Good Viruses

January 30, 2012 by Leave a Comment

This has been an interesting week. Early in the week, an ex-student sent a recommendation for a music video out on Facebook. I don’t usually watch those, because there are such differences in music these days, and so much I hear from younger people is either un-melodic and offensive rap, or something approaching mere noise. I’m not saying they’re bad; I’m saying I don’t have the “ear” for them. This one was different. I recommend doing a Youtube search for his recommendation, Charlie Pluth and Emily Luther singing Adele’s “Someone Like You.” It blows away the original, and what what makes it fascinating is that apparently Charlie regularly records the sound in his room, and this version shows two very attractive, very innocent looking young people just sitting in a living room and singing. And wow, can they sing. What’s more interesting is that their video went viral because it and Adele’s song are so good. There was no hype, no record company, no long tour with Springsteen, just two talented kids in a living room. Eventually the video got to Ellen Degeneres and she featured them on her show after getting Adele’s generous permission to sing her song. Then Ellen signed them to a record contract, and I’m sure they will do well (with or without the contract, I believe).

This viral video reminds me of something I read about five years ago, a book called An Army of Davids. It documents the growing probability that large corporations, especially trendy ones like record companies and booksellers will eventually be driven out of business because of their enormous pressures for profit, their expensive infrastructures, and their lack of creativity. It has already happend to B. Dalton, Crown Books, and a growing list of music stores. They can’t compete with kids in a living room, the internet, and Amazon. There are good viruses out there.

That’s part of the reason why I chose to market my book Hibernal through Createspace and Amazon. The publishing house game is “fixed.” When I published my first book, The Newman Assignment, my dealings with the publisher were not of any mutual benefit. No royalties, no reports, and corrections I sent were either ignored or hand lettered, if you can believe that. Of course, marketing through Amazon means I won’t have any life-sized cardboard cutouts of my book at Barnes and Noble with stacks of books nearby to satisfy the hype, but I’d rather sell “long and slow,” preferably by word of mouth. If my book is good, readers will eventually hear about it. If they don’t buy it, it wasn’t good enough. Of course I’m still dealing with a large corporation in Amazon, but the difference is, it is working for me. I buy only the services I want and they’re not telling me what to do. They are making a trailer video for me, but I get input and approval. This could be a good virus.

My daughter, Ellie, is finding the same thing. Her idea about teaching writing in her high school by having students “Be the Source of” (love, a compliment, a breakfast, a favor, a dollar to a stranger, a thank-you) and then writing about the experience – has gone to other schools, other parts of the country, and soon, other parts of the world. She’s been interviewed, linked to other blogs, and given free web design time by a professional who often charges up to $10,000.00 for a web design. She uploads her own videos, samples from her students, comments, and plans for the next week. If you’re interested in something educational and good, check out bethesource.com. It will be worth a couple of minutes. No corporation is involved.

On my birthday, (61 last week!) Ann and I walked down State Street in Madison and saw a young guy walkiing his bike with a trailer and cardboard sign. “Hey,” Ann said, “You’re the muffin man!” She had seen it in an article in the free Isthmus paper. He bakes a batch of muffins every morning and rides around Madison, giving them away to anyone who will barter for something on his cardboard list. You may give a stranger a back rub, sit in a coffee shop and introduce yourself to four strangers, or in my agreement, teach someone how to play a musical instrument. He is the source of love, and his bartering is going viral. There are good viruses out there. They’re in the streets, in free papers, and online. Your friends will tell you about them.

Filed Under: Philosophy, Social Media

Close Calls

January 23, 2012 by Leave a Comment

As a believer in synchronicity, I regularly wonder about seemingly disconnected events that somehow MAY be connected if I can figure them out. I believe that close calls really were meant to be warnings, especially to teenagers and the elderly. Whether there were guardian angels hovering nearby or just the playing out of some mathmatical probability designed ages ago, I can’t say, and I have found when I can’t figure something out, it doesn’t matter.
It would have been about forty-three years ago, I remember one when good friend Bob and I had just gotten our licenses and for some adolescent reason were so proud of ourselves that we chased each other in old family cars out Airport Road west of Waterloo, Illinois. It wasn’t a drag race, just enjoying speed and freedom and our youthful exuberance. I had forgotten after one long straight stretch how sharp a ninety-degree turn was, and when I applied the brakes, they didn’t seem to work, I pumped them but not much happened. I didn’t know then that mushy brakes meant a master cylinder about to go. I was lucky in that a gravel private road led off Airport Road at the end of the straightaway and I didn’t have to make the turn. I couldn’t have done it, so I bounced down the gravel road until the car stopped. That was the end of my chasing anyone in a car.
Two weeks ago, coming home at night, we drove past our local coffee shop, The Froth House, and I slowed to peek in the large front windows because I knew on Tuesdays and Thursdays there was live music there. Happy people filled its “living room.” I had forgotten how narrow Allen Street is when cars are parked along it, and just in the nick of time, turned my attention back to driving to swerve and miss a parked car by inches. From now on, Ann will look in the window of the Froth House and tell me if a crowd has gathered for the music.
On Sunday mornings, I meet Ellie at a colffee house to talk, write this blog, and have a regular father-daughter breakfast. She usually corrects papers or works on her BetheSource blog. this time, I was so rushed to get a humidifier to ease my cracked fingers that I left Lazy Jane’s without my backpack and iPad. When I realized it, I called Ellie to see if she was still there. She had just left but drove back, found my pack, and asked the barristas to keep it. I drove back to find it in a closet. I now check for my backpack, even when I don’t take it with me.
A most recent version of CNN had an article about re-programming your brain, with four steps to be more efficient. The one I will practice most is to focus on one thing at a time. Women may multi-task. I don’t recommend it for men, especially once you reach 61 as I will, later this week. I believe with focus, slowing down, meditation, and simple presence, I won’t need as many close calls, and I’m sure my guardian angel, if I have one, will be a lot happier. Thank you, Bob. I heard that suggestion once in meditation that his name is Bob. That’s why I’m not sure that I have one. Who ever heard of a guardian angel named Bob? As Jimmy Stewart said to Clarence in It’s a Wonderful Life, “Yeah, you’re probably the kind of guardian angel I would get.” No offense, Bob, but if you’re name is unpronouncable, couldn’t you use something like Uriel, or Barush?
Anyway, enjoy your close calls everyone, and heed them. Master cylinders don’t last forever.

Filed Under: Philosophy

Little Things Are Big

January 15, 2012 by Leave a Comment

Having just caught a cold, I am reminded how important one’s usually ignored body parts are, in my case – sinuses. What is a sinues but a nothing, a cavity, a membrane or lining that a rhinovirus (so aptly named) simply loves. Right now, my adopted rhinoviri have made my sinuses into a garden. I don’t even want to think about the dandelions and thistles they are growing there. If I write stupid or disconnected things today, I’m blaming my adopted rhinovirii.
Little things are important. There were many times over the thirty-six years when I taught high school when I could hardly rhino myself to sit down and grade papers. Unlike the current educational bean-counters, politicians, and deformers (sorry, I meant “re-formers”), I knew all along that multiple choice assessments are of very limited use and certainly not able to reflect what students actually know or can do. My only solution to my motivation problem – go small. I paid myself one M & M or a few kernels of hot, buttered popcorn per paper. You want more popcorn, Lazybones? Read another paper. My students never knew it, but I’m also convinced they got better feedback because of chocolate, or salt and butter.
Little things are important. I read somewhere along the line (Men are from Mars; Women are from Venus?) that women are aggravatingly good at keeping score and they never forget. For a sex which is not nearly as obsessed with sports, points, or winning, I thought this was unfair, especially since most men like me are not nearly as adept at discussing feelings, processing subtleties, or verbal multi-tasking. I can barely be in a room with three women conversing. It’s like looking at a cubist painting under a strobe light. I suppose my wife would describe me as “a slow moving train.” Reposte for me usually occurs within in twenty-four hour period. However, it eventually occurred to me that the point system with women is actually a wonderful thing and is greatly to my advantage, primarily because of female sub-rule. All points are equal. So a new pair of gifted earrings, a sweet love note, cleaning the bathroom or checking the oil on her car and filling it up with gas — all count the same with my wife. This is amazing! What an advantage a guy has, as soon as he realizes this. How unlucky women are. After all, with men, a hug is not the same number of points as a kiss. Cleaning the bathroom, if even noticed at all, may not count for more than a single point.
No one can write a novel. A writer can only write a sentence, a thought at a time and keep going. Anyone who sets out to do a 500 page book will get stymied along the way. The same, I hope is true of bookselling. This week, the second week after Hibernal came out on Amazon in paperback, I sold 42 copies, with a few more on Kindle. Little things are important.
Little things are important. This truth is all over. A guitar only a little out of tune hurts my ears. A cold day with only a little wind seems so much colder. If you’re a Wisconsin Badger fan, you know the importance of two seconds at the end of games. A little nutmeg in eggnog makes a difference. A little note. A little thank you. A little sun. A little smile. A single cup of coffee. A single kiss. One M & M. Because we live in the now and now and can’t really go back or forward, the most important things are moment by moment. If you doubt or want more philosophical underpinning, read Eckart Tolle, The Power of Now.
Little things are important. Little moments. Because that is so, it is now time for you to stop reading and go do something important.

Filed Under: Philosophy

Winning

January 8, 2012 by Leave a Comment

A man and his wife walked along the lake shore on a nearly calm, cool evening.
“Look at that,” said the husband, “that rich bastard.” He pointed out toward a sailboat gliding over the smooth lake like a swan. “Do you know what a boat like that costs?”
“No,” said his wife. “Is it a lot?”
“More than what an honest man can earn, I’ll tell you.” He shook his head sadly, and one arm flapped uselessly against his thigh.
His wife took his arm and looked again at the boat, noticing how beautiful the scene was, the mirrored water, the sinking sun silhouetting the graceful boat, its filling sail and the curve of its jib. A thin wake rippled behind it, making the water look like furls of purple and silver, blue and white. Behind it, narrow streaks of clouds glowed pink. “Oh my,” she said. “It’s-”
“What?” said her husband.
“Beautiful, simply beautiful.”
Out on the lake, the captain checked the trim of his sails, smiled a little at the slight curl of his sails and felt the smooth glide of his hull. He wished for a few more knots of breeze, but it was not to be. He looked toward the shore and took in the soft curve of the beach like a reclining woman’s hip and slender legs. “Oh,” he whispered, “if only Mary were here. If only Mary-” but it also was not to be. He looked again at the deepening shadows behind the beach and saw the couple strolling in leisurely peace along the beautiful strand.
“Lucky bastard,” he murmured.
Who wins?

Filed Under: Philosophy

A new Post: Gwen says

January 6, 2012 by Leave a Comment

I think it might be fun to send out a few bits from one of my favorite creations – Gwen from Hibernal – with some later commentary.

“Law six,” Gwen said, smiling again. “The things you can’t see are more important than the things you can. It also means that when you see that something is not fair, that vision is really about your limited sight, not the unfairness of the world….”

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Paradoxes

December 4, 2011 by Leave a Comment

I’ve become a student of paradoxes, those apparent contradictions that occur and puzzle us because those opposites can’t possibly be true at the same time, but somehow they are. I don’t see them in the same category as political paradoxes where a candidate will flip-flop or contradict himself in different speeches, or when he or she makes a pronouncement with contradictions where one is obviously not true. I’m talking about paradoxes that highlight our limited understanding of life and its complexities. Some examples:

Exercise: I find it interesting that the more we exercise and tire ourselves out, the greater capacity for energy we have. The more you use; the more you have.

Love: We tolerate curmudgeons, but we love lovers, those full-of-life energists who exude such good vibes that we feel happier just being around them. The more you give love; the more you have.

Failure: Ignoring the ego pain it causes for a moment, there is a contradiction in that sometimes a failure is the best thing that can happen to us. It is the seed bed of greater success. The greatness of Michael Jordan was born during his sophomore year of high school. Edison, Twain, Lincoln, Washington, Einstein, and I (in high school and as a writer) point to the value of the grand failure.

I suppose I could think of a dozen more examples, but then this would be too long for a blog. What I really think is that all of these point to the creativity, freedom, and wisdom of our Creator, who seems to be telling us in many ways, “It’s all good. You just don’t see it.”

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Bunburying

November 13, 2011 by Leave a Comment

Oscar Wilde, in The Importance of Being Earnest, created an all-occasions excuse for anything his rascal characters didn’t want to do. They couldn’t make an appointment because a dear imaginary friend Bunbury was so ill and near death that he needed immediate, indefinite attention. I think the use of such a response ought to be enlarged to meet any situation, not just requests for engagements.

Consider for example…. Many questions asked by a wife put a husband on treacherous ground. “Does this make make me look fat?” must be answered with an immediate “No!” and the answer must be immediate and emphatic. Any pause or slip will telegraph an uncertainty, and therefore, it does make her look fat, and you’re insensitive for saying so. On other occasions, though, I have found my own Bunbury.

Two years ago, I had cataract surgery, a ten-minute outpatient routine, followed by a day of blurred vision and a week of eyedrops. It was no big deal but became a great catchall. “Kurt, what do you think about this color? Do I look anaemic?” “I had a cataract, so I have a fake lens and my other eye is growing a cataract, so I can’t say for sure.” Soon, this was shortened to “I have a cataract.” For more serious questions, I have a backup.

Five months after cataract surgery, I had a detached retina. Today’s medicine is amazing and the surgeon reattached it, followed by two months of blurry vision, and a permanent need for glasses and a wavy-line effect on far away objects because the back of my eye is no longer perfectly oval. For serious questions, such as “Is this where we turn?” I now say simply, “Detached retina.” This excuse is supported by the surgeon’s warning that I can no longer get into fights, which means no wifely boxing. I am such a lucky man.

Consider:
“You call yourself a writer? Didn’t you see those typos?” “Detached retina.”
“Didn’t you see that the washing machine was full of whites?” “Cataract.”
“What was the name of the guy who sold us the scratched refrigerator?” “Sorry. Cataract.”
“Have you seen my keys (glasses, book, purse, scarf, gloves, travel mug)?” “Cataract.”
“Should I wear the blue sweater or the green?” “Detached retina, sorry.”
“When do we have to leave to get to the play on time?” “Cataract.”

I will admit that you have to have the perfect wife for this system to work, but if you do, then Bunbury away. Everyone should have a Bunbury.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: ,

The elasticity of time

November 6, 2011 by 1 Comment

At 2 a.m. we moved our clocks back an hour last night. This is a large-scale social event with many ramifications people may not think about. Let’s take a few minutes to think together. First of all, 2 a.m. is a construct, an agreed-upon social event. Other animals don’t follow it. Birds and flowers have their own clock, and biologists have spent a lot of time trying to read their clocks. The time is not really about the time; it’s about us. An hour spent in the dentist’s chair is much longer than an hour spent opening Christmas presents. I would argue that it is not only our perception that is different; it is the actual time.

How is this possible? We already know from Einstein that time can slow as one approaches the speed of light; we also know from string theory that the most basic energy of the universe can change, and because of the “observer effect,” even the most basic energies may alter according to our expectations. Time is elastic.

Where can we see this? Pro baseball players say that a hitting spree is often based on their ability to “see” a ninety-five mile per hour fastball or the actual spin on a slower curve ball. For them, the instant slows down. When they are not hitting, they can’t “see” the ball as well. Has the ball changed? The speed? No, it is their focus, intention, and ability to slow time. Michael Jordan spoke about being in the “flow” of a game. When things were going well, all else slowed down for him and he could “ride” the game. Time may be surfed.

I love to flyfish and meditate. To me, they are the same. It matters not whether I am in the flow of a stream or the flow of meditative time. Minutes pass as seconds; an hour passes as a minute. When I meditate, I have to set a timer or time will become irrelevant. I need something to bring me back in half an hour or forty-five minutes.

What if the same flexibility would apply to longer stretches of time? I don’t see that a life is linear, a dipping in a stream that moves on and is never the same. The conservation of energy tells me that nothing is ever lost. That ought to include time. A life is a many-layered thing. A person may be 60, as I appear now, but I am also 35, 18, 12, and even 2. Flashes of those realities, occasionally re-emerge. It’s not a second childhood. The first one never really disappeared. Watch an elder person open a present. Watch closely. Is there really any difference between that wise granny and a six-year-old? I suspect that we may not all live for the same number of the construct-we-call-years, but we may all experience the same layers. The layers may not have the same thinckness for us all, but we all experience what we came here to experience, no matter what the number or length of years.

If I am correct, and time is layered and nothing is ever lost, we may someday have the means to access whatever we want in history. We have devised machines to send and interpret radio waves. Why not a “time reader?” Mr. Lincoln, we appreciate your Gettysburg address and have found it even better “live.” Internally, we already do this. Think of the last time you were caught in a “loop,” the reliving of a difficult moment or a great joy, what you said, what someone did. Its energy, feeling, sounds, and effects are still there. When Shakespeare wrote that there is more to the world than dreamt of in our philosophy, he may just as well have admitted we have senses we ourselves have not developed or understood. We may do that someday.

The beauty of creation is that we have a hand in it. Time is one of the mounds of clay given to us. We may mold it. We may see it as a dirty, useless pile of sticky earth, or the means of creating a face, a statue, a mug. I don’t go to the dentist’s chair in the same way anymore. I may sit in a dentist’s chair every six months, but when I am there, I am actualy flyfishing in Black Earth creek, and a trout has just risen twenty feet upstream. I see the hatch of blue winged olives, the waving of rununculus, and the chirp of a robin in that crabapple on the left. Ah the water is so layered and as deep as I want it to be. Are you with me? Can you see it?

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Hello world!

September 20, 2011 by 1 Comment

As a writer and a musician, I’ve come to believe that one of the world’s greatest needs is for more humor, inspiration, and positive points of view. I thought about calling this blog simply “Up,” but there is already something out there with that name and it doesn’t really lead anyone up.  Flannery O’Connor had it right: all things that rise must converge.  We need convergence, but even more than that, we need an alternative to the thoughtless soundbites, anger, criticism, and manipulation that passes for modern journalism.  We need more truth, and I believe the truth is good and we need not fear it.

Let’s begin with something basic. Yesterday we went to a local coffee shop on Monroe Street in Madison and saw a young couple walking with their toddler between piles of leaves.  The little one wore her green flannel dinosaur costume, complete with pointy ears and tail.  Halloween was two days away.  I congratulate those parents.  It’s okay for life to be one-third anticipation, one-third wearing a costume, and one-third not worrying about what others think. I like it that life is not linear but layered.  When we are 60, we are also still 40, 21, 16, and 8.  It’s all still there, and I still have a dinosaur costume in my mind.  I can feel it, see myself in it, and be excited about Halloween.  I think I’ll put it on right now.  There, that’s better.  ee cummings was also right.  There’s a better world next door; let’s go.

We are what we want to be.  As a writer, I also want to be a blogger.  There, I am.  I’ve taken off the dinosaur costume and put on a writer’s tweeds.  What do you want to be today?

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