes he's won the same sweepstakes as me. With a mother and grandmother like his, I suspect I won't be waiting long.   

Life Is a Series of Hellos and Goodbyes

A few months back I began a journey with a dear friend I met in 2015. I was part of her journey because her husband of sixty years - also a cherished friend - kept me informed from afar.   

Her life was filled with immense love and unswerving faith. I was not there at the end, but her whole family and many friends were by her side. 

She was a person of limitless grace. To say I will miss her is inadequate. 

"Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes; I'm afraid it's time for goodbye again": from Goodbye to Hollywood (1976) - Billy Joel

Adding Another Keeper

Before stopping full-time work in 2010, I found it much easier discovering novelists I wanted to continue reading vs. non-fiction authors. At present, which group - novelists or non-fiction writers - has more of your favorites?

Soon after finishing The Wager (2023) - David Grann's astonishing tale of "shipwreck, mutiny, and murder" - I did a quick review of my book journals and realized my ratio of go-to novelists vs. non-fiction authors is fast approaching parity. Grann first dazzled me with Killers of the Flower Moon, a book that blew away every person in my book club. Now, along with Erik Larson, Jill Lepore, Jon Krakauer, Susan Orlean - to name a few - Grann has joined my growing list of non-fiction authors whom I'm sure I'll continue reading for the rest of my life. 

Foremost of the elements that captivated me reading The Wager were the first person quotes Grann uses throughout, lifted directly from the still-intact journals from 1740-42 kept by some of the shipwreck survivors. But it takes a writer with Grann's gift to turn those dry journal entries into a compelling narrative. In addition, Grann also shines a light on the frequently mindless arrogance of the era with powerful passages like this: "European explorers, baffled how anyone could survive in the region - and seeking to justify assaults on indigenous groups - often labeled the Kawsegar and other canoe people as cannibals, but there is no credible evidence of this."  

"We all impose some coherence - some meaning - on the chaotic events of our existence."  When a sentence like that appears early in a book, I'm reasonably certain I'm in capable hands. David Grann is clearly a keeper.

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Such A Life

Journey to the Past

Though I've been open about my age since the inception of my blog fifteen + years ago, I've also tried hard to avoid dwelling on it, especially with respect to some of the indignities that can occasionally accompany codgerhood. That said, sometimes a reflection - like today's - demands placement in a coot context. So ...

When did you last spot money on the ground somewhere? How much? Enough that you felt it worthwhile to bend over and pick it up? Recently, I spotted a $5.00 bill, picked up without hesitation. What would you have done? Would you perhaps briefly ponder what $5.00 could buy in 2025? I did. Pocketing the bill, I envisioned two sixteen-ounce coffees at my local convenience store. Those of you favoring those barista concoctions would of course need more. Me? I'd end up with some change for my jar back home.  

My next thought? Genuine surprise at how unexcited I was spotting that $5.00 bill. Old farts: With me yet? As soon as I recognized my nonchalant attitude about having $5.00 more in my pocket than I'd had moments before, the time machine opened unto 1973. Twenty-four-year-old Pat spots $5.00 on the ground. Unexcited, nonchalant, blase? Are you kidding? In 1973, while making my living as a musician, I would routinely get off the Garden State Parkway on Bloy St. in Hillside to avoid paying .25 at the Union toll plaza. And then I'd get right back on the Parkway past that plaza and continue to my gig. After the gig - if I'd paid my month's rent - I would sometimes stop for a cup of coffee at a diner = .10 including refills. Yes, I would avoid that same Union toll going home.   

For the non-curmudgeonly or anyone born on third base who thinks they hit a triple, apologies if today's reflection has limited resonance. For me, that $5.00 bill kicked off a journey to the past.    

Quirky Collections

Before enticing you to step into the confession booth, I'm obliged to acknowledge my late mother had among the quirkiest of all collections, i.e., salt & pepper shakers. And her massive collection remained in the family long after she died in 1977. That was mostly because neither my father - who lived until 1997 - nor any of her four children - me included - had the will to part with the dozen or more boxes holding that long-untouched collection until early 2021. That year, the house where those boxes had been stored for decades was sold and we all knew it was time to finally let go.

OK, the ball is rolling; it's your turn. What is your quirkiest collection? Are you going to claim that what you collect isn't quirky? Not even a little? Or are you going all high-and-mighty and say you collect nothing? Nothing? Do you also walk on water? Can I watch? In any case, quirky or not, water-walking aside, what got you started collecting whatever it is you collect? Still collecting? What will have to happen to convince you it might be time to stop or, at least, to cut back? If you refuse to own up to collecting anything, one final question: Which quirky collection most recently caught your attention?     

To ensure my relationship with living family members remains intact, I don't plan to reveal here any of their quirky collections. But I can be bribed. In the meanwhile, even if no one decides to step into the bell curve confession booth about their collection, I'm owning up to mine. I've collected at least five hundred guitar picks over the years. As quirky as that is, I've got a guitar-playing friend leagues ahead of me in the guitar pick quirkiness sweepstakes. My picks are in my guitar cases; his are in a gigantic bowl, displayed like snacks. And, there are a lot more than five hundred in that bowl. 

In case you're wondering, the inspiration for this reflection came via my local librarian. After noticing her eyeglasses a while back, I commented on how attractive they were. Weeks went by. Another pair, another compliment. More weeks, still another set, another comment. When I recently asked about the latest new pair she confessed to her quirky collection. I won't reveal the number of pairs of eyeglasses she told me clutter up her bedroom dresser, but she freely owned up to the quirkiness of her collection with no guilt, no excuses, no walking on water. See how brave some people are? 

"You've Gotta Hear This!" (etc.)

"You've gotta hear this!"

How many times have you made a similar statement to someone? How many times has someone said something just like that to you? How often have you been disappointed by another person's reaction to something that knocked you out? How often do you suppose your reaction to something that knocked out someone else disappointed that person?

Whether it's a song, book, movie, piece of art or architecture, view, etc. I'm often disappointed in the reaction I get from others in situations like this. I suspect I'm not alone in my disappointment.  When I'm passionate, I'm looking for a similar level of intensity in another person's reaction to what I'm passionate about. Yes, I know the experience I'm having is subjective.  Despite that, I keep trying - "You've gotta hear/read/see this!"  Why haven't I given up yet? Why haven't you?

Perhaps when I'm convinced a song, book, etc. is this special, logic & sense are temporarily suspended. I tell myself it's not an opinion. I say it's not just my "taste". This movie or piece of art or photograph is transcendent, period. Irrational? Probably, but I dare you to deny you're not just a little frustrated or disappointed when this happens to you.

Mathematics and Music

"It would be unusual if something unusual did not occur."

When a guitar student recently made that offhand statement in response to me pointing out how a predictive pattern had temporarily shifted in a song we were working on together, I captured his words immediately in my journal. When I was unsuccessful tracking down its source, I returned to my student to ask him where he'd picked up that powerful insight. Though he did not recall, as soon as I learned from our conversation that he was a mathematics professor, things fell into place.

Because, in the end, a great deal comes down to mathematics. For example, isn't it likely there will be more crime in a big city vs. a small town? More people live in a big city which increases the likelihood of more people residing there with criminal intent. Or consider this: Isn't it logical - mathematically - that time seems to speed up as we get older because ten years is only 20% of our life when we are fifty, but 50% of our life when we are twenty? Before dismissing my premise, try something first. Deconstruct some mystery that has long befuddled you by using mathematical logic. I submit you'll be surprised where this takes you. 

This all began - as much does with me - via a musical interaction. But even if you dismiss today's reflection as too prosaic, there is no denying the undeniable link connecting music and mathematics. Western music has twelve notes. Yet there are nearly limitless ways those twelve can be combined into miracles; those miracles have sustained my life. And in music - as in mathematics - it would be unusual if something unusual did not occur.  

p.s. It was hard dislodging my sister-in-law - a brilliant mathematics professor - from my head while writing this. 

The Joy of Re-Reading

Approximately how many books would you say you've read more than one time? What's your view of this practice? Is it a worthwhile or an unwise use of your time or something in between? How much does your view of the practice shift based on your reaction to the book you've re-read? 

Given the number of new authors and titles on my perpetually unmanageable list, one might guess re-reading would be a low priority for me; not so. Foremost among the reasons I re-read regularly is to learn how to be a better writer, especially when my attention on a first pass through a favorite book was mostly on the story or the voice. While re-reading, I pay more attention to the language, the architecture, the tone. I am rarely disappointed and frequently thrilled. 

Which book did you most recently re-read that captivated you as much or more than on your first pass? One of the nicest by-products of running my own book club and picking most of the titles is being able to occasionally feature a book I've yearned to re-read. That's what happened early this year when I selected The Garden of Last Days (2008) by Andre Dubus III, a novel that had knocked me out five years before. It wasn't universally loved by my club; most books aren't. But I was satisfied with the discussion, pleased several people liked it as much as me, and thrilled reading it, maybe a little more than the first time. And I'm still looking forward to seeing it adapted to film. I nominate David Fincher to direct and Jennifer Lawrence as the female lead. Why not read (or re-read) this excellent book and tell me your nominations? 

    

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Coming Soon, I Hope

In Between

When you think of the Saturday in between Good Friday and Easter Sunday what comes to mind? 

Maybe the month of August, only one of the twelve with no major holiday? Or John Oates of Hall and ...? Ed McMahon, perhaps? Do you wonder if all those Baldwin brothers have a sister?

Given today actually has an official tag, I freely acknowledge my sin i.e., attaching sacrilegious and secular parallels like those above to Holy Saturday. But my lapse as a Roman Catholic during the Kennedy administration means there's been ample time for me to overcome fear of those eternal flames. Besides, I want to hear your blasphemous analogues. That is, unless that hellfire intimidates you.  

On Good Friday, I can't borrow a book from the library. Getting a restaurant reservation on Easter Sunday takes some forethought. Today may be holy but it invariably passes with little fanfare, at least for me. Kind of like the triangle in a symphony orchestra or the cream of tartar on the spice rack. 

"Got to be something better than in the middle" - Jakob Dylan (from "One Headlight") 

  

Nearly Perfect

When did you most recently have a nearly perfect day? What were some key elements that helped make it nearly perfect? Which of those elements were also present in the last nearly perfect day you experienced? 

In late March, my wife suggested we visit the Saint Michael's Farm Preserve in Hopewell, N.J. The natural setting, clear sky, and ideal early spring temperature set the stage. Our invigorating walk was punctuated by effortless conversation, laughter, and comfortable silence. And then ... a surprise. 

The surprise my wife planned for me helped to round out my nearly perfect day. In the middle of a field at the preserve, I was caught totally off guard by a massive sculpture entitled The Awakening by J Seward Johnson Jr. Though the photo above gives you an idea of its scale, I also included a link below if you care to see some pictures of the sculpture in its entirety. And if you live anywhere proximate to the preserve, be sure to make a visit. It's worth it.

Tomorrow marks the forty-seventh anniversary of the first date my wife and I had. Beginning on April 17, 1978, every nearly perfect day I've had has shared one key element - her.

The Awakening (sculpture) - Wikipedia

Fortifying a Strong Bond

I'm pleased to say I've always been grateful for my family. Even as an obnoxious teenager, I was aware of my good fortune in this respect.

That said, I'm a bit chastened to admit that sometimes I take the talents of some of my family for granted. Am I the only one who needs an occasional slap in the head to help them more fully appreciate the talent of a family member they interact with regularly? I hope not.

My oldest niece is one of my favorite people. She's thoughtful, smart, and funny. When she recently moderated a discussion at my book club, I wasn't surprised how effortlessly she handled the task. But earlier this week, after reading a book review she wrote on Goodreads, her skill expressing herself in writing struck me anew. Is it possible I'd conveniently "forgotten" this undeniable talent of hers in part because of a need to be recognized for my writing? Again, I hope not. 

What I learned from my lapse is to begin paying closer attention to the talents of everyone in my family as well as to start acknowledging those talents more. How can this do anything except fortify the strong bond I share with them?     

Finding Me Tonight? Easy

 A Better Ending | Book by James Whitfield Thomson | Official Publisher Page | Simon & Schuster

Although I've never published a post endorsing a book before I've finished reading it, I'm thrilled to be doing so this time. Why? Because the author is a friend; friends support each other. At minimum, I'm hoping many of you will open the Simon & Schuster link above, read the brief description, and then take six minutes to listen to Fred Parker's narration of the first chapter. 

If you then decide to take more steps on this particular reading journey, whenever you do, I'd welcome hearing your reactions. For the more competitive, i.e., those interested in keeping pace with me, know this to start. I'd already listened to Parker's narration before attending a bookstore event last night to hear my friend Jim read his prologue. Those two small out-of-order tastes made it easy for me to know I'd be returning to Jim's book at chapter two (page seven) as soon as I completed my other commitments today. And that moment will arrive after I ... 1.) publish this post; 2.) eat dinner. With that in mind, here are required steps for those who hope to keep up with me. Beating me is highly unlikely unless you are both a reckless driver and a very fast reader:

* Proceed immediately to your local bookstore (most close around 9:00) and buy Jim's book. Yes, I'm ahead of you on that step as well.  

* Stay up for as long as it takes you to get through 282 pages, not counting the brief prologue. 

In the meanwhile, all of you know where you can find me tonight.

P.S. When you click on the Simon & Schuster link, a large circle will appear asking you to sign up for something. You can avoid doing so by just clicking "MAYBE LATER" at the bottom of that circle. Doing so will take you back to the S&S page from where you can read the book description and click the link that says "LISTEN" at the top left.  

Trailblazers and Musical Communion

"If I can see further than others, it is because I stand on the shoulders of giants" - Isaac Newton 

Although I've whined here more than once about the paltry remuneration I receive for teaching my music appreciation courses, my kvetching seems silly when I consider the ancillary benefits. I cannot honestly claim I'd do these courses for nothing, given the amount of time I devote to developing my material. But each one enriches me and further deepens my love of music. Those are both valuable gifts.

 

Last summer, when I conceptualized the course I'll be finishing tomorrow - Women of Heart and Mind: A Changing Musical Landscape - I suspected the non-musical research required might be substantial. I did not anticipate how many unfamiliar trailblazing women that research would introduce to me, each more remarkable than the next. I've included the Wikipedia link below for Jeanette Rankin - one of the women unfamiliar to me until developing this course - mostly because her story had an outsize impact on me, but I could've easily done the same for several others. Rankin and others helped shape our national conversation about women's rights. All of us are in debt to these pioneers. 

And then there are the moments of musical communion that occur in nearly every class. Two weeks ago, after session #1 concluded, a participant told me how moved she was by Woman of Heart and Mind - my course's namesake - a Joni Mitchell song from 1974's For the Roses. Turns out she had never heard the song. She went on to say that my laser focus on Joni's lyric about the way some people struggle with authenticity ("You imitate the best and the rest you memorize") had a powerful effect on her. I live for moments like this.  

Jeannette Rankin - Wikipedia    

Two Hours Well Spent

If you enjoy quiet films with little flourish, set aside two hours for The Outrun (2024). I included the Wikipedia link below to eliminate the need for me to outline too many particulars and also help you to decide if you want to invest the time. However, the plot summary therein does have a spoiler so don't read it to its end. 

I suspect the main reason this film landed with me as it did is because of how many people I've known who've done battle with alcohol and/or drugs. The struggles, rationalizing, destructive behavior, and backsliding of the main character in The Outrun - played by Saoirse Ronan - were painfully familiar to me. Have you ever known a single person who doesn't have a story of someone from their life - family member, friend, work colleague, neighbor, etc. - who has fought this fight? Everyone I've ever known has at least one story - sometimes their own - like this.

Another reason I'm comfortable recommending this sleeper without reservation is also connected to my life's experience with alcoholism and drug abuse. Numerous times, I've witnessed people close to me who have turned their lives around with the help of Alcoholics Anonymous and similar twelve-step programs. AA may not be for everyone. But any film that points people toward a solution that I've seen work many times is, to me, a film worth endorsing. Added bonuses: Exceptional acting, nearly flawless script, and unobtrusive direction. And a trip to a remote and enchanting corner of the world.  

If you end up watching The Outrun, please remember to either return here with a comment or write me an e-mail to tell me your thoughts. I'd like to extend the glow of this movie for as long as I can. 

The Outrun (film) - Wikipedia

The Last Reflection from Patstan

Abandoning ship, closing shop, skipping town. 

Farewell concert, final song, no encore.

Out of gas, out of steam, over and out.   

Throwing in the towel, raising the white flag, that's all folks. 

April Fool's!

(I was tempted to prolong this, e.g., Elvis has left the building, etc. I even considered torturing you with that annoying closing song from The Sound of Music. You owe me one.)

Today's Tao

"We teach best what we need to learn most."

What happened most recently to you that confirmed teaching is the best way to learn?

In my course called Jamming for Advanced Beginners, a message I try to convey to guitar students early on is to avoid thinking of any improvised note as "right" or "wrong". Better - I coach them - to consider the notes they intended to play vs. those they didn't intend to play. I strongly believe any student who fully internalizes this critical lesson will be a more relaxed improviser from the start. In addition, having this kind of attitude about one's own improvising is a surefire way to ensure that person will be far less likely to harshly judge what other people play in their early attempts at improvising.

If I could borrow that HG Wells contraption, I know what point in time in my life as a musician I'd return to. I'd go back to my start as an improviser and hear my own words endlessly repeated back to me: "There are no wrong notes, Pat, only notes you didn't intend to play."  Perhaps those words would have given me enough confidence to ignore anyone who cringed at something I tried. 

But time machine fantasy aside, what I've seen - as a teacher - is that each time I repeat this message, an unsurprising thing happens; my own improvising gets a little more relaxed and natural. And that's when Buddha's words are confirmed for me, yet again. 

 

Assembling the Quilt

Take a moment and join me in a fantasy. Imagine you'd spent your professional life as an historian. What era or subject captivates you enough that - in this fantasy - you want to be an expert, able to easily answer nearly any question about that era or subject? 

As disturbing as the subject can sometimes be, these days I frequently yearn to be an expert in the history of the native people who first inhabited this place we call the United States of America. Though the subject was always of interest, my fantasy took a firm hold in 2011, soon after I finished James Loewen's mind blowing book Lies My Teacher Told Me (1995). Since then, the novels of Native American authors like Louise Erdrich & Tommy Orange - among others - and historical powerhouses like The Trail of Tears (Gail Jahoda, 1975) and Killers of the Flower Moon (David Grann, 2017) have helped turn my fascination with this complicated slice of history into something bordering on an obsession.

The many disparate pieces I've picked up over my fourteen-year journey are satisfying. But, at times, those pieces each feel like an individual swatch of fabric. The expert I fantasize about being would be able to assemble them all into a quilt. All that's needed is a second lifetime. Anybody able to help me with that? 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Still Closing the Gap

Reflections From The Bell Curve: John Brown Day

Grounding Myself, Accidentally

"The graveyard is full of indispensable people."

It's possible you're someone who has never taken themselves too seriously. I make no such claim. So let me ask those of you who have - at least a few times - shared my unfortunate tendency. Who helps you remain grounded? If you don't rely on a trusted person to ground you regularly, what do you rely on instead? Who are the people in your life that remind you by example to stay grounded? 

I cannot recall what prompted me to jot down the italicized words above nor did I cite its source in my blog notebook at the time. But a few weeks back I caught myself briefly musing on my importance as I sat down to begin writing a post. What set me off on that fantasy? No idea. Anyone reading and foolish enough to admit to having done so, do you recall what most recently propelled you onto a similar delusional path? 

I do recall from that day weeks back what happened before I started writing. I opened my notebook, noticed those grounding words above and got abruptly yanked back to reality. Timing is everything.

 

p.s. Tried tracking down those words using Wikiquotes; no luck. My best guess? This is something lifted from a novel I was reading at the time. If I'm right, there's another good reason to continue reading fiction, not that I needed any rationale for doing so. 

Your Gold Standard

In my experience, most people who read widely have at least a few "go to" authors. To a lesser extent, I've noticed a similar tendency among serious music lovers and dedicated cinephiles. Music geeks and movie buffs alike rely on certain performers or directors to consistently deliver the goods just as readers do with authors. Today I'm hoping to extract unknown treasures from any of you who share my passion for either literature, music, or film, all of which have enriched my life immeasurably.   

Readers first: Which one book by a "go to" author will be difficult for that same author to top in your mind? You will continue reading this author but - in your mind - this book has become a kind of gold standard. I'm not looking for a "best of" by that author or even your "favorite", necessarily. Try to avoid using those labels as you consider this question carefully. Instead, I'd like to know which one book by that author excited you enough that returning to their work repeatedly was never in doubt. Before moving on to #2 and #3, please note: All of us are destined to be disappointed from time-to-time, gold standard aside. I mean, the Beatles released Why Don't We Do It in the Road. On the other hand, I've been upended more than once by an artist topping something I thought of as unsurpassable. Haven't you?  

Music lovers: Same question, replacing "book" with "recording/album". For information purposes, please also note the name of the musician or band or performer. 

Cinephiles: Replace "book" with "film". Again, be sure to identify the director's name. Source material would be a nice bonus, if relevant. Would be cool to get a good book out of this third entry. 

I'm standing by. Others may also be on the lookout for hidden treasure; share the wealth, please.  

Yesterday

Although the premise for this post came to me as I reflected on a good day - yesterday - some folks might find it unsettling to speculate on their mortality. If that's the case for you, stop reading now. No chance of me getting offended; I have no way of knowing.   

If you knew for sure when you got into bed last night that yesterday was going to be your last day, how would you feel about the way you'd spent it? Imagine what might happen if each of us spent even one day of every month living as though it was going to be our last. Isn't it possible the world could be improved, however marginally?  

I'm not claiming what I did yesterday improved or altered the world in any fashion. But the fact that I did no harm, combined with the positive energy I felt while delivering a music class, spurred me to consider how that energy could easily be directed toward larger aims if I were purposeful about it. All that need happen is for me to occasionally keep that question above front and center. If I did, isn't it possible that over time some modest action of mine might make a tiny difference? More important, how could keeping that question on my radar all the time be anything but beneficial for me and the world? 

These thoughts made for a peaceful night's sleep. For that alone, I'm grateful. 

A Honduran Bookonnection

Ever think the word coincidence is inadequate to describe something that's happened to you? My most recent bookonnection is wild enough that I would be skeptical were someone to tell me this story. 

I first read Paul Theroux's 1982 bestseller Mosquito Coast soon after it was published. Mid-winter of 2024, I was discussing that novel and a later travel book of Theroux's called The Last Train to Zona Verde with a new hiking friend. Zona Verde (2013) was itself kind of a "prep" book for my impending trip to Africa. On the spot, to entice this new friend to join and also because I wanted an excuse to re-read it, I decided to put Mosquito Coast into the queue for my book club. However, because I plan far in advance what my club will be reading, Theroux's early novel was slotted for the meeting in March of this year. 

Many conversations with my fellow travelers while on that trip to Africa centered on books. By the time the trip was over, I had about twenty titles to explore, including The Lost City of the Monkey God (2017) by Douglas Preston, an author and book totally unfamiliar to me. Over parts of 2024 and early 2025, I worked my way through some of those titles but not Monkey God.

Fast forward to February 2025 when my club didn't meet due to inclement weather. Late in the month, I met 1x1 with one of the charter members to discuss our "missed" book. By then, I had already completed my re-read of Mosquito Coast and also re-watched the 1986 film adaptation. At that 1x1 meeting - as is our habit - this reading soulmate and I spoke of other stuff we'd recently enjoyed. Among others, she recommended The Lost City of the Monkey God. Now that I considered a coincidence - or the universe speaking to me - and decided right then to make Monkey God my next non-fiction read. I still had no idea what it was about or where it took place. 

On March 10, the day before my club was scheduled to discuss Mosquito Coast, I opened The Lost City of the Monkey God for the first time and stopped after reading the first sentence: "Deep in Honduras, in a region called La Mosquitia, lie some of the last unexplored places on earth." I took a quick look at the map on the inside cover of Monkey God. Yeah, those river names looked familiar, as did a place called "Brewer's Lagoon". To ensure I was recollecting correctly, I grabbed notes I'd taken for Mosquito Coast to help me guide the discussion for my club. When I confirmed the two books were set in the exact same location in Honduras, I was so astonished I stopped reading and exclaimed to my wife - "You're not going to believe this!" I submit the word coincidence is not up to the job for this situation. When my club met to discuss Mosquito Coast the next day, I opened the discussion by describing my uncanny experience, reading aloud the first sentence of Monkey God. I'm still getting my head around the conclusion of this thirteen-month-long Honduran bookonnection. 

p.s. The Lost City of the Monkey God is the best non-fiction book I've read so far in 2025.        

Milestones Since the Maiden Voyage

Just before sitting down at my laptop moments ago, I realized my first tentative steps into the blogosphere occurred fourteen years ago tomorrow. On the spot, I decided to abandon what I'd previously planned to write about and instead celebrate the start of my fifteenth uninterrupted year of reflecting from the bell curve by marking a few milestones from 2011 - 2025. Why not join in and share a few of yours? I'm doing mine chronologically but pick whatever order works for you.

* When my wife and I took our first trip with Road Scholar (nee Elder Hostels) in the fall of 2015, we had modest expectations. We knew we'd enjoy two of the National Parks we'd be visiting in Alaska and hoped we'd meet some nice folks who - like us - are not luxury-oriented travelers. Who could have predicted the bond we'd build with fourteen (of forty) of our fellow travelers? Except for Groundhog Year, i.e., when Covid shut down the world, the sixteen of us have re-united somewhere in the U.S. in every subsequent year since. What an indescribably wonderful late-in-life gift.  

* Feeling accountable for a goal I announced publicly here on November 22, 2011 definitely kept me focused on that goal. Almost eight years later - in August 2019 - I had memorized 300 songs jazz musicians enjoy playing, either from the Great American Songbook or standards composed by some of the jazz giants. I've forgiven myself for taking eight years to accomplish this when I set out to do so in one (!!), primarily because the regimen of continually reviewing those 300 (now up to 319) tunes has formed the backbone of my practicing discipline on guitar over the ensuing five + years.

* On October 3, 2024, my wife and I became first-time grandparents. If my grandson gives me even 50% of the joy my daughter has given me, I'll be grateful beyond measure.

If you want to share more than three milestones/highlights, great. I limited mine to three for the sake of brevity. My life has been filled with riches since March 15, 2011. And the regular discipline of publishing this blog has clearly helped me bring those riches into focus. Thanks for all your support, online and off. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Maiden Voyage

Who Doesn't Want This?

"I just want you to know who I am."

I wonder how many times I've heard - but not listened closely to - Iris, a song that includes the simple but profound lyric above. Apparently, it's one of the most well-known tunes by the Goo Goo Dolls and was featured in City of Angels, a Nicholas Cage film from 1998.  

I'm not sure what made me pay close attention to Iris the last time it played on my car radio several weeks ago. But whatever the reason, I'm glad I was focused for that moment. As lead singer/composer John Rzeznik plaintively repeated that lyric several times during the song's coda, I was overcome enough that I pulled off the road. When did this last happen to you? Was it a song you know well? What lyric from that tune that you'd heard many times before knocked you down that time? Or was the lyric that floored you from a song you'd paid only passing attention to, as I had with Iris? Or was it words from a tune you've never heard before that stopped you cold?

Don't most of us have a deep need to be known by others in a meaningful and intimate way? Some people are satisfied if one person knows them well in this fashion. Others need more. Listen to Iris - especially the coda - and try to remain unmoved by Rzeznik's delivery of this universal human cry. 

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.   

Talkative? Or ... Garrulous?

Not long ago, I listened to a woman making use of her good vocabulary during a prepared speech she was giving to her peers. I did not feel she was being at all showy. Nevertheless, it did not surprise me when I later over-heard people saying they thought the speaker used too many "...big words..."

Some of you may be familiar with this advice often given to public speakers: "Speak to express, not to impress". This can be a useful guideline. At the same time, I have seen this advice work against people who have a strong and natural command of words both in public speaking situations and otherwise. They sometimes begin second-guessing themselves. Instead of using "garrulous", they stumble to find "talkative". Are they perhaps worried about others thinking they're using "big words" even though both have the same number of syllables? Or, is it possible that speakers who dumb down their good vocabularies are not giving their listeners enough credit? What is your view on this? What are you inclined to do when someone you're not close to uses a word you don't know?

I admire speakers -and authors - who use simple words well. I also love when someone challenges me to be smarter. Consequently, I like when people use words they have naturally at their disposal, even if a word is unfamiliar to me. I'm a big boy and welcome taking responsibility for my own learning.

My Missing Valentine

Why not wait until the holiday to publish a post about my missing Valentine?

Well to begin with, the last time she and I were apart for more than two weeks was in late 1978 when I hitchhiked across country and back. So far, she's been away ten days and there are still ten more to go. Not that I'm keeping track. 

Also, this Friday will be the first time we've been apart on a Valentine's Day since we first celebrated the holiday together in February of 1979. Last year we were in Pretoria on February 14. In 2023, we had dinner at a favorite local restaurant. Not that I pay real close attention to what has happened on past Valentine's Days. 

Did I mention I won't get to hear her thoughts at the discussion at my book club tonight? Over the eight + years the club has been in existence, she's missed perhaps five meetings. Not that I noticed.

So, why not wait to publish this post until the holiday? It's not like she's crossed my mind since she left on February 2nd. On Valentine's Day, I guess I'll have to be satisfied knowing our new grandson is getting the undivided attention of the best person he might ever know, instead of me getting all the attention. It's a hardship, but I'll cope. 

Icing on the Cake

Although learning about history has always appealed to me, until I stopped working full time, reading about it was not a priority. Before 2010, I relied more on film than I did on books to help me augment the little historical knowledge I'd gotten during my school years. I knew film was an inadequate substitute, but leisure hours were limited and the concentration required to finish books of history - especially the longer ones - frequently eluded me. On the top of my pile in the full-time work years were either novels or non-fiction connected to my work or, of course, books about music. 

For the last fifteen years, with respect to books of history, calling myself an intermediate dilettante is, I think, reasonably accurate. However, thanks to the newest book club I've joined - a club that reads only non-fiction - it's now possible I'll get to the advanced dilletante level in Act Three. So far, this club has gone three for three in selecting terrific books of history that I would never have picked on my own. The latest: Valiant Ambition: George Washington, Benedict Arnold, And the Fate of the American Revolution (2016). Why would I not have picked this?

* The excellent author - Nathaniel Philbrick - was unknown to me. That's never a deal-breaker, but when it comes to history, I'm more inclined to return to favorites (Joseph Ellis, Erik Larsen, David McCullough), because I know how their storytelling skills make the history come alive. I'm a little gun-shy picking an unknown historian in a library drive-by because I'm concerned I may give up before finishing. The good news? Philbrick is now someone I'll willingly return to. 

* Because George Washington was the subject of another fantastic book of history I read not long ago - Mr. President (Harlow Giles Unger) - I wouldn't normally return to read another book centering on the same historical figure so soon. But the way Philbrick toggled between Washington and Arnold while delivering this material provided a totally different dimension to our origin story than Unger did in his book. And Philbrick's preface was masterful; he had me from page one.   

This all adds up to an inescapable conclusion, something I suspect some of you may have heard others say. One of the best reasons to join a book club is to be introduced to authors and books unfamiliar to you. Icing on the cake for me: My newest club is focusing on history. Cool. 

Words for the Ages: Line Thirty-Four

"Love is the answer ... for most of the questions in my heart."

I realize Lennon & McCartney may have expressed a similar sentiment more succinctly in the title of their classic hit All You Need Is Love. But for me, the terse lyric above from Better Together - a Jack Johnson tune from 2005 - holds its own alongside all the lyrics I've used here as words for the ages since initiating this series in May 2017. And pardon my hubris but I submit John & Paul would agree the seven additional words Johnson used - vs. their original five - provide a fresh dimension to their thought.

From the start, I made a commitment to resist using any lyricist more than once for this series. Now sometimes, when several months pass between iterations, the treasures of lyricists already used (e.g., Paul Simon, Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne) test my commitment. But before succumbing and repeating someone, I recall how many greats have yet to be represented (e.g., Johnny Mercer, Smokey Robinson, Stephen Sondheim) and return to the task at hand. That task is to continue carefully listening for a terse lyric that stands alone, i.e., does not depend on a rhyme to complete the thought, and that lyric should be able to be easily recalled by an average listener. (FYI, the longest lyric used to date contains twenty words.) Finally, the thought must contain a universal truth that will stand the test of time, i.e., these must be words for the ages. 

Any other nominations from Jack Johnson's catalog? Or how about a nomination of a lyric from one of the three greats mentioned above that I haven't yet used? I'm always listening.  

RIP: 2016-2025

Since no one has ever asked - online or off - why I decided to re-run the post below every February 2nd since 2016 - changing only its title - this inside joke is officially deceased. I'm interring it primarily because dwelling on possible reasons why it generated near radio silence - no one thought it was remotely funny, clever, worth mentioning or, worst of all, no one noticed - is too demoralizing. RIP. 

Considering how many people outside of Punxsutawney ever pay attention, isn't it peculiar that of all the movies ever made about holidays few have come close to being as good as Groundhog Day?  What is your nomination for a holiday film that is the equal of Harold Ramis's goofy 1993 masterpiece?

Although I'm not a big Bill Murray fan, Groundhog Day is on the short list of films I've watched more than once. Of the several priceless bits in the movie, my favorite is probably Sonny & Cher warbling I Got You Babe on the clock radio that awakens Murray's character as he endlessly repeats February 2nd - a brilliant song choice. What alternative tune would you pick as a way to aurally depict a nightmare you can't escape? My top nominations would be either one of those treacly ballads Michael Bolton screamed during his brief but painful popularity or the musical torture inflicted on us by I-get-paid-by-the-sixteenth-note Kenny G.

Musical snarkiness aside, which bit from Groundhog Day plays over and over and over in your mind? And, if you were able to repeat a single day from your life, which one would you choose?

Garth and Me

I've come to accept the fact that occasional thoughts of mortality and being introspective can go hand and hand. Fair warning to readers temperamentally inclined to equate random thoughts of mortality with morbidity: Skip the next three paragraphs. (BTW, same warning applies to those uninterested in bands from the 60s.) 

Upon learning of the recent passing of Garth Hudson - longstanding organist with The Band - it was hard for me to escape a temporary reflection on mortality. Hudson's death triggered this introspective blogger and musician who came of age in the 60s to muse - briefly - on an inescapable reality. 

Garth was the last surviving member of The Band, and though I didn't double/triple check - now that would be morbid - no other seminal, highly influential band that came to prominence in the 60s has yet to lose every founding member. Here's a quick, woefully incomplete, alphabetical list of those bands, i.e., groups in which members played their own instruments, that have at least one founding member alive: The Animals, Beach Boys, Beatles, Buffalo Springfield, Byrds, Chicago, Kinks, Rolling Stones, Santana, Who, Yardbirds. Don't quibble about who I left out or bother mentioning that the Four Tops lost their last surviving founding member last year. First, the Tops didn't play their own instruments. Second, it's beside the point anyway. 

Garth Hudson's passing - at the robust age of eighty-seven, BTW - gives me slight pause. I still have plenty of musical heroes left from the 60s. And an ever-increasingly small number of them still make some good music from time to time. But for me - and all of them - Act Three continues apace, which, of course, is preferable to the alternative. RIP, Garth - you had an impact on my musical life.        

One That Slipped By

What's been your most recent experience of a movie gem that slipped by you on its release? How did you uncover this hidden treasure? Recommendation? Accident while channel surfing? Your favorite blogger, aka fellow film buff, stumbling across it on a flight to L.A.?   

A good friend was telling me how she wasn't at all enticed to see one of the recently announced Academy Award nominees for best picture. Because this happens to me routinely - I still haven't seen either Lord of the Rings or Dune - my movie-saturated brain involuntarily began scanning for a recommendation for her that qualifies as an under-the-radar jewel. Anyone seen Memory, a late-in-2023 release starring Jessica Chastain and Peter Sarsgaard? 

The last movie I can readily recall featuring side-by-side central performances as strong as Memory - with a script to match - was the justly praised You Can Count on Me (2000) starring Laura Linney and Mark Ruffalo. The difference? Both Linney and screenwriter Kenneth Lonergan were recognized for their work on the earlier film. Memory got little enough attention that it took this indiscriminate geek completely by surprise. Although I love when this happens, considering how many truly terrible movies get released - some even praised, for heaven's sake - it's still mystifying to me when a film like Memory is overlooked. 

For the record, I like Bradley Cooper's acting. But giving Brad/Leonard a best actor nomination last year for Maestro (did anyone really need to see him sweating profusely in those torturously long close-ups?) while bypassing Peter Sarsgaard's subtly nuanced performance in Memory strikes me as hero or hunk worship or something. 

A Thinking Person's Page Turner

Despite the fact that I finished it back in mid-December while on our extended trip to L.A., I'm still buzzing from the kinetic energy that infuses Harlem Shuffle (2021). And though novels that reprise characters are normally not a go-to for me, I'm looking forward to seeing where Colson Whitehead will take me when he follows Ray Carney - "...only slightly bent when it comes to being crooked..." - in Crook Manifesto (2023). If that follow-up is even roughly equal to Harlem Shuffle, Carney will end up on a short list of characters I want to hang out with more than twice. Which fictional characters from your reading life have captivated you enough to read more than two novels that feature them?   

"Carney was confident in his salesmanship, especially on his home turf. Today's specials: surprise and sadness and curiosity."

Carney is a dedicated family man and mostly successful furniture salesman in late 50s, early 60s Harlem. But some of his family - notably his deceased father and very-much-alive cousin Freddie - dance to different music. His family's shenanigans and Ray's resentment of the pretensions of his effete in-laws complicate a facade he works hard to maintain. Using a classic three act structure, Whitehead never loses control of his propulsive narrative. 

"An envelope is an envelope. Disrespect the order and the whole system breaks down." That brief passage from Act Two - my personal favorite even though the body count is lower than Act One or Three - hints at one of the broader themes Whitehead explores in this terrific book, i.e., what really makes a city like New York work. Though this gifted author has more on his mind than entertaining you, you will keep turning those pages compulsively. I guarantee it.     

A List-Maker's Dialectic

Although it's doubtful I'll ever totally abandon my lifelong list-making habit, modern technology has largely rendered that habit increasingly unnecessary. Any of my brethren - i.e., fellow list-makers - any ambivalence about this turn of events? 

Most of the lists I still maintain are personal ones e.g., favorite authors. But given how easy it is these days to find any author's complete bibliography, keeping a list of which books I want to read by any of my favorites is silly. I recently gave up adding to my list of palindromes, a practice established many years ago to help me pay more attention, and also something I thought might keep my brain a little sharper. But AI can generate a complete list of those instantly. With just a few keystrokes, the same goes for a fun list of almost any type, like anagrams or other types of wordplay. Or song titles with just a woman's name or names that double as puns or ... Getting a picture of the kind of stuff that filled some of my old notebooks?  

For me, lists have always been one portal to the creative process. Consequently, I'm hesitant to go cold turkey. On the other hand, I realize most of my lists became redundant years ago and not maintaining as many as I once did frees up time that can be used for creative endeavors. I'm grateful for that. I remain convinced, however, that over-reliance on technology vs. using the list-making part of my brain is not a foolproof solution. My lists are an adjunct that definitely help strengthen my memory. And maintaining a reasonable number of them additionally ensures I'm continually engaging the kinesthetic learning modality, along with the visual and auditory. Research has shown that using all three of those modalities regularly increases retention. 

Being able to instantly find anything, without lists, clearly has advantages. But for the time being I'm keeping my options open. List-making brethren: Where are you in this dialectic?