Living through a lens, mic or pen

I like to write. Rather, it's something I am compelled to do from time to time. But it seems the more time spent writing, the more of real life is missed. Perfect example is anything involving the children. You have the camera, video camera, you want to capture this moment. But in the capture, you lose the experience. I'm not sure one is worth the cost of the other. Does this experience - be it monumental or ordinary, either of which defines beauty - matter most on film or in our hearts and conscious mind. Rhetorical ? there, thus no question mark. As with most anything, balance is generally the answer. But what the hell do I know.

Waiting for the next big thing

The problem is the Next Big Thing just isn't coming. You can apply this to really anything - art, poetry, fiction, music, especially music. But it's movies I'm thinking of now. I'm an eighties kid. Grew up with eighties and I'm damn happy about that. I love the eighties. Loved pretty much the entire decade as a teenager. I love the nostalgic thoughts those times give me still. Problem is, I want more.

But there is no more. There can't be another Bull Durham. There will not be another John Hughes. Cusack is older and makes generally lame movies now. The cool kids that shaped my fragile upbringing for better and worse are now middle age dads and soccer moms. It's pathetic. And I'm not getting any younger either. But I do want and almost expect more greatness from film that I just cannot find. I am aware of good films, great ones even. But it's not enough. It's not the same. Even with the age of Say Anything and Ferris and Breakfast Club and Field of Dreams - eighties films all - they still ring true and show beauty and truth and passion and move me to tears. Am I a nancyboy for stating such? Sure, I guess I am. But those films meant something and they mean something still. I'm still waiting for my next soliloquy from Crash while ironing, Annie busting in the front door. I'm still waiting for Dobler to tell me what he's not looking for in a career. I'm dying for another tough girl drummer with bangs and black gloves.

But they've all gone away. They've aged and they've died. Those who could have given more and should have given more have moved on. I may sound bitter because I am. I'm an eighties kid and expect to be entertained. Thank God the cable networks play some of these classics on an annoyingly semi-regular basis.

Columbus Day

I'm going to work on Columbus Day. It's one of those off holidays anyway. But even if it was a paid holiday, I would choose to work that day. There are only a couple people deemed worthy of a national holiday and for some bizarre reason, the great Chris Columbus is one. He didn't discover anything. To "discover" pretty much means to you know, discover something. What he thought he discovered was India. Hence, calling those already there - Indians. But then he chose to disrespect those already there, at the very least. And I'll stop there, because that's really enough. The rest is sickening. A drunken, ignorant, cruel and sadistic sailor who couldn't tell North America from India. And there is a national holiday in his honor. Yea, I'll be working this and every columbus day.

LeBron Needs a Hug

Bless his ignorant soul. He just keeps making it worse. LeBron James is just a kid who can play a game very well. That's it, a game. Off the court, he's lost. He's empty and shallow. He's a millionaire child, spoiled, entitled and sad. So he took his talents to South Beach. He cannot seem to comprehend that he's become a cartoon. He and his kiddie nation of handlers believe they're better than anyone else and act accordingly. But he's just a kid. Poor guy has never had to clean up his messes or get his hands dirty or learn how to treat others. Big guy just needs a hug. Bless his heart, LBJ just needs a hug.

Anyway, the always entertaining sports writer J Whitlock says it better. As always.

the little things

Always the little things. The little things that push you over the edge and make you so angry you have to punch a hole in a door or smash a t.v. The little things that move you to tears and make you believe like a child. The little things that make you laugh out loud and pee in your pants. Always the little things. The easiest to feel, the hardest to appreciate or even recognize. It's the little things I adore.

Olbermann

I'm torn. I really like Keith Olbermann. I loved his wit and humor on SportsCenter. He helped grow that network in the 90s. He was funny and clever and the smartest kid in the class. And I know A Sorkin modeled much of the late great gone-before-its-time Sports Night from watching K Olbermann. I only wish the guy would have stayed with sports. His smart-ass brand of humor just fits sports. When he talks politics he sounds too much like a pompous ass. I'm no Republican, but his bias is beyond obvious. I cannot agree with his take on political and social matters simply because he's so one sided. It's beside the point that I generally and oftten agree with his opinion. It's just that his show is set up as a news program. Call it entertainment and I'm on board. Totally. The guy is whipsmart and funny as hell. I just hope FoxSports can bring him back to his roots in sports.

REM

I got into REM around the early 90s. High school and into college. Eponymous was my first album. A good beginner's course, she said. I moved on to Green, then Pageant and then the earlier offerings. I was mesmerized to be sure. The voice. The lyrics I couldn't define. The sweetness of the Rickenbacher. This is about the time I started writing and playing guitar. No coincidence I'm certain.

After the massive success of Out of Time, that was about it for me. A few good songs here and there, then Berry's decision to become a civilian, and that was it for me. I just couldn't get the newer stuff - newer being anything after 1991. My younger brother at the time had the back of his car covered in band stickers. My favorite was the hardware store-bought single letters that spelled EARLY REM. And he was right. For me, "early REM" includes the trifecta of Reckoning, Fables and Pageant. That's when REM became REM. Chronic Town was impossibly good, but it was also the prelude to what was possible.

I put the Athens quartet on the shelf for many years as I explored jazz, folk, Pixies, Nirvana and indie pop. But then I heard - and I mean really heard - track one of Reckoning. That naturally led to Fables, which led to Pageant. These albums matter. They matter more now than when they were recorded. They're better now, to me, and for me. They speak and confirm and grace and hypnotize like so few pieces of music truly can. They inspire and delight. What was old, is new again.