stonecriesout

Karl Malden, a true Supporting Actor

On July 1st, another inspiring artist died.  Karl Malden was 97 years old!  I first saw Karl as Father Barry in On the Waterfront, and just had to see more.  As I saw A Streetcar Named Desire (for which he won the Best Supporting Actor Oscar), One-Eyed Jacks, Patton, How The West Was Won, of course I marvelled at how Marlon Brando was single-handedly re-inventing film acting, but Karl kept pace with his own captivating performances.  As I was introduced to Karl as Marlon's supporting actor, I think I'll have a hard time not thinking of Marlon when I think of Karl.  I think what impresses me most about Karl though is that I can hardly think of Marlon without Karl.  Like Karl was Pippen to Marlon's Jordan.  They belong in the same sentence.  Weak analogy, I know--but Karl deserves every accolade he's received (including, most impressive in my mind, the Screen Actor's Guild Life Achievement Award).  Also, he and I have the same birthday (March 22).  His was 73 years before mine, but I still think it's cool.

So I still can't figure out how to embed youtube videos on this site, so I'll just post up this link to one of my favorite Malden scenes, this one near the climax of On the Waterfront.  Enjoy.  Thanks for the inspiration, Karl!

Michael Jackson's Life & Death

 

 

    ". . . in our time, when a man dies--if he has had wealth and influence and power and all the vestments that arouse envy, and after the living take stock of the dead man's property and his eminence and works and monuments--the question is still there: Was his life good or was it evil? . . . Envies are gone, and the measuring stick is: "Was he loved or was he hated?  Is his death felt as a loss or does a kind of joy come from it?"

    . . . In uncertainty I am certain that underneath their topmost layers of frailty men want to be good and want to be loved.  Indeed, most of their vices are attempted short cuts to love.  When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents and influence and genius, if he dies unloved his life must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror.  It seems to me that if you or I must choose between two courses of thought or action, we should remember our dying and try so to live that our death brings no pleasure to the world."

 

- John Steinbeck

 

I have to believe that by now, any and all of you reading this knows that Michael Jackson is dead.  I'm writing this to share how I'm responding to the news of the end of his life.  I'm not paying tribute, not making a case for how I think anyone else should feel about Michael, and definitely not trying to simplify or understate his story and his character.  Just sharing how I feel.

 

When I was a kid, there were two living Superstars in their prime: Madonna and Michael Jackson.  This is back when the word Superstar had meaning, and Michael was the biggest Superstar the world had ever seen.  The influence and popularity of Madonna and Michael was unprecedented, and I'm confident will never be repeated.  I remember that everything they released was pure magic, and I was wasn't even alive when "Thriller" was released.  So one could argue that Michael was even past his popularity apex when he came in to my awareness.  I remember watching in awe those first minutes of his 1993 Super Bowl Halftime performance, while he just stands still, with the crowd going absolutely bananas.  I remember imitating his dance moves, his unique hiccuped-inflections, his funny speaking voice.  I remember my mom crying to "Will You Be There" after watching "Free Willy."  I remember that the video for "Scream" was like nothing I'd ever seen before--the music video equivalent of when I saw "The Matrix" for the first time.  I remember that for several months, I just couldn't get "You Are Not Alone" out of my head.  I remember finding his work released in the '80s, his Jackson 5 collection, and just loving all of it.  He was relentlessly popular when I was a kid, spitefully popular when I was teenager, ironically popular when I was getting in to college, and even today he is somehow the most enduringly popular of any Superstar I've seen.  His influence bleeds through nearly every artist who has come since.  The work he did and the details of his life we saw as I grew up are a fixture in what it meant for me to grow up in my generation.

 

Growing up, Michael Jackson and his life have also been well-worn punchlines for some of my favorite comedians.  Norm MacDonald's famous "Jacko on his Backo" routine on Weekend Update, and all the not-so-tongue-in-cheek nods to pedophilia from Conan O'Brien and Dave Letterman.  Even black apologists Chris Rock and Dave Chappelle took their cracks at the pedophilia specualtions.  I remember laughing at the jokes when I was younger.  I ignored most of the tabloid-ish news about Michael, I didn't pay much mind to the pedophilia jokes (really?  Pedophilia jokes?), and mostly I just wished everyone would leave him alone and let him make some more music.  Regardless of what I saw in mass media, I always felt that there was residual genius in Michael, and he would always be a captivating and inspiring entertainer.  It always felt a little dirty to laugh at Michael's expense, though we all did.

 

Now that he has died, I hope that the folks who knew Michael personally can sincerely believe it within them that his life brought Good, not evil, in to the world, and that his death brings the world no pleasure.  I won't pretend to know anything about the inner-workings of his mind, his life, or his behavior, but I do know that as any and every other man does, Michael has the right to be honored in his death for the good he brought during his life.

Yesterday I heard Rev. Al Sharpton (a friend of Michael's since the '70s) tell a story about Michael.  When Michael's idol James Brown died, Michael returned to the States for the funeral.  He was devastated and reluctant to speak at James' service, but ultimately he was persuaded and shared that he only hoped that James would receive his due in death that he did not receive during his life.  Rev. Sharpton echoed that sentiment on Michael's behalf, acknowledging that many of those praising Michael now were far less than gracious or kind to him while he was alive.

 

As Steinbeck illustrates in the words I began with, we are all subject to the tension of living a life that will either be remembered as Good or Evil.  I don't know how You feel about Michael, and frankly--how you feel about him has no effect on how I feel about him.  I don't know how much Good or Evil he brought to the people who knew him personally, and I won't discount the impact he has made on the familes who have accused him of abusing their sons, whatever that impact may be.  One thing I do know is that while this man lived 39 of his 50 years in the public eye, and the general public will now be casually contemplating whether his life brought more Good or more Evil to the world, I contend that we ought to have no voice.  Only his family, his friends, his associates, his personal acquaintances, his children--these are the only ones who may decide--and they are entitled to the privacy of their judgment.  If you must opine, I do suggest watching any public address Michael makes to his fans and tell me if you see any insincerity, any malice, any unkindness, any self-idolatry.  Tell me if you find one where he doesn't tell everyone in the room how much he loves them.  Tell me if you think he's lying.

 

When I consider all my memories, and all the ways to respond to Michael's death, I feel only loss.  The entertainment-cultural world has lost (in my personal opinion) the 2nd-greatest entertainer I've seen (behind only the above-mentioned James Brown).  The pop-music artistic world has lost its greatest triumph.  The world of charity has lost its greatest giver.  And most importantly, the Jackson family has lost a brother, a son, and a father.

 

All that said, I just hope that those who knew Michael believe in his goodness, and will carry out any of his lasting goodness as purposefully as he'd hoped to.

 

 

My 24th Year (+ 1 month): the Reading

I felt like I didn't do a whole lot of reading last year, but I think what may have happened was that I read less books that had more substance.  All of the books I completed last year really asked me to let the ideas do some work inside me as I proceeded through the pages.  Allow me to tell you about a few I really enjoyed and a brief explanation of why I really liked them.

(In no particular order)

The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals - Michael Pollan

I can't remember exactly how I heard about this book, but I am so thankful I did.  I read through it in the late Summer, and by Fall I had changed many things about my eating, shopping, and dining-out habits.  I didn't feel guilted in to changing, never felt like I was ever told that I had been "eating wrong," or anything like that.  Pollan is a Journalism Professor at Berkeley, so his approach to the subject of what-we-eat and how-we-eat is very investigative and contextual--not a ton of propaganda or ethical high-horsing.  The things I loved about the book were: learning what the ridiculous words in the ingredients of common supermarket foods represented, finally reading about what the differences are between the various meats in the supermarket, a de-bunking of "common sense" understandings of what the words "organic," "natural," and "sustainable" mean, and a full account of a responsible and "sustainable" farming and eating community in practice.  After finishing this book, my eating changed, my respect for eating changed, my buying habits changed, my dining-out habits changed, but most importantly: my attitude toward food changed.  I was led by Pollan's work to respecting food, respecting the meal, and away from a need to feel like I was "eating right" (or, pretty much using the word "right" at all in my thinking).  I've started his follow up In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto, and so far (about 90 pages in), I am enjoying it with the same enthusiasm as I did Omnivore's Dilemma.

The Fidelity of Betrayal: Towards a Church Beyond Belief - Peter Rollins

This one I definitely may not have come across if not for Seth Thomas.  He had also introduced me to Rollins' first book, How (Not) To Speak of God.  I was curious about Fidelity of Betrayal, because I felt that Rollins' was one of the few authors associated with the "Emerging/Emergent" community that I had read that had really put in the scholarly hours and was writing from a place free from sentimentality or vanity.  Rollins became somewhat of a controversy hot-spot for beginning Fidelity with a sympathetic and almost apologetic view of Judas Iscariot, but I appreciated that take very much.  I constantly am needing to be reminded that humanity doesn't reduce to "good guys" and "bad guys" (thanks, Hollywood), and Rollins seeks out the humanity in Judas' betrayal.  He then (as many with a Ph.D. in Postmodern Theory would) spends the rest of book considering if those with views in or on Christianity have been so busy taking on living rightly and obediently, that we haven't allowed ourselves to really understand what those things might mean.  He really pushes us toward leaving our beliefs and our icons behind us and move on--not to abandon them, but to become more than they would have us remain.  I felt compelled to really dive in to this book, because I had already felt like I was "leaving Christian things behind."  I had moved away from church, the Bible, whatever some people would call "Christian living," and my attitude about how to even use words like "Christian."  I found myself in an odd spot--stripping away what I had learned was a Christ-like life, and yet never feeling like I ever lost hope that Christ may have had something good going on.  So when I read the book, I was comforted by the idea that Christianity could be "irreligious," that I didn't need to call myself or anyone else a "Christian," and that the whole idea of those classifications might be kind of silly and childish anyhow.  Rollins delivered a book that really met me with great timing, and though I'd like to to think I have moved beyond his ideas along with the ones I had before I read them, chances are I am still pretty entrenched in all the ideas I now consider silly.  I'll also mention that I love that he is published by a company named Paraclete Press.  Don't know the word Paraclete?  Look it up, it's awesome.  Christ used this word as a name for what many now call the Holy Spirit.

The God Delusion - Richard Dawkins

I read this book because of Rikk Watts.  As many of you know, I regularly follow Rikk's lectures at The Rock Garden through their Podcasts of his teaching.  I enjoy Rikk because he is a staunch and unapologetic academic, but never loses his sense of fallibility and silliness.  He takes the sentimentality and assumption out of Christian thinking, and approaches questions of Christianity by contextualizing (he often repeats, "history is the fundamental paradigm for understanding") and seeking out the humanity of the ethical and strictly theological issues at hand.  Rikk is an emboldened teacher, but I have never heard him as fire-laden as when he would address the current popularization of Dawkins and others associated with the New Atheist Movement.  For over a year I had listened to Watts' diatribes on the alleged irresponsibility and negligence of Dawkins' most popular work.  I decided I needed to read this thing for myself to make up my own mind about it, so I picked up the UK-release (probably closer to the actual print Dawkins himself penned) and didn't put it down until I was finished.

The God Delusion was controversial for excellent reason.  Dawkins has put together quite the convincing argument.  Acerbic and needlessly confrontational?  Absolutely.  Is Dawkins smug and an un-apologetic narcissist?  Hey, from what I can tell: probably.  But I went through his work doing my best to practice Epoché, and let any defensiveness that I anticipated just suspend until I could let the new perspective in.  As I allowed the things I had always let myself believe in be de-bunked and de-throned, I wondered if I would lose faith in a God, in a Christ, in a Prophet, in anything the Big Three had to offer.  What if I decided to worship Science instead?  Hmm....

As I finished the book and continued the process of wondering what to believe, I arrived at a place that Rollins suggested I might: beyond belief, irreligiously clinging to faith in God.  As I learned that I had the capacity to (as Dawkins and friends do) intellectualize religion out of my beliefs, or (as Watts and friends do) intellectualize myself in to deeper belief, I found out that I was quite comfortable not needing to know what I believed.  The place I found discomfort was when I anticipated the unknown: death.  I suppose the fear of Death is a root cause for "the opium of the people," (Marx), but Pascal's Wager would haunt me when I leaned toward faithless living.  Ultimately, I think the fear of the Unknown and the fear of Death will always leave me with a hope that God does exist, that this God is more decent than Man, and that Christ is somehow at the center of God's extended decency toward Man.  Belief has almost nothing to do with it at this point--Hope has everything to do with it--but I may never have come to that understanding had I not read The God Delusion.

**I should note that while I was reading this book, I had several friends ask me "Why would you ever want to read that?"  And not just because they were "worried" I'd be convinced in to faithlessness, but because it is inevitably going to be a confusing process for a Christian to hear that everything they believe is wrong.  I appreciate that, but like I said before--I just had to read it to make up my own mind.  You might not need to read it make up your own mind, who knows?

Looks like I didn't read much fiction last year!  At least none that made it in to the Three I felt compelled to tell you about.  Here are my other recommendations from the last 13 months:

Hot, Flat, and Crowded - Thomas Friedman

Intellectually stimulating, and a unique approach to the problem of inevitable climate change.  However, only interesting to a point.  I didn't change much for reading it.

What I Know For Sure - Tavis Smiley

So powerful a story of accepting the combination of Giftedness and Responsibility, and sprinting full-speed-ahead despite trauma and pain.  Smiley is a truly awe-inspiring man.

Hope On A Tightrope - Cornel West

Not much new here, but timely in the election of Obama, and came with an audio CD of West discussing his primary book topics with Tavis Smiley.

Debating Race - Michael Eric Dyson

Excellent transcriptions of excellent debates.  You wouldn't believe what goes down in this book and what you will learn.  Even Ann Coulter concedes respect for Dyson in a book cover blurb.  Ann Coulter!  Are you kidding me?

I am excited by the first two books of my 25th year: In Defense of Food, and Invisible Man (Ralph Ellison).  Invisible Man was a recommendation from my good friend Andy Orr, and I must tell you that I haven't been this excited about a piece of fiction as I've been reading it since I read The Brothers K several Summers ago.  Ellison is.... incredible.

Any recommendations to fill the remaining 11 months of my 25th year?  On my bookshelf and in queue are When Work Disappears (William Julius Wilson), Cannery Row (John Steinbeck), and The Rest is Noise (Alex Ross).

As always.... stay tuned for more!

the consolations

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

The consolations.

"Talk to me about the truth of religion and I’ll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I’ll listen submissively. But don’t come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don’t understand."
-C.S. Lewis
(A Grief Observed)

Yesterday I received a phone call. I was sitting, reclined, on my couch, lazily watching "Jesus is Magic," a film by Sarah Silverman. I had worked very early, and was relieved to have a peaceful afternoon. The phone rang, and I waited for the Caller ID function to perform its duty. I saw the phone number of a dear friend in Federal Way, who I've known and been close to for a decade now. We had recently re-established close contact when her mother was diagnosed with multiple manifestations of cancer this October. This mother, Debbie, is a vibrant, witty, electric woman; and expressively Southern, with her practices of generous hospitality and words spawned from sincere love. She has treated me like one of her own children for all the years I've known her, providing me with unconditional compassion, blunt truth, and a standard of goodness for me to live out. She is great woman.

I heard the fragmented voice of my friend Carol over the line, and braced for the hit. We asked about each other's day. She began to cry. She told me that Debbie had died about 30 minutes before, at home, surrounded by her family and pastor, and that Debbie's last hours alive were spent at peace, talking about the things that made her life good, especially during the last few months of severe illness. I offered my consolation but knew Carol had other phone calls to make, to other people who Debbie cared about to bear the news.

It's a funny thing, death. Almost definitely the most tangible experience a person can have is to watch a person die; but even so, explaining death is damn near impossible. Commemorating life is our crutch, how we escape the never-understandable emotions of death. And none of it makes any sense from an external vantage point. For example's sake, in the long wake of Princess Diana's death, out came a torrent of "commemorative" items that people could cling to: decorative plates, spoons, teacups, coins, stamps, dolls, magazines, videos, even clothing. In our detachment from the dead we cling to the denial of their gone-ness. With those close to us, we have portraits painted and hung sentimentally in our entranceways, we have that hidden box of their knick-knacks under our dresser, we eat their favorite foods, we tell stories about their life to each other. We say that they "live on in our hearts and memories forever," simply because it sounds very nice--nevermind it's irrationality and impossibility. We acknowledge that they are gone but we refuse to know that they are gone. To really know, as much as we know that the computer monitors in front of our faces are here, that's how gone the dead are. So we visit gravesites, imagine them in heaven, and carry their death as a badge of courage on our lapels.
Even in the way we live our life we do not attempt to know death. We devour experiences in disgusting fashion, but not as an acknowledgement of impending death, moreso of a desire to feel more alive. Think theme parks, extreme sports, mountain climbing, fast cars, big money, sex addiction--anything that gets blood pumping, even if it's just to our loins. We'll do anything to feel more alive than we did five minutes ago. Even as a christian, I'm constantly advised to "find whatever it is that makes you come alive," while the sensation of doing something "alive" in that context is the same as taking drugs, running from responsibility, taking advantage, stealing, lying, cheating, being malicious. So apparently, the sensation of blood flowing through one's veins is what we consider to be "feeling alive." This is why the world is full of drug addicts, thieves, sexual predators, malice, liars, white-collar crime, power-delusioned officials who exploit the many to spoil the few. All because we can't stand to not feel more alive now than we did five minutes ago. Any why? Because death doesn't make any damn sense. People around us die, and we overcompensate for the inconsolability with an insatiable addiction to a temporal existence compiled of only our "most alive" moments. So what should we do?

I lost my mother to ovarian cancer in 1996 when I was nearly 11 years old. We didn't connect when I was young, so I didn't grieve following her death. For about the 8 1/2 years that followed, I lied, cheated, stole, maliciously hurt people, ran from responsibility, manipulated every situation and person I could to serve my immediate feeling, and that kept me going. I had moments of feeling alive, and I remember those still today. Unfortunately for me, after those 8 1/2 years, my overcompensation techniques began to exhaust and come up empty. I no longer could achieve that sensation of being alive I had worked so hard for. I had to look for something else.
I grieved my mother's death in a way you wouldn't expect. I let myself hate her. I had been withheld from being myself because I refused to tell myself the truth about her, and that was that she gave up on being my mother long before she died, and she never came back around. I saw a counselor at the time, and he would repeat to me, "You were just a little kid. It wasn't your responsibility. You were a little kid. A little kid. She didn't do it. She was the mother. You were just a little kid." So I went to one extreme, saying "Fuck her, she didn't give a shit about me, I won't give a shit about her." Then I came back to "God I just want to spend some time with her. We would get along now, I know it. We could have something good." But now I find myself just merely not minding that she's gone, not caring either way. She was a good woman, but somehow unable or unable to give me what I needed.

That brings me back to Debbie. Debbie connected with me--and that started within a year after my mom had died. Debbie cared deeply for my emotional and spiritual well-being, taking me to church, inviting me in to her home, counseling me in ways I didn't deserve or ask for. For the last 10 years I have always known without a doubt that Debbie has loved me, simply because she loves me. The cancer that began working on destroying her body in October completed its task yesterday afternoon. That same cancer that removed an indifferent mother from life as I know it has now also removed the best. Debbie is gone. God only knows how we will compensate for our emotions this time around. Me, for example, I wrote a blog. So who the hell knows. I guess we'll never really get it. It's a funny thing, death.


-hvc34


Read again:

"Talk to me about the truth of religion and I’ll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I’ll listen submissively. But don’t come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don’t understand."
-C.S. Lewis
(A Grief Observed)