As I happen to be there this week, these quotes are timely:
Truman Capote said, "It's a scientific fact that if you stay in California you lose one point of your IQ ever year."
Alison Lurie said, "As one went to Europe to see the living past, so one must visit Southern California to observe the future."
San Francisco poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti called Southern California the place "where the American Dream came too true."
Too true, indeed, and there are so many here sharing it!
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
2921 North Keating Avenue, Chicago, IL
My parents lived at this address for several years before we moved to Mount Prospect. I had not been there, ever, since that time, though I had always wanted to drive there and see the place. This past weekend I did.
After leaving my daughter's new apartment on the southeast edge of the Logan Square neighborhood, just off California between Fullerton and Armitage, knowing that the expressway out of town was jammed, driving stop-and-go for who-knows-how-long, I travelled north on California until I came to Milwaukee, then turned left.
Very interesting driving down Milwaukee - lot of shops, mostly open, though with far too many stores shuttered and empty. Lots of signs in Spanish. Traffic was light and driving was pleasant, with the temperature in the mid-80's; it seemed a requirement to open the windows and drive with my arm resting in the sun.
The signs would soon start to be posted in English, Spanish and Polish ("Mowimy po polsku" - "we speak Polish") when I cam upon a sight nobody ever wants to see. A motorcycle lay on its side in the middle of an intersection, with police cars and a couple of ambulances parked around it.
Traffic was being routed slowly through the intersection; by the time I was close enough to see anything the unfortunate rider was hoisted up onto a gurney and rushed to the back of one of the ambulances. "Meat wagons" we used to call them, jokingly. Faced with the absolute certainty that this poor rider was hurt badly, that term didn't seem to fit - humor didn't enter into the picture.
I proceeded past the accident, on down to Belmont Ave., 3200 north on the imaginary grid that Chicago is placed on. Since Keating is a one-way street southbound, I had to pass the 2900 block and circle back. Thoughts of the accident had melted away as I'd continued my drive, and Belmont came up quickly. I turned left onto Belmont, heading west, and started looking for Keating.
This was a part of the city where all of the street names started with the same letter - "K". I passed Karlov and Keeler; Kearsarge and Kildare; Lowell - who goofed this up?; Kostner, Kenneth, Kilbourne, Kolmar, Knox and Kilpatrick, and turned left onto Keating.
Parked cars lined the street on both sides, leaving only a narrow passage for my little Honda Fit. How in the world did cars of the 50's, 60's and early 70's fit down this street, I wondered. Perhaps they simply bumped along, knocking into cars on one side, then another, like a pinball. Maybe they weren't as big as I imagined, or perhaps you could only park on one side of the street in the old days.
Traveling slowly - not used to driving with sentry-lines of cars on either side - I pulled over into a specially-reserved handicapped parking space to let an anxious driver go past. I have to tell you, I had feelings welling up inside of me that I don't really understand, driving down this street to our old apartment.
As I approached the building at 2921 I noted that the only parking space open on the entire block was open right in front of that building. Timing is everything, they say, or perhaps that spot was reserved specially for me being there that day. Who knows? (Something else to ask God when I die.)
I took the time to make sure my phone was off and my iPod was off and hidden in the glove compartment before I opened the door and stepped out of the car. I stood in the sunlight, looking at that building and searched for - what? Something . . . some connection to the past. Perhaps it was not something I should have expected, as I was not even three when we moved, but I have heard so many things about living there, over the years, and have seen the pictures of us living there . . . I thought I should feel . . . something, some connection.
An old man - far older than my 54 years, but perhaps not even my father's age - sat just inside the door of the building, smoking a cigarette. He looked like he had had a hard life. Grizzled. Un-shaven. Stooped-over while sitting on the chair, he had looked at me suspiciously when I pulled up. I wanted to stop and talk to him; I wanted to yell out, "I used to live here!"; I wanted to tell somebody, for some reason I still don't understand.
Un-willing to simply get back in my car and leave, I walked down the block to the corner, crossed the street, and started back up the block on the other side. Some people were talking next to a car parked on the street. They seemed not to notice me; I didn't stop to talk to them. When I got to the point directly across the street from our old building, I crossed over to the other side, past my car, to the sidewalk. The old man looked right at me. "Good afternoon. How are you?" I said. He simply looked at me.
I turned and walked to the other end of the block, still feeling the need to say something, but found nobody to talk with. I looked at the buildings on the rest of the block. While none of the seemed to be in tremendous dis-repair, and some seemed quite nicely maintained, the evidence that this was a neighborhood on, perhaps, a downward spiral seemed evident.
Almost all of the blinds hanging in each picture window were torn. Where there were shades, each seemed also to hang at the wrong angle, or to be old and worn. Where the builders had placed stonework to hold planter boxes (these building were built in the early-to-middle 1910's, I understand), few flowers were even planted in the ground, and no planters were seen.
Yet, life was there. A young Hispanic mother passed by me, pushing an infant in a stroller. A nicely-dressed teenage girl left her home a couple of doors ahead of me, walking over to a car where a young man waited for her. An older woman and her younger companion walked past me and nodded - a smattering of Spanish would have helped me, here. And the grass was green. Many of the parkway trees had been re-planted, and the other, older trees formed a cooling canopy over much of the sidewalk.
As I approached the old man, he asked me a question in Polish (or at least what I thought was Polish). I walked to the bottom of the stairs. He repeated his question, but I answered, "I'm sorry. I don't speak Polish."
He looked down at me sadly. "I used to live here," I said. "Back when I was two, over fifty years ago."
I smiled at him, walked over to my car, looked one more time at that building and drove . . . home.
After leaving my daughter's new apartment on the southeast edge of the Logan Square neighborhood, just off California between Fullerton and Armitage, knowing that the expressway out of town was jammed, driving stop-and-go for who-knows-how-long, I travelled north on California until I came to Milwaukee, then turned left.
Very interesting driving down Milwaukee - lot of shops, mostly open, though with far too many stores shuttered and empty. Lots of signs in Spanish. Traffic was light and driving was pleasant, with the temperature in the mid-80's; it seemed a requirement to open the windows and drive with my arm resting in the sun.
The signs would soon start to be posted in English, Spanish and Polish ("Mowimy po polsku" - "we speak Polish") when I cam upon a sight nobody ever wants to see. A motorcycle lay on its side in the middle of an intersection, with police cars and a couple of ambulances parked around it.
Traffic was being routed slowly through the intersection; by the time I was close enough to see anything the unfortunate rider was hoisted up onto a gurney and rushed to the back of one of the ambulances. "Meat wagons" we used to call them, jokingly. Faced with the absolute certainty that this poor rider was hurt badly, that term didn't seem to fit - humor didn't enter into the picture.
I proceeded past the accident, on down to Belmont Ave., 3200 north on the imaginary grid that Chicago is placed on. Since Keating is a one-way street southbound, I had to pass the 2900 block and circle back. Thoughts of the accident had melted away as I'd continued my drive, and Belmont came up quickly. I turned left onto Belmont, heading west, and started looking for Keating.
This was a part of the city where all of the street names started with the same letter - "K". I passed Karlov and Keeler; Kearsarge and Kildare; Lowell - who goofed this up?; Kostner, Kenneth, Kilbourne, Kolmar, Knox and Kilpatrick, and turned left onto Keating.
Parked cars lined the street on both sides, leaving only a narrow passage for my little Honda Fit. How in the world did cars of the 50's, 60's and early 70's fit down this street, I wondered. Perhaps they simply bumped along, knocking into cars on one side, then another, like a pinball. Maybe they weren't as big as I imagined, or perhaps you could only park on one side of the street in the old days.
Traveling slowly - not used to driving with sentry-lines of cars on either side - I pulled over into a specially-reserved handicapped parking space to let an anxious driver go past. I have to tell you, I had feelings welling up inside of me that I don't really understand, driving down this street to our old apartment.
As I approached the building at 2921 I noted that the only parking space open on the entire block was open right in front of that building. Timing is everything, they say, or perhaps that spot was reserved specially for me being there that day. Who knows? (Something else to ask God when I die.)
I took the time to make sure my phone was off and my iPod was off and hidden in the glove compartment before I opened the door and stepped out of the car. I stood in the sunlight, looking at that building and searched for - what? Something . . . some connection to the past. Perhaps it was not something I should have expected, as I was not even three when we moved, but I have heard so many things about living there, over the years, and have seen the pictures of us living there . . . I thought I should feel . . . something, some connection.
An old man - far older than my 54 years, but perhaps not even my father's age - sat just inside the door of the building, smoking a cigarette. He looked like he had had a hard life. Grizzled. Un-shaven. Stooped-over while sitting on the chair, he had looked at me suspiciously when I pulled up. I wanted to stop and talk to him; I wanted to yell out, "I used to live here!"; I wanted to tell somebody, for some reason I still don't understand.
Un-willing to simply get back in my car and leave, I walked down the block to the corner, crossed the street, and started back up the block on the other side. Some people were talking next to a car parked on the street. They seemed not to notice me; I didn't stop to talk to them. When I got to the point directly across the street from our old building, I crossed over to the other side, past my car, to the sidewalk. The old man looked right at me. "Good afternoon. How are you?" I said. He simply looked at me.
I turned and walked to the other end of the block, still feeling the need to say something, but found nobody to talk with. I looked at the buildings on the rest of the block. While none of the seemed to be in tremendous dis-repair, and some seemed quite nicely maintained, the evidence that this was a neighborhood on, perhaps, a downward spiral seemed evident.
Almost all of the blinds hanging in each picture window were torn. Where there were shades, each seemed also to hang at the wrong angle, or to be old and worn. Where the builders had placed stonework to hold planter boxes (these building were built in the early-to-middle 1910's, I understand), few flowers were even planted in the ground, and no planters were seen.
Yet, life was there. A young Hispanic mother passed by me, pushing an infant in a stroller. A nicely-dressed teenage girl left her home a couple of doors ahead of me, walking over to a car where a young man waited for her. An older woman and her younger companion walked past me and nodded - a smattering of Spanish would have helped me, here. And the grass was green. Many of the parkway trees had been re-planted, and the other, older trees formed a cooling canopy over much of the sidewalk.
As I approached the old man, he asked me a question in Polish (or at least what I thought was Polish). I walked to the bottom of the stairs. He repeated his question, but I answered, "I'm sorry. I don't speak Polish."
He looked down at me sadly. "I used to live here," I said. "Back when I was two, over fifty years ago."
I smiled at him, walked over to my car, looked one more time at that building and drove . . . home.
And Now, on Wid'a Da Show
Thank you Lawrence Welk.
It has been too long since I wrote a blog post, and I'd like to say that I'll do better, but can only really say that I'll try to do better.
So much has happened in the past few months that I suppose I can't really even remember it all. That's what this blog was for - to help me remember when I get older and grayer. (Should I have said "older and more gray"? Seems to me it sounds better the first way.)
In any case, the next "real" post is coming . . . hang tight.
It has been too long since I wrote a blog post, and I'd like to say that I'll do better, but can only really say that I'll try to do better.
So much has happened in the past few months that I suppose I can't really even remember it all. That's what this blog was for - to help me remember when I get older and grayer. (Should I have said "older and more gray"? Seems to me it sounds better the first way.)
In any case, the next "real" post is coming . . . hang tight.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Deacon's Redemption
As part of the fifty-year anniversary of our church, our contemporary church band is playing songs originally released in the 1960's, 1970's, 1980's, 1990's and 2000's. But they're not necessarily what you think - in the first two cases they're rewrites of two secular songs. It's the second of those of which I'm most proud. After all, how often do you hear Steely Dan in church?
While I write some instrumental music and have written a few songs, I often find inspiration inside the lyrics of other people's songs, too; inspiration that points me to "what might have been" in the story they tell, rather than what is presented.
There can be no doubt that Deacon Blues (from the Aja album) is a great song, from two perspectives: the music is top notch and the lyrics tell the story perfectly well. Coming from a Christian perspective, though, I was inspired to redeem the main character. There's enough darkness in the world today - drug addiction, alcohol abuse, sexual immorality - and not enough light. That's my perspective, anyway.
So, for our 1970's song, I rewrote the story into what might have been. We added this song to our last worship service in February, where it was well-received. In the future, I hope to add it to a Jazz and Blues Service I'm trying to finish.
Here are the lyrics:
Deacon's Redemption
This is the day
Our great God made for Man
And in His grace
There may I ever stand
Could it be only yesterday
Dark was the glass
A sinner,
No winner
Thank God that’s the past
I once was a fool
I lived for myself alone
Had no need of help,
I’d work it out on my own
So useless at life was I
Thought I’d take my own and die
Then Heaven stepped in
I realized all my sin, I
Learned to love the Lord and pray
Think about Him every day
Drink His word in like a song
It’s He who makes me strong
They got a name for the winners in the world
People who got no complaint
I used to be wearin’ those Deacon Blues,
Now just call me a saint (no complaint)
When I was young
The world seemed alive to me
I’d find success
I’d be what I want to be
Searched for a thing to know and love
But what did I find?
Drinking,
Not thinking
Took over my mind
I crawled through the depths
Not what a life should be
The love of the Lord
Finally broke through to me
I came to my senses then
In a world that has no end
I’ll never more roam
One day I’ll call Heaven home, I
Learned to love the Lord and pray
Think about Him every day
Drink His word in like a song
It’s He who makes me strong
They got a name for the winners in the world
People who got no complaint
I used to be wearin’ those Deacon Blues,
Now just call me a saint (no complaint)
When comes the night
And my time here is through
I’ll say I found success
I found a heart that’s true
Don’t cry when I leave this place
To gaze on His holy face
In Jesus I’m free
Free for eternity
Learned to love the Lord and pray
Think about Him every day
Drink His word in like a song
It’s He who makes me strong
They got a name for the winners in the world
People who got no complaint
I used to be wearin’ those Deacon Blues,
Now just call me a saint (no complaint)
While I write some instrumental music and have written a few songs, I often find inspiration inside the lyrics of other people's songs, too; inspiration that points me to "what might have been" in the story they tell, rather than what is presented.
There can be no doubt that Deacon Blues (from the Aja album) is a great song, from two perspectives: the music is top notch and the lyrics tell the story perfectly well. Coming from a Christian perspective, though, I was inspired to redeem the main character. There's enough darkness in the world today - drug addiction, alcohol abuse, sexual immorality - and not enough light. That's my perspective, anyway.
So, for our 1970's song, I rewrote the story into what might have been. We added this song to our last worship service in February, where it was well-received. In the future, I hope to add it to a Jazz and Blues Service I'm trying to finish.
Here are the lyrics:
Deacon's Redemption
This is the day
Our great God made for Man
And in His grace
There may I ever stand
Could it be only yesterday
Dark was the glass
A sinner,
No winner
Thank God that’s the past
I once was a fool
I lived for myself alone
Had no need of help,
I’d work it out on my own
So useless at life was I
Thought I’d take my own and die
Then Heaven stepped in
I realized all my sin, I
Learned to love the Lord and pray
Think about Him every day
Drink His word in like a song
It’s He who makes me strong
They got a name for the winners in the world
People who got no complaint
I used to be wearin’ those Deacon Blues,
Now just call me a saint (no complaint)
When I was young
The world seemed alive to me
I’d find success
I’d be what I want to be
Searched for a thing to know and love
But what did I find?
Drinking,
Not thinking
Took over my mind
I crawled through the depths
Not what a life should be
The love of the Lord
Finally broke through to me
I came to my senses then
In a world that has no end
I’ll never more roam
One day I’ll call Heaven home, I
Learned to love the Lord and pray
Think about Him every day
Drink His word in like a song
It’s He who makes me strong
They got a name for the winners in the world
People who got no complaint
I used to be wearin’ those Deacon Blues,
Now just call me a saint (no complaint)
When comes the night
And my time here is through
I’ll say I found success
I found a heart that’s true
Don’t cry when I leave this place
To gaze on His holy face
In Jesus I’m free
Free for eternity
Learned to love the Lord and pray
Think about Him every day
Drink His word in like a song
It’s He who makes me strong
They got a name for the winners in the world
People who got no complaint
I used to be wearin’ those Deacon Blues,
Now just call me a saint (no complaint)
Thursday, November 19, 2009
On This Date in (Mark's) Automotive History
The 2007 Honda Fit - the car I'm currently driving, which replaced a 1996 Dodge full-size van - turned over 50,000 miles today. It's a silver Sport model, though I don't think of it as a sporty car, to be honest. It's all of three cylinders and five forward gears in the automatic transmission, four small tires and an iPod jack.
That's my car - it's Chicago, and the Blues Brothers, and old jazz, Louie Armstrong, Dave McKenna, Kristen Chenoweth, Broadway musicals, Dr. Demento, The Beatles, Deep Purple, Cheap Trick and Steely Dan; it's Rich Mullins, Sierra and, not the least, eight sets of Carolyn Arends, she of relative minor fame who deserves relative major fame.
And, truth be told, it's also 23 sets of Frank Zappa and three of Black Sabbath; podcasts of NPR's Fresh Air, Car Talk, Science Friday and A Prairie Home Companion, Old Time Radio Comedies and Old Time Radio Thrillers (138 and 143 of the latter two, respectively). And it's Bill Cosby, Larry the Cable Guy, Woody Allen, the 2000 Year Old Man, Allan Sherman, Eric Idle/Monty Python and 19 other comedians.
All told, it's 5,764 songs and 535 podcasts.
Here's a sample of what I heard at lunch time:
- A segment of Dean Martin's Las Vegas show from 1966 or '67
- Bye Bye, Love - Simon and Garfunkel
- Not Alone - Carolyn Arends
- Truck Drivin' Song - Weird Al Yankovic
- Drive My Car - The Beatles
- American Woman - The Guess Who
- Dancing Days - Led Zepplin
- Ain't Misbehavin' - Leon Redbone
- Mighty River - Louis Armstrong
- A segment from Larry the Cable Guy
- Sweet Thing - Van Morrison
- All is Well - Carolyn Arends
- Loves Me Like a Brother - The Guess Who
- Love Was New - Chicago
- Oye Como Va - Santana
- Oh, What a Beautiful Morning - Oklahoma Cast Album
- The Boston Rag - Steely Dan
- In My Life - Bette Midler
- If Love Is Trouble - Dizzy Gillespie
- I Need You - The Beatles
- The Andy Griffith Show Theme
- Love From a Heart of Gold - How to Succeed in Business Cast Album
- Soap Theme (TV Show)
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Chicago, As It Was
Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:
They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people, Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.
Poet Carl Sandburg in Chicago Poems, 1916
Love This Lyric . . .
. . . from West of Hollywood, Steely Dan
I'm way deep into nothing special,
Riding the crest of a wave beaking just west of Hollywood
Way deep into nothing special??? Sounds cynical to me.
I'm way deep into nothing special,
Riding the crest of a wave beaking just west of Hollywood
Way deep into nothing special??? Sounds cynical to me.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
In My Fifties, Looking Back to High School
". . . one finds, especially by the time one reaches one's fifties, that there are a limited number of types of people in the world, and you went to high school with every single one of them. You can visit the Eskimos, you can visit the Bushmen in the Kalahari, you can go to Israel, you can go to Egypt, but everybody you meet is going to be somebody you went to high school with."
Humorist P.J. O'Rourke
I don't know if this is especially true - perhaps it's just because I'm not observant enough - but I do know that I look back to high school every now and then. It's funny, isn't it, that we spend some 17-18 years growing up, moving through grade school, middle school and high school, and then find ourselves looking back from twice that distance (35 years for me), thinking about those years.
Shouldn't my high school years be overshadowed by things that came after? Four years in my life versus all that came with a 28-year marriage, four kids, a career, nice home, et al. But here I sit on the couch, reading the PJ O'Rourke quotation and I find myself walking the halls at Prospect High School, completing a verb quiz in German class, intercepting a pass during gym, driving my '67 Olds through the neighborhood, finding that I don't fit in everywhere, working at the A&P, drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon at the beach with the gang . . . It couldn't have been as much fun as I remember it was, could it?
And the really funny thing is that I know my dad generally feels the same way - especially when we talk about growing up in Plainville, Kansas - and he graduated 71 years ago!
Monday, November 9, 2009
And the Name Is . . .
"Bishop's Gate"
Yes, this is the name of the band which will be performing a reprise of the "Beatles Service" I wrote for church. Bishopsgate is written into a line in the song Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite - "The celebrated Mr. K. performs his feat on Saturday at Bishopsgate".
I should note that we didn't have a name the first time we did the service.
“Bishopsgate” itself is a road in London, named for one of the seven original gates in the city wall. (See the wikipedia.org article here for a more lengthy description.)
The band members are on board; next, I have to talk to upper-management at church - the senior pastor. We're not going to do this during an actual service time. It's to be scheduled after a pot-luck dinner on a Saturday night. This frees us from the approx. 60-minute limitation of Sunday morning. Indeed, I think I'll add a little more!
Yes, this is the name of the band which will be performing a reprise of the "Beatles Service" I wrote for church. Bishopsgate is written into a line in the song Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite - "The celebrated Mr. K. performs his feat on Saturday at Bishopsgate".
I should note that we didn't have a name the first time we did the service.
“Bishopsgate” itself is a road in London, named for one of the seven original gates in the city wall. (See the wikipedia.org article here for a more lengthy description.)
The band members are on board; next, I have to talk to upper-management at church - the senior pastor. We're not going to do this during an actual service time. It's to be scheduled after a pot-luck dinner on a Saturday night. This frees us from the approx. 60-minute limitation of Sunday morning. Indeed, I think I'll add a little more!
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Time: Perhaps This Is What I've Been Trying To Say
“I have begun to suspect that time is, in some sense I don’t yet fully comprehend, subjective to the viewer. What a day signifies to me is quite different than what it signifies to you. How strange my day might seem, were I able to see it through your eyes.”
“When we are young . . . the days crawl by. I remember summers of my youth that seemed to last for generations. But as we grow older, the months and years flit by like dragonflies, one after another in their dozens. But by the calendar, a day is still a day, is it not? Why is it, do you suppose, that the duration of a span of time should seem so different to us in one circumstance than another?”
“When we are young . . . the days crawl by. I remember summers of my youth that seemed to last for generations. But as we grow older, the months and years flit by like dragonflies, one after another in their dozens. But by the calendar, a day is still a day, is it not? Why is it, do you suppose, that the duration of a span of time should seem so different to us in one circumstance than another?”
The character Ling Xuan in Chris Roberson’s short story,
“The Sky Is Large And The Earth Is Small”.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
The Beatles Service: Reprise
So. . .people - namely my wife Nancy and friend Carol - are after me to do The Beatles Service again. For those of you who don't know - and you are without number - I wrote an entire church service using the music of the Beatles and re-written lyrics. We ran it at all four services (Saturday night and three on Sunday) the week after Easter in 2007. Then we added one more service for the confirmation kids.
I had a lot of people tell me how much they liked it - that was nice. But the best compliment I received was from one of our (now) pastors. She said, "I want to tell you that this was the best service I have ever been to at Messiah, and I've been to a lot!" That was nice . . .
So we're looking at a Saturday night "extra" service, as it's sometimes difficult to schedule things within the framework the ELCA provides our churches. And now I'm thinking, "Why do only an hour's worth of Beatles music?" I have a lot of music I'd like to do, and three drama's as well (all musical). We could make it a full two hours! Why not? If you're going to do it, do it right!
We'll see what happens . . .
I had a lot of people tell me how much they liked it - that was nice. But the best compliment I received was from one of our (now) pastors. She said, "I want to tell you that this was the best service I have ever been to at Messiah, and I've been to a lot!" That was nice . . .
So we're looking at a Saturday night "extra" service, as it's sometimes difficult to schedule things within the framework the ELCA provides our churches. And now I'm thinking, "Why do only an hour's worth of Beatles music?" I have a lot of music I'd like to do, and three drama's as well (all musical). We could make it a full two hours! Why not? If you're going to do it, do it right!
We'll see what happens . . .
Monday, November 2, 2009
Eternity
"Do not try to live for ever. You will not succeed."
"What is life but a series of inspired follies? The difficulty is to find them to do. Never lose a chance: it doesn't come every day."
"I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live. Life is no 'brief candle' for me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations."
"What is life but a series of inspired follies? The difficulty is to find them to do. Never lose a chance: it doesn't come every day."
"I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work, the more I live. Life is no 'brief candle' for me. It is a sort of splendid torch which I have got hold of for the moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations."
George Bernard Shaw
Thursday, October 29, 2009
A Tribute to Mediocrity
"Only the mediocre can always be at their best."
As heard on Car Talk on National Public Radio.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Remember Willy Loman?
"For a salesman, there is no rock bottom to the life. He don't put a bolt to a nut, he don't tell you the law or give you medicine. He's a man way out there in the blue, riding on a smile and a shoeshine."
The character Willy Loman from Arthur Miller's "Death of a Salesman"
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Top Ten Ways to Increase Church Attendance
Tonight's "Top Ten List" comes to us courtesy of my friend Louie da Garbage Man who found this in the Pope’s garbage and sent it to his cousin, who sent it to his uncle, who sent it to his bookie, who sent it to me . . . .
From the home office in Vatican City . . .
And tonight's number one way to increase church attendance . . .
Originally written for Pastor Chuck Merkner's 20th anniversary at Messiah Lutheran Church in Wauconda, IL in February, 2006.
From the home office in Vatican City . . .
Number 10: New rule: No more Broccoli on Fridays during Lent
Number 9. Official language of the church now igPay atinLay
Number 8. Services piped on closed circuit TV to nearest Sports Bar
Number 7. Priests to be addressed as “dad”
Number 6. Bible replaced with “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten”
Number 5. Sins can be redeemed with Betty Crocker coupons
Number 4. No more nuns – bunnies!
Number 3. For each parishioner: Christmas bonus checks!
Number 2. Communion to feature bratwurst and beer
And tonight's number one way to increase church attendance . . .
Next Pope will be Jewish!
Originally written for Pastor Chuck Merkner's 20th anniversary at Messiah Lutheran Church in Wauconda, IL in February, 2006.
On Chicago's Bid for the Olympics
Excerpts from the weekly podcast of NPR commentator Frank Deford:
Poor Chicago, odds-on favorite to host the Games in 2016, is thrown out on its keister by the International Olympic Committee, a cabal that loathes the United States only slightly less than do the Taliban and Roman Polanski.
As for that quadrennial global reality show, Chicago's abject rejection is no one's fault here - not the President's, not Oprah's; for once we can't even blame the Cubs. Rather, the greasy antics of the International Olympic Committee make Chicago's own fabled politics look by comparison like Periclean Athens. The IOC members still hold it against the United States that the Atlanta Olympics were so tacky, and that the Salt Lake City Olympics highlighted the IOC corruption that has so often attended the selection of host cities.
Forget it, America; any US metropolis that may be pondering a bid for the 2012 Olympics would be more wisely advised to petition St. Augustine to become the designated City of God. It would have a much better chance to earn that distinction.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
"Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour."
"Lies are a lubricant in the social machine. They ease the friction when two moving parts mesh imperfectly."
From Babel's Fall'n Glory We Fled, Michael Swanwick
Thursday, September 24, 2009
A Good Word: Poignant
1 : pungently pervasive
2 a (1) : painfully affecting the feelings : piercing (2) : deeply affecting : touching b : designed to make an impression : cutting
3 a : pleasurably stimulating b : being to the point : apt
synonyms see pungent, moving
I have recently gotten onto Facebook and have connected with a friend from grade school (who I had lunch with today) and another from high school. I graduated high school 35 years ago, and have now had various memories brought back into focus from 1974 and earlier. The word poignant - as in both painfully affecting the feelings and deeply affecting/touching - seems to fit the bill as the perfect word to use.
Here am I, from 1972, ready to take on the world! Notice the smile . . .
2 a (1) : painfully affecting the feelings : piercing (2) : deeply affecting : touching b : designed to make an impression : cutting
3 a : pleasurably stimulating b : being to the point : apt
synonyms see pungent, moving
I have recently gotten onto Facebook and have connected with a friend from grade school (who I had lunch with today) and another from high school. I graduated high school 35 years ago, and have now had various memories brought back into focus from 1974 and earlier. The word poignant - as in both painfully affecting the feelings and deeply affecting/touching - seems to fit the bill as the perfect word to use.
Here am I, from 1972, ready to take on the world! Notice the smile . . .
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
We Interrupt This Broadcast . . .Breaking News!
But only good news! My son Tim passed his Paramedic exams, and daughter Amy and son-in-law Matt have successfully bid on a house!
Lord, I feel old . . . great!
Lord, I feel old . . . great!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Words To Live By?
“Any idiot can face a crisis; it is this day-to-day living that wears you out.”
Writer Anton Chekov
“One must think like a hero to behave like a merely decent human being.”
Author May Sarton
“Since it is difficult to join them together, it is safer to be feared than to be loved when one of the two must be lacking.”
“The fact is that a man who wants to act virtuously in every way necessarily comes to grief among so many who are not virtuous.”
Philosopher Niccolò Machiavelli
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