I like perfection. I want things to be just so-so - ducks in a row, plans detailed and plain, everything smooth and easy. No muss. No fuss. No wrinkles.
No wrinkles.
Here's my problem: life is wrinkly.
Like a sharpee (the dog, not the ink pen).
Like my shirts (at least when I do laundry).
Like my Grandma Courtney's cheeks (as a very young boy, my little brother once informed our grandmother that her cheeks were soft like rotten apples. He honestly meant it as a compliment. I believe she took it as such - once she stopped laughing).
Smooth. Like velvet. Like a new stretch of freeway. Like pudding.
Like pudding.
Not old-fashioned cooked pudding. That stuff's lumpy. Too much startch.
Like pre-made, factory-plopped pudding-in-a-cup.
What I am slowly accepting is that writing and art are wrinkly as well. And God being gracious and wonderful as He is has been showing me this in gentle little ways. On our recent outting to the Minneapolis Institute of Art, I had an opportunity to study a few paintings up close. (Actually, a little too close. A guard kindly told me to step back so I wouldn't accidentally flick a booger on Gerrit van Honthorst's Denial of St. Peter. Evidently, snot is niot easily removed from 384 year old oil paintings.)
It was a painting by an artist whose name escapes me - a photo-realistic painting - that caught my attention. This huge painting looks just like a photograph.
Until you get up close.
Then you see the paint.
The very minor imperfections.
And I was reminded that everything is imperfect.
Every painting.
Every writing.
Every song.
The beauty comes from what pours forth from the heart and the mind, not the technical proficiency of the artist.
Wrinkly is okay.
Just not too wrinkled.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
¿Él dijo lo que pensé que él dijo?
I was watching a film about rappers in Cuba this morning. The young men being interviewed all looked like American hip-hop stars, and had that hip-hop attitude. And they all spoke Spanish,
And rapped in Spanish.
Except for one word.
Ironically, the one word they used is the same one that gets mixed out of the radio-friendly versions of all those raps they play on MTV where every other word is removed.
You know, that word.
The universal adjective.
The reason Nick Nolte's dialogue sounds like one big growling mumble after TBS sanitized 48 Hours in order to meet broadcast decency standards.
The word that got Ralphy in so much trouble, because he didn't say "fudge".
The vulgarity that makes my mother's head spin faster than a dradle during Hannukah.
The big "F"-bomb".
The "f"-ing-heimer.
The expletive to end all expletives.
I just found it somewhat ironic, and humorous. It caught my ear because the station airing the film "beeped" the offending vulgarity out.
Had he said it in Spanish, it probably would have made it through intact. I would have never known.
The words were translated into English across the bottom of the screen as "didn't give a care." Evidently, a "care" wasn't exactly what this rapper wasn't giving.
Sadly, the "f"-word has truly become the international expletive. No need to translate. Everyone on earth knows what it means.
And rapped in Spanish.
Except for one word.
Ironically, the one word they used is the same one that gets mixed out of the radio-friendly versions of all those raps they play on MTV where every other word is removed.
You know, that word.
The universal adjective.
The reason Nick Nolte's dialogue sounds like one big growling mumble after TBS sanitized 48 Hours in order to meet broadcast decency standards.
The word that got Ralphy in so much trouble, because he didn't say "fudge".
The vulgarity that makes my mother's head spin faster than a dradle during Hannukah.
The big "F"-bomb".
The "f"-ing-heimer.
The expletive to end all expletives.
I just found it somewhat ironic, and humorous. It caught my ear because the station airing the film "beeped" the offending vulgarity out.
Had he said it in Spanish, it probably would have made it through intact. I would have never known.
The words were translated into English across the bottom of the screen as "didn't give a care." Evidently, a "care" wasn't exactly what this rapper wasn't giving.
Sadly, the "f"-word has truly become the international expletive. No need to translate. Everyone on earth knows what it means.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
The Creativity Challenge Sputters and Continues...
Well... we did the road trip on Saturday. And it was, well... less than inspiring. I'm not sure what I thought would spark my creativity. We ate breakfast at a diner in LeSueur that looked just as it must have twenty years ago (which was quite interesting - very smalltown Hoosieresque). Ottawa is quite interesting - a tiny 19th century village with the original stone Methodist church and streets that are actually still narrow horsepaths. And St. Peter is filled with beautiful Victorian-style homes.
But Henderson... I got scared in Henderson.
Understand, I mean no disrespect to Henderson. It looks like a nice, quaint, welcoming little river town. In fact, I fely so warm and welcome that I parked on the Minnesota River bridge and hopped out to take some photos.
It was as I walked back to the van that it happened. I had the creepy feeling that I was being followed. I look behind me, and I see some guy, driving real slow in his old pickup truck - putt putt putt putt across the river bridge.
And he was looking at me. Staring is more the word. As if I were the first human he had seen in a long time. (Or at least like the first non-local human.)
Putt-putt-putt-putt...
Birds stopped chirping. The breeze calmed to stillness. Somewhere in the distance, a banjo picked away. Dang-duh-dang-dang-dang-duh-dang-dang-dang. I looked around nervously to see if Ned Beatty was anywhere around.
The truck drifted past me, down by our van, where he pulled off the road and down along the river - a wooded area one would expect to see on the local news, as the reporter begins to explain that the body was found about 20 yards beyond the police tape barrier...
My wife was still in the van. My stroll back became a trot, then a speedwalk.
"Why are you running?" she asked as I jumped in the van.
"Just getting some exercise", I replied. She didn't buy it.
I wouldn't have, either.
But Henderson... I got scared in Henderson.
Understand, I mean no disrespect to Henderson. It looks like a nice, quaint, welcoming little river town. In fact, I fely so warm and welcome that I parked on the Minnesota River bridge and hopped out to take some photos.
It was as I walked back to the van that it happened. I had the creepy feeling that I was being followed. I look behind me, and I see some guy, driving real slow in his old pickup truck - putt putt putt putt across the river bridge.
And he was looking at me. Staring is more the word. As if I were the first human he had seen in a long time. (Or at least like the first non-local human.)
Putt-putt-putt-putt...
Birds stopped chirping. The breeze calmed to stillness. Somewhere in the distance, a banjo picked away. Dang-duh-dang-dang-dang-duh-dang-dang-dang. I looked around nervously to see if Ned Beatty was anywhere around.
The truck drifted past me, down by our van, where he pulled off the road and down along the river - a wooded area one would expect to see on the local news, as the reporter begins to explain that the body was found about 20 yards beyond the police tape barrier...
My wife was still in the van. My stroll back became a trot, then a speedwalk.
"Why are you running?" she asked as I jumped in the van.
"Just getting some exercise", I replied. She didn't buy it.
I wouldn't have, either.
Friday, June 08, 2007
Preparations Are Underway...
Oh, am I ever looking forward to this summer of adventure! (OK... adventure may be stretching things a bit. I mean, there will be no skydiving / bungee jumping / extreme sports of any kind, but...) The first trip is this weekend as, as you read in yesterday's blog post (scroll fown if you missed it), the randomly chosen stop is Henderson MN. Which may pose a problem.
Henderson MN is a very small town.
As in very small.
As in 931 people in one square mile (or 640 acres).
Yes, this town can be measured in acres.
And there probably isn't much to occupy a person for a full day.
Although I could be wrong.
So... if Henderson doesn't get the creative juices flowing, perhaps LeSueur and New Prague will. Yes, LeSueur, home of Jolly Green Giant Niblets canned corn. And New Prague, which we will probably revisit in September for the annual Czech harvest festival, DožínkyTM.
We will probably be doing some Twin Cities activities as well. Anything to prime the mental pump and ignite the creative spark.
Checklist for our adventures:
_____ TUNES!
_____ COOLER
_____ TUNES!
_____ COKE ZERO (and plenty of it!)
_____ MINNESOTA ROAD ATLAS
_____ TUNES!!
_____ NOTEBOOKS, JOURNAL AND PENS
_____ SKETCHPADS, PENCILS, PENS AND RELATED ACOUTREMENTS
_____ OPEN MIND AND ENTHUSIASTIC OUTLOOK
More next week on our travels!
Henderson MN is a very small town.
As in very small.
As in 931 people in one square mile (or 640 acres).
Yes, this town can be measured in acres.
And there probably isn't much to occupy a person for a full day.
Although I could be wrong.
So... if Henderson doesn't get the creative juices flowing, perhaps LeSueur and New Prague will. Yes, LeSueur, home of Jolly Green Giant Niblets canned corn. And New Prague, which we will probably revisit in September for the annual Czech harvest festival, DožínkyTM.
We will probably be doing some Twin Cities activities as well. Anything to prime the mental pump and ignite the creative spark.
Checklist for our adventures:
_____ TUNES!
_____ COOLER
_____ TUNES!
_____ COKE ZERO (and plenty of it!)
_____ MINNESOTA ROAD ATLAS
_____ TUNES!!
_____ NOTEBOOKS, JOURNAL AND PENS
_____ SKETCHPADS, PENCILS, PENS AND RELATED ACOUTREMENTS
_____ OPEN MIND AND ENTHUSIASTIC OUTLOOK
More next week on our travels!
Thursday, June 07, 2007
The Summer Creativity Challenge
stale [steyl]
–adjective
1. not fresh; vapid or flat, as beverages; dry or hardened, as bread.
2. musty; stagnant: stale air.
3. having lost novelty or interest; hackneyed; trite: a stale joke.
4. having lost freshness, vigor, quick intelligence, initiative, or the like, as from overstrain, boredom, or surfeit: He had grown stale on the job and needed a long vacation.
5. Law. having lost force or effectiveness through absence of action, as a claim.
- verb (used with object), verb (used without object)
6. to make or become stale.
Dictionary.com. Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1). Random House, Inc. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/stale (accessed: June 07, 2007).
That is how I have been feeling. Stale. No wonder writing has become a ponderous chore as oppose to the joy it used to be. So, I am reaching for the obvious answer to my stagnant, boring state.
I gotta get out more.
To that end, Jennie and I are going to have an adventure every weekend throughout the summer. Some trips will only be as far as the metro area, some across state - some even to other states! (Maybe even - are you sitting down? - Wisconsin!)
And we're going to share our adventures with all of you! Right here at Jumbled Encephalon Noodle Salad. So come along as we travel each weekend to places unknown and unexpected. In fact, I have just pulled down the road atlas and opened it to Minnesota. I will close my eyes, point out my index finger and plunk it down on the map. Where the finger lands, we will go.
OK. Here goes nothing.
My eyes are closed. (I type really well with my eyes shut, eh?)
Here we go...
Plunk!
And the winner is... Henderson MN 56044.
Never been there. Should be cool!
We'll let you know how the first adventure goes.
–adjective
1. not fresh; vapid or flat, as beverages; dry or hardened, as bread.
2. musty; stagnant: stale air.
3. having lost novelty or interest; hackneyed; trite: a stale joke.
4. having lost freshness, vigor, quick intelligence, initiative, or the like, as from overstrain, boredom, or surfeit: He had grown stale on the job and needed a long vacation.
5. Law. having lost force or effectiveness through absence of action, as a claim.
- verb (used with object), verb (used without object)
6. to make or become stale.
Dictionary.com. Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1). Random House, Inc. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/stale (accessed: June 07, 2007).
That is how I have been feeling. Stale. No wonder writing has become a ponderous chore as oppose to the joy it used to be. So, I am reaching for the obvious answer to my stagnant, boring state.
I gotta get out more.
To that end, Jennie and I are going to have an adventure every weekend throughout the summer. Some trips will only be as far as the metro area, some across state - some even to other states! (Maybe even - are you sitting down? - Wisconsin!)
And we're going to share our adventures with all of you! Right here at Jumbled Encephalon Noodle Salad. So come along as we travel each weekend to places unknown and unexpected. In fact, I have just pulled down the road atlas and opened it to Minnesota. I will close my eyes, point out my index finger and plunk it down on the map. Where the finger lands, we will go.
OK. Here goes nothing.
My eyes are closed. (I type really well with my eyes shut, eh?)
Here we go...
Plunk!
And the winner is... Henderson MN 56044.
Never been there. Should be cool!
We'll let you know how the first adventure goes.
It Was 40 Years Ago Today...
The album responsible for the "rock" album, the "concept" album, and breaking the rule that stated that every song on an LP must be separated by three seconds of silence, has turned 40 years old this week.
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, release the first week of June 1967, was revolutionary for its time, and turned artistic expression for pop/rock artists on its ear (so to speak). Not only were the sounds on the disc incredible (technically speaking), so was the sleeve. Sgt. Pepper is best known perhaps for the collage of (in)famous folk standing behind the festively costumed (and heavily moustached) Fab Four. These people - from Bob Dylan to Lenny Bruce, Laurel and Hardy to W.C. Fields, Edgar Allen Poe to Aldous Huxley - were people The Beatles (and sleeve designer Peter Blake) admired. (Interestingly, three of John Lennon's choices - Jesus Christ, Adolf Hitler and Mahatmas Gandhi - never made it onto the sleeve for fear of upsetting people. Gandhi came close - he was airbrushed out and replaced by a palm tree - just behind Diana Dors and beside Lawrence of Arabia.)
So, tell me... if you were designing this cover, who would you have on the sleeve and why? I'd love to know! Drop me an e-mail and I'll add your answers to the Jumbled Encephalon Noodle Salad blog.
Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, release the first week of June 1967, was revolutionary for its time, and turned artistic expression for pop/rock artists on its ear (so to speak). Not only were the sounds on the disc incredible (technically speaking), so was the sleeve. Sgt. Pepper is best known perhaps for the collage of (in)famous folk standing behind the festively costumed (and heavily moustached) Fab Four. These people - from Bob Dylan to Lenny Bruce, Laurel and Hardy to W.C. Fields, Edgar Allen Poe to Aldous Huxley - were people The Beatles (and sleeve designer Peter Blake) admired. (Interestingly, three of John Lennon's choices - Jesus Christ, Adolf Hitler and Mahatmas Gandhi - never made it onto the sleeve for fear of upsetting people. Gandhi came close - he was airbrushed out and replaced by a palm tree - just behind Diana Dors and beside Lawrence of Arabia.)
So, tell me... if you were designing this cover, who would you have on the sleeve and why? I'd love to know! Drop me an e-mail and I'll add your answers to the Jumbled Encephalon Noodle Salad blog.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
My Cluttered Little Skull
My mother would be appalled. She always hated seeing my room wrecked as a child, with toys and paper and assorted what-not strewn from closet to desk and over the bed.
If she could look into my brain, she would probably ground me until I cleaned this mess up. (So much for being an active part of society any time soon.)
I am intensely cluttered and scattered, cerebrally speaking. (As well as otherwise - you should see my office!) And it's because of the messed up way I mentally process and file information. It shows in my blogging (4 blogs going, each with a different topic, none updated as often as they ought to be). It shows in my writing / journaling (I juggle notebooks like Gallagher does watermelons - only without the sledgehammer.)
I have a lot of things I want to do:
- write a book of devotionals
- write a book of humorous pieces
- write a cookbook (ok, that entry wins the "least likely to succeed" award)
- develop my drawing skills
- teach
- preach
- find a cure for stupidity (my odds are better with the cookbook)
- broker a deal for lasting world peace (see above)
What it boils down to is finding a way to satisfy this intense desire I have to be a truly creative individual. And it requires being creative at my very core - changing the way I think, the way I work, the way I operate. It requires opening my mind. (Anyone got a good pair of pliers? How about a hydraulic chisel?) It requires overcoming this fear of failure / embarrassment and letting it all hang out, just being me.
Simple, right?
It also requires doing creative things and submersing myself in creativity (art, music, writing, etc...) To this end, I am juggling a bit of reading:
Rome Sweet Rome: Our Journey to Catholicism by Scott and Kimberly Hahn. My brother sent me this book to read. I am fascinated by the idea of a Presbyterian minister going Catholic. So far, and interesting read. But I just it started last night.
The Arrogance of the French: Why They Can't Stand Us - and Why the Feeling Is Mutual by Richard Chesnoff. Chesnoff is an American who lived in France for years, and has some unique insights into our mutual love / hate relationship. (Hint: it's almost a sibling rivalry type of relationship.)
Don't Shoot, It's Only Me - Bob Hope's Comedy History of the United States by Bob Hope and Melville Shaveldon. This is no history textbook. But it does have some entertaining tales and anecdotes. Fun to read - as long as Bob Hope's humor is your thang.
According to The Rolling Stones by The Rolling Stones. Actually, I just finished this one a week or so ago. What a skewed way to view the world. If you want to convince your kids that drugs are bad, have them read Keith Richards' bits in this book. (By the by - saw the new Pirates of the Carribean movie over the weekend. Keith Richards plays Johnny Depp's dad and needed very little make-up.)
I am hoping to hit the Minneapolis Museum of Art at some point this weekend with sketchbook and pens/pencils in tow.
As for music... hey, you know me. I always have tunes going.
And what about my cluttered mind? Creativity is not conducive to being organized, now, is it? It requires looking at life from a different perspective, being willing to explode what we see, rearrange it and view it in a new way. I guess that means there's hope for me after all!
-
If she could look into my brain, she would probably ground me until I cleaned this mess up. (So much for being an active part of society any time soon.)
I am intensely cluttered and scattered, cerebrally speaking. (As well as otherwise - you should see my office!) And it's because of the messed up way I mentally process and file information. It shows in my blogging (4 blogs going, each with a different topic, none updated as often as they ought to be). It shows in my writing / journaling (I juggle notebooks like Gallagher does watermelons - only without the sledgehammer.)
I have a lot of things I want to do:
- write a book of devotionals
- write a book of humorous pieces
- write a cookbook (ok, that entry wins the "least likely to succeed" award)
- develop my drawing skills
- teach
- preach
- find a cure for stupidity (my odds are better with the cookbook)
- broker a deal for lasting world peace (see above)
What it boils down to is finding a way to satisfy this intense desire I have to be a truly creative individual. And it requires being creative at my very core - changing the way I think, the way I work, the way I operate. It requires opening my mind. (Anyone got a good pair of pliers? How about a hydraulic chisel?) It requires overcoming this fear of failure / embarrassment and letting it all hang out, just being me.
Simple, right?
It also requires doing creative things and submersing myself in creativity (art, music, writing, etc...) To this end, I am juggling a bit of reading:
Rome Sweet Rome: Our Journey to Catholicism by Scott and Kimberly Hahn. My brother sent me this book to read. I am fascinated by the idea of a Presbyterian minister going Catholic. So far, and interesting read. But I just it started last night.
The Arrogance of the French: Why They Can't Stand Us - and Why the Feeling Is Mutual by Richard Chesnoff. Chesnoff is an American who lived in France for years, and has some unique insights into our mutual love / hate relationship. (Hint: it's almost a sibling rivalry type of relationship.)
Don't Shoot, It's Only Me - Bob Hope's Comedy History of the United States by Bob Hope and Melville Shaveldon. This is no history textbook. But it does have some entertaining tales and anecdotes. Fun to read - as long as Bob Hope's humor is your thang.
According to The Rolling Stones by The Rolling Stones. Actually, I just finished this one a week or so ago. What a skewed way to view the world. If you want to convince your kids that drugs are bad, have them read Keith Richards' bits in this book. (By the by - saw the new Pirates of the Carribean movie over the weekend. Keith Richards plays Johnny Depp's dad and needed very little make-up.)
I am hoping to hit the Minneapolis Museum of Art at some point this weekend with sketchbook and pens/pencils in tow.
As for music... hey, you know me. I always have tunes going.
And what about my cluttered mind? Creativity is not conducive to being organized, now, is it? It requires looking at life from a different perspective, being willing to explode what we see, rearrange it and view it in a new way. I guess that means there's hope for me after all!
-
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