A Success Story

     Recently I was Facebook chatting with an Australian friend. He told me that in four years from now he could be making 400 grand a year as a business consultant, but he doesn’t care... he wants to give it up. Another friend from London was in the same position last year and also walked away from the lure of big money.  Some people would call them fools, they both admitted to me people have done just that, but personally I see something valiant in their position.  They want to live authentically for themselves.

      Really, success... WTF is it anyway?   I’ve met more than a few people who wanted to enjoy the status and the power often associated with having money. People often are envious to those with money and grant a shocking level of deference.The question each person needs to consider though is to what level are you willing to compete for that power?... as competition is more brutal and unscrupulous the higher ones ambition is. An interesting juxtaposition comes when people who thrive off that competition meet their opposite: open minded artists, travelers, and dreamers. All of sudden what they deem success doesn't apply, it’s no longer what one has but rather who one is; relationships are no longer hierarchical and based on power, but rather equalitarian and based on intellectual and emotional connection. The divergence of aim is often why these character types dislike one another. So what if from societal pressure you began one pursuit only to realize it was the other variant that you were more connected with?  That was the issue my friend was having...

     

    Other topics arose as well, we also discussed what we felt we should try to do in the future. Both of us had the same issue with making a definite decision for what to strive for in such a vast world of possibility.  When complete possibility is there, the dreamers’ mind can soar... Maybe it soars under the wings of pretence, but it soars none the less. In contrast, when a direction is chosen, as my friend had felt he had done, artistic impertinence rears its ugly head and stands affront to the plan questioning every aspect of it. In some cases this is the engine that drives an artist to never give up on their real dream... in others it destroys their life. If you prick holes in every plan, the possibility looms of doing nothing. Finding the balance between these two contending realities has been the most difficult balancing act of my own life.   

        
   When you are a questioner to things around you; you can’t just turn that quality off when it suits you. To some walking away from a golden ticket for your future is crazy, but the thing is if it isn't making you happy then what’s the use of that money anyway? Being true to who you are inside... is the only real vehicle to happiness. The biggest sham going is living a different internal life from what one presents outwardly. Schools seem to channel people to conform, at least in my school experience, even if it doesn't fit them inside and I think that leads to situations like my friend detailed. He felt, he had to pursue the money. I have to quantify this all if the competition is for you, and you have special skills for it that’s fine if it’s what you want. BUT – to my friends that walked away from the competition to be who they are... it’s a commendable thing, and though others would never be able to grasp it, I tip my hat to them. 

The Pursuit of it

     Watched a movie last week called “Blue Valentine” that really got me thinking. The story, in a nutshell, is – Ryan Gossling’s character Dean sees Michelle Williams character Cindy and immediately, by his own account, falls in love with her at first sight. He pursues her, the way a man REALLY in love would: relentlessly and genuinely. She is overwhelmed by his effort and falls for him. Fast forward 7 years later into their marriage, a daughter in tow, and the relationship is breaking down. An infamous scenario has ensued, at least from the male point of view, the guy is still desperately in love with the girl, like he always was... like he always will be, but she has fallen out of love with him. This, in a world where a million and one douche bags enjoy massive success praying on female insecurity, to me was a cinematic example of a modern day tragedy. The story is told in two alternating time frames; 7 years into the relationship and the beginning.  Please excuse a few minor spoilers.

     Now, I’m always trying to understand people better and my first impression after watching this film was that Cindy was a bitch who gave up on a good guy. Some more thinking and the help of reading some female reviews of the film have modified that view point.  Dean envisioned something inside of Cindy and used his attraction to mould her in his mind as the perfect woman. For those of us that have felt love before, it not only allows you to only see the best in the other person - it kind of forces you to.  Every joke is funny, every comment so witty, the other person’s appearance - which to others might be just alright - is breathtaking. That was Dean... consumed by his girl in that way most girls dream of being wanted.  A problem...?????... but how? Here’s how. By being consummately in love he lost track of who Cindy was... he held her as his ideal not a real, evolving person.  Invariable it  would be this factor that would drive her away.

   The character of Cindy from her first appearance has a detached ere. Something isn’t right in her family and because of that she’s able to disappear inside of herself and her dreams of a future away from her small Pennsylvania town existence. Dean’s love for her when they first meet was so explosive and true she can’t help but being taken aback. He’s putting himself out there for her in ways that her reserved nature could never imagine. She’s overwhelmed and succumbs to it – happily, willingly succumbs. Maybe in her eyes he could be the escape she covets. Maybe she thought that he would apply the energy he had for pursuing her towards their life together as well. Seven years later life has taken hold and what she cannot shake is the fact that for him loving her and their daughter is enough. He’s not interested in pursuing success and “life” – he has what he wants. She`s sees larger, wishes for more... wishes to strive. He hasn`t given the escape she longed for... She’s changed, grown jaded, and he has remained exactly the same.

    I couldn`t help but watch this film, the opposite to any of the romantic comedies, and feel effected. What bothered me was the thought not even love can sustain a relationship... if not that, what is it then?... just an exchange of services and expectations between two partners? More questions, if love holds one from seeing the way a person really is – then can it be a good barometer for entering marriage? If you’re love blinded will you wake up sometime later to ask yourself who the fuck is this person? Then again though, if there isn’t love then what would be the point? As usual so many questions not enough answers– it´s good to see a movie that is willing to look at the complexity of love and relationships rather than peddle Hollywood romantic drivel. For anyone that hasn’t seen this film I give it a strong recommendation. In the end for me, I’m skeptical of the concept of “love” – but maybe it’s my own neurosis that I still have to believe in it.

Graduation Day

“I’ve got a funny story from when I was young.”

   I was looking across the table at Erin, a girl that I had been out with a few times previously. She was looking so cute and earnest in her black plastic frame glasses. I was nervous. I definitely wanted to impress her. My game plan had been to play up my mature side, but who was I kidding. I could tell from her eager smile she wanted to see me play the fool one more time - like I do so well…  

  
    I gave her a serious look straight in her eyes as I began. “I don’t really remember this story completely. Great start to a story right? My mom has filled in many of the details. As for the rest, I’ll just exaggerate.” I winked at her and smiled.

   “I was about 4 years old, a precocious little guy really. I wanted to match anything my big brother did. If he had it - I wanted it. I even wanted to be the same age as him. My brother was seven so I use to tell everyone I was seven as well. I guess I looked up to the dude... either that or I wanted ALL the attention for myself.”
   
      I shrugged my shoulders and looked down meekly, grinning a little as I continued. “So… we were in the car on our way home. My brother was beaming. We had been at his graduation, his kindergarten graduation that is. And for his efforts, he was given one black cardboard hat. All the new grads had one. They all had special hats. And I didn’t! I could see that Erin was smiling.


“Must have been quite the hat!?” she said.


     “Oh you bet it was! It was like a crown to me. It was his pride and joy… Somehow I had believed that to wear it would surely make me an older boy. I wanted to be ready for finger painting and connect the dots like he was, I needed its power… The entire ride home, I pestered him asking again and again to let me wear it! He kept saying - no.”

     “To this day I hate to hear no when I really want something. So you can imagine how I was when I was four...? So anyway, after pleading to my mom unsuccessfully to make him let me wear it - I hatched a more devious plan!” I looked over at Erin her attention was now undivided.
   

   “When we got out of the car, I made my dirty move. I was quick like a cheetah as I snatched the hat off his head and sped around the corner of our house - my little legs moving like the road runners... “

Erin laughed: “You little scoundrel.”
   

   “Oh that isn’t the end just yet. I would be a liar if I said I actually remembered where I went…” I let my lips droop and looked down in my best innocent little boy look as I continued. “When I finally did come back with the hat my mom was angry. She told me to give it back IMMEDIATLY! I didn't complain at all, I just handed it back. There was one little surprise to be discovered though... ” 

“What is it, what happened next?” Erin asked. Her voice slightly pitched.
  

 I waited a second taking a lingering drink from my beer, then another.

“Come on Dave, what is it? What did you do?”

   Not really being able hide my growing grin my words came out. “Well let’s just say that the hat was tested to see how well it could resist water. I ran around the house with my brother’s pride and joy hat and took a wizz in it. Then I handed it back to him filled to the brim with four year old pee.”


“You did that…? “ she blurted out fighting off a laugh at the same time.


“Yep I did, but don’t worry it doesn’t mean I still wet the bed.” My face turned a little red as I realized - so much for looking mature.

A Mental Rubric

    Just had an interesting conversation with a very optimistic and spunky friend of mine on one of our weekly trips to the library to write and hangout. We talked at some length about memory and the mind, and in classically nerdy fashion, it has got me thinking more about the topic. I contend that the moment is reality and memories are but distortions of that reality. Going further memories are based as much on the person as the event that is being recalled. So with that as a position it would seem logical to focus just on the moment and going forward. Definitely directing mental power towards making the most of what is happening in the moment is of key importance, but...

     As intriguing as the moment is the conundrum is that pure observance of it is impossible. Even in a new environment, given just a little time..., the aesthetics, customs, and people will start to become amalgamated into easier classifications by our mind’s eye. The brilliant writer and thinker Aldous Huxley (of “Brave New World” fame) wrote about this effect in his essay: “The Doors of Perception”. His conclusion is that our brains act as reducers of reality. What he meant by this was that our brain reduces reality, and our perceptions and observances of it, to what we need for survival. These aren’t ancient times however and now most aspects of surviving are catered for through collective society leaving us with reserves of mental energy to apply as we see fit. Maybe that’s why so many people develop mental health issues in modern times – to much mental energy available for reflection and self analysis?

     Whether or not we try to control our thoughts and impressions there is still a vast amount that is beyond us. Individual reality schemas, forged over a life time, will infiltrate the moment regardless of even the most well trained mind’s conviction otherwise. For that reason, I’ve always found it interesting to play with that fact by revisiting the past in the mind’s eye as a means of recreating it fictionally. That’s the essence of an artist; embracing the subjectivity of reality and personalizing that reality in a stylistic way. I’m not talking about changing facts, I’m talking about letting out impressions of what happened – the behind the scenes thoughts that were occurring with real events. These thoughts being recreated breath fictionality and originality to moments that have happened. This is the style many new journalists (Tom Wolfe, Truman Capote) and quasi fiction writers (Henry Miller, Jack Kerouac) have been using for years. We all have the possibility of creating art by just being candid about ourselves and how we see things differently. Like I’ve said in a previous blog (http://iwasjustthinkingsomething.blogspot.com/2011/01/myth-of-perfection.html ) in some people reality refracts in such vivid and interesting ways. So why not have the vivid people portray these refractions in whatever way they can?... it can be through their clothes, the way they talk, or in classical artistic mediums like writing, music, or art. I feel that people have a need to try to express their own uniqueness and not to do such leads to anxiety. I guess all one can do is just try.  The only real judge that matters in terms of what is produced  is oneself anyway...

    

The Art of Poverty

     One of the amusing paradoxes of our times is the fact that when you are making money often you don’t have time to spend it. And when you have time, you don’t have money to spend... I guess that’s why “normal” people take little vacations and drop obscene amounts of money in that short window of time they have to do it. I’ve found from experience that there is something just a little mystical about being a bit impoverished. Not saying it’s an experience to strive for, if you strive for it – it’s easy enough to get, or want as it is hard, but...  Lots of great writers went through it: Jack Kerouac, George Orwell, and my personal hero: Henry Miller. They used the experience to drive their prose. What is it about getting to the end of one’s tether with money that so often is the impedes of art?

    Poverty and the serene aren’t mutually exclusive. Now I should establish that I can speak on this issue having been near rock bottom before during my travels a couple of times in the UK, Australia, and the Netherlands. Each of these times I found that life became so much more serene. Bear with me, you must be wondering what the fuck is this guy going on about...?  I’ll explain. When beyond a lark, ones means of securing food and shelter come into question those two issues eventually become the only issues. There’s a comfort in that. The secondary concerns, the concerns I would say often feel like the daily strangle hold, those such as: relationship issues, questions of self, that nagging question: what to do with my life..., all fade away. That is where the serenity comes into play – pure focus on meeting these goals is a focus unlike any other. There is no time to contemplate the deeper concerns; poverty is a reprieve from the questions of self.

Movie Review: "Conan the Barbarian"

“Conan the Barbarian” (1 out of 6 Stars)

   After only thirty years Robert E Howard’s “Conan the Barbarian” comes to us again. The original “Conan the Barbarian” starring a young Arnold Schwarzenegger was a far superior film that had an epic quality. This version is just a tedious revenge film minimal on story, character, and intrigue.

   In Cimmeria the Northern Lands of the mythical world of Hibernia Conan is born “literally” right on a battle field.  By ten years old Conan, already a junior killing machine, has his world turned upside down when war lord Khalar Zim comes to his village in search of a mysterious mask. This mask, for reasons left a little vague, will give Zim the ultimate power to rule Hibernia. Escaping, but seeing his father and his tribe slaughtered before him Conan swears vengeance. The rest of the film an older Conan, played by hulking Hawaiian Jason Momoa : chases Zim, fights Zim, chases Zim, fights in quick succession Zim’s chief lieutenants, chases Zim, then fights Zim again. Mix in Tamara (Rachel Nichols) - Conan’s love interest - a beautiful girl, whose blood is needed to complete Zim’s ritual with the mask, and you have the essential cliché components for a run of the mill, boorish summer release.

    My verdict is that you should skip this one. If you are interested in Sword and Sorcery check out Momoa’s other project HBO’s “Game of Thrones” instead. “Game of Thrones” has the epic feel that Conan wishes it could emulate combined with a more interesting, realistic fantasy world. If you still choose to see Conan despite my misgivings the only saving graces are “decent”, but over wrought action sequences and a nice aesthetic look for Hibernia.

    In earnest, I found myself wanting the last fight, which went on and on..., to just end so I could leave the theatre. Not a good sign for any film. Only check this out if mindless action is your thing. I can’t recommend this to fans of the Conan franchise either as this felt more like Hollywood’s Hibernia then anything Robert E Howard would have envisioned.

Maybe a Red Corvette

    Yesterday I achieved one of my life goals by seeing Prince perform live outdoors in Copenhagen. He was everything I knew he would be – a little singing, dancing purple dynamo... one part entertainer, another part little perfectionist general. Mid song, he would bark out orders to the sound engineer: “guitar down... more, please. “ Then pause... “I said guitar down – it isn’t happening yet. Guitar down, and raise the microphone.” A moment later he would be handing his guitar away and going to the drums to play for a bit, then the keyboard... The purple one was everywhere, a whirling dervish of mascara, high notes, and dry one liners. The majority of the show was an elaborate jam with his trademark funky grooves pouring over the crowd of flailing bodies. A Danish friend described the crowd right then as “hyggeligt” the unique Danish word for comfortable or cozy. It was...



“Nothing I love more than a warm summer night” says Prince as a real sexy mellow grove begins.”Uwwwwww... (in his trade mark high pitched voice) better not sing that. Someone’s going to end up pregnant.” The entire crowd burst out laughing. Another memorable one liner: “You’ve got to stand for something, or else you'll fall for everything.” All night he was playing to the crowd - in one moment hilarious and the next cool. He looked young too; if this guy is 50 either he has found the fountain of youth or got a little touch up surgery.  



Two hours plus of music hit its Crescendo with a rousing rendition of Purple Rain. With arms around my friends we sang every word. It seemed the show was over; an appropriate, if not a little cliché..., end had been reached. The stage went dark the curtain had fallen... but, NO it wasn’t done. The silence broke and that cheeky little voice was back on the microphone. “You didn't think we I leaving yet. Did ya? What y’all want to hear...? You can tell me. Uh, uh, uh... not all at once, I can’t make out 20,000 suggestions. I know it’s tough... we got so many hits!” People laugh but the funniest thing was that he wasn’t lying - he has to many hits to pick from. I was a little sad "Raspberry Beret" didn't have its time in the sun. Alas...



The last song of the night ended up being an extended version of “Kiss.” He let people from in front of the stage come up and dance. People came close to his backup singers. One girl even shared the microphone with one of them but no one had the nerve to try that with Prince. How could they...?, he still has undeniable star power, it seeps off him, and coming close enough to touch is just something that isn't done - it defies any international conception of good manners. The show tailed off with crackling fireworks as the band played on. I heard later Prince had arranged an after party so he could play even more. This man loves music, he lives and personifies it. His voice still hits the high notes with his trademark uhhhhhs and uwwwwws... He was, and still is, a true legend. This morning the sweet residue of a good night remained. “Maybe a Red Corvette, uwww, uwwww... this love is happening to fast....