Commitment

This photograph documents the sad end to my golf shoes.  I had these shoes tucked away in my golf bag, a pair of freebies I never realized came with a great set of clubs I bought from a friend.  When I made my discovery early this summer, I was proud: no longer would I have to be seen around the country club wearing a pair of New Balance cross-trainers.  I was finally part of society. 

They'd been sitting for years inside a zippered pocket on the golf bag, a kind of void space forming the structure of the bag in which you'd never think to look.  The last recesses of original hull construction they look on a ship before calling off a man overboard search.  So, for years these shoes sat in the garage, from Maryland to San Diego, from San Diego to Mudville, waiting for someone to need them.  When I found them, I was delighted to give them new life.  I lovingly polished them with a bit of white polish, covering the scuff marks, going around and around the toes with that perfect measure of pressure, and treating them as well as I did my favorite dress shoes.  "Wow, Nikes.  Probably at one time $150."  I thought of the story of the The Velveteen Rabbit, or How Toys Become Real, by Marjorie Williams.  So many allegories... 

They'd seen the course once or twice before with their previous owner, maybe they were a bit neglected.  After a game or two, I noticed the sole on the right shoe was coming loose.  "Nothing I couldn't patch up back at home with a good gob of fabric glue," I muttered. 

Good as new.  They went around another game or two, enjoying their newfound life and covering a lot of ground.  But the years in the heat had taken their toll on them, as I found on hole number three at the Metro Golf Course on a soggy early afternoon, the swankiest place in town (one of Mudville's neighbors where you're actually expected to wear a belt and tuck in your shirt).  "Bernie, these shoes are falling apart, I might have to call it quits early."  Every step I took, the top of the right sole would smack up to the bottom of the stitching (or whatever that correlates to in the anatomy of a shoe) making a loud "CLOP CLOP" report.  "Keep playing, when it falls off you can go home."  So every step walking to my ball from the cart path was "CLOP ped CLOP ped CLOP ped CLOP ped."  Boy, it was soggy out there.  Then, the bottom of the left sole did the same, so it was, "CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP CLOP."  No reactions from anyone, oh well, keep playing. 

When the right sole was almost done, I showed it to Bernie again, who helped me by taking a firm grip on it and ripping it off.  My shoe didn't seem in any pain.  So I played like that for a little while, and then the left sole - just fell off on its own.  Now I was just playing with the leather and cloth and stitches on the bottom of each shoe, kind of in the manner of construction of rock-climbing shoes.  I was happy because I could now run to the ball without worry, it was kind of "combat golf" that day: I would make a crappy shot and then run to the ball to keep a good pace with the more experienced guys.  A good workout nonetheless; we weren't allowed to drive onto the fairways because of the rain so I logged a good couple hundred yards of jog/sprints that day. 

Without warning, on the right foot, I could see my toes sticking out, but I stuck with it (them?).  We were nearing the end of the last hole, and this was no time to throw in the towel. Finally, I ended up taking off the right shoe, and playing with only one shoe and a sock.  Then in my socks.  But I didn't give up, and my shoes didn't give up on me.  A little apprehensive about disapproving snorts from anyone who might see us in this state, I still felt good about not quitting.  Nonetheless barefoot , I realized that maybe there should be more dignity involved.  "Come on shoes, this place isn't good enough for us.  I'm taking you home."

Charlotte Sometimes by The Cure

Now that you've heard the song...
...read the backstory from the author of Charlotte Sometimes, Penelope Farmer:

http://grannyp.blogspot.com/2007/06/cured.html
http://grannyp.blogspot.com/search/label/Charlotte%20Sometimes%20and%20The%20Cure

"The whole book turned - though I didn't see that when I wrote it - on identity; how do people identify you as you?" - P. Farmer

Film: The Limits of Control

Jim Jarmusch - I've seen his Ghost Dog, Coffee and Cigarettes (part of it), Mystery Train (pers. fave) and now The Limits of Control. I didn't "get" this one without help, but that's o.k. If I told you this movie was like "dark chocolate" and ran off without filling you in on that abstraction, maybe you'd be dismissive, maybe you'd wonder why. Hopefully, you'd provide your own explanation and anticipate that not everything will be laid bare in the telling. Our expectations for resolution in literature (nuance) and cinema (full exposition) vary to a large degree. If nothing else, you should love the sheer beauty of Spanish landscapes in this movie and the mythology of the protagonist, "Lone Man."

Mary Pols, Time Magazine:

As Lone Man makes his way from Madrid to Seville and then into the countryside toward his wealthy target, American, aka the Man (Bill Murray, who starred in Jarmusch's lovely Broken Flowers), he encounters a cast of characters who trade boxes of matches with him and pass on more tidbits of instruction along with commentary on art and culture. There's Guitar (John Hurt), Mexican (Gael Garcia Bernal) and the most helpful of all, Blonde (Tilda Swinton), who is a fan of Jarmusch-style cinema.

"The best films are like dreams you're never really

sure you've had," she tells him.

The rest of the review (and spoilers) are here: http://www.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,1894879,00.html

Meanwhile, I'm thinking about Flamenco, castanets, and a dark bar.

- Thinking about the visceral and sparse "Passengers: Original Movie Soundtracks Vol. II" http://www.amazon.com/Passengers-Original-Soundtracks-Brian-Eno/dp/B000001E8

- Thinking about "Killer 7." http://www.gamespot.com/gamecube/action/killer7/review.html?om_act=convert&om_clk=gssummary&tag=summary;read-review

- Thinking about "El Mariachi" and people that make you wonder whether that guitar case holds an ametralladora ...

We were exposed to and savored Jarmusch's rich mise-en-scene in Mystery Train. Here, staring bleakly at Spanish landscapes, you begin to feel part of them. What better place for cool, dark-shades intrigue than the sepia desert and thrumming guitars of La Madre Tierra?

Interpretation of "Limits" can be challenging; a camera following Mr. Jarmusch, His manner of dress makes him look like somebody you might find at the side of a road in Nevada. In the bonus features as he shares some revealing points, clues.

"There are only a few stories, but limitless ways to tell them."

"I know many things about film history, art, etc. What fascinates me are not the things that are known, but the things that are unknown to me."

The Limits of Control is an extended metaphor for intrigue and the unknown - it invites the viewer's imagination. The landscapes are stunning and make me embrace Spain again. The elements of scene are built to a fever pitch, and when the mystery of our "Lone Wanderer" is revealed, it comes suddenly but is not an "Aha." You really need an attuned eye & ear to unite the abstract cues and draw out the meaning, and could return many times to find more.

Unfortunately, western audiences will not enjoy having to work to make their own interpretations. No matter the common criticism, there's no denying that Jim Jarmusch is highly talented and artistic. 6 or 7/10. I'm on the fence.

Article: "Kind of Blue" by Jim Shahin

Sunday, 27 September. John Coltrane is playing. We follow the camera descending into the 'burbs... light is fading, gone.

I am only guessing what this author feels, that "it's in the air" feeling. Mild reading for a mild fall day. The author kind of "Kuralts" around for awhile, but it would be more satisfying if it were more revealing, or I better understood what he tried to impart to us in the end, what lasting impression he wanted to render. Communication...

Excerpt:

An acquaintance told me the other day that she doesn't like autumn. "I find it sad," she said. My first impulse was to reply, "Sad? Autumn? What are you, nuts? Autumn is great. There is a chill in the air. Leaves change color. And the football season is still young enough to pretend that even my beloved, heartbreaking Philadelphia Eagles might not implode." But before I spoke, she filled the empty space. "Everything turning brown, the days turning dark." She turned her gaze toward the window. "It's sad."

Feeling obligated to see what she was seeing, I looked out the window, too. If you're into sun and warmth and daylight, then, okay, she had a point. "Yeah," I replied. "I guess it is."But sadness may be exactly what I like about this time of year. I live in the Washington, D.C., area, a place that gets a pretty good autumn. Big, old maple trees line the sidewalks and canopy the streets, splashing color everywhere. But for years before we moved here, I'd pined for autumn like a cat pawing at a screen door to go outside. I was stuck in Texas, where fall is bypassed on the way from an endless summer (not what the Beach Boys had in mind when they wrote that phrase, believe me) to the rainy season, Janu­ary, then onto summer again.

http://www.americanwaymag.com/texas-philadelphia-eagles-maine

Bumper stickers

I have put off this trip for a long time. This is what far away is, I've come by train and I've arrived at the limits of wherever it is I know... Have only been here a few times after considerable effort to arrange to get out of town. There's a place I want to see - don't get me wrong: this small town on the line is a place I like and I've wanted to walk in again for a long time - to see people - artisans, a town brewer, little round streets. However, there's somewhere else I'd really like to see if I press on a few hours. Haven't I been there before?

A strange recurring dream

To keep with tradition, I drew this in class. I was trying to remember how to do vanishing points I learned in school.

I start in the morning in a cavernous station with large, looming windows. You look out the window and all there is to see is sky in all directions, like we're suspended from a suspension bridge or long floating isthmus. It reminds me of a futuristic port - there are moving sidewalks taking immense numbers of people to and fro. No time to take in details. There's a sense of urgency to catch the train, plane, automobile, whatever it is. It's disorienting yet very remarkable.

Red Pill or Blue Pill?

Great essay by author Dave Droar conceived around the existential decision the protagonist Neo faced in the Matrix movies:

http://www.arrod.co.uk/essays/matrix.php

Excerpt:

The central character of the film, Neo, is presented to us in the opening part of the film as a loner who is searching for a mysterious character called Morpheus (named after the Greek god of dreams and sleep). He is also trying to discover the answer to the question "What is the Matrix?"
Morpheus contacts Neo just as the machines (posing as sinister 'agents') are trying to keep Neo from finding out any more. When Morpheus and Neo meet, Morpheus offers Neo two pills. The red pill will answer the question "what is the Matrix?" (by removing him from it) and the blue pill simply for life to carry on as before. As Neo reaches for the red pill Morpheus warns Neo, "Remember, all I'm offering is the truth. Nothing more."

If you're ever getting ready for the biggest interview of your life...

... then here's a good quote to remember.
"Daniel-san, this not tournament. This real."

Damn straight.

The most inspirational story of 2008

Better posted late than never.

I first remember reading about Devil's Tower in 7th grade. The imposing name gave me pause. Due the sheerness of it, I wondered how anyone ever climbed it. It's just a big, crazy rock jutting up out of the middle of nowhere, and the stuff of cool Native American legend! Now, a decade and-a-half later, the mysterious attraction continues for me with this great story!

Climbing Devils Tower a daily delight
By The Associated Press

http://mail.indianz.com/boardx/topic.asp?TOPIC_ID=33126

"We're just working on bettering personal bests," said Sanders about people he guides and himself. "If I'm not pressing myself, then what am I doing asking others to push themselves?"

Climbing usually is done in tandem with a partner. Sanders often does his climbs solo - and "free" or without safety gear that climbers use. It's the most dangerous way to climb, and he knows it.

"The first thing in the morning, I pray and say I give it up, I gotta stay sober today," Sanders said. Climbing Devils Tower is an important part in Sanders' sobriety because it's a form of meditation. The solitude of hanging on the side of a column high above the ground - alone - is a time of deep clarity.


Sanders said he often asks himself why he climbs alone. But it is in those climbs those times that he is forced to overcome himself.

I want to get back to my original idea for this journal, which was to host pictures of my sketches made in college. It's not really for some psychoanalytic purpose; it's just for fun. Some people read deeply into symbolism and others don't. The only way anyone will ever want to critique my college doodles is if I make a million dollars in the arts, which I likely won't, and then it'd still be a stretch! Enjoy!