Fred Rogers

Mr. Rogers was an amazing person. My therapist once told me that by watching Mr. Rogers you could learn how to be a perfect father...

The Triumphant Return of Ventriloquism?

News item:
Area man wins national talent show.

I don't know anything about this show. Don't know anything about Mr. Fator, the winner. Seems like a nice enough guy.

But I was struck by his quote.

"To know that I could be the person who brings ventriloquism back into the mainstream would give me so much joy."

Guess a mime might say the same thing.

I gotta tell you, the prospect of pantomime or ventriloquism in the mainstream doesn't exactly warm my heart.

That's not to say ventriloquism wouldn't be a blast at parties, traffic court, and the dentist.

In fact, I may someday take a correspondence course in ventriloquism. Maybe after the kids move out. Yeah, that's it. In the twilight of my life, I'll shuffle out to our garage workshop, carve me a dummy, and work on throwing my voice while drinking a glass of water.

For me, the best thing about ventriloquism is saying the word. Ventriloquism. It's a funny word, a dynamite punchline.

Not exactly a compelling reason to go prime time. It'd be OK with me to contain those creepy looking puppets to the realms of themed birthday parties, late-nite reruns of The Gong Show, and tourist-choked San Francisco street corners.

Genius of Merton

Very Cool Video

Patterico’s Pontifications » Putting Things in Perspective

Patterico’s Pontifications » Putting Things in Perspective

Best Opening Lyrics: No. 25 - Spinner.com - Free MP3s, Interviews, Music News, Live Performances, Songs and Videos

Best Opening Lyrics: No. 25 - Spinner.com - Free MP3s, Interviews, Music News, Live Performances, Songs and Videos

Crying Music

Do any songs move you to tears?

Not like tears of pure pain that might be shed during Muskrat Love or Whoomp! There It Is.

But tears resulting from powerful emotions triggered by the richness, the complexity, the sheer beauty of the music – and often powered by the memories the music evokes.

I can only think of a handful of songs that have that impact on me.

Point of clarification: These songs don’t make me weepy when I hear them while driving or at the gym (although, admittedly, that last scenario would be more than slightly awkward -- and pretty funny).

But when the circumstances are “right,” when the emotional triggers are in place, the following songs resonate very deeply with me – and have moved me to tears.

Red Sea by Asobi Seksu
Beautiful soaring vocals explode in a fuzzed out, reverb bliss at the song’s halfway mark. The transition between the two is the emotional high point for me. And as I was returning from my grandfather’s funeral last month, sitting on the plane with my iPod, I was thoroughly swept up in that moment – and in the sonic wall of sound that follows (for a glorious three and a half minutes). The tears that silently flowed were of utter joy and remembrance.

Lower Your Eyelids To Die With The Sun by M83
A sweeping, cinematic-style, 11-minute instrumental epic.

A Kissed Out Red Floatboat and Cico Buff by Cocteau Twins
The inimitable melodies of the Cocteau Twins strike a deep chord with me.

When Peace Like A River
The most beautiful, anguished, and hopeful hymn I know.

Those are the songs that move me.

So . . . what songs move you?

Liveblogging from Grand Cayman

Checking in from Grand Cayman, site of the Summer 2007 Amen Properties Retreat. Feeling very tired and a little sunburned after a day of snorkeling and hanging out. More to follow...

The grid

A violent lightning strike blew out the power to our neighborhood yesterday afternoon.

After several hours, a flotilla of utility trucks invaded our alley. No fewer than seven were lined up to replace the transformer behind our backyard fence.

With the arrival of the trucks, I wandered the alley to find out what was what. Let’s just say on this summer day in Texas, I wanted to express my keen interest in the situation and how quickly it might be resolved. (No AC = no air conditioning.)

Yet I didn’t want to seem pushy. Like I was impatient. That I was somehow displeased with these guys and their lack of progress. The situation was delicate.

My strategy was to show empathy, mix in a little gratitude, and show that, hey, I know a little bit about electricity. They needed to understand that I’m not just some suburban numbskull with a fusebox.

So I coolly sauntered up to one of the guys in a hard hat and tool belt. With only the slightest effort I made eye contact, gave a knowing nod and, quite possibly, offered an arched eyebrow of understanding.

“Thanks for getting us back on the grid,” I said.

Structurally, the sentence was good. The syntax, fine.

But at some point during my lunch today, I couldn’t help but think that across town, a group of workers at the local utility were enjoying a hearty laugh at the homeowner who spoke of the grid yesterday.

Now, I couldn’t tell you what a grid is, if we’re on one, or how many grid units I pay for in my monthly electricity bill.

For all I know, I could pop the faceplate off one of our electrical outlets and see the grid. Or hook a 9-volt to the grid and use it to open my garage door. Maybe the grid is a magical, Tron-like dimension filled with unicorns and wizards who shoot cartoon-y lightning bolts from their fingertips.

My wife reminds me I probably learned “the grid” lingo from Die Hard.

I think the hard-hat knew that.

But somehow I felt compelled to let this Reddy Kilowatt know that I get this whole electricity thing.

What motivated me to try to speak this guy’s vernacular? Maybe it’s a corollary of the “When in Rome . . .” truism. (When in the midst of a trained service professional, act and speak like one.) Maybe I was afraid he’d try to pull one over on me. (Uhhh . . . yeah . . . your power is on. Can’t you see it?)

Actually, I think I was just trying to make a bond, a connection with this guy. That from my razor-thin knowledge of the subject, I could wield a single word or phrase to earn me some quick cred.

I’ve done it with fishermen. (Catch any lunkers?) Weightlifters. (Working the lats?) Carpenters. (You like the lathe?) Even teenagers. (What’s shaking, homeslice?)

Come to think of it, this approach with teachers and professors has actually resulted in a couple of college degrees . . .

A joyous farewell

Our family gathered this past weekend to pay our respects to Grandpa, the patriarch who inspired us with his gentle spirit, his kindness, generosity, love, and faith.

That the weekend was one of the most profound and emotionally rich weekends I’ve experienced compels me to write. The only weekend that compares is the one in Tucson when our family gathered to celebrate my cousin Phil’s life.

Why both these occasions resonate so deeply for me was not in the grief and sorrow that accompanies the passing of a loved one.

It was the power of family on display. More specifically, the recognition and appreciation of the love and bond we share as family members in this temporal life.

The death that brought us together obviously offered vivid context to life’s fleeting nature. Even in our gathering, there were physical reminders – from graying temples and deeper wrinkles to stooped postures and an insidious disease – that we exist in a dynamic world, where nothing stays the same.

More context came from the barrage of news updates on the weekend’s UK terror activity, stark reminders that no guarantees are offered on this increasingly dangerous planet.

Indeed, we are but a mist, a vapor.

This was the proverbial elephant in the room. That this group of people, linked through the strongest of relationships, may never come this way again.

Rather than casting a pall over our time together, it served as a reminder of how precious and fragile life is. And I believe it served as the catalyst of glorious, loving behavior.

My family supported and embraced each other. We laughed together. We endlessly ogled over my sister’s beautiful infant, Britta, she a wondrous symbol of life and new beginnings. In our reunion, we found power. In our time together, we discovered joy.

We celebrated life by living in the moment.

How else to explain an impractical, yet spontaneous and absolutely awesome Sunday afternoon road trip to Yosemite with Aunt Joan, Uncle Ed, and Cousin Deb that concluded with an 11 pm burger run to In-N-Out? What a massive memory that is.

This weekend was truly special. It was something to be treasured, to hold dear to our hearts, to remember.

Much was said during the weekend about the generosity Grandpa displayed toward individuals and institutions alike. Even among the grandkids, we recounted how he not only remembered our birthdays (even when he was well into his 90s), but how he would still send us birthday gifts.

For me, this past weekend was the best gift Grandpa gave to us – a priceless reminder to love and appreciate the family he so indelibly shaped.