Artistic Expression - The Lines Are Not So Blurred

Got to Give it Up vs. Blurred Lines

This has nothing to do with evoking a feeling or emotion.  Listen to both songs.  I'm glad the case recognized you cannot simply overlay a new vocal track with different words and call it a different song.  The backing track, complete with hoots and hollers and "cow bell" is very nearly identical.  For Farrell and Thicke to claim they were only inspired or paying tribute to Gaye is a crock.  Rather than put a crimp in creativity, hopefully this case will compel artists to come up with their own ideas, instead of lazily copying the masters in their field.  Imitation may be the purist form of flattery, but plagiarism is just stealing someone else's art and calling it your own.

Friday the 13th Pizza & Beer

 Defrosting the frosty glasses post party, a friendly affair featuring homemade pizza and pineapple upside down cake topped with vanilla ice cream, a sit down dinner for eight.  My dinner party was a ploy to deplete my generous supply of Montana IPA's leftover from my New Year's Eve bash, but my plan was thwarted.  Red and white wine walked in the door with my guests, and a six pack of bottled Dos Equis, half consumed by the guest who brought it, only added the three remaining bottles to my stockpile in the fridge.  

It had been only five plus years since I'd been toying with the idea of throwing a dinner party. The living room newly painted my "pea soup," and the art changed up and rearranged, the space is quite inviting.  Just a few hours prior to the party, the guest list included a total of five of us, then a last minute call upped the ante to eight, and I scrambled to garner a few more supplies, another jar of red sauce, an extra bottle of red wine, to up the pizza count to three, two veggie, one meat, to be sure the crowd was not left wanting.
As it is, they munched the chocolate covered almonds and pretzel sticks as we played our "complete the saying" game, and finished off the wine.  The beer took a slight hit, but alas, I still have 25 bottles chilled in the fridge.  Very fine varieties all, I suppose I may have to now hold a "BEER" party if I hope to make a dent in the cashe.

Childhood

Mourn the childhood you didn't have, accept the one you did.  Revisiting the past over and over in your head serves no good purpose.  As if reliving the hurt, isolation and loneliness will somehow create your happy ending.  But you stand at the end point, your life as it is at this moment.  Point A, your childhood, led to Point B, you, an adult, now.  Refuse to succumb to the burdens of your history.  Learn, love, live.

The only way to right the wrongs you suffered is to live your life according to the path you wish you'd traveled in your youth.  Be kind to the children who cross your path, listen to them, acknowledge them.  Be thoughtful to all you encounter, as we are all just grown children, products of our past experiences.  You must strive to be like the dandelion growing out of the crack in a rock on the hillside.  Reach skyward, towards the light of the sun.  Don't focus on the rock, leap into the present.  You are your own teacher, parent, guardian.  Raise yourself to be the person you've always been at your core.  Your best self.

You have arrived, you survived; lived to fight another day, but fight the good fight.  Don't clutter up the battlefield with what ifs and whys, end the needless battles with yourself.  Refuse to let the abusive teachers, unloving parents, mean bullies at school, or random strangers determine who you are now.

You are in control of your perception of the past.  No one else.  Spin that motherfucker into the self-guided tour that led you to this moment.  Rejoice in your blessings.  There are many and they multiply once you start acknowledging them.  Come out of the darkness into the daylight.

Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck

     Born to an average American couple, Kurt Cobain was a unicorn, his clueless parents sadly ill-equipped to love and nurture him.  Passed around to various relatives like a piece of luggage, it's no wonder a deep rooted, emotional pain seared his soul.  As I watched the history of his life unfold on film, my thoughts commanded: "No one should be allowed to treat a child that way."

     Kurt's artistic talent and sensitivities were a mystery to those around him.  His upbringing akin to torture, by the time he mastered his dual passions of writing and music, he was so far off the rails emotionally there would be no righting the ship.  Had Cobain been born into a family of higher mind - recognizing and nourishing his gifts - his story would have realized a very different and much later ending.  As the saying goes: "if a child has one person in his world who loves him and gives a sincere shit about him, he will survive."  The absence of this person in Kurt's life paved the way for his isolation, drug addiction and mental illness and inevitable death by his own hand.

     We live in a barbaric world.  Striving to love and take care of each other every day is the hallmark of a civilized society.  If you don't attend to and care about each other, the rest doesn't mean much.  At the age of 14, Kurt laid down on railroad tracks in his hometown of Aberdeen, WA, with concrete blocks on his appendages attempting to end his life.  However, he picked the wrong tracks and the expected train stormed past on parallel tracks.

     His whole life Kurt hurtled toward a cliff of self destruction.  And yet, director Brett Morgen still managed a rant during the Q and A after the second public screening, blaming Courtney Love for his suicide.  Certainly a flash mob of guilty parties all through his life cumulatively contributed to his demise.  In the end, he chose to end his pain by his own hand.  We are each other's keepers, and love holds amazing curative powers, but each of us has to find the strength, within ourselves and the universe, to carry on.

Dispatch from Sundance

Director James Ponsoldt, along with others including Jason 

Segel, answer questions after a screening of The End of the Tour. 

Jesse Eisenberg, who plays Lipsky to great effect in the film, did 

not attend the Q and A.  

The End of the Tour

     One of the standout titles from Sundance '15, the film is based on David Lipsky's book Although of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself, about his four days spent with the author David Foster Wallace while preparing for a Rolling Stone story.  

     The story was never published but Lipsky instead wrote the book about his time spent with Foster Wallace, a bit of a recluse, who was hailed as the writer of his generation.  Battling depression his whole life, the glare of attention he received from his highly acclaimed 1,000 page novel Infinite Jest exacerbated his difficulty coping with his notoriety.  Seemingly, he both craved and abhorred the attention his talent attracted.  At 46, he committed suicide by hanging himself at home. 

Sleeping With Other People 

Director/Writer: Leslye Headland  Starring: Jason Sudeikis as Jake and Alison Brie as Lainey

Two virgins meet up in college, both late bloomers, they proceed to relieve each other of their burdensome V cards.  A one time connection, they go their separate ways, but a permanent bond has been cemented.  Fast forward 10 years and they have another chance encounter at a sex addicts anonymous meeting.  Apparently late bloomers run the risk towards sex obsession.  Perhaps the long delayed gratification breaks through the floodgates creating a deluge of desire.  
A truly refreshing window inside the way we really view sex and cheating and fidelity.  When Jake gives Lainey a lesson on how to pleasure herself, using an empty green tea bottle as his visual aid, it's hilarious, if a bit off the mark.  Viewing Jason Sudeikis as a "player" at first seems a stretch, we view him as a funny man, but why not?  He is certainly pleasant to look at and charming, he rises to the occasion.   
Few things elevate or torpedo a film more than the script, saving an otherwise lackluster film or sinking one with promise.  This inspired smart and smarmy script begs the question, why aren't there more films like this?  

Genius Syndrome

I have often contemplated, if given the opportunity, would I trade my well adjusted and highly functional, enjoyable life of average intelligence for the singular brilliance of a tortured, tormented artist, creating amazing works, but suffering the mandatory psychosis.
 
Every genius seems incapable of forming normal human connections, dive bombing any meaningful relationships and failing at those simple interactions taken for granted by the rest of us.  The inherent struggle to attain stability amidst the enveloping waves of alienation, surely produces a chronic psychic pain.

Does the guilt of the profound gift, bestowed upon the supersensitive, create such a crushing burden that the steady path descending into self destruction is the only visible escape route? 

Or do those sweet, perfect pinnacles of euphoria, saturating your very core upon profound artistic achievement, mollify the pain and lonely isolation of a world without peers?

2015

The calendar clicks from one year to the next.  You stand at a point in time, take stock of the events of the past year and then peer forward into the year ahead. And it seems the midway point of a decade poses a special significance, producing a hyper-awareness of the swift passage of time.  

I am not one for resolutions; those wishful thinking, pie in the sky, momentary fantasies people pin false hope on.  But I am not a pessimist.  Rather, I set out goals, both realistic and attainable, then I formulate a reasonable path leading to my destination.  This tried and true pragmatism serves me well and avoids the pitfall of setting myself up to fail.  

Call me crazy, but I think each person carries a duty to follow their passions.  Striving to be the best version of yourself builds self esteem and inner strength.  Keep your eye on the ball, consciously make choices that realize your vision and steer clear of destructive forces that lead into the abyss.  

Do not ever give yourself second billing in your own life.  Seek what fulfills you, muster the strength and desire to work for it, and live your life always posing the question: will I regret it if I do/don't do "this" and let the answer guide you.  The simplest answer is usually the right answer.

So You Want a Younger Woman

Men my age are on a mission to find the perfect woman half their age.  They are stymied as to why the young 20 and 30-somethings aren't stampeding each other to get in line.  Experience, a touch of grey at the temples, the all-knowing father figure with a nice fat 401K must have a magnetic draw they think.  "Why aren't the beautiful young, naive creatures I see everywhere trampling down my door?"

If they are mothers, they are busy going crazy with kids' schedules, working two jobs to make ends meet, confronting the ex over visitation rights.  She would like nothing better than to get all gussied up and head to that four star restaurant so you can wine and dine her, showering her with "you're so beautiful" compliments as you chomp savagely at the bit hoping she'll let you get to second or third base.  But she has an early morning getting the kids off to school before she heads to the office and a million things on her mind as you tell her that great stand-by story about your last fishing trip.

She may be a catch, but she comes with her own school of fish, your future step kids, who will not adore you, (nor you them) to say the least.

To the childless and mid-thirties, grinding their way through the daily panic attack that is "why am I not off making babies with my perfect guy yet?" you look like somebody's grandpa.  You do not remotely strike her as future husband/daddy material.  You look like a guy who has grown children who still suck the life and cash out of him.  A guy with a bit of a gut, slightly balding, who's a big fan of classic rock, popular before she was born.  A good looking, career oriented single guy around her age garners all the effort and attention.  It's musical chairs as all her friends are getting married and popping out babies and she's freaking out she'll be the last woman standing.  And if you're lucky enough to snag her, that long sought after baby, young enough to be your grandchild, will gobble up all of her time, attention and energy, not to mention way more tittie-time than you'll be getting!  You'll be neglected and lucky enough to wake up to 4:00 a.m. feedings and expected to change diapers.  This is not the 1960's.  Can I hear an "I'm too old for this shit"? 

When she's 50, you'll be in bed by 8:00 and way past your sexual prime, while she's still in the throes of hers.  A little touch of ED soars off the charts on a woman's frustration meter and she has discovered an awful lot of 30-40 year olds have a thing for older women and are bold enough to make the first move.  It's the path of least resistance to not rebuff their advances, and so, she allows herself the indulgence.  After all, you basked for years in the radiance of her trophy wife glow, now it's her turn.

So be careful what you wish for when it comes to the sweet young things you yearn for so desperately.  The fantasy you're chasing is just that, a pipe dream.

Reaffirming Why I Love Living in Montana

Yes I do love living here, but the winters are brutal, or can be.  At least the sun is shining, but I have to go out and run in this shit!  Clean air, no traffic, little crime, surrounded by rocky mountains, a bit of culture, nice downtown, friendly people.  Yes, for now I guess I'll stay...Even when it looks like this, the gaps aren't as large, especially LA, but still quite toasty for June.

Time to Look at the Pot Wars with a New Perspective

The berlin wall of legalization is falling. You can face it and deal, or keep resisting. If you approve of adults having access to alcohol, to consume at will and in excess, why, oh why would you not afford that same freedom to those who prefer pot? Because it is freedom we're talking about here. 

Would you rather drive on a highway filled with those who've been drinking or those who've been smoking pot? The pot smokers are the ones going 20 mph in the breakdown lane. The drinkers are the ones who will hit you head on going 90 down the wrong side of the freeway. A moot point usually, as the pot smokers will be home chillin' with friends, watching youtube videos, playing video games or grooving on some music. 

The ones opposed to pot legalization are by and large those who never tried it in college like the rest of us who don't share their fear. Fear of the unknown is understandable, disliking the high of pot and not indulging is fine, but projecting your fear onto others because you're freaked out is not acceptable.

Early morning sunrise from my bedroom window.  If you look closely you can see the Capitol dome.  Awoke to see this outside my window and grabbed my iphone to take a couple of snaps.  Daylight upon waking evokes a comfort not felt when it's pitch dark.  The morning daylights doomed to fade until December 21st, I'm already counting the days until the shortest day, just over six weeks from now. The seasons actually accelerate as you age.  A perk, I guess you could say.

Austin City Limits

October 2014
I finally made it to Austin and it did not disappoint.  A well behaved bunch those Texans.  High points: Beck was a blast, very fun and energetic.  He and the band launched into Billie Jean with that distinct guitar line, a sweet little surprise. Seeing him in person, wearing his signature hat, he seemed a lot hipper and a lot less dorky than his public image.

The Replacements were a thrill, especially since I never thought I'd ever see them.  A throwback to the 80's, they've reunited a few times over the decades, and it appears ACL was the last stop on this latest reunion tour.  Leading off with Alex Chilton made my day; a song I am crazy about and used to play during my tenure as a DJ.  Paul Westerberg sang several songs reclined in an  onstage hammock, quite amusing.  Near the end of the hour long set he asked for suggestions from the crowd, stating "it doesn't matter, we're sick of all of them anyway."  

Pearl Jam never disappoints.  They did a bunch of the favorites, Black, Jeremy, Better Man, Evolution, and wrapped up with Alive, Baba O'Reilly and Yellow Ledbetter as we booked it to shuttle bus line.  The added twist this time was a woman at the side of the stage, providing sign language for the whole concert.  They showed her several times on the big screen as she performed her animated and spirited signing, filling in with air guitar strumming during Mike McCready's solos. 

Low Points: Both Lana Del Rey and Lorde were pitiful; bad audio backing tracks drowning out their vocals. That's if either was actually singing; I have grave doubts either sang a note live.  Lorde's schtick is to endlessly flip her dark, wavy locks around, rather than step up to the mike and prove she's more than a pretty, prepackaged, marketing gimmick.  But, alas, she was a dismal disappointment.  Ditto for Lana, minus the hair flips.  Both had zero interaction with their band members, who were likely faking it as well.

On a personal note, I sprained my ankle in a shallow pot hole in the uneven surface nearing the end of the first night and could barely walk the blocks of switchback lines to board the shuttle bus back into town.  Thankfully I didn't break it, which would have required a trip to the nearest ER and no doubt dampened our experience considerably.  Hobbling around on crutches from stage to stage in the expansive Zilker Park would have been misery.  After icing it for a spell that night at the hotel, I remained suitably mobile for the next two days and managed well.  

A downpour on the morning of day two produced an abundance of mud, but luckily we scored ourselves a couple of three legged Longhorn fold up stools at the UT campus store before heading to the festival grounds.  Additionally, we picked up an ace bandage and wrapped my foot.  Both items proved life savers.  

Festivals are a bit of a marathon.  You must be flexible enough to go with the flow, adapt to changing weather, and tolerate the usual unruly crowds.  A good companion to trudge around the grounds with is essential.  Thanks to my daughter, a trooper in her own right, the entire trip was an entertaining, fun adventure.  I will gladly visit Austin again if the opportunity presents itself.

Jeff Beck ZZ Top

It had been many, many years since I'd seen Jeff Beck.  He was in such fine form and appeared truly happy to be on stage after his recent hiatus for an undisclosed health issue.  At 70, I can honestly say he's never sounded better.  Bravo...

Evening Visitor

Saw this fellow in the hills north of town.  It's been years since I've seen a fox.  He ducked into a culvert nearby when I approached closer.

Whitefish for the 4th

Evening Stroll

The rain finally let up, and I could hear from my back patio that the music downtown hadn't been rained out, so decided to stroll down for a microbrew.  The music was set to go till midnight and the Wylie's Wild West Band has a reputation for entertainment value. 

I figured a walk would counter the 200 calorie beer and took the opportunity to turn on my new app and see how many I'd actually burn on the one mile walk.  

I ran into a man I'd had exactly one date with, then one brief meet at the farmers market where everything went south.  He mentioned dinner that next week, I said "sure how about Wednesday?" but I was flexible for Tuesday or Thursday, the evenings I run after work, as I could always run in the morning if I had evening plans.  He wouldn't commit and said he'd "call me."  I felt a bit deflated, since he'd brought up the restaurant he likes, but then wouldn't actually pick a day/time.  

He did not call, but instead texted a couple of times early in the week during the day, "how's your day going?" type of useless shit, for which I have no tolerance.  I prefer communication as a tool for setting up real life encounters, rather than for a bunch of mundane back and forth.  Never another mention of dinner.

Things went downhill further when he tried to message me later in the week on the dating site we'd met on.  More vague, nebulous exchanges; my responses were brief and I'd already thrown in the towel on this guy. 

Of course then who should I see downtown. I'd had a feeling I'd run into someone, but wasn't thinking it would be him.  I walked right over when I saw him and said hi.  Understandably his reception was cool.  I gave him an out and said I'd just let him alone if he wanted, he'd also come by himself, but he said no, I could stay.  We chatted briefly, pleasant enough, and I went to get another beer which I split with him, after affirming that he hadn't already had too many, explaining I didn't want another whole one as I'd set my alarm for 6:00 AM for US Open tennis in the morning.

Not able to refrain, I mentioned how our brief dating life had quickly gone sour, and lamented I thought it was unfortunate.  Frustrated by his lack of initiative, I'd last week drawn his attention to a link I'd put on my dating profile titled "Five Reasons Why Women Hate Passive Men" in a message to him and stated it had made me think of him.  I told him to take a look.  Since I'd already hung up any hopes that we'd ever spend any future time together I figured he should at least get a sense of why I thought things had gone awry, his passive stance.   His messaged response at the time, "We all have different definitions of passive."  Ugh.  His response now was that he just preferred to take things at a glacial pace (my word, I think he actually used "slow").  When I protested and offered my unsolicited advice, to basically snap out of it, he said "thanks mom."  He may be passive, but that comes with a dash of aggression.  

So, to wrap up, if you'd like to spend time with a woman you've met, ask her out, on a specific day and time.  She's free to say yes or no, but if you force her to make all the moves, it sets a up precedent and a future unhappy ending to a poorly constructed relationship.

Late to the Party

I tend to wait until the initial bugs are worked out on a new fad  before I jump on the grand old band wagon.  I did that with cell phones; I swore I would not make the switch, then when my landline provider Qwest acted like a dick and wouldn't take partial payment on a two month bill, I threatened to shit can my landline altogether and go mobile.  The man on the other end of the line pretty much dared me to do it.  The next day I had cell phone in hand, converted my home number to my sparkly new phone and disconnected my landline forever.   No one would ever believe my phone number was a cell number, because it was a typical local number and people would ask me "if I was sure that was my number."  I'd paid attention when the legislation passed that allowed packing up your home phone number and transferring it to your mobile, apparently they had not.  Eventually lots of others jumped on, so I guess you could say I was ahead of the curve on that one.

Not so with Twitter.   Although I don't know an actual local soul who's started up an account, it is certainly all the rage worldwide, so I finally decided to see what all the fuss was about.  The final push came from my viewing last weekend of the film Chef which disguised itself as a 2 hour commercial for Twitter.   I guess I can no longer say I'm not influenced by advertising, if the product piques my interest.

I found a very, very helpful "how to" article: http://www.momthisishowtwitterworks.com/ which navigated through the basics, none of which I knew anything about.  So I started at square one and dialed myself up an account.  Of course it requires the usual privacy stripping ordeal of allowing access to your contacts and personal information, etc., so I used an email account that is devoid of any personal information and has no contacts attached to it.

I have yet to post my first tweet, retweet (RT) or photo,  but all in due time, all in due time.  I have, however, viewed some very funny footage posted and a few tidbits of random, yet interesting info, such as NBC's refusal to screen the Obvious Child trailer since it mentions abortion.  And a 15 minute laugh-fest with Rafa Nadal and Roger Federer stricken by a bad case of the giggles trying to get through a Swiss tennis exhibition promo they were filming together.  Quite entertaining.   Tennis obsessed fan that I am, it was thoroughly amusing.

And so it goes, keep up, or get left behind.  I'm not sure I want to expend any energy on one of those high profile, full blown shit storm Twitter pissing matches, but I shall forge onward and at least give it an honest  go before I declare it too "new-fangled" for me.
@ruthieflymorgan

The Mystique of Trains

This is paradise, the calm, the quiet, interrupted only occasionally by the forlorn freight train whistles cascading up from the valley floor.  I love that sound - it resonates in my historical muscle memory.  All the trains in my past, Missoula when the kids were little, us all sleeping soundly in our beds only to be awakened in the wee hours by the crashing of the cars together as the lonely, quirky railmen built the long 100 car caravans in the train yard just beyond our house.

The institution of the trains, their solid and established routines - moving the goods and natural resources from place to place.  Those little boys with their elaborate electric train sets, now all grown up and maneuvering those mega ton cars in real time.  

I am reminded of the gentleman hippy, his long, dark, wavy hair pulled back in a ponytail, father to a beautiful young adult daughter, who perished, crushed between two cars on the hi-line years ago.  A good, kind hearted soul.  Surely he died too young.  Another classic tale affirming only the good die young.

So LA

Nature